its contents, and after turning them over a moment, he cried out,—
"Bless my stars, here's another!" and slipped a small oval of ivory paper into his waistcoat pocket—a complete miniature portrait, that I had sketched with such tolerable success, as to be induced to colour it with great pains and care. But I was determined he should not keep it.
"Mr. Huntingdon," cried I, "I insist upon having that back! It is mine, and you have no right to take it. Give it me, directly—I'll never forgive you, if you don't!"
But the more vehemently I insisted, the more he aggravated my distress by his insulting gleeful laugh. At length however, he restored it to me, saying—
"Well, well, since you value it so much, I'll not deprive you of it."
To show him how I valued it, I tore it in two, and threw it into the fire. He was not prepared for this. His merriment suddenly ceas-
