Transcriber's Note:

Unexpected and alternative spelling, hyphenation, capitalisationpunctuation, possible typographer's errors and omitted words, andincorrectly numbered chapters and page numbers have been retainedas they appear in the original publication. 

PHEMIE FROST'S EXPERIENCES. 

BY

MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS. 

AUTHOR OF "FASHION AND FAMINE, " "REJECTED WIFE, " "OLD HOMESTEAD, " ETC. , ETC. , ETC. 

 NEW YORK:

 _G. W. Carleton & Co. , Publishers. _

 LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. 

 M. DCCC. LXXIV. 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, by G. W. CARLETON & CO. , In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 

 Maclauchlan, Stereotyper and Printer, 56, 58 and 60 Park Street, New York. 

 To

 FRANK LESLIE, ESQ. , ONE OF THE BEST-TRIED AND MOST VALUED FRIENDS I HAVE, _THIS VOLUME_, THE LIGHT AMUSEMENT OF MY LEISURE HOURS, IS

 Respectfully Dedicated. 

 ANN S. STEPHENS. 

 ST. CLOUD HOTEL, } NEW YORK, _March_, 1874. }

PREFACE. 

 Thistle down, thistle down, cast to the wind So lightly and wildly, you scarcely can find A glimpse of it here, or a gleam of it there, As it trembles, a silvery mist, on the air. 

 Like the wide thorny leaves whence the mother root threw Up its crown of rich purple, bejewelled with dew, These feathery nothings, barbed, sparsely, with seeds, Must struggle for life with the brambles and weeds. 

CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER PAGE

 I. --Leaving Home. 11

 II. --Phœmie's First Visit. 25

 III. --About Girls. 28

 IV. --More About Girls. 33

 V. --Poor Children. 39

 VI. --He Has Come. 41

 VII. --The French Dress-maker. 45

 VIII. --The Genuine Madame. 48

 IX. --Ready to Land. 51

 X. --Down the Bay. 54

 XI. --The Grand Duke. 57

 XII. --Tickets for the Ball. 60

 XIII. --The Grand Duke's Ball. 63

 XIV. --The Natural History Philanthropist. 67

 XV. --Christmas in New York. 74

 XVI. --The Night Before Christmas. 78

 XVII. --Early Service. 81

 XVIII. --High Church. 84

 XIX. --Christmas Morning. 88

 XX. --About Lions. 90

 XXI. --Dining in the Dark. 95

 XXII. --New Year's Day. 99

 XXIII. --The New Year's Reception. 102

 XXIV. --Mignon: A Night at the Grand Opera. 108

 XXV. --The Black Crook. 114

 XXVI. --Living Apart. 120

 XXVII. --More About Fisk. 124

 XXVIII. --She Would Go. 128

 XXIX. --Mr. Greeley's Birthday Party. 132

 XXX. --Leap Year. 135

 XXXI. --A Man that Wouldn't Take Money. 140

 XXXII. --A Democratic Lunch. 144

 XXXIII. --Dempster Proposes a Trip. 149

 XXXIV. --In Washington. 152

 XXXV. --Getting Information. 157

 XXXVI. --The Liederkranz Ball. 161

 XXXVII. --How Did the Papers Know? 165

 XXXVIII. --Reception of the Japanese. 168

 XXXIX. --The Japanese. 171

 XL. --That Diplomatic Stag Party. 174

 XLI. --The Dinner. 179

 XLII. --In the Basement of the Capitol. 182

 XLIII. --Phœmie Dines with a Senator. 186

 XLIV. --Marble Halls. 191

 XLV. --Randolph Rogers' Bronze Doors. 194

 XLVI. --Was it a Meeting-house? 197

 XLVII. --Easter. 201

 XLVIII. --A Church Higher Yet. 204

 XLIX. --Easter Sunday. 206

 L. --That Man with the Lantern. 211

 LI. --Mrs. Grant's Reception. 215

 LII. --Representative Women. 220

 LIII. --A Literary Party. 223

 LIV. --Dressing for a Party. 227

 LV. --Foreign Ministers. 230

 LVI. --Good Clothes. 237

 LVII. --The Party of the Season. 241

 LVIII. --Down the Potomac. 245

 LIX. --Mount Vernon. 250

 LX. --Mr. Greeley's Nomination. 253

 LXI. --Women and Things. 258

 LXII. --A Trip to Annapolis. 263

 LXIII. --Among the Cadets. 267

 LXIV. --American Authors. 271

 LXV. --The Statue of Shakespeare. 275

 LXVI. --Racing Dresses. 279

 LXVII. --The First Horse-race. 282

 LXVIII. --Off Again. 288

 LXIX. --The Steeple-chase. 293

 LXX. --Preparing for Sea. 296

 LXXI. --Yacht-racing. 300

 LXXII. --Music that is Music. 304

 LXXIII. --Hubbishness. 306

 LXXIV. --Thunders of Music. 308

 LXXV. --Saratoga Trunks. 312

 LXXVI. --The Dolly Varden. 314

 LXXVII. --Starting for Long Branch. 320

 LXXVIII. --That Hair-trunk. 323

 LXXIX. --At the Branch. 326

 LXXX. --The Race-course. 328

 LXXXI. --Climbing Sea Cliff. 332

 LXXXII. --Fighting for the Body. 335

 LXXXIII. --Lions and Lambs. 337

 LXXXIV. --Experiences. 240

 LXXXV. --The Second Day. 342

 LXXXVI. --The Blacksmith's Conversion. 347

 LXXXVII. --That Ovation of Fire. 352

 LXXXVIII. --Let Him Go. 359

 LXXXIX. --Done Up in a Hurry. 362

 XC. --The Yellow Flag. 367

 XCI. --The Man that Saved Me. 370

 XCII. --Pleasure Bay. 375

 XCIII. --Netting Crabs. 379

 XCIV. --Extra Politeness. 384

 XCV. --The Clam-bake. 387

 XCVI. --That Clam-bake. 390

 XCVII. --One Hour of Heaven. 392

 XCVIII. --C. O. D. 309

 XCIX. --Taken In. 404

PHŒMIE FROST'S EXPERIENCES. 

I. 

LEAVING HOME. 

I have made up my mind. Having put my hand to the plough, it isn't in meto back out of a duty when duty and one's own wishes sail amicably inthe same canoe. I am going to give myself up to the good of mankind andthe dissemination of great moral ideas. 

Selected by the Society of Infinite Progress as its travellingmissionary, with power to spread the most transcendental of New Englandideas throughout the world, I shall take up my cross and go forth. 

The evening after the Society had crowned me with this honor, I askedAunt Kesiah and Uncle Ben Frost, who have been working the farm onshares ever since my father died, if they could not make out to dowithout me for some months, or weeks, or years, just as duty or my ownfeelings took a notion to stay. 

Aunt Kesiah sat right down in the rocking-chair, and looked straight inmy face for a whole minute without speaking. 

"What, " says she at last, "going away from home at your age--a femalewoman all alone in the world! You and the Society just take my breathaway, Phœmie. Where on arth are you a going to?"

"Well, " says I, "it seems to be my duty to seek a field where there isthe most sin and iniquity a going on, where dishonesty ridesrampagnatious as a roaring lion, and fashion flaunts herself like apeacock with moons in every tail feather. First of all, the field of myduty lies in York, that Babylon of cities. "

"But whose a going to bear the expenses?" says Uncle Ben, who always was'cute as a miser about money matters. "Duty is sumtimes raytherexpensive. "

"The Society, " answers I. "The members are a picking up produce now, Ishan't go empty-handed on my mission. All the members are wide awakeabout that. Crops have been first-rate. "

"Yes, " says Uncle Ben, "I give in there. "

"And hens never laid better since chickens were hatched, " continued I. 

"Jes' so, " says Aunt Kesiah, "if the pesky creturs wouldn't run off andhide their nests. "

"Hams are plenty, smoked beef ditto, to say nothing of dried apples. Imean to sell everything at a profit and settle accounts with theSociety. "

"I reckon you'll get cut short; up to this time there has bin lots oftalking in that Society. When it comes to giving--but never mind--weshall see!"

"There, there, Benjamin, don't you go to pouring cold water on ourPhœmie's missionary work. She is sot on going, so let her go. "

"Is she sot?" says Uncle Ben, looking at me sort of anxious. 

"Yes, " says I, "my face is turned to the mark of the prize of the highcalling. "

"Jes' so, " says Uncle Ben, "got your hand on the prow with a hard grip?That being the fact, old woman, the best thing is for you to lend ahelping hand and send her off comfortably. She can try anyhow, though Ihave a notion that the world has got to be so wicked since the war, thatone female woman--"

"Girl!" says I. 

"Well, girl--may fall short of regenerating the hull of it all to once. Still there is no knowing what any one can do till they try. "

"When do you lay out to start?" says Aunt Kesiah, all in a flutter. 

"Right off, " says I. 

"By land or water?"

"Both, " says I. 

"Oh, dear! what if you should get shipwrecked, and all the produce andgarden sass with you!" says she. 

"There now, don't skeer the girl, Kesiah, " says Uncle Ben. "The Sounddon't rage to any great extent, neither are the engines alles a bustingas a general thing. "

"Well, well, if she's sot on going, I'll do my best to help get heroff, " says Aunt Kesiah, and she goes right to putting lard in a kettle, and while it was a heating, rolled out a lot of doughnuts, which articleof food she excels in. For two whole days that good soul devoted herselfto making crullers, doughnuts, and turnover pies, as if she thought Ishould not find anything to eat till I got home again. 

Well, by and by the day came for me to start. That tea-party and aprayer-meeting at Deacon Pettibone's house was a season that none of uswill ever forget. Mrs. Pettibone, our president, is a wonderfully giftedwoman, and that night she seized right hold of the horns of the altarand fairly beat herself. Oh, sisters, it was a touching time when Idrove with Uncle Ben through Sprucehill a bowing from one window toanother, for every member of the Society seemed to rush heart and soulto the windows; and when I found your executive committee on thatplatform, the tears that had been standing in my eyes just burst out andoverflowed my soul. 

There I sat on my trunk in your midst, with a bandbox at my feet, and anew satchel, large, plump, and shiny, in my hand, ready to start, butfeeling the responsibility of my trust, and the danger of a young girlgoing forth into the world all alone. No wonder some of you thought Ishould give up and take my hand from the plough. It was a tryingsituation. I felt it; I suffered; but, knowing that the eyes of allSprucehill were upon me, I was firm. Yes, even when Aunt Kesiah placedthat satchel in my lap, and told me with tears in her eyes to takespecial care of it, for she did not know what I should do if it gotlost. 

She said this so loud, and with such deep sobs, that a tall gentlemanwho stood on the platform with a satchel in his hand, seemed to begreatly affected by the touching scene, and kept close to us till thetrain come lumbering and snorting in. 

Then, sisters, you remember how we fell upon each other's neck, and weptand kissed each other, then tore apart. How I went weeping into the carsleaving the satchel behind, and how Uncle Ben pushed it through thewindow, telling me to be awful careful of its precious contents so loudthat everybody heard, and I have no doubt wondered how many thousanddollars it held. Well, the contents of that bag were miscellaneouslyprecious. I had seen Aunt Kesiah pack it, with a feeling that made mehomesick before I left the old farm. Doughnuts, crullers, turn-overpies, with luscious peach juice breaking through the curves. A greathunk of maple sugar, another of dried beef, some cheese, and a pintbottle of cider. It nearly broke Aunt Kesiah's heart because shecouldn't top things off with a pot of preserves, but I wasn't sorry, thinking they might be unhandy to carry. 

Well, I took the satchel, set it upon my lap, and looked out of thewindow at you all, as well as I could for crying, till the train gave ajerk that made my teeth rattle, and moved on. 

When I lost sight of you, sisters, I felt awfully lonesome and almost'fraid to trust myself among so many masculine men as filled the cars. Being an unprotected female, with a certain amount of promiscuousproperty in my charge, I felt a commercial and moral responsibility thatweighed down my shoulders till I felt like a camel with an enormous loadto carry. 

Had I been travelling with nothing but my own self to take care of, thesense of responsibility would have been less; but I could not helpthinking that the dignity of our Society was in my keeping, and theanxieties of all Sprucehill followed me swifter than the cars could runor the snorting engine draw. So I pulled my dust-colored veil tightover my face, and, with my feet planted firm on the floor, satbolt-upright, holding the satchel on my lap with both hands, kind ofshivering for fear some man might attempt to sit down by me. I couldn'tthink of this without feeling as if I should sink right through the redvelvet cushions that I sat on. 

I was so anxious that my heart jumped right into my mouth when that manI had seen on the platform come my way. While he was looking around, thebreath stood still on my lips, and I gave my satchel a grip which wouldhave hurt it if such things have any feeling. I have no doubt that theausterity of my countenance scared all the rest of them off, for most of'em passed on, after giving me a regretful glance; but when he come inswinging his new satchel, so independent, I moved a little; for I knewhe was a gentleman by the way he wore his hat--clear back on hishead--by the great seal, with a red stone in it, on his finger, and bythe heavy gold chain swinging across his breast. 

When I saw this man's eyes fixed on my seat so beseeching, I kind ofmoved a little more and then let my eyes droop downward, determined notto help his presumptuous design to sit by me a single bit. 

"Thank you, " says he, sitting down close to me, and chucking his satchelunder the seat. "If there is a superior person in the car, I'm certainto have the luck and the honor to sit beside her. Some people prefer tolook out of the window, but I would rather gaze on a sweet, pretty face, by a long shot--especially if it does not belong to a girl with airs. "

I felt myself blushing all over at this delicate compliment, andobserved, with becoming diffidence and great originality, that "beautywas only skin-deep at the best, and not by any manner of means to becompared with Christian piety and high intellect. "

The man--he was a stalwart, handsome man; not pursey like DeaconPettibone, nor slim to bean-poleishness like the circuit preachers thatlive about, and only pick up a little roundness at camp-meetings; buttall, and what young ladies call imposing. Well, the man gave me anotherlong look at this, and says he:

"But when all these things jibe in together so beautifully, who is tosay which it is that captivates a man's fancy? Not I. It is my weaknessto take lovely woman into the core of my heart as a whole; but, if thereis one quality that I prize more than another, it is piety. "

I blushed with thrilling consciousness of the grace that has been in meso long that it has become a part of my being; but his praise did notsatisfy me. One hates to take sweet things in driblets, with a spoon, when the soup-ladle is handy. 

"Piety is a thing to be had for praying, fasting, and unlimiteddevotion. Anybody can have it who grapples the horn of the altar indeadly earnest. In short, if there is anything that everybody on earthhas a right to, it's religion. The only aristocracy there is about it, comes when one reaches the high point of perfect sanctification--a statethat some people do reach, though it is sometimes so difficult to pointout the particular person. "

"Ah, indeed!" said he. "But I have penetration, madam, greatpenetration. Do not torture your sensitive modesty by an attempt toconceal extraordinary perfection from one who can so fully appreciateit, and who grieves to say how uncommon it is. "

I said nothing, but dropped my eyes, and sat up straighter than ever. 

"Permit me, " says my polite fellow-traveller, gently laying his hand onmy satchel; "this is too heavy for the lap of a delicate female. Supposing we place it side by side with mine under the seat?"

I held on to the satchel, afraid that he might mash one of the turn-overpies. 

"Do allow me. I really tremble to see a person so formed by nature bornedown by such a weight, " says my fellow-traveller, with greatimpressiveness. "It isn't to be thought of. "

"But--but I don't feel the weight so very much, " says I, loosening mygrip a trifle. 

"But, my dear madam, remember that the life and health of a person likeyou is of consequence to the whole universe. Remember the siotic nerve. "

"The what nerve?" says I. 

"Siotic, " says he. "That nerve which is so tender in very pious people. They say that the Pope has been suffering agonies with it. "

"Dear me, " says I, "is it anything mixed up with a heart disease?"

"Not at all; it is a strain upon the great sensitive nerve that runslike a whip-cord from I don't know where down the back of the le--"

Oh! sisters, he almost had that terrible word out, but I gave such astart and blushed so that he turned it right round on his tongue, andsays he with great emphasis, "limb. "

"Oh!" says I, with a gasp of relief, "now you speak so that a modest NewEngland woman can understand. So there is a nerve!"

"Peculiarly susceptible in religious and intellectual persons, " says he. 

"Running down the limb!" says I. 

"Both limbs, " says he, "which a weight carried on the lap is sure toexasperate if it does not end in kinking up the siotic and crippling thel--limbs. "

"Are you a doctor?" says I. 

He smiled. 

"A sort of one, " says he, and, without more words, he took my satcheland sat it down by his, under the seat, as sociable as could be. 

After that, he took hold of my hand, as if he was a-going to feel mypulse, looking sweetly anxious. 

"Is there a siotic there?" says I. 

He gave my hand a hard squeeze, and seemed to ruminate. 

"It takes a little time to discover, " says he, half closing his eyes. "Be tranquil; there is no danger now. The arm has been in one positionrather too long; change was necessary. But this is a change. "

Then he gave my hand another squeeze, and, leaning back, shut his eyesentirely. 

That minute the engine gave out a sharp yell that nearly scared me todeath. The cars heaved a jerk and a jolt, the man on the platform sungout something, and before I could say Jack Robinson, my fellow-passengermade a dive under the seat, dragged out his satchel, and made for thedoor, bowing as he went, and hustling out something about its being hisstation. 

While I was a-staring after him with all the eyes in my head, the carsgave another jerk, and, splash-bang, away we went, so fast that the manscooting along that platform, waving his hand backwards, seemed to beswimming in fog. 

Sisters, I must say that a feeling of lonesomeness fell upon me after hewent; his conversation had been so scientific and interesting that Ifelt the loss. 

Besides that, I felt a little hungry, and thought I'd take a bite ofsomething to eat. So I stooped down, lifted the satchel to my lap, andtried to open it. 

The lock, it seemed to me, had got a stubborn twist, and wouldn't open;just then the conductor came along, and I gave him a pitiful look. 

"Please, sir, help me a little, " says I; "it won't open all I can do. "

The conductor came forward, snatched hold of the satchel, and wrenchedit open. 

"Thank you, " says I, lifting my eyes to his gaze, and diving my handdown into the satchel, for I meant to give him a doughnut for hispoliteness; but instead of that luscious cake, my hands sank into a halfpeck of sawdust packed close in the satchel my fellow-passenger had leftbehind. 

"Look there, " says I; "isn't it dreadful, and I an unprotected female?"

"Was your money in the bag?" asks the conductor. 

"No, " says I, putting one hand up to my bosom, to make sure it was safe. "I always keep my money where--no matter, the--the handsome upstart willhave a splendid feast of turnovers and doughnuts, besides a lively drinkof cider; but as for money, that is in a safe place. "

"And your ticket?"

"That, " says I, "not being private property, like money, is kepthandier. "

With that, I took the ticket from inside of my glove and handed it tohim. 

"All right, " says he, "the scamp hasn't made so much of a haul as heexpected. "

"But he'll have a sumptuous meal, " says I, a little down in the mouth;for I was growing hungry, and not a bite left. Just then a boy came intothe cars with a basketful of popped corn on his arm. It looked awfullytempting, for every kernel was turned wrong side out, white as snow. Ibought a popped corn of the boy, and pacified myself with that till thecars stopped ten minutes, where there was a mean chance to get somethingmore substantial to eat. I went in with the crowd, helter skelter;wrestled my way to a long counter, got a cup of tea which I swallowedscalding hot, and, after a hard struggle for it, carried a wedge ofcustard pie off with the palm of my hand for a plate, and skivered backto the cars, nibbling it as I ran; for the bell was ringing and theconductor yelling "all aboard!" so loud that half the passengers wentback coughing and choking, and muttering some kind of wickedness as theywent. 

Well, all the rest of my car ride was just like this, only once in awhile a little more so, till I got onto the Sound. There a great largesteamboat, a quarter of a mile long, took a part of us in, and carriedus right out to sea. 

HELL GATE. 

I was just a little disappointed in that roaring element. The air thatcame above it was salty and light, and the waves sparkled beautifully, but they did not rage worth a cent. Still the shores away off on bothsides looked dreamy, and we cut through the water so swift that it mademe dizzy. 

Two or three stylish sort of men seemed as if they were hankering tospeak to me as I sat there all alone on deck; but I didn't seem to seeit, and they contented themselves with looking at me as if I was themost cruel creature on earth; which I meant to be. The loss of onesatchel full of doughnuts and things is as much as I can afford on onetrip. 

By and by that part of the ocean we travelled on kept growing narrowerand narrower, till you could see houses on both shores, andsplendiferous houses they were, with great meadows a-sloping down to thewater; tall trees shading them, and bushes growing together in clumps. Some were of stone, some of wood, with pointed roofs and cupolas, andgreat wide stoops, in which you could see people sitting and movingabout. Some with spy-glasses in their hands, a-watching us sweep by themlike a house afire. 

I felt lonesome and almost homesick, but for all that the sight wasexhilarating--very. 

"Haven't we got almost to New York, " says I to the captain; "it seems tome as if the sea was shutting in. "

"Oh, we are almost there, " says he, "close on to Hell Gate now. "

"To what?" says I, almost hopping from the stool I sat on. 

"Hell Gate, " says he. 

"Oh, mercy! you don't tell me it is so bad as that? I knew York was anawful wicked place, but I didn't think an innocent missionary would haveto go in it through that gate!"

"It is a little dangerous for sail crafts, " says he, smiling, I suppose, to comfort me; "but you are safe. We shall go through with a rush. "

I caught my breath. 

"But supposing _He_ were on the watch?"

"_He!_ Who?"

"Don't ask me; I'd rather not mention his name, being a female whoabhors profanity. "

All at once the captain's eyes began to sparkle as if he were justlonging for a tussle with the evil one. 

"Don't be afraid, " says he, "I reckon we shall make the gate withoutmuch trouble. The blasting won't stop us yet awhile. "

"Blasting?"

"Yes; they'll have the all-firedest upheave there, before long, thatever tore a hole in the bottom of the sea. "

"Blasting! with fire and brimstone?"

"And nitro-glycerine, " says he, as calm as skim milk. 

"And you mean to take this big steamboat right through it with me onboard?"

He laughed right there in my frightened and pale face. 

"I really don't know any other way to reach New York, " says he. 

"Let me ashore, " says I, a starting up, "me and my hair-trunk; I don'tcare for the produce; it may serve to cool their tongues down there. Butput me and my hair trunk on any land. It is all I ask. "

"It's impossible, " says he. 

"But I won't go through that in--that awful gate, " says I. 

"Why, we are in it now; don't you see the whirl of the waters?"

"In it now. Oh, mercy!"

I fell down upon my seat, and buried my face in my shawl, shaking fromhead to foot. 

Sisters, that cruel man laughed. O, how hardened he must have got, goingthrough that sulphurious gate. 

"I say, madam, there is no danger, we are almost through now. "

"Is _he_ there? Have you seen anything of his blasting hosts?" says Iunder my breath. "Do they mean to fire up just yet?"

"No, no, we are all safe. Quite through--New York is in sight. "

I let my shawl drop a little, and peeped out. There was no sign of agale; the water was a little bubbly and rough, as if it had been rushingthrough a race-way, but that was all. That captain of ours must havebeen on good terms with the old serpent that keeps the gate, or he nevercould have got through so easy. Now that it was over, I almost wished Ihad found grit enough to see how it was done. As it was, my eyes werehid, and I did not even see the awful old gate. 

Well, at last I rose up slowly and looked forward. There was New YorkCity, right before me; just one pile of roofs and walls with cupolas, pointed fronts, and steeples; looking through the smoky haze acres andacres of houses, miles and miles--a whole island laid down with stone. All around it, just as far as I could see, the water was thick withships, steamboats, and small boats, all flying up and down and across, like living things, each with an errand of its own. There, along theedges of the city, was what seemed to me like a forest of dead trees, without a leaf or a sign of greenness upon them. 

"Well, " says the captain, "you see that we have run the gate. Never beenhere before, I reckon?"

"No, never, " says I, "and hope I never shall be again. "

"I thought things seemed a little green, " says he. 

"From the Green Mountains, " says I. 

"Exactly, " says he. "Well, how do you like the looks of the city?"

"Hazy, " says I; "dry as tinder. All stone walls, and too many dead treesabout for my notion. "

"Dead trees? I have never seen any, " says he, a-looking around. 

"Must be awful short-sighted, " says I. "Just look down there; it is likea burnt faller. "

He looked ahead where my finger was pointing, and laughed right out. 

"Why, that is the shipping, " says he. 

"Shipping, " says I. "Don't tell me that! I wasn't brought up in thewoods not to know tree trunks when I see them, dead or alive. "

"But I assure you those are the masts of vessels. You can see the hullsnow. "

I did see the hulls, and felt dreadfully; what would the captain thinkof me! At once I looked up. 

"Yes, " says I. "There is no question about it. Those are the hulls ofships, and the others are masts; but I was right. "

He laughed: "But you said they were dead trees. "

"Just so. Isn't a mast made out of a tree?"

"Certainly. "

"And isn't the tree dead before it can be made into a mast?"

"Why, yes, " says he, and now it was his turn to be down in the mouth. 

"Well, then, isn't the edge of the water there chuck full of deadtrees?"

At first the captain sort of choked a little; but the next minute heburst out a laughing. 

"Do you want to know my opinion?" says he. 

"Well, rather, " says I. 

"Well, it's this: Green Mountain or not, if anybody buys a certain ladyI know of for a fool, he'll get awfully taken in. "

"Shouldn't wonder, " says I. 

With that, I picked up my umbrella, tied my bonnet a little tighter, took my bandbox in one hand, and followed the crowd across a plankbridge, and got into about the dirtiest road that my foot ever trod on. 

"Want a carriage? Want a carriage?" I never saw men more polite than thedrivers with whips were. It seemed as if they couldn't do enough for me. It really was a strife which should take me in his carriage. Theirattentions really were flattering. It was like a welcome in this strangeplace. 

It was like being in a little room all cushioned seats and windows whenI got into the great double carriage so kindly offered me. 

The cushions were soft as down, and gave so, when I seated myself, thatI couldn't help catching my breath. "Where to, " says the driver, a-leaning through the window. 

"First, " says I, "if it won't be too much trouble, I will go somewhereand buy a new satchel; I really don't feel at home without one. Then youmay take me to a boarding-house in Bleecker Street. You'll know where itis by inquiring about a little. The name is Smith, and they come fromVermont. Their daughter married and settled on Sprucehill. Smith. Youcan't help but find them. "

"Have you got a number?" says the man. 

"No, " answers I, "only one family. "

"But the house. "

"No, " says I again. "I haven't got any house, but the old homestead onSprucehill. "

"But Bleecker is a long street. "

"Is it?"

"And I must have a number. "

"Why, isn't one street of a name enough?" says I, getting out ofpatience. "What on earth do you want?"

"I want the name of the people. "

"Smith. "

"And the number of the house they live in. "

"Oh, then, houses go by numbers, not names, here in York, do they? Stopa minute!"

Here I took a slip of paper from my pocket-book which Smith's daughterhad written, and gave it to him. 

"All right, " says he, hopping up the wheel, and going to his seat. Thenaway we rolled, genteel as could be. 

I bought the satchel at a store we drove by, and then we went on and onand on, till at last he stopped before a brick house with a good deal ofiron about it. 

The driver jumped down, ran up the steps, pulled a rusty knob fastenedto the door stone, and faced round towards his horses. 

A girl I should consider as hired help opened the door. 

"Is Mrs. Smith at home?" says I, a-putting my head out of the window. 

"Yes, " says she. 

"I'll get out, " says I. 

The driver unfolded a lot of steps that had been hid away under thewindows. I went down them with a genteel trip. The man had been sopolite, I stopped to thank him. 

"Three dollars, " says he, a holding out his hand. 

"Three dollars? What for?" says I, all in a flutter. 

"For bringing you here, " says he. "Stopping on the way, and so on. "

"But you invited me. "

The fellow grinned, and held out his hand harder than ever. The help ontop of the steps giggled. 

"Come, look sharp, I can't wait all day, " says he, as pert as a fox. 

"Well, " says I; "being an unprotected female in a strange place, I can'thelp myself, I guess; but they do sell politeness awful dear in York. Itmust be scarce. "

I gave him three dollars without another word, feeling like a robbedprincess as I did it. Then I took the bandbox and new satchel in myhand, and walked into Smith's boarding-house, about the homesickestcreature that ever bore a cross. 

II. 

PHŒMIE'S FIRST VISIT. 

Sisters:--Some of you must remember my cousin Emily Elizabeth Frost, that married a Dempster ten years ago when most of us were little mitesof things sewing our over-and-over seams. She was a smart creatureenough, and as her mother was a proper, nice woman, it was reasonable tohope that she could be depended on to bring up her children; for herfather was a deacon in the church, and her mother just the salt of theearth. Well, as soon as I got settled in my boarding-house, I took itinto my head to go and see Cousin Elizabeth. She hadn't been to Vermontlately, and I'd rather lost track of her; so I gave one morning tohunting her up. 

Some useful things can be found in a great city like this. Now, I tellyou, amongst them is a great, fat dictionary, crowded full of names, where everybody that keeps a decent house sets down the number, which isa convenience for strangers like me. 

I found the name of Cousin Elizabeth's husband, who keeps a banksomewhere down town, the book said, and got into the first street carthat went towards the Central Park. After a while I got out and huntedup the number, feeling awfully anxious, for the houses about there werewhat the papers call palatial--a word we have not much use for in ourparts. I just stopped on the other side of the street and took a generalsurvey before I attempted to go in, feeling more and more fidgety everyminute, for that house just took me down with its sumptuousness. Suchgreat windows, with one monstrous pane in a sash, and lace and silk andtassels shining through! The front was four stories high and ended offwith the steepest roof you ever saw, just sloping back a trifle, andflattening off at the top, with windows in it, and all sorts of colorsin the shingles, which they call "tiles" here. Then the stone stepswound up to a platform with a heavy stone railing on each side, and agreat shiny door, sunk deep into the wall, was wide open, and beyond itwas one of glass, frosted over like our windows on a snapping coldmorning, and under my feet was a checkered marble floor. I found theknob of a bell sunk into the door jamb, and pulled it a little, feelinghalf-scared to death. Then I just stepped in and waited in front of theglass door. 

A colored person of remarkably genteel appearance opened the door, andgave me a look from head to foot that riled the old Adam in my bosom;then he muttered something about the basement; but I put him down withjust that one lift of my finger. 

"Is my cousin, Mrs. Dempster, at home?" says I. 

"I--I'll inquire, " says he, as meek as Moses; "walk in. "

Walk in I did. 

"Have you a card?" says he. 

"No, " says I; "as a general thing cards ain't desirable among relations, nor moral under any circumstances with religious friends. Say that MissFrost is here--Miss Phœmie Frost, from the State of Vermont. No cards!"

The fellow opened a door on one side of the hall, and I went through. Don't expect me to describe that room. It isn't in me to give the leastidea of it. Great chunks of glass like the hub of a wheel, with crookedspokes of glass starting every way from it, and what seemed likehundreds of icicles falling from them, dropped down from the ceiling. When the negro opened the blinds and let in a drift of sunshine, theyturned into a snarl of rainbows that fairly blinded me. Then there was acarpet soft as spring grass in a meadow, and bright as a flower-garden;chairs shining with gold and silk; marble women, white as milk, with nota thing on worth speaking of, and looking-glasses half as large as ourspring ponds. 

I turned my looks away from the women without clothes, while thatcolored person was by; but gave them a skimpy peep or two the minute hewas gone. Really, it was dreadful. I would not have believed such thingsof Cousin Elizabeth. 

Oh mercy on me! while I was looking, in came a gentleman, who bowed, andtook a chair, and sat smiling on those creatures just as if he was usedto it. Talk of blushing--my face was one blaze of fire. 

While I was wondering what I should do, a girl, or what ought to havebeen a little girl, came sidling into the room, gave me a look as if I'dbeen a dog in the wrong place, and went up to the gentleman. 

"Mamma will be down directly, and has sent me to entertain you, " saysshe, shaking out her short skirts, and almost sitting down on thecrimpy hair that half covered them behind. "Ah! I see you are admiringour crouching Venus. Lovely, isn't it? The curving lines are so perfect. The limbs--have you observed the foreshortening of that limb?"

The foreshortening of that limb? Mercy on me, I couldn't stand it. Another minute and I should have boxed her ears, for all the blood thatburned in my face went tingling down to my fingers. That was too much;so I up and said I would call again, and marched right out of the house. Girls indeed!

III. 

ABOUT GIRLS. 

Dear Sisters:--You ask a puzzling and painful question--What kind ofgirls do the children I write about make?

My dear friends, girls--modest, rosy, bright-eyed school-girls, such asyou are a-thinking of--are scarce as hen's teeth in this great city, andnot to be found in profuseness anywhere. They went out with pink calicosun-bonnets, and ain't likely to come in again yet awhile, I tell you!Republican institutions can be carried to a great extent; and our youngones have found it out, and trample down all the good, wholesome oldfashions before their little feet quite get out of baby shoes. At thismoment I can't find a girl of twelve years old that don't know athousand times more than her mother, and wouldn't attempt to teach lawto her father if he was a judge in the Supreme Court. Yet, it's ashocking truth, the little upstarts don't know how to read likeChristians, or spell half their words. The tip-top fashionableschool-marms here are quite above teaching such common things as readingand spelling, and turn up their noses at any study that hasn't some"ology" or "phy" at the end of it. 

I should just like to have a string of the girls that walk in squads upand down the Fifth Avenue, with short dresses and hair streaming loosedown their backs, in a district school-house, with no books butWebster's Spelling-book and the Columbian Reader. Wouldn't I astonishthem with science? I guess they would understand the meaning of aspelling-class by the time I got through with 'em!

As for arithmetic, they don't know what it is in these high-falutinseminaries; mathematics is the word; A B roots and squaring circles, asif circles ever would be square. Of course they can't, having been triedand kept round as an O all the time. But these A's and B's, and rootsand such like, are considered as arithmetic for girls here; so the endof it is, they can, maybe, tell you how many square feet there are in abuilding lot, but couldn't add up ten shillings to save their lives; ofcourse they forget how to estimate the square feet for want of havingunlimited building lots to work on, while the washing bill and girl'swages and such things, come up every day all through their lives. 

What _do_ girls learn at the schools?

Oh, a mighty deal that some good women pass half through a lifetimewithout knowing, and are just as likely as not all the better for it. Some of the lessons are paid for, and some are given free gratis fornothing by the scholars to each other, and what some of them don't knowin the way of flirting, drooping the eyes, and things you never dreamedof, ain't worth keeping secret. 

"A little leaven leavens the whole lump. " That passage has alwaysrelieved my feelings about the old patriarchs; for it's a proof thatthey and their families had raised bread in those old Bible times; andlight bread, even if saleratus has to be used, is a blessing on thedomestic hearth. For that reason, I'm astonished that bread-making isleft to men-bakers here in York. But this passage sometimes puts you inmind of something beside turnpike emptins. I should like to promulgatesome genuine old-fashioned ideas into these tip-top schools, where onebold, forward girl with unwholesome ideas in her head, would set themworking like leaven in every innocent young soul in the seminary. Somehow, more or less, girls always do manage to give a good deal ofknowledge that isn't set down in the bill, though that is generally longenough, goodness knows. 

I wish you could see one of these bills with the extras. Now in ourdistrict schools, there isn't much chance for the scholars to get overintimate. They don't sleep and eat and work together, like canary birdscrowded in one cage and huddled together on one roost; the weak don'tcatch the faults of the strong, and if they did, the free breezes of ourhills would sweep them away before the poison struck in. Flirtations donot become a science with them before they can spell "baker, " and theydon't often learn such things from their New England mothers, anyhow. 

Well, I would give a good deal to see a genuine girl who did not thinkherself a marvel of superior knowledge at twelve, or had not plungedinto a heart disease at the sight of some hotel lounger at fourteen. Itell you, sisters, these young creatures have too much liberty; theyhave no wholesome growth either of body or mind. They know too much atfifteen, and will know a great deal too little at forty. 

The girl of twelve--which is about the age you are thinking of--has agreat deal more assurance than some of our church members at fifty. Babyboys and girls haven't gone quite out of fashion, but they are gettingscarcer every year, people tell me; and regular-built, wholesomechildren are as hard to find here as green gooseberries in October. I'veseen plenty of little men and women, that couldn't speak plain to savetheir lives, dressed out like soldiers on a training day, with shortfrocks or tunics, and legs as bare as bare could be; but such boys andgirls as we remember are not to be found anywhere nowadays, I tell you. 

What does all this mean? Just this: Mothers don't trust their young onesout of fashion long enough to grow. Besides, there isn't, only now andthen, one who gets acquainted with her own child well enough to knowwhat is good for it. Why, these city women would go crazy to see alittle girl, six years old, swing upon a gate or riding horseback on arusty old farm-horse, gripping the mane with both hands, and sending upshouts of fun if she happened to tumble off. Children, in the naturalstate, love water, like ducks and goslings. It used to be a sight towatch them, knee-deep in the brooks, with their tenty-tointy feetshining through the ripples, as they hunted for water-cresses and sweetflag-root; but catch one of your new-fangled young ones at anything withso much human nature in it. All the water they see is in the bottom of abath-tub, rubbed on their skimpy limbs by an Irish girl's hands. Not themother's. Oh, no! Care of one's own children is too much for a healthyyoung woman nowadays. Being a professor and member of a church, I wantto speak accordingly, and just drop the mothers here. Christian languageisn't up to the occasion. 

Well, as I was saying, the meanness of these mothers in hiving up theiryoung ones and cheating 'em out of the very best years of life, isenough to make a saint mad. The rough-and-tumble season, which gives achild sound lungs, strong limbs, and a brain that thinks of nothing buthigh play, is just knocked out of their lives. It's an awful swindle onthe poor little things, and I'm not afraid to say it openly andabove-board here in my very first report. 

If I haven't a right to speak on this subject, I should like to know whohas. That's all. I never had a child of my own, which is, perhaps, natural to a state of single blessedness, and so had plenty of time tomake other people's children a speciality. Besides, haven't I keptdistrict school, and boarded round enough to get an inside view of agood many family circles? Haven't I seen droves of young ones, in loosecalico slips or cosey-fitting jackets and trousers, coming miles toschool, only setting their dinner baskets down now and then to stone asquirrel, or climb up among the burrs of some great chestnut limb whichoffered to give them a ride to Boston or a trip to Canterbury. 

Dear me, I think I see them now running "like split, " as they said, tocatch up time, with such a lively color rushing through the tan on theirfaces, hats off, and sun-bonnets flying out by the strings. 

There, that's what I call childhood. You and I, sister, know somethingabout it; now don't we? Do you remember that little red school-housewhere we learned our letters, and the old broken-limbed apple-treebehind it? No wonder the limbs got scraggly; they couldn't stand horsefor a whole school, year after year, without some wear and tear, couldthey?

Well, may be you and I owe to that old patriarch more than we know of. The apples were so sour the pigs wouldn't eat 'em, but they never hurtus. Then the limbs stretching out every which way--weren't they splendidto swing on, and in a hot day the shade was like a tent. 

You and I have been tough and hearty all our lives, just as like as noton account of that old tree and the long road home, and the pine woodsit ran through, with the good wholesome samp and milk when we got there. There was generally a little red light in the sky from the sunset whenwe went to bed, and just a streak of rosy yellow when we got up, withdew enough on the grass to wash our faces in before breakfast. 

That's what I call life for a child; all out-doors for a playground, good, sound sleep, plenty of wholesome food, three times a day, andalways hungry at that. Why, the few years after you begin to toddle, andbefore you learn to read, if you're properly let alone, are choke-fullof happiness that ripples like a brook through your whole life. I say, once more, it's a sin and a shame to cheat a child out of that which isjust God's portion of a human life. 

Now I ask you, isn't it probable, between you and I, that the Saviourpicked out just such bright, happy little creatures as these, when Hetook 'em in His arms and blessed 'em, and said of such is the kingdom ofheaven. If the apostles wanted to hunt up one of the kind now, they'dhave to catch it in the cradle. Just think of bringing forward one ofthe little things we meet in the avenues here, to be held up as amonument--all flutings and lace, kid gaiters, pink and blue sashes, longwhite feathers, and parasols. Yes, believe it or not, I say parasolsabout the size of a poppy. Oh, don't mention it! The whole thing makesme sick. The children you meet here in York look like little barefootedscarecrows, or else like motto papers afloat. 

But are all the little folks you see painted like a dahlia, and pink ashollyhocks. You are asking this question in the Society. I know it. Well, I should rather think not. These whipper-snappers go tipping downthe avenues, and ride with their mothers' lap-dogs in the Park, a-looking like their own French dolls, and are about as likely to makemen and women. 

IV. 

MORE ABOUT GIRLS. 

Sisters:--My cousin's little girl has just upset me. Remember she is myown flesh and blood; and genuine honest blood in Vermont is as pure asthe sap in our maple-trees, and ought to keep sweet as the sugar we makefrom it, wherever it is found. Being my second cousin in her own right, I expected to find her a model of what the rising generation ought tobe, and went to that house, exalting myself accordingly. I shall find, thought I, a genteel, modest, seemly little lady, polite, and cordiallyglad to see a relative that wants to love her and exalt her into apattern and a monument of female promise. But instead of that, justread my last report, though it must fall short of giving you any ideahow heavy my heart was, and how my brain burned with disappointment. 

_Has_ female modesty died out since you and I came into the world? orwas it burnt over during the war, like the great prairies, where the hotflames parch up all the sweet green grass and the bright flowers, killing them root and blossom, snakes likewise? One thing is certain, mydear sisters in the cause, honesty among men and modesty among women gohand in hand all over the earth. When women degenerate, it is becausethe moral atmosphere which they breathe is tainted and unwholesome. Something has gone awfully wrong both with the men and women of Americain these latter years. The fraud and demoralization of the thing theycall "shoddy" has settled down upon our social life everywhere. Ishudder to think of it! With a constitution made strong with fresh airfrom the Green Mountains, and morals consolidated in the oldestcongregation of the State, I feel afraid of myself and almost weary ofwell-doing. It has become so miserably unfashionable to be honest, thatpeople seem to think me crazy when I speak my mind. 

Do not start and say that Phœmie Frost is ready to give up her mission;because she isn't of that sort. Her hand is on the plough--they spell it_plow_ here, which takes away half the strength of that agriculturalword--on the plough, is she, a female, to turn back because rocks androots choke up the furrow? Not if Miss Frost knows anything of herself!

Speaking of female modesty, between my little cousin and that marblegirl, the poor naked creature seemed to have the most of it. She didscrouch down and try to hide herself behind herself, as if she wasashamed that the man who made her had forgot to cover her up a little. But the live girl did not seem to feel for her a mite; in fact, I thinkshe enjoyed seeing her scrouch, because of the foreshortenings, youknow. 

It's of no use denying it, I did feel down in the mouth about this girl;and seeing my duty clear, determined to do it or perish in the attempt. 

Once more I stood in front of that "palatial residence, " and, with ahand made firm by a powerful sense of duty, pulled the silver knob inthe jamb of the door. The same finified youngster came and asked me withhis saucy eyes what I wanted there. This time I had written out a squarepiece of paper, on which he had the pleasure of reading: "Miss PhœmieFrost, Home Missionary and Special Plenipotentiary from the Society ofInfinite Progress, Sprucehill, Vermont. " "Think, " says I, when I handedhim the paper, "if this don't fetch them all down a notch or two, nothing will. "

And it did!

Yes, I have the pleasure of saying pretension and pomposity do have awonderful effect here in New York. I don't know whether it was themissionary or the plenipotentiary that brought my cousin to her oats, but rather think it was the latter--having a foreign twang to it, ofcourse, it impressed her aristocratically. 

The waiter-man took me into the drawing-room, as he called it, but why, no human being could have told; for there wasn't a sign of drawingpaper, pencil, nor painting things in sight. In fact, it was theself-same room that I went into the last time I was there. A littledarker and more sunsetty, because the red curtains swept close, andblinds were rolled down under the lace. There was that marble girl, too, a-looking at me as if half-scared to death; but in that light she seemeddressed in a veil of pink gauze, and looked just lovely. There being noman by I really could have kissed her, she seemed so sweet, and soawfully ashamed of herself huddled down as if she longed to creep out ofsight. 

The door opened, and that fellow came in simpering like a chessy cat, and asked if I would be so good as to walk up to the boudor. 

"To the what?" says I. 

"To the ladies' boudor, " says he, a turning his head, and trying tochoke off a laugh. "This way!"

I took my satchel from a table all framed in gold, and checkered withprecious stones, where I had laid it down. Then, bowing my head andlifting my forefinger, told that servile creature to proceed, with anair of command that quenched his saucy smile in no time. 

Up the stairs he went, and I followed after; treading a carpet that gaveto the feet like a meadow in its first spring grass. Through an opendoor I saw my cousin lifting herself up from a sofa, covered with bluesilk and open-worked lace. Then she dawdled towards me with one handout, and the laziest smile you ever saw about her mouth. 

"Cousin Emily, " says I, "how do you do?"

"My dear Miss Frost, " says she, "I'm happy to make your acquaintance. "

Happy to make my acquaintance, and I her first cousin. Did you ever?

At first I _was_ taken aback, and felt as if I should choke. Hadn't Ilearned that great white creature her letters? Hadn't I spent dollars onher for slates and pencils, besides taking her to the maple camps whenshe was a little girl, and giving her no end of sweet sap to drink. Whowas it but me that turned down her first over-and-over seam, and gaveher a tentie-tointy silver thimble to take the stitches with. I wonderwhat she did with it? Now she was happy to make my acquaintance, anddragged a double winrow of worked flounces, topped off with a muslinskirt and scarlet training jacket, across the room to tell me so. Ourmothers were sisters; pray remember that!

"Take that seat, " says she, a-dropping down to the sofa as a great whitehen turkey settles onto its nest. "How long have you been in the city?Do you make anything of a visit? So thoughtful and kind of you to giveme an early call. "

There I sat, straight as a sign-post, with my satchel in my lap, andboth hands on that, riling up like an Irish girl's coffee, and feelingthe wrath within me grow stronger and stronger while she settled backand half-shut her eyes, and seemed to be quite satisfied that she haddone her best. I could see that her half-shut eyes were turned on myalpaca dress, which was a trifle dusty, and on my cotton gloves, thatwere clean and whole, at any rate. While she examined them, I took anobservation of her. Mercy, how she has changed! Five times the hair sheever had before hung in great, heavy braided loops down her back. Theremust be some way of making the hair grow, 'specially here in York, thatwe never heard of. And her figure, which was slim and graceful as thedroop of a willow when she married, has swelled out fearfully behind, which makes her seem to stoop, and gives one the most humpy idea of acamel in motion of anything I know, which, being Scriptural, is, I daresay, the only religious idea she has kept firm to. 

"You called the other day, " says she. "I was so sorry not to have seenyou; but I was dressing to go out. Still, you saw my little girl?"

"Yes, " says I, "I saw your little girl; and, to tell you the honesttruth, that is what brings me here now. I haven't had a minute's restsince I was here. Why, Cousin Emily, I expected to see a child. Insteadof that--"

She roused up at this, opened her eyes wide, and interrupted me. 

"Instead of that, " says she, turning a great gold bracelet on her arm, and smiling as if what she was saying swelled her out withpride--"instead of that, you found a finished young lady. No wonder youwere surprised. "

"A finished young lady!" says I, riling into strength. "That is what nochild ever can be; and let me tell you, the attempt to force one intosuch an unnatural creature is abominable. You can polish every bit ofthe modesty and innocence of childhood out of a little girl; but allthat you can get for it is affectation and self-sufficient impertinence, becoming neither to the child nor the woman. Why, cousin, the littlecreature I saw in your parlor--sent there, as she said, to _entertain agentleman_--was just an absurdity to him, and to me something dreadful. I asked myself what a child like that would become at forty years ofage. Why, cousin, when she is at her meridian she will feel herself atleast a hundred and fifty. You have cut off all the bloom and richnessof a young life; you have made a dainty little monster of her--sweptaway all companionship with children, and made it presumption andimpertinence when she attempts to force herself among her elders. Icould not be so cruel to a dog as you have been to that child. "

Cousin Emily woke up now with a vengeance. Her sleepy eyes flashedlightning. "Cruel!" says she. "I cruel to my only daughter? Why, thereis not a child in America who has had such care--such abundant chancesfor improvement. She has been to the most expensive schools. "

"Exactly, " says I. 

"She has had masters at home--music, dancing, the languages--"

"Exactly, " says I. 

"Things that I never thought of learning she has mastered. "

"Just so, " says I. 

"She had a French nurse before she could speak. No expense has beenspared by her father. I never had such chances; and we are determined togive her a splendid education. In fact, she might come out this season, so far as that is concerned; but I have resolved to be rigid--not a daybefore she is seventeen. Then her education will be complete. "

"Her education complete at seventeen! Why, Cousin Emily, a woman'seducation is _never_ complete. At the best schools we get but a dreamysort of idea of the things we must bring all the faculties of awell-regulated mind to understand in after years. A well-educated womanis one who studies and learns something every day of her life--whothinks about what she sees, and acts upon what she knows. "

Cousin Emily lifted up both hands, all covered with shining rings, as ifto choke me off. I stopped. Far be it from Phœmie Frost to force theopinions of our Society upon unwilling ears; but I lifted my forefingerin solemn admonishment, and says I:

"Oh, Cousin Emily, Cousin Emily, has it got so that you hold up bothhands against common-sense!"

"Not against common-sense, " says she, "but against your uncommonly longsentences. Why, Miss Frost, it is like our old-fashioned countrypreaching. "

"Which has died out of your heart, I dare say. Oh, Emily, Emily, whatwould your sainted mother, my aunt, say?"

This brought the misguided woman to her tears. She sat up on thatlace-silk sofa, straight and listening, as I have seen her many a timeon the a b c bench at school, when her little feet couldn't touch thefloor. 

"Cousin Phœmie, " says she, "I am trying to do what is right. "

"I hope so, " says I, with tears of thankfulness in my eyes, for the"Cousin Phœmie" went straight to my heart. "But my mind isn't quiteequal to more of this conversation this morning. The next time I comethis way we shall both be more like our natural selves. "

With that I tightened my cotton gloves, took up my satchel, and leftthat house, feeling that I had paved the way to a good work hereafter. 

V. 

POOR CHILDREN. 

Are there no genuine children among the poor of New York?

Beloved sisters, your question wrings the heart in my bosom. I asked itof myself this very morning, and resolved to investigate. 

I hadn't found a child that could be called a child outside aperambulator, which means a little carriage pushed by an Irish girl, with a cap on, along the avenues. So I took my mission down among thetenement-houses. There I found young ones on the sidewalks, thedoorsteps, and in the gutters, thick as grasshoppers in a dry pasturelot, all hard at work, trying to play. But the play seemed more likefighting than fun. Two girls stopped me on the sidewalk, swinging thedirty end of a rope, while another tried to jump it, but only trippedup, and went at it again. Shaking her loose hair, and--yes, I say itwith tears in my eyes--swearing at the other two. 

I laid my hand on her head, and gently expostulated. She was a littlemite of a girl, with a sharp, knowing face. The first word she spokemade my nerves creep. Why, that little thing had the wickedness of anold sinner on her baby mouth, and couldn't speak it out plain yet. 

Oh! my dear sister, and you, my friend, in the great course of infiniteprogress and general perfection, had you been with me, almostbroken-hearted among that rabble of children, who will never, never knowwhat childhood is, the last pound of butter and dozen of eggs in ourvillage would be freely given to support my mission here. Barefooted, bareheaded, barelegged, and, it seemed to be, bare of soul, these littlewretches swarmed around me when I kindly asked the baby girls not toswear, all making faces at me. The boys, that sat with their feet in thegutters, flung away the oyster-shells and lobster claws they had justraked from an ash-barrel, and began to hoot at me. One littlewretch--forgive me for calling names--not more than five years old, hada cigar in his mouth half as long as his own arm. When I stooped down totake it from him, he gave a great puff right into my eyes, and scamperedoff, with his dirty fingers twirling about his face like the handle of acoffee-mill. 

As a New England woman, whose duty, I take it, is to set everybodyright, I wasn't to be put down by a boy like that, but caught him by thecollar of his jacket, snatched the cigar from his lips, and flung itinto the gutter, where it sizzled itself out. Then I lifted myforefinger as I do in Sunday-class, and began to admonish him. Butinstead of listening, he got the skirt of my alpaca dress between histeeth and ground a great hole in it, swearing like a trooperbetweenwhiles. 

Oh, sister! that was a trying season! In less than three minutes thesidewalk was swarming with dirty-faced children. I might as well havebeen in a wasps' nest. The spiteful imps buzzed around me so--littlegirls, with lank hair falling over their eyes; lazy boys, swaggeringlike drunken men, and swearing like troopers; and a woman--the boy whosmoked called her mother--who stood on a doorstep, with a hand on eachhip, scolding like fury. I kept my finger up. They would not hear a wordI said, but I felt it my duty to do that much, when a very gentlemanlyman in blue regimentals touched my arm, and observed in the kindest waythat things were getting so mixed and unpleasant perhaps I would permithim to escort me round the corner. You know, sister, I always had apower in the lift of my finger. It was wonderfully manifest just as thisgentleman crossed the street, and must have astonished him, for thechildren hushed up at once, and huddled back to the doorstep like aflock of lambs, which was an evidence of moral suasion I take pride inreporting to the Society. 

VI. 

HE HAS COME. 

Sisters:--As a representative of your august body, I ought now to havebeen in an atmosphere of royalty--Imperial royalty, which counts at ANo. 1, as kings are put down. The young potentate of all the Russias, with all his ships and things, ought to have been on hand a week ago;but he still lingers on the "rolling sea and briny deep, " a prey, it isdreadfully to be feared, to sea-sickness--which, they tell me, isheart-rending--and storms which are liable to aggravate thesea-sickness. 

I sympathize with that young man in all the depths of my femininenature--which are getting bottomless from the great need of compassionwhich human life exhibits to the thinking mind. He ought to have beenhere when our enthusiasm was at its hottest point. Then he would havehad the stormiest sort of a welcome. The soldiers were ready to file outany minute; the mouths of ever so many cannon were burning to let offfire; all the ships would have burst into a storm of flags at the firstgun. People couldn't but just keep from shouting every time they meteach other. But the young man didn't come. He hasn't come yet, and allthe enthusiasm is burning down to cinders and ashes. When he does come, I'm afraid it'll be like putting a mess of apples into an oven after thepan of baked pork and beans has been drawn out--half roasted, and hardat the core when you cut 'em. 

This is a great country, my friends--in fact, very extensive--but youcan't wake it up to an earthquake of enthusiasm about the same personmore than once. That prince had better have struck when the iron wasred-hot. He didn't, and so I can't tell you anything about him, exceptthat he isn't more at sea than the rest of us. When he does come, dependupon it, there will be an uprising among the females of this great city;and foremost of her sex will be your representative, faithful to hertrust, and ready, with a modest helping hand, to lead this young personinto the paths of propriety. 

He has come at last, but the bitter-sweet of hope and fear has beengiven us as daily food for two weeks past, and the wormwood of ceaselessapprehension took the place of the yellow berries, and nightshadedarkness settled down upon us. Lovely young girls cried over theirball-dresses of illusion, and wondered if _their_ hopes would thin offinto the same slimpsy nothingness. Middle-aged ladies, whose hair needsno powder, and whose teeth never ache, began to falter in the dancingsteps practised in the private recesses of their own palatial homes, and wondered if their joints were to be twisted and racked into new-borngraces, only to settle down into rusty stiffness again without havingfascinated the Russian soul out of that princely bosom. 

Of course it is right and proper that an opportunity to study theantiquities of a nation should be offered to every potentate and princethat honors our Republican shores by setting his high-born foot uponthem, and it is highly proper that first-class specimens should be inreadiness the moment he enters a ball-room. That is what people tell mehas always been the custom at balls given to princes, and it isn'tlikely that new rules are to be laid down for the benefit of a lot ofgirls, anyhow. Governors and mayors are not often so young as they havebeen. As a general thing, their wives are not troubled with an epidemicof youth and beauty. It is an awful omission in the laws, but thesedignified chaps can't get up young and dashing wives for the occasion, when a great high potentate from over seas shines down upon us in thedancing way. I haven't a doubt they would like to sacrifice themselvesand astonish the world by so doing, but common people would be apt tocall it bigamy. So they have to do the very best they can with suchwives as they have got, and furbish them up with diamonds, laces, flounces, and a dancing-master, till they answer to begin with. 

I don't mean to be hard or sarcastical on this subject, but in thesetimes, when it is so easy for a man to put away his wife, couldn't thisofficial potentate get a temporary divorce just for the occasion, especially if the kingly visitor happens to be young and very fond ofdancing. It would give us young girls a chance. 

Don't think that I am putting on airs, or that I don't feel reverentialwhen age is mentioned, but Emperors' sons don't come to our free land ofliberty every day, and girls are so plenty that old folks ought to standback. Far be it from Phœmie Frost, on her own humble merits, to buildupon opening that ball with the Imperial Duke of all the Russias; but aSociety like ours has its social, moral, and scientific claims. As forliterature, since my reports have been honored by publication, I mustmaintain the dignity of the position. If dignity and age is to lead inthis grand ceremonial, I have kept school, and--well, yes--no, one couldsay that I--in fact, as to years, am I not competent to open the ballwith any prince that can come across the ocean, be he boy or patriarch?There, that sentence is off my mind, and I can go on without a hitch ofthe pen. 

In other respects I have been silently but surely preparing myself. TheSociety has been liberal, and most of my savings were in the bank, rolling up interest beautifully, when I came from my childhood's home. Then there was a handsome profit on the donation of eggs and butter andmaple-sugar which came in the freight train before I started. I attendedto the sale myself at the market, and had nothing to do with that Mr. Middleman people talk so awfully about as a cheat and a general grabber. Well, I dickered the things off at a good price, as I was a-saying, andhave got the money safe in my bosom--a hiding-place sacred to myselfalone. 

Thus lifted above all mercenary anxieties, I gave my attention entirelyto the self-improvement necessary to my appearance before his highnessas a representative character on whom the eyes of all Sprucehill werefixed. I would say the world--only for the modest consciousness thatcomes over me when I think of myself as a genius. 

VII. 

THE FRENCH DRESS-MAKER. 

Alpaca does make a first-class dress for our social gatherings andliterary circles in Sprucehill, and when puffed out behind, and trimmedpromiscuously with flutings, it sometimes has a sumptuous appearanceelsewhere; but for a ball, in which one aims to dance with a great grandArchduke of all the Russias--excuse me for saying it, but alpaca is notquite the thing. Doubtful of my own imperfect judgment, I asked afashionable dress-maker in the Third Avenue, who had "Madame" spelt withan E on her tin sign at the door, and she said: "It wasn't the thing fora lady entirely, by no manner of means, " and her tongue had a rich rollto it, which satisfied me that Ireland had sympathized with France inher troubles, to the extent of getting the language a little mixed. 

"No, " says she, a leaning both elbows on her counter, and a looking atme from head to foot. "Madame should have a _robe de_ silk, verycomplete, with flowers in her hair entirely, and an overskirt to thefore, garnitured with Limerick point. "

"An overskirt before, " says I, lifting both hands, satchel and all. "Why, every skirt that I've seen in the street, or anywhere else, waspuckered and bunched up behind, " says I. "Excuse me, but I reallycouldn't think of wearing 'em in any other way. "

The French dress-maker--I know she was French by the letter E afterMadam, and because the sign said she was from Paris. Well, she coloredup, and looked every which way at first, but then she gave a skimpinglaugh, and said that I didn't understand French. I--I didn't understandFrench! I who had studied "French without a Master" as a speciality, with the most intelligent member of our circle, and conversed in thelanguage as directed by that excellent book so fluently that thepronunciation sounded almost like English nipped off a little! This wastoo much. 

The clear grit, which lies at the bottom of every New England woman'sheart, riled up in mine when that cherished accomplishment was cast intodisrepute. 

"Madame, " says I, putting a keen emphasis on that E, "I came here toinquire about the most fashionable way of making a dress, not to give ortake a lesson in the languages. Permit me to say I never could submit towear an overskirt in the way you speak of--wrong side before--why, itwould look dreadfully. "

"But Madame does not understand; I speak English so much in this countrythat my own language gets knocked into smithereens. I beg pardon--intoconfusion. Madame must be very perfect herself to detect it. "

I felt a smile creeping over my lips. Really, sisters, I had been toohard on the poor woman. It was not her fault if my ear was so verycorrect that nothing but the purest accent could satisfy me. She sawthis look dawning upon my face, and I knew that she felt relieved by theway her elbows settled down on the counter again. 

"If madame will take a chair--that is, repose herself. Madame--"

"Excuse me, " says I, benignly, for I didn't want to hurt her feelingsagain. "_Mademoiselle_, if you please. "

"Pardon me, " says she, humbly. 

"Just so, " says I, benignly. "Now supposing we go on about thisball-dress. How much silk will it take?"

The woman sat and thought to herself ever so long. Then she counted herfingers over once or twice. Then she said she didn't exactly know howmuch, which is the way with dress-makers all over the world, I dobelieve. 

"But one won't buy a dress without knowing how much to ask for, " says I. "Say twelve yards now?"

The woman lifted herself right off from the counter, and sat staring atme. 

"Twelve!" says she, "eighteen at the least. "

I felt as if some one had struck me. Eighteen yards for a dress, andgored all to pieces at that!

"Some of your dress-makers in Broadway would want more than that!" saysshe, "and send for more and more after that. "

I made no answer, but took up my satchel and walked straight out of thedoor. 

Eighteen yards of silk for a dress! The thought of it kept me awake allnight. 

The next morning I went right up to the palatial residence of my cousin, Emily Elizabeth Dempster, feeling that she would expect me to enter onthat subject about bringing up children, which was my duty; but I was sodown in the mouth about that dress, that everything like a moral ideahad just swamped itself in those eighteen yards of silk; and instead ofgiving advice, I went into that house to beg for it, feeling all thetime as if somebody had dumped me down from a mighty high horse ontothat stone doorstep, and left me to travel home afoot. In fact, I feltas if coming to that house to ask about ball-dresses, instead of givinginstruction, was a mean sort of business. But the ambition of a great, worldly idea was burning in my bosom, and I resolved to press forward tothe mark of the prize of the high calling. 

Mercy on me! it is a ball-dress, not a class-meeting, that I am writingabout. Oh, my sisters! is it true that black angels and white angelsever do get to fighting in a human soul, just as they do down South? Ifso, they had a tussle in my bosom that morning, and the black fellowcame out best, with a gorgeous silk dress a-floating and a-rustling outfrom his triumphant right hand, and the splendid shadow of a great GrandDuke following after. 

Cousin Emily Elizabeth was just coming downstairs, flounced and puffedand tucked up about the waist, till she was all over in a flutter ofsilk, and lace, and black beads, with a dashing bonnet on her head highenough for a trooper's training-cap, all shivery with lace and bows, with one long feather curling half way round it, and a white tuftsticking up straight on the top, looking so 'cute and saucy. 

Emily Elizabeth looked a little scared when she saw me coming in with mysatchel; but when I told her what I wanted, her eyes brightened up, andshe laughed as easy as a blackbird sings. "Oh, is that all!" says she. "I thought it was about the children. I'll give you a note to mydress-maker. Styles all French, and _so recherché_. " Look in thedictionary, sisters, and you will discover that this means somethingfirst-class. 

She took out a pencil and a square piece of paper with her name printedon it, and wrote something French, with the number of a house, which Iwon't give, not wanting any of my friends to be talked out of a year'sgrowth, as I was. 

"There, " says she. "The cream-on-cream all go to her. She'll fit you outsplendidly. Leave it all to her. Good-morning, cousin; I must go; but mydaughter is in the drawing-room--she will entertain you. "

"Just so, " says I, putting the card in my satchel, and making swifttracks for the out-door; "but I haven't time to be entertained. "

VIII. 

THE GENUINE MADAME. 

Well, I went straight down to that dress-maker's house, and handed thesquare paper cousin had written on to a lady who was fluttering roundamong a lot of girls, all hard at work sewing, like bumble-bees in arose-bush. 

She looked at the paper; then she gave my alpaca dress an overhaulingwith her scornful eyes. Then she began to talk; but, my goodness, herFrench was awful. I couldn't understand a word of it. Once in a whileshe would chuck an English word in, and rush on again like a mill-dam. 

When I tried to put in a word of genuine French or pure English, shelifted her hands, hitched up her shoulders, and seemed as if she wasswearing at me one minute and wanted to kiss me the next. I couldn'tstand that. 

"How much will you ask--how many yards will it take. _La pre la pre?_"says I, bursting into French. 

The woman looked around on her girls, spread her hands as if praying forhelp, and then, all red in the face, she burst into English. Then I knewshe did not understand her own native tongue, and gave her a sarcasticsmile. 

"I find everything. How many yards? Oh, that depends on the idea, theinvention. I have it here growing in my brain. The price? Ah, I cannottell. When the work is complete then we know. There will be crêpe andpoint--"

"But I don't want points, " says I. "Talk in English if you don'tunderstand your own language. The price, the price!"

"Oh, very well, it shall be to your own satisfaction--perfect, " saysshe, and then the creature shook out her hands as if she was shewingchickens from a corn-crib, and before I could say another word sheshewed me on to the steps and shut the door. 

Well, I went back to my boarding-house, beat out and worried almost todeath. Figures are satisfactory to the New England mind; but when youhave only a whirlpool of broken words, ending with satisfaction, with awoman's hands spread out on her bosom, and nothing more, it istantalizing. But I reckon the figures will come by and by, only I_should_ like to have an idea of what they will count up to. 

As I was saying in the beginning of my report, ten thousand anxiousfemale bosoms thrilled with expectations every night, and existencedragged wofully in literary and fashionable circles until thatauspicious moment arrived when the son of an Imperial Emperor castrefulgence on our Western Hemisphere. But the waiting of us young girlswas lonesome, very. 

I had done my best. For the first time in my life I had twisted myfront hair into little wire tongs they call crimping-pins; maybe it wastheir tightness that held my eyes so wide open last night. I was tryingwith all my strength to shut them, when the sound of a cannon, ever sofar off, brought me up in the bed, with my hand clasped and the heart inmy bosom trembling like a frightened chicken. 

"He has come, " says I to myself. "Alexis has come. To-morrow we shallsee him--handsome, young, filled with Imperial royalty from the crown ofhis noble head to the soles of his patent-leather boots. But will hewear his crown in the procession, or only keep it for the grand ball. What if he should rest that crown on the head of some distinguishedAmerican, selecting a literary lady?" This thought impressed me; bothhands went up to my lofty brow. Alas! they only sent the crimping-pinsploughing across my head with a thorny sharpness that filled my throatwith screeches. 

My dress has come home--I am stunned:

 Thirty yards of silk, $10 per yard $300. 00 One piece French crape 25. 00 Ten yards Brussels point 100. 00 Linings 10. 00 Making 50. 00 Materials 35. 00 Silk buttons 12. 00 Passementerie, etc. 15. 50 ------- $547. 50

I have just recovered from a long fainting fit. They have taken thecrimping-pins out of my hair and deluged it with crystal water. I amlying on my couch faint and exhausted. Oh, my sisters, the paths ofroyalty are beautiful, but full of thorns. That bill has been enough todestroy all my pleasure in the visit of the Grand Duke Alexis. 

IX. 

READY TO LAND. 

The great Grand Duke of all the Russias has been thrown upon our shoreby an upheaving of the mighty deep, and is now rocking at his ease inthe iron-clad cradle of a great nation. Oh, he had a terrible time. Winds tossed him, storms pitched that noble vessel end foremost into thevery bowels of the sea, then hove it up on great mountain waves, whereit rocked and tottered and trembled, while the rain washed itsdecks--rendering mops useless--and the lightning got so tangled in thespars and rigging that you couldn't tell which was rope and which wasfire. 

Out of all this danger the great Grand Duke was blown upon our shore, with a good deal less fuss than Jonah had when he took to his life-boatwith fins and tail, and discharged cargo on a desert shore, without thefirst chance of an imperial reception, and nothing but an upstart guardto offer him the hospitalities of the country. 

Before daylight, Sunday morning, the vessel which bore that noble youth, all weather-beaten as a rusty potash kettle, but grand and majesticafter its tussle with the storms, shot out her anchor in the lowerbay--for New York has two bays, and two fine old rivers empty into them. The squadron--which means three or four other ships from Russia--hadbeen waiting there till their great iron hearts nearly burst with fearthat the imperial vessel had foundered; and when they saw it careeringin amongst 'em, they set up a shout that made the very fishes in the bayrest on their fins and wonder what it could mean, for they had neverheard Russians before, and it seemed as if the alphabet had been shakenten thousand times over from as many pepper-boxes, and rained down onthe water in one great shout. 

Nobody has told me yet how his imperial dukeship took this, and Ihaven't liked to inquire too closely. Supposing him asleep in the sweetprivacy of his own upper berth, it wouldn't be quite proper, you know, but it must have been soul-stirring to hear those native syllablesraining down blessings like tacks and brad-awls on his noble head. 

How our imperial guest spent the Sabbath-day is a mystery that Russiaand the Russians only can solve. But I am credibly informed that tenthousand upper-crust females betook themselves to secret devotions intheir own rooms, in crimping-pins and curl papers, the moment we gotnews that he was here. 

As for myself, I confess--no, our Society is not a confessional, and thesecrets of a lady's get-up don't belong to a report for the public eye. So I say nothing on that point. 

Sunday night I couldn't sleep a wink; my heart was full of nobleaspirations, and it seemed as if some wild Indian of the forest had gothis grip in my hair and might scalp me any minute, everything wastwisted so tight in that direction. In fact, to say nothing of sleeping, I couldn't have winked to save my life. But I bore it with Christianfortitude, determined to press forward to the mark of the prize. Oh, dear! will I ever remember that this report isn't a class-meetingconfession? Well, the morning came, and oh, my sisters, it was pouringcats and dogs. When I heard this, I rose up in bed, covered my face withboth hands, and just boo-hooed out a crying. I knew well enough that tenthousand other young girls were weeping like the skies; but that onlymade me feel worse and worse, for mine has always been a sympatheticheart, and I felt for them--I did indeed. 

I did not know what on earth to do. Cousin Emily Elizabeth Dempster hadpromised to come and take me down to the _Mary Powell_, a steamboatwhich the committee had engaged to take itself and all its wives andtheir friends, down to welcome the great Grand Duke, and bring him up tothe city. 

Cousin Emily Elizabeth's husband was a head cockalorum in thiscommittee, which being the _crême on crême_--excuse French, it willbreak in somehow in spite of me--well, which being the _crême on crême_that had skimmed itself off from all the common milk of New Yorksociety, puffed Cousin E. E. Up like--like a ripe button-ball. 

Since my reports have appeared in what the newspapers call the world ofletters--I say it modestly, but truth is truth--Cousin E. E. Has beensweet as maple-sugar to me, I can tell you. She had her eye teeth cut inVermont, and understood that Queen Victoria knew there was one notchabove the crown when she took to writing books. I say nothing; but thereis an aristocracy that cuts its own way through all social flummery, like an eagle among chippen birds. That is real live genius; and if NewEngland hasn't got her share of that, I don't know where itshead-quarters are. 

Well, I and the clouds shed tears together for a good while; then Istarted up. "What if it does pour?" says I to myself; "the Grand Dukehas been in storms before this; he ain't sugar nor salt, to melt atanything less than the glance of a loving eye. What's the good of beingdown in the mouth about a little rain? I'll get up--I'll unskewer myhair--I'll put on _that dress_, if I die for it. " I started out of bed;I stood before the looking-glass; I began to untwist, to unroll; I didthe corkscrew movement; I jerked--I shook my hair out--ripple, ripple, ripple, it fell over my shoulders. Then I rested awhile, and winked myeyes with exquisite satisfaction--for freedom is sweet both to the headand heart. 

I felt like a new creature--a delicious looseness settled on mytemples--a feeling of feminine triumph swelled my soul. Could he resistthe fleecy softness of that hair--the thousand ripples breaking up thesunshine--only there wasn't any sunshine to break. Not a silver threadwas visible; if there had been several the night before, it was nobody'sbusiness but my own. My arms were tired with continual undoing; but, sisters, am I one to faint by the way? No, no, a thousand times no. 

I began to roll, to braid, to puff; I planted hair-pins in my head asthick as bean-poles in a garden. Heavy braids--expensive butlovely--fell down the back of my head; fluff on fluff shaded my loftyforehead. I say nothing; but my literary success, great as it is, hasnot been more satisfactory than this. 

I put on that dress in a great hurry, for Cousin E. E. Was at the doorin her carriage. How it glistened in the glass! How it swept out on thecarpet, a peacock's tail is a trifle compared to it! I tucked it up; Iturned the lining inside out, pinned it, puckered it round the waist, and then put on my new bonnet, which looked like a black beehive with abird perched on the top. Then, with a burning heart, that fairly turnedagainst it, I put on my waterproof cloak and pulled the hood over mypoor bonnet. 

I opened my cotton umbrella, and went down. Cousin E. E. Was waiting, and a tall fellow in half regimentals held the door open. I jumped in asspry as a cricket, and away we went. 

X. 

DOWN THE BAY. 

The _Mary Powell_ lay huddled up close to the wharf, with a great whiteflag crossed with blue stripes at one end, and the glorious oldstar-spangled banner at the other. In fact, she was all dressed out inflags. They were soaked through and through till their slimpsiness wasdistressing. In fact, the steamboat looked like a draggled rooster withno fence or cart to hide under. 

The committee were all there, with a whole swarm of ladies in waterproofcloaks, huddled together like chickens in a coop. There were generals, too, with gold epaulets on their shoulders: one that I'd heard of in thewar, General McDowell, and some others, that lighted up the deck alittle with their gold lace and sword-handles. 

She moved--I mean the _Mary Powell_. The sea was gray, the sky wasblack. Now and then I saw a flag fluttering by on some vessel, like apoor frightened bird searching for shelter, and pitied it. Then all atonce bang went a gun. I hopped right up, and screamed out:

"What's that?"

"The salute, " says a gentleman close by me. "A salute for the GrandDuke. "

I sat down astonished. 

"Sir, " says I, "I can't believe it. I--I've been saluted myself beforethis, and I know what it is. No human lips could have made that noise. "

The man looked at me, and puckered up his lips a trifle, as if he weretrying to choke back a laugh. 

"I'm speaking of guns, " says he, "not the sweet little salutes in yourmind. "

"Oh, " says I, "that makes a difference, though I never heard firing offguns by that name before. "

"The Grand Duke will have twenty-two of 'em, " says he. 

"Well, then, I'm glad it's only the guns, " says I, and a great big sighof relief came up from my jealous bosom. 

Then we all went on again, till I heard some one call out that we'd gotto heave-to. This scared me dreadfully. I looked around. Which two ofall these females did they mean to heave into the vasty deep? Not me forone. If Russia is barbarous enough to want that sort of cannibalhospitality, I'm counted out. 

Shivering with fear, I drew back into the crowd, but watched things likea cat. Drifting through the fog, I saw a little vessel coming close tous, as if she had something to do with this heathen ceremony. The ladiesin their waterproofs crowded to the side of the steamboat, as if theyrather panted for the glory of being drowned then and there for thepleasure of the great Grand Duke. 

I heard a splash, but could not see if any one had been flung over, andwhen I got up to look, there was a magnificent old fellow, with ribbonsin his coat and brooches set thick with shining stones on his bosom, a-coming up the side of the boat. He looks so proud and puffy, that Ishould have took him for the great Grand Duke, only that he wasn't nearyoung enough. 

"Who is it?" says I to the old gentleman. 

"Catacazy, " says he. 

"Cat--what?" says I, categorically. 

"Catacazy, the Russian Minister, " says he. 

"Minister, " says I; "do they mean to get up a prayer-meeting on board?"

The old gentleman simmered down the laugh that was on his lips into asmile, and said he thought not. 

This pacified me, and I sat still while we went down through the upperbay, which seemed wrapped in waterproofs too, and into the lower bay, which heaved and rolled as if it was half-choked up with sweltering wetblankets. Then we came in sight of the ships, and saw the flagsa-battling with the storm; but no one on board seemed to care acontinental cent whether New York sent out her _crême on crême_ or not. This silence made my heart sink. 

Then the minister went to the side of the vessel, leaned over, and swunghis hat. By and by a boat came from the great Grand Duke's vessel, inwhich an imperial-looking man stood upright, like a high-born monarch, and lifted his cap as if it had been a crown. 

"It is--it is--oh, yes, it is the Duke!"

This was on every lip but mine. I could not speak; exquisite emotionforbade it. 

No one came on board; but the minister with that catish name got intothe boat, and then some of the committee, which skimmed itself again, and thickened up its cream considerably. 

There we waited and waited. 

They came back at last. That young gentleman was not the great GrandDuke. He wasn't coming till next day. 

Oh, how we wilted! Some of us almost burst out a-crying. I did notspeak; I could not. Ever since we reached the lower bay, I had feltdreadfully discouraged; now a strange sinking of the heart seized uponme--a faint dizziness, an agony of disappointment seemed raging in mystomach. Oh, my sisters! these exquisite sensibilities are a proof ofgreatness, I know, but the sufferings they bring, no human being but thecreature of genius can tell. 

I am better. The glorious sight which followed that stormy day hasrelieved me. I have seen ten thousand flags blazing along Broadway--Ihave seen three times ten thousand republican worshippers waving theirhats and handkerchiefs in acclamations for the son of an imperialdespot. I have heard the glorious music of an imperial serenade--I haveseen HIM. 

XI. 

THE GRAND DUKE. 

Sisters:--I have seen him. This hand has been pressed--significantlypressed--by the soft, rosy palm of imperial royalty. If a tablet to mymemory should ever be sunk in the walls of our meeting-house, I chargeyou, dear sisters in the cause, to have this honor cut in Roman capitalsdeep into the marble; for what is an exaltation to me is glory to theSociety, and, in fact, to all Vermont. 

I have been on the same steamboat with the great Grand Duke; hissplendid blue eyes have looked into mine, and in that glance we grappledeach other, soul to soul. He has smiled upon me through the yellow gloryof that silky mustache, under which his plump, red lips shone likecherries, ripe enough to swallow, stones and all. He speaks English;reveres genius, and knows that it can never grow old. 

I saw him in Broadway, when all the New York militia turned out, whichwas a training day worth looking at. A snow-storm of handkerchiefsburst out of the windows; ten thousand female hands waved him forward. Shouts rose from the multitude; little children were crowded back intothe gutters; women were jammed together on doorsteps and curbstones. Infact, the skim milk of society was compelled to flow in awful narrowchannels, while the _crême on crême_--excuse French once more--rolledsmoothly through the city in carriages, with royalty leading the way, aregiment of trainers leading him, and a band of music leading the whole. 

I saw the whole glorious procession. From block to block I flitted, likesome aspiring bird on the crest of a wave. My heart was full, my eyesfixed on one object--that tall, noble figure, with a blue watered silkscarf across his royal bosom, and a half-moon hat, with dipping points, gracefully lifted from his head. He must have been dazzled; he must havebeen impressed by this proof that republics scorn monarchies and tramplethem under foot. 

I flitted onward through the crowd, waving my handkerchief from adoorstep now and then. That handkerchief the idol of this augustoccasion seemed to follow eagerly with his eyes, as a sort of beaconlight which kindred sympathy impelled him to recognize, for wherever Iwent he lifted that half-moon hat from his royal brow and smiled. I feltthis compliment to the depths of my soul--it thrilled me. 

When I lifted myself out of the skim milk, and flowed in with the creamof cream on that stand in Union Square with my cousin and the _élite_ ofsociety, he saw me again and recognized me once more, which irritated mycousin's jealousy a little, for she insisted that he lifted his blackhalf-moon to the whole of us. But I know!

I watched the carriage that bore him with a blushing cheek and a beatingheart. There was General Dix, a real nice-looking old gentleman, sittingin front of him; there was Catacazy, the ambassador of all Russia, alsoa nice gentleman as you want to see, with _his_ hat off, a-bowing anda-bowing. We flung up our handkerchiefs--we clapped our hands. 

The Clarendon Hotel stands near one corner of the Union Square; it has askimpy piazza in front made of iron, and I've seen bigger hotels anyhow. But it is considered tip-top, and is always brimming over with the creamof cream. That is why Mr. Catacazy took my Grand Duke there. There wassuch a crowd of folks and trainers that I lost sight of him. By and byout he came into the piazza, and stood right before our aristocraticstand, which was fringed round with red cloth, and over which thestar-spangled banner waved itself meekly to the nest of black eaglesthat streamed out over that noble scion of all the Russias. 

I could not see _him_ plainly, as my heart panted to, so I borrowed mycousin's glass--a little spy-glass, understand--not specs, which Ihaven't come to by a long way. Well, I unscrewed the eye-glass, wound itup to the right notch, and brought him almost to my face; and there Istood, choke-full of heavenly satisfaction, all the while _he_ lookeddown on the general training of soldiers that marched stream on streambetween him and me. 

While my soul was going out luminously through these eyes, Cousin EmmaElizabeth Dempster touched my elbow, and says she:

"Miss Frost, if you've got through with my glass, I should like to tryit a little. "

I gave it up. Not being long-sighted, the whole pageant was a blank tome after that cruel deprivation, for I could no longer see that imperialfigure on the piazza. 

My reports are making a tremendous sensation, and I--well, being modestby nature, I say nothing, but a committee, skimmed daintily off from thecream of cream, called at my boarding-house, and wanted me, as a risingstar in the literary hemisphere of writers, to invite the great GrandDuke to a private reception, or entertainment, or something, where somethat hadn't been on the steamboat could shake hands with him, and othersmight just touch the extremity of his coat, which they gave me theirhonor they wouldn't pull--as some high-bred ladies did when he was goingfrom the boat. 

I received this committee with dignity, and promised to take theirrequest into mature consideration, as soon as I could learn personallyfrom the great Grand Duke whether he should prefer to have this homagepaid by my own sex to the extremities of his coat, or not. I felt forthese young ladies. I had experienced the yearning desire that possessedthem, and knew how truly irrepressible it was. Had it not inspired thewhole committee of reception, their wives, and their children to thethird generation? Had it not disturbed fashionable life to its verydregs, and given spice to our weekly literature? Yes, I felt for theseyoung persons, and in a little speech, remarkable for its gracefulelocution, gave them encouragement. 

XII. 

TICKETS FOR THE BALL. 

Tickets for the ball! Sent, no doubt, at the Grand Duke's request. Cousin Emily Elizabeth has got tickets too. We shall go together in thesame carriage, and leaning on her husband's arm. Dempster is a handsomeman, and really _distingué_ looking. Excuse French; an educated personwill break into it now and then. 

The day has come. Cousin Emily has just sent me a bundle of things, withher compliments--a little box with a cake of lovely white chalk in it;another, smaller yet, filled with a pink powder that looks like groundrose-leaves, and a bottle with something liquid and dark in it, whichdoes not seem as if it was good to drink. What on earth does Cousin E. E. Expect me to do with these things?

Ah! pinned to the bundle, I find a letter, beginning "Dear CousinPhœmie, " and asking me to excuse her, but she sends the things, thinkingthat I may want to rejuvenate, and perhaps dye, before I go to the ball. 

Rejuvenate! Does she mean to say that I'm not young enough? and if Iwasn't, how are these things a-going to help me? I know that girls inschool sometimes eat chalk and chew gum, but never heard that they gotthe younger for it. Then the pink powder--well, it's no use calculatingabout it, especially as she wants me to die after it. I wish Cousin E. E. Would ever learn to spell. When a woman dies she does not do it witha "y" as a general thing. 

Now what _does_ all this mean?

I was doing my hair at the looking-glass, when Cousin E. E. Came in, looking like a queen; her blue silk dress was all spotted with goldflowers, and it streamed out half across my bedroom. Over that she worea long white cloak, with tassels to it, and her hair was looped in withpink roses that were not redder than her cheeks, which would havesatisfied me that her health was first-rate, if it hadn't been for theshadows that lay around her eyes, which had grown awfully dark since Isaw her at home. 

"Oh!" says she, "I am just in time. Came early, thinking you might wanthelp. Sit down; that will do. Now where is the you-know-what--thoseboxes--you understand?"

Here E. E. Flung off her cloak and came to the glass. I declare to youthe creature's neck was white as any snow-drift but uncovered to anextent that frightened me out of a week's growth. Her arms, too, werethe same, and bare as her neck. She had a narrow pink shoulder-strap, and some lace between them, and that was all; only a string of whitestones, that shone like a rainbow now and then, was around her neck andone arm; two or three of the same kind of stones hung down from herears, and shot out light from her hair. 

The whiteness of that neck astonished me, and made me look every whichway. 

E. E. Didn't seem to mind that, but took off her long white gloves andlaid them on the table; then she snatched up one of the boxes, and beganto rub a handkerchief that lay on the bureau in it. 

"There now; hold back your head a little, " says she; "shut your eyes. "

Here she began to rub my face and neck and arms with the handkerchieftill they looked white as her own. Then she changed boxes, and I couldfeel her making soft dabs at my cheeks, which tickled a little. 

"Now open your eyes, " says she. 

I opened them wide, she astonished me so; and, as true as you live, shebegan to tickle them with a tenty-tointy brush. After that she titivatedmy hair a little, washed her hands with some Cologne water, andsnatching up my pink silk dress, which lay across the bed, just buriedme in it. I declare it was scrumptious to feel the silk a-rustling roundme, and a-settling down on the floor, wave on wave. Well, the bill was adamper, but I couldn't help enjoying it for all that. 

"Now, " says E. E. , a-drawing on her long, white gloves, "just take alook, and let us be off--Dempster is waiting. "

I did take a look, right straight in the glass, and couldn't help doingit again and again, the lady I saw there seemed so much like amagnificent stranger to me--so white, so blooming--so--. Forgive me, sisters--I forgot that modesty is a tender blossom that should beencouraged--and I will say no more, only this, Cousin Dempster's neckhad a good deal more of it than mine, and that French dress-maker hadgiven me a little chance of sleeves, while her's left them outaltogether. 

When she spread out my skirt, it half covered the room. All at once shesaw just one little spot of rain on it, and held up both her hands. 

"Why, you haven't worn this before? Good gracious! no lady in our setever wears the same dress twice. The idea!"

I felt myself wilting, for she was sarcastic in her speech. Then I upand spoke for myself. 

"Yes, I wore it once, " says I; "but it was tucked up under mywaterproof cloak, with the lining turned inside out, and nobody sawit--especially the great Grand Duke, who didn't come out of his ownvessel. "

"Oh, " says she, "then it won't be an absolute disgrace to the family ifyou wear it. I began to be afraid to go with you. There, now, don't lookpins and needles at me, but just put something round you, and let us beoff, or _he_ will be there before us. "

That was enough. I huddled up that pink silk in my arms, and in lessthan two minutes Cousin Dempster's carriage was so choke full of hiswife and me, that he took a seat with the driver. 

XIII. 

THE GRAND DUKE'S BALL. 

Oh, my! wasn't that ball-room a sight to see? Seats piled on seats, allcushioned with red velvet, and one end curving round like a great redhorseshoe, with flags and flowers and shields running below thebottommost tier; a great swinging balloon of sparkling glass poured itslight, like July sunshine, down on a crowd of people, that looked morelike born angels than human creatures. It fairly made me dizzy to lookat 'em from Cousin Dempster's box-seat, which was right in the end ofthe circle. 

After a while I got my senses back, and looked out for _him_. He wasn'tthere yet, and that gave me a chance to see things. Four more heaps ofglass, that seemed as if they had caught fire, hung in the other end ofthe room, and beyond them was a fountain of water, a-sparkling anda-flashing and a-tinkling in a make-believe garden by moonlight, withlive fish swimming in it, and live flowers blooming in piles and heapsaround it, and make-believe trees. Half running round the room was alot of marble posts, with white flower-pots running over with sweetness, and linked together with running vines, that made you feel yourselfalmost out of doors. 

All this was splendid; but there was one spot that everybody lookedtowards, and I most of all. Three boxes, cushioned with red velvet, werejust chained together with great wreaths of flowers such as I never sawin a garden; but I knew they were genuine because of the scent, whichwas delicious. Banners set full of stars and stripes of red and whitesilk, all tangled in with flowers, hung over these boxes, and right inthe centre streamed a white silk banner, on which our old bald eagle andthe black eagles of all the Russias flocked together as sociable asrobins in a nest. 

"There he is! There he is!"

I started. I caught my breath, for back of the white flag _he_ stoodwith the light a-shining on his beautiful yellow hair, and a smile onhis lips. Oh, how grand, how tall, how gorgeous! Everybody was a-lookingat him. The girls around me--always forward, and _so_ silly--begantwittering together, and looking that way as if he would ever think ofdancing with them. They swarmed around me, as a representative person. They forgot their own trivialities, and rendered me such homage asgenius commands from commonplace minds. 

"You are an author, " said they. "You belong to the great aristocracy ofthe world. Speak for us. He cannot dance with all of us, but he can lookthis way through his opera-glass, and give us all a chance of being putin the papers as the beautiful young lady he admired so much. We appointyou a committee of one. Address him in our behalf. Get some memento ofhim that we may leave to future generations. "

The entreaties of these young creatures went to my heart. I raised myforefinger, which was like an oath to them, and says I:

"Thanks for this honor. Like a Roman matron I will do my duty. Wait. "

I arose from my seat, and swept, with a dignity and grace that musthave done the Society I represent great honor, around the gallery, andfound my way into the private retiring-room of our illustrious guest. Itwas small but beautifully furnished. My pink silk, as it trailed in, seemed to fill the whole room. In the looking-glass I saw a figure, tall, commanding; I may say queenly--but enough of that. 

A person stood near the door and looked in. I lifted my finger; heapproached. 

"Go, " says I, "to the great Grand Duke of all the Russias, and tell himthat Miss Phœmie Frost, a committee lady, awaits his presence here. "

He started--he smiled--he went. 

I drew back and stood against the wall opposite the door. _He_ entered, looking a little puzzled. I advanced one foot, then the other, threelong paces, as queens do when they act on the stage. Then I sunk down ina profound curtsey, wound myself up again into a royal position, andheld out my right hand. 

"Great Grand Duke Alexis, " says I, "son of an illustrious father and animperial mother, whom all women love to honor, welcome to ourshores--welcome to the fashion, genius, and beauty embodied in thefemales of America. "

Before I could finish the address to which duty and ever-burning geniusinspired me, the great Grand Duke quenched my ardor by a heavenly smilethat danced in his blue eyes, and almost broke into a laugh on his redlips. His voice was like over-ripe strawberries when he spoke and said:"The ladies did him great honor; he had not English to express hispleasure, and no power to repay their kindness. " This was my time. 

"Being the head of a committee of so many young ladies that it isimpossible for your Imperial Majesty to dance with the whole, I--thatis, these ladies--wish to be represented in the festive cotillon by aperson worthy of the occasion. Not the wife of an American potentate, who may or may not have any claims of her own, but a potentate inherself. Not crowned with the shadow of a man's laurels, but wearingher own bay leaves as Tasso did. "

Here I felt my eyes a-drooping, and my tall figure bent like a weepingwillow. The great Grand Duke saw my confusion, and his smile deepenedaudibly. 

"Say to the lovely committee of ladies, " says he--

But I interrupted him, and putting one hand on my heart, observed, witha gentle bow:

"Embodied in me. "

Then he smiled out loud again, and says he:

"If the Committee of Arrangement permit, I shall have much pleasure. "

With that he bowed and prepared to go out. I drew back toward the walltill the pink silk skirt began to tangle up my feet, and kept my eyeslifted to his face, which was still bathed in blushing smiles. Anotherstep, a low curtsey, and I lifted myself up with dignity while he passedthrough the door. 

I was alone, with nothing but the looking-glass to gaze on my delight. The young ladies had begged of me for a memento of royalty. I lookedaround. An ivory-handled hair-brush lay on a marble shelf under theglass. I seized upon it, knowing that it had touched his head. Iexamined it. Imagine my joy--six bright yellow-brown hairs clung to thebristles! Carefully, daintily I picked them out, and, laying them in thepalm of my white glove, formed a tiny tress of them--tiny, but oh! howexquisitely precious!

With this treasure in my hand I went back to my constituency. Theycrowded round me; sparkling eyes gazed upon the glorious prize I hadsecured; cherry lips kissed it with gushing fervor, and pleaded with mefor just a morsel. I secured one lovely hair for myself, and, cuttingthe rest into tiny bits, distributed them generously. Oh, sisters! thisact endowed me with wonderful popularity among my young companions. Wegirls should be generous to each other. I was generous, and an orchardfull of spring robins could not have chirped more happily than they didwhile flocking around me. But the dancing began. I stood ready, with mylong pink silk skirt gathered half way from the floor. But all at onceit dropped from my hand--_he_ was on the floor, and another lady clungto his arm. The jealousy of that committee of gentlemen had prevailed. He danced with the Governor's wife. 

Did I stand ready to play second fiddle to her? No, no! a thousand timesno! Was I not a New England lady? Did I not feel that the literature ofthe country had its eyes upon me? _He_ couldn't help it; the deploringglance that he cast upon me was enough to satisfy me of that. Indeed, his feelings were so hurt that he really could not go through thefigures of the cotillon, but kept dancing every which way, like a mantorn with distractions. My heart ached for him. I could not bear to seehis distress, and retired with dignity to my seat upstairs and lookedon, while my proud New England heart burned with indignation. If I live, that committee of gentlemen shall hear from me again. 

XIV. 

THE NATURAL HISTORY PHILANTHROPIST. 

Sisters:--He has gone! The luminous star that has shone upon us withsuch refulgence for the last few weeks, has gone to our beloved "Hub ofthe Universe, " where poets, governors, and other distinguished men ofNew England are now revolving around him like the spokes of a cartwheel. Mr. Holmes has written him some sweet verses; Mr. Longfellow hasgreeted him with welcomes. They have given him balls, dinners, and acold in his face. In short, New England has been true to itself and itsclimate. When the hub turns on its axle, the spokes whirl and the tiresrevolve, giving a swift throb to the whole universe. As a New Englandwoman--I beg pardon--young lady, I am proud of Boston, proud of thehonor they are doing to _Him_. But after all, the Hub must imitate. Wetook the crown off. 

Before he left, a new and exquisite idea came into my head--some peoplemay think it a little flighty, but you will understand all the poetry itcontains. I have a canary bird--for I love birds with all the inbornintensity of genius--so old that his feathers are nothing more than acreamy white. In that particular he--I should say she--being a female, that never sings beyond a chirp, has the gift of silence peculiar to thesex. I got her cheaper on that account. Well, she is almost dove-like incolor and in sweetness of disposition. No more lovely messenger fromheart to heart could be found in the whole world. 

Well, sisters, I took this bird from its cage with my own hands, and Ismothered it with kisses from my own lips, which quivered with intensityof emotion. Then I tied a blue ribbon about its neck, and attached tothat a tenty-tointy note which contained these lines:

 Farewell, noble prince, my fond heart is gushing With thoughts that no language can ever reveal; With the sweetest affection this warm cheek is blushing, And hopes to my maidenly bosom will steal, Of a time when our souls, with united expression, Shall mingle with harmony more than divine; And the priest--be he Greek, or of any profession-- Shall bless this poor hand as it clings unto thine. 

The paper was of an exquisite rose-color on which I indited this gem. Iflatter myself that genius can sometimes write beautifully. It is notjust the thing to particularize here, but if that Grand Duke _can_ readEnglish he must have admired the sweet morsel which that lovely songsterbore to him on the wings--well, of a canary. 

I would not send my bird in a cage, because handsome cages areexpensive, and do not carry an idea of freedom with them, which ourspread eagle might have led the great Grand Duke to expect. Neitherwould I trust her with a street boy whose hands might be dirty andunsafe. No, I put on my bonnet, locked the bird with his blue ribbon ina box covered with gilt paper, and walked straight down to the ClarendonTavern, and asked for one of the committee-men. 

A tall, grave-looking gentleman came into the room, where I sat waiting, and said he was Mr. Bergh, one of the committee-men, and then stood aminute, as if he was waiting to know what I wanted. 

I had heard a great deal about the gentleman's goodness to the poor dumbbeasts that are so abused and trampled on, and my heart rose right intomy mouth. 

"Mr. Bergh, " says I, reaching out my hand, "in the name of New England, permit me to shake hands, and thank you for the good you are a-doing toso many of God's own creatures. "

The gentleman smiled, and reached out his hand. 

"I am glad to hear, " says I, "that some old bachelor has left a lot ofmoney to your society. It is just what I would do myself if I hadn't ahope--that is, it may be possible that all the money I have will beneeded for a special occasion--as no free-born New England woman wouldbe beholden to a foreign nation for her setting out. "

Here Mr. Bergh smiled. You have no idea how much younger he looked whenhe did smile; the benevolence that made him a Natural HistoryPhilanthropist just shone out from his eyes, and beamed all over hisface, till I longed to be--well, say a duck, or something of thatsort--that he might save me from oppression. 

"Thank you, " says he; "most men want some object in life. You ladieshave done so much for humanity that we are content to leave it in yourhands, but the poor animals have up to this time escaped compassion. "

"Not compassion, but assistance, " says I. "Cruelty to animals is mostlyconfined to men. "

"Not exactly, " says he. "I have sometimes seen kittens and pet dogstreated more unmercifully than omnibus-horses, and by innocent childrentoo. "

I did not answer. How could I? The remembrance of a trout-brook, withbirch-trees hanging over it, and great red-seeded brake-leaves growingthick on the bank, made me shudder. Hadn't I held ever so many kittensunder water in that very spot, and shouted and laughed to the othergirls--some of you, my sisters, among them--while the poor little thingskicked and struggled for life, that was just as dear to them as it is tome? Hadn't I hunted up birds' nests, and driven the pretty creaturesdistracted by handling their eggs, till at last the nests were brokenup? Then didn't I string the cold eggs into a chain, and hang them intriumph over the looking-glass in our keeping-room?

You will tell me, out of the kindness of your hearts, that these weresins of ignorance. Just so; and it is this ignorance, which is sometimescruel as the grave, that Mr. Bergh is trying his best to enlighten. Nochild would do a cruel thing if it were made to understand the pain itis giving. Yet, sticking pins through flies, and spearing wasps to thewall, are about the first thing a smart baby learns to do. 

Did you ever see a lot of boys going home from school, when agarter-snake, or any other harmless serpent, crosses their path? Theyknow well enough that the poor things do no harm, and are as afraid asdeath of them; but see the great stones they heave upon the miserablereptile; the shouts they send up, as it writhes, and coils, and fillsthe air with feeble hisses, trying, poor thing, to save its bruised andbroken life to the last. 

Does anybody tell the boys that this is brutal cruelty? No, even theChristian mother, who would not do an unkind thing to save her life, forgets that God makes snakes as well as ringdoves, and that pain isjust as bitter to the snake as to the cooing bird. 

Sisters, we are all wrong in leaving these things to men only. If we didour duty, and taught little children that even thoughtless cruelty is asin, and that the fun which comes out of pain to any of God's creaturesis a crime, there would not be much for Mr. Bergh and his noble societyto do. The cruel instincts of a child become ferocious in the man. Withsuch, men can best deal. I thank God that one brave spirit is foundready and able to protect the dumb creatures that are given us forblessings, not for victims. 

While I am writing this, picture after picture comes up from my own pastgirlhood, and my heart stands still as I remember how ferocious a thirstfor fun and ignorance can be in a child. How many sleepy-looking toads Ihave seen, with their backs all jewels, and their throats yellow gold, that asked nothing but a burdock leaf for shelter, and a few flies forfood, crushed to death by boys who thought no harm, and only liked thesport of killing something. 

Since then, I have learned that these little creatures are a great helpto gardeners, and that wise men foster them with kindness and care. 

Once, down by the trout-brook we know of, I saw a lot of children, busyas bees, doing something on the bank, where two or three boys werekneeling, and the rest looking on. Of course I went down to the brook, and, being a little mite of a creature, looked on, half frightened, halfwondering. 

The boys had caught a great frog, green as grass. He was, I have nodoubt, one of those hoarse old croakers, that make one timid about goingby ponds and marshy ground in the night, up in our State. Well, they hadhim down in the grass, and one held him while the other ran a pinthrough both jaws and twisted it there. There was no fun in this. A lotof doctors cutting off an arm couldn't have been more gravely inearnest. Some of the boys were eight and ten years old; but not one ofthem seemed to feel that they were doing a hideous thing. I rememberfeeling very sorry for the poor frog, but it was not till years andyears after that I understood the horrible, lingering death theseignorant boys had tortured him with. Since then I have never thought ofthat sparkling trout stream, without a pain at my heart. 

"Childish ignorance, " I hear you say--for some of these boys were yourown brothers, and meant no harm. But what right had they to be ignorant?They knew well enough that it was against the law to kill one another. Why were they not taught that the life that God gives to His meanestcreature is as sacred as a good man's prayers; unless necessity callsfor it, and then it must be taken with as little suffering as death cangive?

Sisters, I am in earnest; the missionary spirit is strong upon me. Iwish our Society to take up this subject with interest. What Mr. Berghhas been doing among men, we must do among the children of thisgeneration. When ignorance is an excuse for cruelty, you and I and everywoman of the land are wretches if we allow a child to sin because itknows no better. There is no great study necessary to work out a reformhere. The mother who knows what is right knows how to impress it on herchildren; and if they play at death and destruction, she is the personmost to blame. 

Don't say that I am writing out one of my popular addresses before theSociety--I never thought of such a thing; but when I saw the greatNatural History Philanthropist, my heart and mind went right back to youand my duties as a missionary of universal progress, and I sat there insilence thinking over these things till I forgot that he was there. 

At last he spoke, and said, kindly enough, "Is there anything I can helpyou in?"

I started and reached out my hand. 

"Mr. Bergh, " says I, enthusiastically, "I can help you! All the worldover we women work best in the primary department. You have begun agrand and a noble work among men. We will begin at the other end, and inthat way cut your work down to nothing. I see a clear path before us. Henceforth I will belong to your Society, and you shall belong to mine. Is it agreed?"

He sat down by me; his eyes grew bright; his earnestness of purposeinspired me to press forward to the mark of the prize--I beg pardon, theold prayer-meeting spirit will manifest itself in spite of me when mysoul is full of a great purpose. 

After we had talked on the great subject satisfactorily, he said, all atonce, "But you came for some purpose in which I may have the pleasure ofserving you. "

Then I remembered my bird and its imperial object. Revealing mygold-paper box, I opened it carefully, fearing a sudden flight. Nothingmoved. Trembling with dread, I put in my hand; it touched a soft fluffof feathers that did not stir. 

My heart sank like a lead weight in my bosom. I looked in; the poorlittle thing lay in the bottom of the box, with its wings spread out, and its head lying sideways. I touched it with my hand; it was limp anddead. While I had been talking with so much feeling about cruelty toanimals, my own little songster--no, being a female she was notthat--but my poor pet had been smothered to death in that gorgeouslittle receptacle. 

With my heart swelling like a puff-ball, I turned my shoulder on thatgood man, and closed my satchel solemnly, as if it had been a tomb. 

"Sir, " says I, in a voice full of touching penitence, "I feel myselfjust at this minute wholly unworthy of the mark of the high calling towhich I have offered myself. A young lady who puts herself forward toteach thoughtful kindness to the young, should be above reproach in thatrespect herself. "

The good gentleman looked awfully puzzled, for how would he guess at thecrime I had locked up in that box?

"Good-morning, " says I, walking away; "the time may come when I shallfeel a new exaltation, but just now--well, good-morning. "

I went away meek and humble as a pussy cat. When I looked down at thebox in my hand it seemed as if I was carrying a coffin. 

Well, I buried my poor little pet in that identical box, with the blueribbon about its neck; but the poem I forwarded to _him_ in Boston. Imay be meek and humbly conscious of my own shortcomings, but the GrandDuke of all the Russias shall never go home with the idea that Vermonthasn't got poets as well as Boston, and that young ladies cannot put asmuch vim and likewise maple-sugar into their poetry as that smartfellow, Dr. Holmes, simmered down in his. 

Just read mine and his, that's all!

I do think that nothing can equal the forwardness of some New Yorkgirls. Would you believe it, one stuck-up thing has just stolen mybeautiful idea, and sent her card to the great Grand Duke tied round abird's neck; but it was like stealing a fiddle and forgetting thefiddlestick. A card isn't poetry. There is no accounting for the vanityof some people; but the best proof of genius is imitation. 

XV. 

CHRISTMAS IN NEW YORK. 

Dear sisters:--Thanksgiving is the great Yankee jubilee of New England. Then every living thing makes itself happy, except the turkeys, andgeese, and chickens. They, poor martyrs, have been scared into themiddle of next week by the yells, and shrieks, and awful cackling of thewhole army of winged creatures that sit in ten thousand ovens, withtheir legs tied, their wings twisted, and the gravy a-dripping downtheir sides and bosoms, like rain from the eaves of a house. Of course, for that day, every barn-yard in New England goes into mourning. Thepoor hen is afraid to cackle when she lays an egg, for fear of having agun cracked at her. Even the fat hogs look melancholy in their pens, fora smell of roasting spare-ribs comes over them, and they seem toruminate mournfully on some means of saving their own bacon. 

Of course, there must be some unhappiness even on a New EnglandThanksgiving, or earth would forget itself and turn into heaven all atonce. Besides, who thinks of the scared gobblers, when he has a plumpturkey roasted brown as a berry, scenting the whole house with richness?I for one could not bring myself to the foul contemplation--excuse thewit--spontaneity is perhaps my fault. 

Well, what Thanksgiving is to New England, Christmas-day is to New York. Everybody goes to meeting in the morning, and everybody takes dinnerwith everybody else after that. For days before it comes the streets arefull of covered wagons, and men and boys, loaded down with bundles, crowd against each other on every doorstep. In fact, half New York justthrows itself away in presents on the other half, which pitches just asmany back. Thus every street and house is a hubbub of gifts and a blazeof light, from Christmas Eve till after Christmas dinner. 

Christmas Eve, dear sisters, belongs to the children. What there is of'em in these parts, and the jubilation they have, rich and poor, blackand white, is enough to warm the heart in one's bosom. There is agorgeous old Dutch ghost that they think comes prowling over roofs anddown chimneys in the night, to bring them presents. This comical oldfellow sets up Christmas trees for the rich, and fills woollen stockingsfor the poor, and makes himself a magnificent old humbug that everychild in the city worships and will believe in, though the littlemisguided souls know at the bottom of their hearts that, somehow oranother, this Santa Claus and their own parents have a mysteriousunderstanding and private moneyed transactions, that mix thingsterribly. Still, they really do believe in the old fellow, just as youand I believe in dreams. It is the last thing a little girl gives up, unless it is her dolls. 

Speaking of dolls, I wish you could see the scrumptious little ladiesthat have been sold here this week. You and I were awful proud if wecould get a rag-baby, with drops of ink for eyes, and its cheeksreddened with a little pokeberry juice; but the dolls they sell here aresuch beauties!--yellow hair, frizzed around the face like thistle-down;rosy cheeks, and eyes that shut with such sweet laziness if you lay thelittle things down. I declare, it's enough to make one long to be achild again, to take one of these dainty creatures in your arms. 

The Saturday before Christmas I went out with Cousin E. E. Dempster, tobuy presents. She came in her carriage, with the driver and another chapin regimentals on the front seat, outside, and a great white bear-skininside that just swallowed us up to the waist, as if we had settled downin a snow-bank of fur. Under that was a muff for your feet, and somecontrivance that must have been a foot-stove hid away, for it was aswarm as toast. 

Well, sisters, such things may be extravagant, I know; but they arenice, if it wasn't for one's conscience. 

The carriage turned down Broadway, which is the street where the mostsplendid stores are found. It really was worth while to see how thatdriver--with his fur gloves that made his hands look like a bear'sclaw--guided them horses in and out, among the omnibus-stages, thecarriages, and carts, that just turned the street into Bedlam. It fairlymade me catch my breath to see how near the wheel would come to someother wheel, and then just miss it. Every stage that went lumbering bymade me give a little scream, it came so near to running us down. ButCousin E. E. Sat there buried in the white fur, as cosey as a goose onher nest. It aggravated me, and I asked her if she wasn't afraid nornothing. 

"Oh no, " says she, a-leaning back and half shutting her eyes; "it is thecoachman's business. I should discharge him if anything happened. "

"But you couldn't discharge him after you were mashed to death underthem great omnibus wheels, " says I. 

E. E. Smiled. What a calm, lazy smile she has!

"No, " says she; "but there would be a fuss, and my name would get intothe paper. Everything has its compensation, Cousin Frost. "

Before I could answer, the carriage stopped in front of a large, highstore, with great, tall windows, all one shiny sheet of glass on eachside of the door, through which you could see lots on lots of silver andgold and precious stones, all in confusion, but, oh, how gorgeous!

"This is Ball, Black & Co. 's, " says she, a-going up to the door, whichseemed to open of itself, and in we went. 

You have read the "Arabian Nights' Entertainment. " I remember the timewell, because we all got "kept in" after school for being caught at it. Well, that cave wasn't to be compared to what I saw in Messrs. Ball &Black's store. From floor to roof, all was one dazzle. Gold clocks, withsilver horses tramping over 'em; colored men and women--reconstructedfigures, I reckon; white stone women, a-standing, sitting down, scrouching themselves together, or riding lions a-horseback, bold asbrass, filled one long room, like a regiment of military trainers. Thenthere were chandeliers of glass, in which no end of rainbows seemed tobe tangled; dishes of sparkling glass, set in a frostwork of silver orgold, and--I may as well stop; no genius could give you an idea of thegorgeous things it was my privilege to see in those long rooms. 

When we had wandered upstairs and downstairs again, Cousin E. E. Stoppedat one of the counters, and wanted to look at some rings. As for me Iwanted to look at everything. What was one ring compared to whole stars, and bands, and clusters of shiny, white stones, that seemed to have beendug out of a rainbow--all mixed up with other stones, red as blood, green as spring grass, blue as the sky, and white as snow-crust. Why, sisters, that counter was just one bed of burning sunshine. It dazzledmy eyes so that I can hardly remember anything distinct enough todescribe it to you. 

Well, Cousin E. E. Bought her ring, which had a green stone set in it. Isaw her hand a lot of money over the counter to pay for it, which riledmy conscience a little; but I said nothing, the money being hers, notmine; still, how much good it might have done some missionary society. 

Well, out of this store of gorgeousness we went, and got into thecarriage again. 

Cousin E. E. Said she had bought so many things that this was about thelast place she had to go to, and, as it was getting pretty near dark, Imust go home with her and help fill up the Christmas tree. Cecilia wouldbe dreadfully disappointed if it was not splendid, and they all thoughtso much of my taste. 

I made no objections; why should I? Christmas Day in a boarding-houseisn't full of ravishing promises, so I just snuggled down into the whitefur again, and let the fellow with bear-skin claws drive me where he hada mind to. 

XVI. 

THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS. 

Oh, sisters! there is something touching and splendid in a Christmastree. Just fancy one of our mountain spruces, towering almost to theceiling of a room, green as when it was cut from the woods. Think ofthis tree, hung all over with little wax candles, bunches of pale-greenand purple grapes, teinty red apples, golden horns and baskets chuckfull of sugar things. Stuffed humming-birds, looking chipper as life. Butterflies, that seem to be flying through the green of the trees, anda whole camp-meeting of dolls sitting around the roots, and then tell meif the Christmas time of a New York child isn't like living among thepeople of a fairy book. 

This was the sort of tree set up at Cousin Dempster's, Sunday nightbefore this last Christmas day. Of course, we couldn't think ofbreaking the Sabbath, but the minute it was sundown, at it we went. Ofcourse, we didn't want the little girl to know what we were a-doing; butthe first we knew, in she hopped, as chipper as a humming-bird, andwould keep interfering and changing things, in spite of all we could do. 

At last, her mother got her dander up and told her to march right off tobed, just as a woman born in Vermont ought to order her own child; butthe tantalizing thing just hitched up her shoulder, and said, "Shewouldn't go, nor touch to the tree was for her own self. The house washer par's, and she'd do just as she'd a mind to in it. "

With that, Cousin E. E. Blazed into a passion, and took her child by thearm, with a jerk that sent her flying into the hall. Then I heard ascreeching and a scrambling up the stairs, and it seemed to me a slap ortwo--I hope I wasn't mistaken about that--then a door slammed, andCousin E. E. Came downstairs like a house o' fire, with both eyesblazing, and one cheek red as flame. Could it be that the slap I heardwas from the other side, or had it been a free fight?

"That girl will be the death of me, " says she, walking about like a lionin its cage. "I never knew a worse child. "

"I'm sure I never did, " says I, with more than my usual spontaneity, forI felt it. 

"You never made a greater mistake, " says E. E. , fierce as a hen hawk. "It is because she has so much more brains--spirit--genius than anyother children. A more splendid character never lived than my daughterCecilia. "

I said nothing; maybe it would have been just as well if I had held mytongue before. 

"She is a favorite everywhere, " E. E. Went on, cooling down like a brickoven after the coals are hauled out. 

I said nothing. 

"Ahead of girls twice her age, " E. E. Went on. "She speaks French like anative. "

"Is there anything more to put on?" says I. 

"Yes, " says she, "we will have the presents ready for the morning. Imeant to have some of Cecelia's friends here to-morrow night, but shewanted the tree to herself. "

With this, E. E. Brought an armful of boxes and things from the nextroom. The first thing she set up against the stem of the tree was adoll, dressed in a splendid silk ball-dress, with a long, sweepingtrain, and teinty rose-buds in her yellow curls. The blue eyes werenatural as life, and her face was just lovely. Then she brought out aSaratoga trunk about as big as a foot-stool, which was crowded full ofdolls' dresses, just such as a live young lady would be proud to wear. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" says E. E. 

"I should think so, " says I; "how much did it cost?"

"A hundred and twenty-five dollars, " says she. "I sent to Paris for it. "

"A hundred and twenty-five dollars?" says I, lifting up both hands;"that would keep a poor family how long?"

"I don't know, " says she, short as pie-crust, "but a poor familywouldn't amuse my Cecilia, and these will. "

"Just so, " says I; "what is this for?"

"Oh, that is her father's present--pink coral--hang it across one of thelimbs, " says she. 

I hung the beads among the spruce leaves, and enjoyed the sight; theyseemed like a string of rose-buds twisted in with the green. 

"There now, we will finish in the morning, " says E. E. "I wish Ceciliahad invited her little friends; it will seem rather lonesome. "

With this, Cousin E. E. Gave a little sigh, and we went off to bed, telling me that I must be sure to get up in time for early service, which she wouldn't miss for anything. 

XVII. 

EARLY SERVICE. 

Dear sisters:--Before daylight on Christmas morning, I went to earlyservice at the highest church in New York city, which, after all, isn'tanything to brag of in the way of steeple. 

There is a brick meeting-house on Murray Hill that beats it all tonothing, for that has just the longest and pointedest steeple that Iever set eyes on. Still, everybody allows that the little Episcopalchurch I went to, Christmas morning, is the very highest in all America;and, though in my heart I don't believe it, having eyes in myhead--there is no chance for me to take a measurement, and what can Isay against the word of everybody else? Still, to you in confidence, forI don't want to get into a schismatic controversy, I dare take an oaththat the brick church on Murray Hill is twice as high, to say nothing ofthe sharp-pointedness of the steeple and the hilly ground. 

Cousin E. E. Dempster says she is high church from the crown of her headto the sole of her foot, which I didn't dispute, for she always had highnotions. She gave me strict charge, when I went to bed, Christmas Evenight, not to sleep late, and be sure to be ready for an early start. 

Well, I went to bed feeling as if I had got to start by some swiftrailway train every hour of the night, and must be ready for them all. It was Sunday night, you know, and I woke up twice with a start, beforeit was next week; got up, felt for the matches I had laid handy, andwent to bed again, and dreamed that I was trying to get into a steamboatwith two steeples, which put off, and left me freezing on the dock. 

Like one of the wise virgins, I had brought a candle upstairs, and somematches, which was an improvement on their old lamps, I dare say; but Iwasn't much afraid of the dark, and didn't keep it burning, only lefteverything ready. 

After that dream, I started up, struck a match, and found that I hadbeen just fifteen minutes in getting that steam church under way. So Iwent on dreaming, starting up, and lighting matches all night, till atlast I hadn't but one left, and with that I lighted the candle, and agas-burner by the bureau, and began to dress myself. 

Before I got through, Cousin E. E. Was at the door, with her beehivebonnet on, and wrapped up in fur. 

"Almost ready? I am so glad, for the day is just beginning to break, andI wouldn't have it broad light when we get there, for anything, " saysshe. "Wrap up warm, for it has blown up awful cold in the night. "

I did wrap up warm; put on a veil, and tied my mink-skin victorine, withthree tails on each tab, close around my neck. 

We went downstairs carefully, for only one burner was twinkling in thehall, and the whole house was dark and shivery. 

"Come in here, " says Cousin E. E. , opening the dining-room door. 

Under the glass globe, in which two or three chilly lights seemedlonging to go out, the ghost of a table was spread, with a great deal ofsilver, and very little to eat. 

"Just a cup of coffee and a mouthful of toast before we start, " says E. E. , sitting down behind a great silver urn in her furs and her beehive;"for my own part, I could do without that. "

She poured me out a cup of coffee--it was half cold and awfullyriley--and asked me to help myself to a piece of toast, which had blackbars across it, as if it had been striped on a gridiron. 

"Things are getting cold, " says E. E. , "they have been standing so long. The cook has been out an hour; but she knows I consider this mypenance. "

"Out where?" says I. 

"Oh, to early service. "

"An hour?" says I; "why I thought we were going to early service. Itisn't daylight yet. "

"I know, " says Cousin E. E. , with a sigh, "but her church is a littlehigher than ours. "

"Higher, " says I; "then there is some meeting-house a notch aboveyours?"

"Yes, cousin, " says she, mournfully, "but we are creeping up. Every yearbrings us a step nearer. "

"Just so, " says I, wondering what she meant. 

"By and by we shall have confession, " says she. 

"Oh, " says I, "there isn't a meeting-house on Sprucehill that would takein a member till she had made a confession of religion. "

Cousin E. E. Shook her head, and observed that I didn't understand, which riled me a little, having been a member--well, no matter how long. 

"Even now we have humiliation and penance. "

I was trying to swallow a mouthful of the bitter toast and riley coffee, and couldn't in my heart contradict her. 

"To that end we get up early, cast aside sleep, and, in all weather, goon foot to the altar. Each year the church is opened, and the candleslighted earlier and earlier, as souls more clearly see their way to thetrue faith. "

"Just so, " says I; "by and by they will be good enough to light up, andopen the day before, I suppose. "

The clock on the mantel-shelf struck. Cousin E. E. Started up, and putboth hands in her muff. I followed her out of the door, and into thestreet. 

Well, sisters, if there is a desolate spot on earth, it can be found inthe streets of a great city after the lights have been put out, andwhile the sky is gray. To pass by houses in which thousands andthousands are sleeping, is like wandering through the lonesomeness of agraveyard. The morning was awful cold; before we got to Lexington Avenuethe veil was stiff on my face. I felt the tears a-freezing on my cheeks, and my teeth chattered so that I couldn't speak. When we reached St. Albans--that is the name of Cousin E. E. 's church--two such shiverymortals you never saw. I say, sisters, there wouldn't have been much usein warming us against a good fire in any place just then. I don't meanto be satirical or irreverent, but when you go to early service at thebreak of day, and in the depths of winter, I think ice-water andsnow-drifts might make a solemn impression on the sinful heart. 

XVIII. 

HIGH CHURCH. 

St. Albans may be a High Church, though I couldn't see it; but itcertainly isn't very sizeable; and as for coldness, the very curls on myhead shivered as if they grew there. 

Cold, yes; I should think that church was cold; but you never sawanything more beautiful than the picture it made when we went in. Rightbefore us was a white altar--not a communion table like ours at home, but a little platform with steps to it, set thick with candles, andloaded down with wreaths of white flowers. I tell you, sisters, itseemed to me as if the angels must have been down overnight, and mouldedthose flowers out of the drifted snow, and breathed life into them, theylooked so pure. 

On each side of this altar was a great, large candle, five feet high, and thick as a young tree, burning with a slow, steady fire, and some ofthe smaller candles twinkled like stars among the flowers. 

All overhead and down the walls of this little meeting-house were greatwreaths of ground pine, ivy and hemlock, crowded with lights andsprinkled with flowers, and these flung shadows on the walls more lovelythan the wreaths themselves. 

I was chilled through and through, but I don't think it was that whichbrought all these solemn feelings into my mind, for the tears that hadfrozen on my cheeks ran freely now, and my eyes kept filling again. I'msure I can't tell the reason, only that everything was so still andbeautiful. 

The pews in St. Albans have no cushions, and everybody can sit in them, only there is a placard on each, inviting the poor to sit down fornothing, but telling those that have money to give it, to support thechurch; which is just what our meeting-houses do, though they only chuckthe plate at you, without a written warning. 

Cousin E. E. And I sat down in one of the pews, and slid our knees to aboard running along in front, to kneel on, and covered up our faces aminute or two; then we looked up, and there, close by the altar, stoodthe minister; but, oh, goodness! how he was dressed out. He had on, first, a black silk gown, with great bishop-sleeves, then a white linendress, that I should think was a night-gown, only it was on a man, andit isn't many women who would like to lend such things to be used inmeeting-time. Over that he wore a white satin cape. 

Cousin E. E. Pronounces it cope, but she does finefy her words so sinceshe came to York. 

On that was worked a cross, in gold and silk, like a Free Mason's apronin some respects. He held a book open in his hand. I could see that hewas shaking with chilliness, and the words rattled like icicles from hislips. Close by him stood a boy, dressed in a red frock, with a white oneover it. 

I whispered and asked Cousin E. E. What his name was; she answeredback--"Acolyte, " which was a name I never heard before. 

After a while the congregation began to move out of the pews, a few at atime, and crowd up to the minister. Then they knelt down before him, andhe gave them bread and wine close to the altar, instead of having ithanded about as they do in our Presbyterian meeting-houses. Cousin E. E. Went up with the rest, and wanted me to go with her, but I could notbring myself to partake of the Lord's Supper from a man in hisshirt-sleeves, and with a silk cape on; so I shook my head and satstill, watching the altar. 

After they had done coming up to him, the minister knelt down and prayedawhile; then he got up, and the boy in red shirt and white frock handedhim a black hat, with four corners, which he put on his head; then hetook something from the altar and walked through a side door, stillwearing his double-cocked hat. The boy followed him out, and then a mancame round among the pews with a plate, in which Cousin E. E. Dropped agold piece with a ringing noise that made people look round. I followedup with five cents, and was astonished to see how little ring it hadafter the gold; nobody looked round at me. 

It was broad daylight when we came out of that little meeting-house, andnot quite so cold as it had been; but still I was glad to keep my muffup to my face, and we walked toward home like a house afire. 

"Well, how did you like the service?" says Cousin E. E. , as we shiveredalong--"impressive, isn't it?"

"Very, " says I; "only do tell me what it was all about. This getting upand sitting down and bowing at nothing is more than I can understand. "

"Oh, " says she, "I ought to remember you came from a Congregational partof the country. "

"And Methodist--to say nothing of Baptists and Quakers, " says I. 

"Yes, I mean all that, " says she; "but the church, as a church, is butlittle understood among you. "

"Well, as you came from the same place, you ought to know, " says I, rebuking her city airs in my most austere manner. 

"Well, yes, " says she; "but one doesn't hear much of the true church sofar in the mountains. Even you seemed puzzled by a good many things thismorning. "

"Well, yes, " says I--"the four-cornered cocked hat, for instance. "

"The four-cornered cocked hat!" says she, stopping short on thesidewalk. "What do you mean? That was the barette. "

"Oh, " says I, "that is what they call it! Well, then, the four-corneredcocked barette--what does the minister wear that for? It isn't generallyconsidered good manners for men to wear hats in meeting. "

"Oh, there is a clerical reason I can't quite explain, but it is a partof the ceremony. "

"Just so, " says I--"and the night-gown. "

"Surplice, you mean, " says E. E. ; "oh, that is worn everywhere, in Highand Low Church alike. "

"Well, " says I, "there may be a reason for such things, but arespectable black coat is what I've been used to. "

"Yes, I know, " says she; "but some people prefer the surplice and cope. "

"Now tell me, " says I, "what on earth has a minister to do with awoman's satin _cape_, all crimlicued off with gold and silk work?" I putan emphasis on the word cape, to rebuke her finefied way of pronouncingit. 

"It is a part of the clerical paraphernalia, and gives richness to thevestments, " says she. "But the altar--I felt sure that you would bepleased with that. "

"Yes, " says I; "the white flowers, the candles, and the evergreens werebeautiful. But the red and white boy was too much for me; then hisname--Acolyte--I never heard anything like it. "

Just then we reached home, and shivered into the house to warmourselves. Cousin Dempster was not up yet, and that child was soundasleep. It seemed to me as if we had been downstairs a week; but therewas the Christmas tree, just loaded with presents; and there was themarble man and woman, looking cold as we were. And there we stood, hungry and shivering, for the help had all gone out to "early service, "and forgot to heap coal on the furnace; and the end was, we just gotinto our cold beds again, and shivered ourselves to sleep. I dreamedthat a man, all in black and white, with a four-cornered hat on--onetassel hanging over his eyes, and another down his back--with somethinglike a flash of fire about his neck, was burying me ten thousand feetdeep in a snow-drift, and pounding me down with a candle as big round asmy waist. Then it seemed to me that I got out, somehow, and was tryingto warm my hands by the red frock of that boy, Acolyte, who faded intonothing before my eyes, and left me sound asleep as if I had never beento early service in my life. 

XIX. 

CHRISTMAS MORNING. 

We had a good long sleep after early service, and were all up bright aslarks the next morning, wishing each other a merry Christmas, andwaiting for that child to come down and see what Santa Claus had broughther. By and by we heard her coming. Mr. Dempster looked at his wife andsmiled, as much as to say, "Won't our presents surprise her!" Cousin E. E. Went to the door and opened it, looking pleased, and so like her oldself that I could have kissed her. 

At last Cecilia came in, sour as vinegar, with her hair half combed, andher sash trailing. 

"Why, this is what I saw last night, " says she, crossly. 

"Look at the foot of the tree!" says E. E. , eagerly. 

Cecilia looked, and saw the doll and the open trunk. Her lips drooped atthe corners, her right shoulder lifted itself. 

"A doll for me! The idea!" says she. 

Cousin E. E. Turned away, I think, to hide the tears that swelled to hereyes. Mr. Dempster saw it, and says he:

"Cecilia, your mother spent a great deal of money for the doll--don't beungrateful. "

"Just as if I wanted her to do it. Baby things!"

"Well, " says Cousin E. E. , trying to brighten up her face, "there isyour father's present. "

Cecilia untwisted the string of coral, and looked at it. 

"Coral is for babies! That is worse yet! I just wish there hadn't beenany Christmas at all, " says she, a-flinging the beads in a lovely pinkheap on the floor. "There now--I'll just go up-stairs and stay there!"

"Wait a minute, my darling, " says E. E. ; "mother has got somethingelse. "

Cecilia turned back a step, but scorned to let her sullen face brighten, though her eyes grew eager when Cousin E. E. Took a little paper boxfrom one of the baskets, and opened it. 

"See here!"

Cecilia edged up to her mother, saw the emerald ring, and snatched atit. 

"I bought it for Cousin Phœmie, " says E. E. , a-looking sort ofpleadingly at me; "but as you are so disappointed, I'm sure she won'tcare. "

"Cousin Phœmie! The idea!" Cecilia muttered to herself, as she tried thering, first on one finger, then on another. "Of course she don't wantit--old as the hills!"

I did not say one word while that creature carried off the firstChristmas present I ever had in my life; but it seemed as if I shouldchoke. Isn't it hard that a spoiled child like that should have thepower to destroy the happiness of three grown people? But she did it. 

The Christmas dinner was enough to make your mouths water, from thisdistance--the noblest sort of a turkey, stuffed with oysters, andeverything to match--but none of us had much appetite for it. You canjudge what my feelings amounted to, when I have lived one whole month ina boarding-house and couldn't get up an appetite--no, not even for thewhitest meat of the breast! Old as the hills, indeed!

XX. 

ABOUT LIONS. 

Dear sisters:--Cousin E. E. Had invited a lot of her friends to astupendous dinner-party on Christmas Day, and she wanted me there for alion, she said, though what on earth a great roaring lion had to do at adinner-table I couldn't begin to think. The idea made me fidgety; but Ididn't think it consistent with the dignity of our Society to askquestions, or let any one know that I didn't understand everything justas well as folks that have lived in York all their lives. Still Icouldn't help trying to circumvent Cousin E. E. Into telling me what Iwanted to know in a way that some people might call femininelysurreptitious. 

"A lion!" says I. "Are such animals invited to a city dinner as ageneral thing?"

"Oh! not at all, " says she; "the most difficult thing in the world toget hold of is a real, genuine lion; that is, one the whole world knowsabout, and wants to see. "

"Why, " says I, "if folks are so anxious about it, why don't they go upto the Rink and see Mr. Barnum's great monster animal. It don't costmuch; besides, there are camels and monkeys, and lots and lots ofthings, thrown in. "

Cousin Emily Elizabeth laughed till tears come into her eyes. 

"Oh! Cousin Phœmie, " says she, "you are so delightfully satirical. "

"Do you think so?" says I, awfully puzzled. 

"Yes, " says she, "I do; but to me the eccentricities of genius arealways interesting. To be an attractive lion one must say bright things, no matter how hard they cut. "

"I wasn't aware, " says I, "that lions were given to much talking. "

"Oh!" says she, "that depends. There is your talkative lion, yourlearned lion, your silent lion--"

"That is the sort that I've always seen, " says I; "now and then a growl, but nothing beyond that. "

Cousin E. E. Began to laugh again, till she had to hold one hand to herside. 

"Oh! cousin, paws, paws, " says she; "you just kill me with laughing. "

"Yes, " says I, "I don't deny that lions have paws, but it was speech wewere talking about, and that I do deny. "

Cousin E. E. Just shrieked out laughing, though for the life of me Icouldn't tell what it was all about. 

"Now, don't you understand me--honest now--don't you?" says she. 

"Why, of course I do; only nothing could be more ridiculous than theidea of a great, big, magnificent wild beast, with a swinging walk, anda tuft on the end of his tail, being showed off at a dinner-table. I forone shouldn't have a mite of appetite with such a creature prowlinground. "

"My dear, dear cousin, I'm speaking of human lions. "

"Human lions! I always thought the creatures were awfully inhuman, " saysI; "nothing but a jackal can be worse. "

"I mean great people--celebrated for something--bravery, literature, thearts, sciences, " says she. 

"Well, what of them?" says I. 

"In society we sometimes call them lions. "

"O--oh!" says I, drawing the word out to give myself time. "So youreally thought I didn't understand. Why, of course. Dear me! cousin, howeasy it is to cheat you!"

"Oh!" says she, "one must get up early to match you women of genius, I'maware of that. What dry humor you have, now, looking so innocent andearnest, too!"

I smiled benignly upon Cousin E. E. ; if she could find any humor in whatwe'd been a-talking about, it was more than I could. Lions! Where doesthe joke come in, when human beings are called such names as that? Wildbeasts, indeed!

"How really modest you are!" says Cousin E. E. "Anybody else, who couldwrite as you do, would have known that she was meant when I mentionedlions. "

I dropped my eyes, and folded both hands. 

"It will be the great feature of our party, " says she. "Our friends willknow that you are a blood relation, and that pleases Dempster; besides, you converse so beautifully, too. "

"Do I?" says I, folding one hand over the other, and back again. 

"And look so--so distinguished. "

I drew my figure upright, and looked into the glass opposite. My cousinhad chosen her words well; there was something imposing in the bend ofthat head. I say nothing; but she was right. Indeed, so far as I amconcerned, she generally is. 

Early in the morning I sent down for my pink silk dress. Cousin E. E. Looked as if she was going to say something against it, at first; but, after a little, her face cleared up, and I heard her muttering:

"This is the third time. Nothing on earth but a woman of genius couldstand that; but she has got enough to carry it off. "

I said nothing, but thought of that bill, and just made a calculation ofhow much it would cost a woman to rig herself out if she went to manyparties, and only wore a dress that cost five hundred dollars once. 

Well, sisters, Christmas Day came, and we were up by daylight, forCousin Emily Elizabeth is, as I have told you, a High Church woman andan Episcopalian. We haven't got any meeting-house of that denominationin our neighborhood, and I don't exactly know what high and low churchmeans, without it is that one set hold to meeting-houses with a belfry, and the others stand up for a high steeple--a thing that I told CousinE. E. We common people didn't aspire to; at which she laughed again, asif I had said something awfully witty. 

Well, in another report I have given you an account of this daybreakmeeting in the High Church, but just now I am taken up with theChristmas dinner. 

Now don't calculate, because we eat dinner punctually at noon inVermont, that people here do the same thing, because it is nothing ofthe sort. Poor working people do that in this city, and nobody else. Themore genteel and the richer you are, the later you eat your meals. Mostof the well-to-do merchants eat dinner at six. Men that have got aboveearning their own living dine later yet, and some have got sodisgustingly genteel and rich, that I don't suppose they dine till nextday. 

Cousin Dempster attends to business yet, so he settled down on eighto'clock for his dinner, and a splendid affair it was. 

When Cousin E. E. And I came rustling downstairs with a cataract of silkrolling after us, I just screamed right out. The sight of that table wasso exhilarating, glass a-shining--silver dishes and thingsa-sparkling--flowers heaped up in flower-pots and twisted in wreathsaround the glass globe overhead, which flashed, and sparkled, andglittered as if it had been frozen up with ten thousand icicles thatflung back all the light without melting a drop. The silk curtains wereall let down. The carpet looked like a flower-bed, and the whole roomwas a sight to behold. 

Cousin E. E. Shut the glass doors that looked as if a sharp frost hadcrept over 'em, and we sat down on the round sofa in the front room, ready for company, with nothing but those two marble folks to hear whatwe said. 

But peace and quietness will never come to a house that has a fast childlike Miss Dempster, as the creature calls herself, in it. We had hardlysat down and got our trains spread, when in she came, all in a fluff ofwhite muslin, and a flutteration of red ribbons, with her hair a flowingdown her back, crinkle, crinkle, and her--well--limbs just strained intosilk stockings and kid boots laced down ever so far below her frock, andlooking so impudent. Down she sat on the round sofa, and begun to swingher heels against the silk cushions. 

"Why, daughter, " says Cousin E. E. , "what is the meaning of this?"

The child laughed and flung back her head. 

"It means, " says she, "that I'm not to be cheated into staying upstairswhen a Christmas dinner is on hand. I'm ready for it, and I wish thecompany would come. "

"But, my child, you are too young. "

"If I'm too young, where do you find your old folks?" says the saucything, shaking out her ribbons. 

"Cousin E. E. , I would not permit it, " says I, for I couldn't helpspeaking to save my life. "She isn't of an age to go into company. "

"Well, you are old enough, and a good deal to spare, " says the impudentthing. "No mistake about that!"

I drew up the train of my pink silk dress, and walked across the room ina way that spoke my indignation, without words. When I turned to go backthat creature was right behind me, with her head up, measuring off thecarpet, step by step, with me. 

Sisters, I confess it, the strangling of that child would have done me aworld of good; my fingers quivered to begin. But she just burst outa-laughing, and, would you believe it? her mother laughed too, butturned red as fire when I caught her at it. 

Before anything more could be said, Cousin Dempster came in, and thedoor-bell kept up such a ringing, that we were in a flutteration till, one after another, the company came in; ladies and gentlemen dressed upas if it had been a ball they were invited to. 

XXI. 

DINING IN THE DARK. 

Sisters, I'm afraid you would be taken aback by such dresses as filledCousin Dempster's parlors that night. Such necks, such arms, no sleevesto speak of, nothing but a skimpy band across the shoulders; headsloaded down with braids and puffs, and great, long curls, which fell onthose bare necks and covered them up into a little decency. Then thefigures--mercy, how the dresses stood out behind; every lady seemed tobe humpbacked below the waist. It takes time to get used to genteelsociety, I can tell you, and any amount of blushing has to be gonethrough. 

Well, when we had all got together, Cousin Dempster came up to me andcrooked his elbow. I put my hand on his arm. The glass doors opened asif of themselves, and into the dining-room we went. The other ladies andgentlemen all locked arms, and followed us in good order. CousinDempster whispered to me as I went in, "The dinner is _given_ to you, remember. "

I said yes, I would remember. I hadn't even thought of paying for it, but I suppose he wanted to set my mind at rest on that point, which waskind, but unnecessary, as we never charge for meals in Vermont, exceptat taverns. 

"They were all invited to meet you, " says he, at which I just turnedround and made a low curtsey to the whole lot of 'em, before I took myseat, which was at Cousin Dempster's right hand. 

On the other side was a proper, pretty girl, with a neck likewater-lilies, and cheeks like ever-blooming roses. She was a girl thatlaughed very low, when she did laugh, and looked at gentlemen sidewaysfrom under her eyelashes. One of those girls that speak as if ice creamwould not melt in their mouths. An awful handsome young fellow came withher. 

Well, we all stood up waiting for Cousin E. E. To sit down, which shedid. Then the rest of us rustled into our places, and half a dozenwaiters went circumventing round us with little oysters, shells and all, on plates, which they set down before each of us, with a teinty silverpitchfork to eat 'em with. Then they brought plates with a few spoonfulsof soup in them, which they cleared away the minute we laid down ourspoons. After that, came plate after plate, and the waiters kept fillingthe glasses that stood before us--pink, green, yellow, and white--withcider that bubbled and sparkled, and made the blood come faster andwarmer into my face every time I tasted it. 

At first there hadn't been much talking; but now the ladies grewchipper, as so many canary birds, and the men followed suit. 

Such soft, low laughing, and such sweet voices I never heard at onetable in my life. 

But while we were all enjoying ourselves so much, the lights in theglass balloon above us began to flash up and down, as if a high wind wasrushing over them. Then all at once they quivered--winked furiously, asif they were joking with us--and went out, leaving us all in stonedarkness. 

Then the ladies shrieked faintly, or laughed; some of them jumped up, Iamong the rest, wondering if the Day of Judgment had come. 

Cousin Dempster called out for the waiters to go and see what ailed thegas, and all was rustle and bustle and confusion. 

Perhaps I moved from my seat and dropped into some other without knowingit. I can't be certain about that or anything else; but all at once Ifelt an arm around my waist, and while I was holding my breath, withastonishment, some one kissed me. 

I gave a little scream, and pushed away that impudent arm with all mymight. 

The arm wore a coat-sleeve--I can take my oath to that--and if I wasused to such things I should say that there was a beard about the lipsthat touched my face. 

Sisters, it seemed to me for a minute as if Cousin E. E. Really had gota roaring lion in her dining-room. 

While I sat there breathless and wondering if he would have theimpudence to repeat that audacious conduct, a soft hand took hold ofmine, and a sweet voice whispered in my ear:

"Forgive me, dearest, I did not mean to be rude. "

I did not speak, but his penitence touched me with compassion. Softly Ipressed the hand, in token of a relenting heart. How could I be hard ona man who meant no real harm, considering the temptation. 

He whispered something more, but I could not hear distinctly; for justthen a waiter came in with a candle in his hand. Says he, "The gas worksare blown up, and all Murray Hill, and more too, is in total darkness. "

Then there was a burst of voices; everybody laughed and everybody hadsomething to say, which no one listened to. 

"Bring candles, " Cousin Dempster sung out. 

"But the candlesticks--we have not got one in the house, " says his wife. 

Then everybody laughed, and Cousin Dempster laughed loudest of all. 

"Find something, " says he, "for we must have light. "

The waiter, says he, "Yes, sir, we'll do our best, " and out he went. 

By and by he comes back, and all the rest of the waiters with him. Everyone had a stone beer bottle in each hand, from which a tall white candlerose like a steeple to a church. There was not a smile on their faces. 

City waiters are never expected to smile, but each man set his twobottles down on the table, and drew back. 

Dempster burst out laughing; the rest burst out too; some giggled, somechoked, some pealed out the fun that was in them like wedding bells. 

Everybody laughed except me and an elegant young gentleman, with blueeyes and a soft beard, that sat next me. He stared in my face, and Iwould have stared in his, only I couldn't bring myself to look in hiseyes. 

Oh, sisters, it was dreadful! I had got into that young girl's place andshe was in mine, and a teinty bit of court-plaster that I had put on thecorner of my mouth, where the skin had been a trifle rubbed, wassticking right on the plumpest part of his under lip. 

Oh, sisters! I thought that I should have died with shame. 

He looked from me to the young lady, and she looked at him. I lookedfirst at one, then at the other, from under my drooping lashes. 

She smiled, she touched her lip with one finger; he touched his, themite of court-plaster stuck on his finger. Then she began to laugh, andso did he; the chairs shook under them. They made no noise, and theredness of their faces was lost in the shadow cast by the beer-bottlesto every one but me. 

Cousin Dempster was busy trying to crowd an extra candle into one of thewine-bottles that had just been emptied, while he sat before the chair Iought to have been sitting in. 

"We must have a little more elegance at this end of the table, " says he. 

"Wax candles and champagne bottles for this lady. "

He stooped down, expecting me to answer him; when he saw _her_ face allglowing with blushes. 

"Ah!" says he, laughing, "we have got a little mixed here, Cousin Frost. It will never answer to come between man and wife in this fashion, especially when they have been only three weeks married. Supposing wechange round again?"

I arose--she arose--we exchanged glances, then exchanged seats. 

The lights from these beer bottles were numerous, but not brilliant. Under the shadows we concealed the emotions which disturbed us. 

He looked funnily penitent, whenever his eyes caught mine, which wasoften, for somehow I could not keep looking on my plate all the time. 

As for that young creature, she seemed to be brimming over with fun. 

After a little, I began to feel myself smiling. It really was droll, butnot so _very_ unpleasant. 

XXII. 

NEW YEAR'S DAY. 

Dear sisters:--After all, this city of New York is a wonderfulinstitution. Vermont has its specialties, such as maple-sugar, pineshingles, and education; but in such things as style, fashion, andgeneral gentilities, I must say this great Empire City isn't to besneezed at, even by a Green Mountainer. Of course we are ahead inreligion, morality, decorum, and a kind of politics that consolidatesall these things into great moral ideas--as rusticoats, greenings andSpitzenbergen apples are ground down into one barrel of such sweet cideras we used to steal through the bunghole with a straw. You willrecollect the straws--a Down-east invention, which these degeneratedYorkers have stolen, and are now using unblushingly for mint-juleps, sherry-cobblers, and such awful drinks as New England has put her footdown against with a stamp that makes inebriating individuals shake intheir boots. But New York won't put her foot down, and the encroachmentupon our patent-right for straws is just winked at. 

Dear me, how one thing does lead a person's mind into another! I took upmy pen to write about New Year's Day in New York, and here I am, back inthat old cider-mill behind our orchard, with heaps of red and yellowapples piled up in the grass, and the old blind horse moving round andround in the mill-ring, dragging along that great wooden wheel, underwhich we could hear the soft-gushing squelch of the apples, while allthe air smelt rich and fruity with them. 

Do you remember the luscious juice dropping from the press, and the fullbarrels lying about, with the sweetness beginning to yeast through thebungholes? Then it was we pounced down upon them with our straws, and itwas these straws that brought New Year's Day in New York and the oldcider-mill at home into my mind at once. Thus it is, my sisters, with uschildren of genius; thought is born of thought, feeling springs out offeeling, till creation and re-creation become spontaneosities. 

Some people have said of Phœmie Frost that she lacks philosophy and thattranscendental essence which becomes the highest female type in NewEngland. If any such caviler should reach our Society, have the moralcourage to point out that last paragraph, and see if the wretches haveforgotten to blush for themselves. 

Christmas Day isn't anything very particular outside of the EpiscopalChurch, in our parts. Somehow the Pilgrim Fathers took a notion againstit when they cut away from the old country, and built squaremeeting-houses all over New England. But they set up the same thingunder a new-fangled name. Thanksgiving was just the same to them, andshowed their independence; so they roasted and baked and stewed, andmade pumpkin-pies a specialty--because the cavaliers in England couldn'tget pumkins to compete with them--and went into their meeting-houses tothank God that they had good crops, instead of going down on theirknees--which they didn't, because of standing up to pray--in solemngratitude that the blessed Lord was born upon earth. 

Sisters, as a New England female, it would be against nature to say thatthe Pilgrim Fathers wasn't right in sinking Christmas in Thanksgiving, and thanking God for full crops, because the corn and potatoes werethings they all could understand and accept with universal thankfulness;but about the birth of Christ, and its merciful object, no two sectsthat I ever heard of could agree, much less the Old Church and the NewCovenanters. 

There it is again; my pen is getting demoralized. Christmas has come andgone. What more have I got to say about it? Why, just nothing. Wisepeople accept the past and look forward. 

Cousin Dempster insisted upon it, that I should come up and spend NewYear's Day with them. Cousin E. E. Was going to receive calls, andwanted some distinguished friend to help her entertain. 

I went. 

Early in the morning the empty carriage came down to my boarding-house, with those two regimental chaps on the out seat. 

I was all ready, with my pink silk dress on, and my front hair all inone lovely friz; but I just let the carriage wait that the boarders andpeople, with their faces against the window opposite, might have a goodchance to look at it. Then I walked down the stairs with queenlyslowness; the long skirt of my dress came a-rustling after, with a richsound that must have penetrated to the boarding-house parlor, for thedoor was just a trifle open as I went by, and three faces, I could swearto, were peeping out as if they had never seen a long-trailed, pink silkdress before. Then I heard a scuttling toward the window, and, while Istood on the upper step, gathering up the back cataract of my dress, those same faces flattened themselves plump against the glass. 

Of course I did not hurry myself on that account, but took anobservation up and down the street while I tightened the buttons of myglove, though one of the regimental chaps was a-standing there andholding the door wide open. 

"Why shouldn't I give the poor things just this one glimpse of thefashionable life to which genius has lifted me, " says I to myself. 

Influenced by this idea, I paused, perhaps, half a minute, with my footon the iron step, and asked the regimental chap, with the air of a queengiving directions, if it was very cold? and if Mrs. Dempster was quitewell, that morning?

He bowed when he answered both these questions, with the greatestrespect; which was satisfactory, as the people on both sides must haveseen him do it. 

Then I stepped gracefully into the carriage and sat down, buried to myknees in billows of pink silk. Over that I drew the robe of white fur, and waved my hand, as much as to say: I am seated; you can close thedoor. Which he did. 

One thing is curious about the streets of New York on New Year's Day. Not a woman or girl is to be seen on the sidewalks. 

The garden of Eden, before Adam went into the spare-rib business, wouldn't have been more completely given up to the desolation ofmanhood, unrefined by sweet female influence. 

But every man that I saw, going up or down, looked bright and smiling, as if he expected to find an Eve of his own before the day was over, andI shouldn't wonder if a good many of them did. 

XXIII. 

THE NEW YEAR'S RECEPTION. 

Cousin E. E. Dempster was all ready, and standing as large as life inone end of her long parlor, when I went in. The first sight of that roommade me start back and scream right out. I had left daylight outside, but found night there. The blinds were shut close to every window. Overthem fell a snow-storm of white lace, and over that a cataract of silkthat seemed to have been dyed in wine, its redness was so rich andwavy. 

The two great glass balloons were just running over with brightness thatscattered itself everywhere--on the chairs, the cushions, the carpet, and a great round sofa which stood, like a giant cheese, in the middleof the room, all covered with silk, and with a tall flower-pot standingup from the centre, running over with flowers, and vines, and things. 

This queer sofa, that seemed to have burst out into blossom for theoccasion, was a New Year's present, Cousin E. E. Said, and quite asurprise. "Then there is another, " says she, a-pointing towards a marbleman, dressed in a grape leaf, that seemed to have been firing somethingat the stone girl, and was watching to see if it had hit. "Of course youhave seen the Apollo before?"

I looked at the stone fellow sideways, then dropped my eyes. 

"I--I don't know, " says I; "maybe I should know him better if he had hisclothes on. "

"Look again. You must have seen him, " says she. 

"No, " says I, a-turning my head away; "I--I'd rather not till he goesout and fixes himself up a little. "

Cousin E. E. Laughed till her face was red. While she was tittering likea chirping bird, that little creature Cecilia came tripping into theroom, with a blue silk dress, ruffled over with white lace, justreaching to her knees, her yellow hair a-rippling over that, clear downbehind, and a wreath of pink roses on her head. She looked at me fromtop to toe, gave her head a toss, and went up to her mother with the airof an injured princess. 

"That old pink silk again! What did you let her wear it for? New Year'sDay, too. The idea!"

I heard every word of it, for the stuck-up thing didn't trouble herselfto speak low. My face had been hot enough before, but it burned likefire now, and my bosom heaved till it stormed against my dress andalmost burst it. 

"Hush!" said Cousin E. E. , looking scared; "she will hear. "

"Well, let her. As if I cared! The idea!"

I stepped forward, with my finger lifted, and my dress sweeping. It musthave been an imposing sight, for E. E. Raised both hands, imploringly, and says she, "Cecilia, come and see your father's present. "

"Oh, isn't it gorgeous?" sang out the child, clasping her hands, andturning her back square on me while she went up to the stone fellow. "Such a splendid mate for Venus!"

"Yes, I should think so, " says I sarcastically; "only Miss Venus doesseem ashamed of herself; but the fellow is bold as brass. "

The girl's lip curled like an opening rose-bud; she gave a nippinglaugh, and I just heard "old fogy" break through it so saucily that myblood riled. 

"Did you apply that to me?" says I, a-lifting my finger. 

"No, no, nothing of the kind, " says Cousin E. E. , catching her breath. "You quite misunderstand Cecilia. Dear me, that is a carriage; peopleare beginning to call. Cecilia, my love, do try and make yourselfagreeable. "

"Just as much as to say that I could be anything else, " says theaggravating creature, a-hitching up her shoulders. 

Sure enough, some one was coming, and no three canary birds in a cageever fluttered into their places quicker than we did. Cousin E. E. Seated herself in a great cosey chair, all cushions, spread out herdress on the floor, and leaned a little sideways as if she was sittingto Brady for a picture. I gave my pink silk a wide swoop, and let itsettle down on the carpet in ridges; then I leaned my elbow on the silkcushions of the great round sofa, and drooped my head a little as ifbreathing the scent of so many flowers had made me a trifle faint. Thatchild ran to the glass, shook out her lace ruffles, and stepped backagain to admire--well, her limbs--just as if she had been a stone girl, and was in love with herself. I swan to man she made me sick and faint, if the flowers didn't. 

There was a noise in the hall-way, and I caught a peep at a handsomeyoung fellow prinking himself in the great looking-glass set in thehat-stand. Then he came in, tripping along with his hand held out toCousin E. E. , who went forward with her train following after, took hislilac glove in her hand, smiled up in his face, and said how glad shewas to see him. 

Before he could answer, that forward child came up and held out _her_hand. She, too, was delighted; wondered he hadn't been there lately. Indeed, she began to think he was never coming again. 

The young fellow did seem to be taken aback a minute, for the forwardcreature had just cut her mother out; but he soon began to talk andlaugh with her as chipper as could be, and only stopped to give me a nipof a bow when Cousin E. E. Introduced him. 

Well, my opinion is I gave him as good as he sent; but short measure atthat; for I just lifted my head as if taking a sniff at the flowers, andthat was all. If that young man thought I was brought up in the woods tobe scared by owls, he found out his mistake. He was standing with hisback towards me when I heard E. E. Say, in one of those whispers thatcut to the ear keener than a scream:

"It is Miss Phœmie Frost, the celebrated writer. "

"What, " says he, "Miss Frost, the person on whom the Grand Duke levelledhis eye-glass at the opera three times, and who was prevented openingthe ball with him by the machinations of the committee?"

"The same, " says Cousin E. E. 

Before she could put in another word, that young gentleman had wheeledround in his patent leather boots, and was making me a bow that went sonear the floor that his lilac gloves fell below his knees. Then he roseslowly, like a jack-knife that opens hard, and stood there a-smiling inmy face as if I had just treated him to a quart of maple molasses freshfrom the kettle. 

"Miss Frost, " says he, "I'm happy to make your acquaintance; yourwritings have been my delight--in fact, a household word in ourfamily--for years. "

"Years?" says I. 

"That is, ever since you began to honor the world with the emanations ofyour genius, " says he, with an open wave of both hands. 

I bowed. I half rose from that round sofa. I knew by the soft, quiveringsensation that smiles were creeping to my lips, and giving them a lovelyredness. 

"Sir, " says I, "you are complimentary. I am but a young beginner in thepaths of literature--a timid worker in the great harvest field ofthought. "

He smiled; he moved the billowy folds of my dress with infinitereverence, and seated himself timidly beside me. Then he talked books tome--broken and fragmentary, but exquisite. He could understand why theGrand Duke was so anxious to get back to New York. That poetry of minemust have lifted him right off from his feet. What a lovely talentpoetry was!

I sat upright, but looked downward, hiding the pleasure in my eyes by mydrooping lashes. Faithful, heart and soul, to one noble being, I refusedto look into the admiring eyes of another. His insidious praises of mygenius made no impression. The image of a man six feet two, with asky-blue scarf across his princely bosom, stood at the portal of myheart, and the young gentleman with curled hair and that light-coloredmustache sighed, and sighed in vain. 

That forward little creature, Cecilia, saved me from temptation. Up shecame, with her frock and her hair all in a flutter. 

"You haven't seen our new statue, " says she, a-pulling at his hand. 

The young gentleman arose from my side with a look that went to myheart. As he stood before that pre-Adamite stone man, I got one good, long look at his face. As true as I live, he had found out some ofCousin E. E. 's ways of making herself beautiful! for his eyes hadshadows under them, and his cheeks were like roses. Now, sisters, didyou ever? Only think of a Green Mountain fellow doing that!

But now another lot of men came in, dressed up to kill. Some had yellowkid gloves on, some lilac, and some gray. Their patent-leather bootsshone like looking-glasses, and some of 'em tipped along as if they weretreading over eggs and didn't mean to break 'em. Cousin E. E. Introducedthem all, and I had to rise, and bow, and make long, sweeping curtsiestill my back ached, and my poor mouth felt dry with trying to lookunconscious when so many of 'em told me I was a household word in theirfamilies. 

When the first lot of 'em were going out, Cousin E. E. Just put back thered curtains at one end of the room, and behind 'em was a table all setoff with silver, and glass, and flowers, and great, tall dishes crowdedfull of fruit and mottoes, all standing under the hot sunshine of one ofthose glass balloons, a-glittering and a-flashing like a house afire. 

I couldn't help giving a little scream, it was all so rich andbeautiful--with two colored waiters in white gloves, ready to helpeverybody. 

Cousin E. E. Stood at one end of the table--for it was a stand-upmeal--and asked her visitors to take birds, and oysters, and terrapin. What the dickens is terrapin? Have you any idea, sisters? I ate some, and it had a stewy sort of taste, as if it had been kind of burnt incooking. 

Well, one took one thing, and one another. Then each fellow wiped hismustaches, and the waiters came round with cider bottles, loaded overand chained up with silver, and the cider hissed and bubbled andsparkled as they poured it out into the glasses, that started narrow atthe bottom, but spread out into dishes at the top, giving a chance forlittle whirlpools to the cider--which _was_ cider, I can tell you; ithad vim enough in it to make your eyes snap. 

When the glasses were full we all took them up. The gentlemen muttered"Compliments of the season, " and we answered "Compliments of the season"Cecilia and all--who just had the impudence to stand on tip-toe, andknock her glass against that of the fellow with lilac gloves and curlyhair. Then we all drank and sipped, and, as that party went off, another came in--stream after stream--till night. It was the same thingover and over again, till ten o'clock at night, when Mr. Dempster camehome, looking awfully tired out; then we just gave up. Sisters, this hasbeen the hardest and most confusing day that I have known in New York. It seems as if my joints never would get limber again. But then I had areal good time, though the cider did begin to get into my head towardsnight. It couldn't have been made out of Vermont apples, I feelcertain--they haven't got so much dizziness in 'em. 

XXIV. 

MIGNON: A NIGHT AT THE GRAND OPERA. 

Sisters, we went to the opera--that is, dear sisters in the cause, theGrand Duke and I were there; both of us seated on red cushions, and sonear that we could exchange glances through our eye-glasses, which drawa beloved object close to you. They are a great invention which has notyet reached that portion of the country where prayer-meetings take theplace of operas. 

I felt in my bones that he would meet me there; and when Cousin EmilyElizabeth sent me word that she had got a loge--which means a littlesquare pen in the gallery, cushioned off like a first-class pew--andwanted me to go with her to hear the great primer-donner, I just gotthat dress out again, and set the frizzing-pins to work, and did myselfup so scrumptiously that I don't believe that a creature on Sprucehillwould have known me. Don't say this is extravagant, and flying in theface of Providence. If He don't want silk dresses worn by the elect, what on earth does He make silk-worms and mulberry-leaves for? That is aquestion that we'll have debated over in the Society some day. Untilthen, oblige me by not saying, openly, that I'm a free-thinker, becauseI'm nothing of the sort. Not that my taste, since coming to the opera, has not got a notch above Greenbank or Old Hundred, in the way of music;I am free to own that it has. 

Well, Cousin Emily Elizabeth had sent word that I mustn't wear a bonnet, or think of such a thing; and she sent me down a fur mantle, made ofwhite kitten-skins, I reckon, with little black tails dropping all overit--just the tips, which needn't have hurt the black kittens much, if it_was_ all day to the white ones. So, when I come down, holding up mylong skirts with one hand, and folding this fur across my innocentbosom, she just screamed out from the carriage that I looked gorgeousenough to turn the great Grand Duke's head, which I felt to be true--forwomen are not given to praising each other for nothing, anyhow. 

The opera-house in New York would take in our biggest meeting-house, andleave room for a wide strip of carpeting all round it. It has got threegalleries, and ever so many places, that look like pulpits and deacon'sseats, all cushioned and curtained off beautifully. 

We went up to the first gallery, and got into Cousin Dempster'sloge-pew, which was just big enough for four people. This was fortunate, for our skirts and fur mantles took up every mite of room that Cousin D. Did not want; but he put up with it beautifully, and just scrouched downbehind us, with his head rising above our shoulders, which would havebeen rather uncovered if it had not been for the fur, which tickled minea little; but I bore it with fortitude. You who know me will understandthat. 

The opera-house was crowded full; every pew was crammed, and the benchesdown below couldn't be seen, the people were so thick. The pew logeswere running over with handsome girls, and old ladies that tried theirbest to look like girls, and couldn't, not having the country freshnessthat some people bring with them from the mountains. 

But the three pulpits on the second gallery were empty yet--all empty, and gorgeously red, waiting for _him_. 

At last, a great green curtain that hung just beyond this sacred placerolled up. The lights in a great glittering balloon, all hung with ropesof shiny glass beads which fell down from the centre of the roof, blazedup, and when I dropped my head from looking at it, all the other end ofthe room was crowded with a gang of the queerest-looking people--men, women, children, and dogs--that ever you did see. That was the opera, Cousin E. E. Said; though how an opera could have a house and a cart init, beat me. 

Well, sisters, I give up. Roll every singing-school in Vermont into onecrowd, and they couldn't begin to burst out like that; men, women, andgirls, just went in for a splendid time, and they had it. First, a pewfull of fiddlers, drummers, tromboners, and bas-violers, let themselvesout in a storm of music that made the ten millions of beads on the glassballoons tremble like hailstones. Then the whole gang lifted up theirvoices, and the music rolled out just as I reckon the water does atNiagara Falls. Such a general training of music was enough to wake thedead out of a New England grave, where they sleep sound, I guess, ifthey do anywhere. 

By and by they rose up, and began to wander about, making their funnylittle white dogs play, and some of the girls began to dance about. Itwas a travelling-show, you see, and some of the upper-crust people cameout of the house I spoke of, and listened. One was a lady, dressed outto kill in a striped skirt, black velvet, and yellow silk; anotheryellow skirt bunched over that, and then a blue dress puffed above both, and her hair just splendid. I tell you she was a dasher!

But the people were all busy unloading the cart; they took out bundlesand baskets and things. Finally a girl, that had been lying asleep onthe load, jumped down, with her shoulders hitched up, and looking crossas fire at everybody that came near her. She was barefooted andbareheaded, and had nothing but an under night-gown and petticoat on, which seemed to aggravate her, for she looked scowling enough at thehandsome young lady, and would not double-shuffle worth a cent, thoughall the men and women were trying to make her. 

The moment she jumped off from the cart, the folks in the seats just rancrazy, and began clapping their hands and stamping their feet like ahouse afire; I never saw people act so in my life. It was enough tofrighten the poor thing half to death. Instead of that, it seemed totickle her mightily, for she came forward, with her bare feet, and madea little mincing bow, and almost laughed. 

Then the strangest thing happened. First one, and then another, of theshow-people, instead of reasoning with the wilful creature, just went towaving their arms and singing at her. I declare it was enough to havemade a minister laugh when she turned, and began to sing back at them, sometimes spiteful, and then, again, with tears melting through hervoice. An old man in gray clothes, that looked crazy as a coot, sung ather, sort of hoarse, and mournfully. Then a young fellow, in a greencoat and high boots, dropped into the affair, and he sung at her. Thenthe handsome lady in blue and yellow burst out and sang at her too, filling the whole opera-house with music. By watching and listening, Ifound out this much. This girl was an orphan, picked up by the band ofplayers, that made her dance and sing for her keeping. The fellow withthe green coat and boots felt sorry for her, and bought her up, shortgown and all, from the tribe of players. Then she put on the dress of apretty boy, and waited on the handsome woman in yellow, who was one ofthem actress-women, and dead in love with the young fellow in boots. Hewas awfully in love with the actress woman too, which just aggravatedthat girl-boy out of her seven senses, poor thing! When she happened towatch them together, you should have seen her fling down her cap, andkick it about. There was some human nature in that, but singing love outbefore folks beats me. I couldn't bring myself to anything of thekind--not if the Grand Duke were standing before me with his arms out, shouting Old Hundred. 

Goodness gracious! that girl-boy had taken up my thoughts, so that Ididn't know when the Grand Duke came into his pulpit loge. But there hewas, standing up, and looking right toward me, so pleasant. 

I threw back my fur mantle a trifle, and taking Cousin E. E. 's fan, waved it gracefully, hoping thus to cool off the blushes that bathed mycheeks with a rosiness that I feared might not harmonize with the tintsalready there. 

Still he looked my way earnestly, and with the fire of admiration in hisblue eyes. A young thing sitting in the loge-pew behind me began to turnaway her head and hide behind her fan, as if she had anything to do withit. The conceit of some people is astonishing!

Cousin E. E. 's little spy-glass lay in her lap. I took it up; I held itto my eyes, and devoured him with one burning glance. His heart seemedleaping to mine through the glass. I knew it. I felt it. Indeed he won'tbe the first of his noble race that has lost heart and soul to a countrygirl. 

The Prince sat down, and when there was a lull in the music, clapped hishands with joy. Oh, my sisters! it is something to have given suchsupreme pleasure to the Grand Ducal soul. 

He looked at the play; I looked too. Souls in sympathy have but onethought. I pitied that poor girl-boy with all my heart--my own happinessmade me compassionate. How she suffered when that woman with the yellowskirts and the young fellow in boots were singing love to each other!Once she got wild, and dressed herself in a pink silk, and--well, shemade one of those toilets that Cousin E. E. Understands so well. I wassorry to see her exposing one or two little things that should be asecret with the sex. But she did, and the yellow lady caught her at it, and sung awfully provoking things at her. 

Well, she just tore off the dress, scattered the lace trimmings about, put on her old duds, and ran away. 

Then the house got on fire: the whole swarm of people come outhelter-skelter, singing to the flames that didn't mind the music morethan if it had been buckets full of water. Firemen came running withladders that nobody climbed, and pails of water, that the firemencarried round and round, in and out, like crazy creatures. I am sure Isaw one fellow, with a white pail, pitch through the same window intothe red-hot flames fifty times. The poor girl-boy, being desperate, justpitched in, determined to burn herself, while the woman in yellow andthe man in boots looked on. 

This went right to the cruel man's heart; he jumped in after her, carried her away from the devouring flames, and fell in love with herlike a man. Of course, being a decent kind of a fellow, he couldn't keepon singing out his love to both girls at once with enthusiasm, and beganto neglect the yellow girl in a way that brought tears into her voicewhenever she came pleading to him under the window--which she did, nothaving the pride of all the Frost family in her veins. 

Of course this did no good; men never come back to women that whine. Thegirl--for she had given up boys' clothes--had got him safe; he didn'tcare a chestnut-burr for all the other's singing, but took to the littlevagabondess with all his heart and soul. 

Now something else happened. The old man in gray got his mind again andturned out to be Mignon's father (have I told you that was her name?). He was a rich old fellow, with a house furnished with gilt chairs, andeverything sumptuous--so, of course, the fellow in boots stuck to hermore than ever. 

I don't know what became of the woman in yellow, but as for this othergirl, she came out first best in every respect; especially at the end, when ever so many flowers and baskets and things were just poured downupon her. For my part, I thought the yellow girl ought to have had fullhalf of these things, for I liked her quite as well, if not better thanthe vagabondess. 

Well, the green curtain went down for good, and the whole congregationgot up to go out. 

"How do you like Nilsson?" says Cousin E. E. , as she was fastening herfur mantle. 

"Nilsson!" says I, "I haven't seen her yet. "

"Why, yes you have--she just came out. "

"What!--that girl-boy?"

"Yes, Mignon. "

"You don't say so, " says I. "Who then was the girl in yellow?"

"Oh! she is Duval. "

"Well, I like her at any rate, poor thing; it was a shame to treat herso. "

That moment I felt that the great Grand Duke was gone. Not one moreglance. It was hard!

XXV. 

THE BLACK CROOK. 

Sisters:--Since my intimacy with Imperial Royalty, Cousin EmilyElizabeth Dempster has been as proud as a peacock of our relationship, and speaks about the Court of all the Russias as if she expected to havean ice-palace built on the Neva for her, every winter, for the rest ofher life. This may be natural--I dare say it is; but I'm afraid thatRussia--being an awful despotism--wouldn't stand too many of one'srelations crowding into the Imperial corn-crib, that being a free-borninstitution peculiar to high moral ideas which my great Grand Duke didnot stay in Boston long enough to imbibe. 

Still, being a relation and born under the star-spangled banner, whyshouldn't she have her own little hopes? I ask myself this and resolveto do my best for her. Being a first cousin she has her rights. 

This morning E. E. Sent down a little straw-colored letter with apicture on the envelop just where it seals, and asked me to go with herand Dempster to see "The Black Crook, " which she wrote was a spectacleworth looking at. They had got seats at Niblo's to see it after ever somuch trouble, and were sure that I would be delighted. 

Delighted! What about! I never hankered much for eye-glass orspectacles. I wish cousin E. E. Would be a little more particular abouther spelling--that sometimes makes goose-pimples creep all over me--buta spectacle, singular, spelt with an "a, " gives one just a tantalizingsense of growing old, more provoking than saying the thing right out. Ican't see any more sense in one spectacle than in half a pair ofscissors, but maybe she can. At any rate I don't mean to go gadding downto Mr. Niblo's theatre just to see that. 

But the "Black Crook, " I'm beat to know what that has to do withspectacles or eye-glasses. I have read what our minister calls pastoralpoetry, and almost always find it divided off into hill-side lots, wheresome stuck-up young creature in the farming line, is tending sheep, witha long crook-necked stick in her hand, with which she

 Just trains the little bleating lambs, "With fleece as white as snow, " And points out with her crooked stick Just where they ought to go. 

Excuse poetry, but, like a pent-up spring, it will break forth; nor mustyou suspect me of plagiarism. Remark--the second line has honestquotation-marks, which is doing full justice to Mary who owned theparticular lamb which has become immortal from its whiteness andexceptional training. 

But all this does not bring us any nearer to what this Black Crookmeans. I have been studying this matter over. Of course a crook is acrook. Put the neck of a winter squash on the end of a bean pole, andyou have it. 

But the Black Crook. Black? Ah, why didn't I think of that before? Fromthe name, I suppose it is some reconstruction instrument for hooking-uptaxes and bonds, left behind here in New York by some run-away Southerngovernor. 

Well, now, I _should_ like to see that--anything left behind by one ofthose fellows must be a curiosity. 

Yes, I made up my mind to accept Cousin E. E. D. 's invitation. Thetheatre would be something new anyhow, and it is the duty of my missionto see all things and hold fast to that which is good. 

Well, just before dark, I got out that pink silk dress and the two longbraids, and shut myself in with the looking-glass over my bureau, whichis always reflecting, but says nothing, or one might be afraid to trustit on some occasions. 

I was almost ready, when Cousin Emily E. Come in so suddenly that Ihopped up from my chair, and gave a scary scream. The face in the glassturned all sorts of colors, and seemed to scream too, and lookedhalf-frightened to death. Cousin E. E. Laughed, and shut the door. Holding up both hands, says she:

"What, in that dress! My dear cousin, it is to a theatre we are going. "

"Well, I reckon your letter told me that, " says I, a-spreading out theskirt of my dress along the floor. 

"But we do not dress like that for a theatre, " says she, a-looking downat her black silk dress, which was all fluttered over with narrowruffles. "No trains, dear Cousin Frost, no lace--a plain walking-dressand bonnet--nothing more?"

I looked at the shiny waves of pink silk lying around my feet, and atthat face in the glass, and was just ready to burst out a-crying. It wastoo bad. 

"You thought this just the thing when we went to hear that Miss Nilssonsing, " says I, looking mournfully at that face in the glass, which wasalmost crying. 

"Yes; but that was the opera--this only a theatre. You see thedifference, " says she. 

"No, I don't, " says I. 

"Well, you will, " says she. "It's the fashion. You, who write aboutfashionable life so beautifully, ought to know that. "

"Just as if I didn't, " says I; and the fire flashed into my eyes while Itook off my pink dress; and put on my alpaca, which has got a newoverskirt trimmed with flutings. 

"There, " says I, flinging the pink silk down on the bed, "will thatsuit?"

"Beautifully, " says she. "Now get your shawl and bonnet. "

Which I did. 

The carriage held four of us this time, for Cousin E. E. Had broughtthat little girl of hers, who sat huddled up in the back seat. When hermother told her to change places, "The idea, " says she, giving her heada fling, and eying me like an angry poodle-dog; then she flounced downin the front seat, so huffish and sulky, that her father said, in amilk-and-waterish way:

"My darling, don't be naughty. "

And his wife told him not to interfere between her and her child. Sheknew how to bring up a young lady, and he mustn't attempt to break herspirit; at which the heap of sulks in the corner muttered that it wasn'tin him to do it. 

There isn't so very much difference between the Opera House and Mr. Niblo's theatre; only, one is piled up sky-high with cushionedgalleries; and the theatre is considerably out-of-doors, especially inthe lower story. We sat right in front, for Cousin E. E. Said that the"Crook" could be seen best from there. I said nothing, but waited. Somepeople love to ask questions, but I would rather find out things formyself--it's a saving to one's feelings in the long run. 

Well, the theatre was jammed full of people, mostly with shawls, andcloaks, and bonnets on. Cousin E. E. Was right. What is genteel in oneplace is vulgar in another--that is fashion. 

That child insisted on trying all the seats, to see which she likedbest; but we got settled at last, and just then up went thepicture-curtain with a rush. I screamed right out, for the very firstsight took away my breath. Oh! sisters, I wish you could have seen it. Such trees, such loads of flowers, such clusters and streams of light!Oh my! if Eve ever had a paradise like that, she was just the greatestgoose that ever lived to be turned out of it for the sake of one littleknotty apple. I've no patience with her!

While I was looking at this beautiful world, another scream burst frommy lips, for, all in a moment, it was alive with women, so lovely, sograceful, so full of life, that they almost took away one's breath. Atfirst, they all came whirling in, as figures do in a dream; but, after aminute, I just felt like sinking through the floor. Why, sisters, theymight just as well have been dressed in flowers! In short, dress afull-grown girl in a double poppy, with fringed edges, and you have anidea of what I couldn't look at. I felt my cheeks glow with fire; myfingers tingled with shame. It seemed to me that every man in the housewas looking straight into my eyes, to see how I bore it. I lifted myeyes, and cast one frightened look around me, ready to jump up and runfrom the first face turned to mine. Then I just covered my face with myopen fan. 

There wasn't a face turned my way. Every soul--men, women, andchildren--were looking at those girls, who whirled, and moved, andtangled themselves up in some sort of a wild, wicked dance, that musthave been the work of Old Nick himself, for nothing less could have mademe look on. My whole heart rose right up against those beautifulcreatures, but somehow they seemed to hold me to my seat. Really, sisters, you have no idea how very enticing a woman can be who puffs alot of gauze around her waist, throws a wreath of flowers over hershoulders, and dances like a whirlwind. 

At first, I just covered my face with my fan, for I could not bringmyself up to a straightforward look. Then, somehow, my fingers would getapart, and I found myself peeping through the slats just as shamed ascould be, but yet I could not help peeping. 

Mercy on me, what a whirl and rush of light! What a flashing of gold;what a crowd of women dressed in nothing, and a little gauze thrownin--it made my head whirl like a top. 

I can't tell you just when my hand dropped into my lap, but before Iknew it my eyes were fixed on that great whirling picture, and my senseof shame was lost in a storm of music. All these glittering women werestanding in rows, regular as the pickets on a door-yard fence, while onegirl, with a wreath of green leaves and red berries on her head, waswhirling on one toe round and round, till she seemed to be a dozen girlswhizzing round in a cloud of white muslin. 

By and by all the crowd of girls joined in and began dodging about amongthe trees and flowers, like--well I must say it, --like runaway angelsdetermined to have a good time of it. Then a man, covered to his kneeswith silver scales like a fish, came in, and he had a dance with thegirl in leaves and red berries. Such a dance--they backed, theyadvanced, they snapped their fingers at each other, they flung up theirheels, they locked arms backwards, then broke apart, and began the mostlively double-shuffle at each other that ever I dreamed of. It fairlytook away my breath to see them. 

"That is a splendid can-can, " says that child, taking the littlespy-glass from her mother's lap, and levelling it at the dancers. "Don'tyou think so, Miss Phœmie?"

I gave her a look; it was all I could spare just then, for some newpeople had come into the picture. A great tall fellow, with bodysupporters like bean poles, had come in with a lovely creature, who wasconsidered a queen among the girls. Just as I was looking, he seemed tostretch himself out like a piece of india-rubber, and lifting one foot, swung it over her head without touching a curl. 

So this was the "Black Crook, " not that I saw anything like a crook, butthe burning pictures more than made up for that, and the dancing was, well--stupendous. 

Every once in a while a curtain would fall and shut out the pictures. Every time it was drawn up something more splendid than anything thathad gone before came out. One picture was all in a veil of fog, throughwhich the men and women roved like beautiful ghosts. In another, some ofthe cunningest little dogs you ever saw danced, and begged, and acted aplay for themselves, just like human creatures. At last came a greatfiery picture, all gold and glare, and flowers planted in fire, withtrees that seemed to be dropping golden fruit, in which all the crowd ofbeautiful girls were lying on banks and under trees, and perched likesplendid birds up in the air. Then the curtain came down with a thud, smothering up the fire, and hiding everything. The storm of music brokeoff with a crash, and the crowd began to shout and yell, and stamp theirfeet till the whole building shook. 

Sisters, this is all I can tell you about the "Black Crook. " It issplendid, and wonderfully enticing; but you might as well expect me togive you a clear idea of a burning city. It is just one picture ofgorgeous confusion and confused gorgeousness. 

XXVI. 

LIVING APART. 

Dear sisters:--There has been great tumult and trouble in New York sinceI wrote my last report. Something that relates to the honor of Vermonthas thrilled the public mind to a fearful extent. A smart, genial, warm-hearted, dashing person, by the name of Fisk--Mr. James Fisk--bornand brought up in our State, has been shot in the largest tavern in thecity, where he died, I greatly fear, without a realizing sense that hewas so soon to be called before his Maker. 

Many of you, my sisters, can remember this man--a great, handsome, good-natured-looking fellow, with sunshiny eyes, and a mustache thatcurled up like a pair of horns on each side of a mouth that alwaysseemed ready to laugh at something. There wasn't a man that ever came toSprucehill that everybody was so sure to remember. His great wagon, painted off like a circus, with four horses a-drawing it through thevillage, with a splash-dash noise of whips and wheels and hoofs, wasenough to make the money spring right out of one's pocket. Mercy on me!Didn't he make the dry-goods fly! Everybody bought something of him, andI must say that everybody liked him. In the peddling line he was a sortof P. T. Barnum, only he didn't know how to stick to his trade as Barnumhas. He drove his four horses; he made money like everything; he outgrewBrattleborough, which was his native place, and soon got above peddling, his native business. 

The next step towards his exaltation and ruin was that he left Vermont, a man who will do that of his own accord is sure to run wild. Well, heleft his native State, and set up at the Hub of the Universe, whichevery one knows is Boston, where he began his education as a financierand a millionaire. 

Boston is a great city. I should like to hear any one dare to deny that;but, then, people here say that, in the way of financing, the Hub knowshow to save, and skimp, and deposit, and get twice her share of officesout of the President of the United States; but, outside of that, she isnowhere, compared to New York. She has no idea of turning a sharp stockcorner, couldn't get up a Black Friday to save her life; in fact, isonly good at an old-fashioned tea-party. This is what Cousin Dempstersays about Boston, and he ought to know, being a first-class broker inWall Street, and New England born. 

Well, of course, it wasn't long before Mr. Fisk outgrew the Hub, whichhadn't room for all the spokes which he wanted to carry to his wheel, and off he comes to New York, gets into the Erie Railroad, and, goodnessknows how he did it! but before people knew who he was, he went smashingand crashing up that road, prowled through Wall Street like a roaringlion, or bear, or some other such animals as gore and claw each other inthat neighborhood. 

Well, after he had sent a good many brokers sky-high with his horns, andknocked others down with his paws, for he tackled in with both, he goeskiting off to sea by way of the Sound. 

While people were wondering what he would do next, he had gone to workand fitted up great palatial steamboats, and invited the President totravel in them, which the President did, not dreaming that he wasexpected to build up a cattle-pen or a bear-garden in exchange for alittle hospitality. 

Well, it's hard satisfying a Vermonter when he once breaks loose fromhis native mountains. After gobbling up railroads and putting steamboatsafloat, Mr. Fisk just swung back into Wall Street one day, and upsetthings generally in less time than any man ever did before. No shootistever brought down more birds at a shot, than he left men in that streetrich in the morning, and ruined at night. Cousin Dempster says it wasawful. 

Mr. Fisk didn't care, but wheeled out of the street just as he used todrive his pedler's wagon, with hoofs a-rattling and whips a-cracking, riding over ruined men everywhere in his track. 

Besides all this, Mr. Fisk had a great, grand, overpowering Opera House, and carried on a theatre, in which women danced, like Black-crookers, and sang like--well, I can't tell what they did sing like, not having acomparison handy--but it was awfully interesting, Cousin Dempster said;and I believe him, for E. E. Says he used to go to that Opera Housealone so often, that she began to be afraid that he was getting intosome business with Mr. Fisk that must be transacted in the evening--athing she didn't like, the man being considered so overpoweringlyfascinating. 

I don't know whether Mr. Fisk belonged to the Woman's Righters or not, but there was a good deal of talk about him, such as would havecompelled any religious society in Vermont to get up an investigationand some extra prayer-meetings, which he wouldn't have liked, beingmostly given contrary-wise. But the one thing he hadn't done was to joina church, and, you see, nobody in particular had a right to call him toaccount but his wife, and she didn't. 

Some people were mean enough to hint that his system of married lifewasn't just the thing for a couple brought up in the purifyingatmosphere of a Vermont village, and went so far as to turn up theirnoses because he lived about the Opera House and she in Boston, close tothe very heart of the Hub, as if any woman could get further away fromoriginal sin than that. 

But these slanderers knew as well as could be, that Mr. Fisk had a freepass on the telegraph and steam communication with his wife every day. Besides, didn't the newspapers give his most private actions to anadmiring public, every few hours, and couldn't she read how blamelessand self-sacrificing his life was. 

Besides being a great financier and seafaring man, our Vermont pedlertook up social life as a specialty, and distinguished himself among thehigh fashionables. The moral ideas that he had brought from Down East, were just as dashing as his Wall-street corners. He still kept thetelegraph wires quivering with conjugal messages, and when he tookdomestic ease and the fresh salt air on the Jersey sea-coast, at LongBranch, in a high-swung carriage, with four seats, and stable help intrainer's clothes, wasn't his wife at another watering-place, calledNewport, with a high-swinging carriage of her own, all cushioned offwith silk, and with her gold-mounted harness rattling over six horses, just as black and shiny as his?

If that isn't conjugal sympathy, such as goes down among the upper crustof New York, I don't know what is. 

Just the same number of horses, just the same swing in her carriage, just the same people--no, I am a little out there. She had relations inthe seats, and he hadn't always. 

But then, what is all that compared to a great many fashionable, married folks in New York--so extravagantly fond of each other, thatthey make the Atlantic Ocean for a connecting link, year after year, andcorrespond tenderly in bills of exchange. 

Our poor, dead pedler from Vermont wasn't the only man in New York wholived and loved by steam and telegraph. 

XXVII. 

MORE ABOUT FISK. 

When the New England mind, which is a little apt to be troubled aboutthe marriage relations of its emigrants, asks you about my report, youcan say that this New England couple were only following the upper-crustfashion with married people in our great cities, where men and theirwives find the Atlantic Ocean more convenient than a divorce court. Being imbued with morality from the Hub, they only set an example ofeasy distances. 

It takes a good, solid foundation of religion for even a born Vermonterto stand against a sudden rush of money. This man seemed to start fair. He began his life with _us_. Next he went to Boston, the very spring andfountain of high moral ideas, where every law has a higher law tonullify it. He left his better half in the salubrious atmosphere, whereshe performed her domestic duties alone, while he was toiling down Erierailroad stock, and promulgating sweet sounds from the Grand OperaHouse. Bound together in conjugal sympathy, by ever-vibrating telegraphwires, what could have been more satisfactory and highly fashionablethan these hymeneal relations?

This is what Cousin Dempster has been saying to me with a queer smile onhis lips, and something that seems almost sarcastic in his voice. 

Says he, "If this way of life is persisted in, and is held respectablein social circles, who has a right to find fault when sin and sorrowspring out of it? Who among the thousands who abandon honorable homesfor personal pleasures shall dare to condemn him?

"Look over the list of outgoing steamers any month in the year, and seehow large a proportion of husbands and wives travel together. Society, so slanderous in other things, is wickedly tolerant here, and makes athousand excuses for the separation of married people. 

"Children must be educated. Just as if a free-born American boy or girlcan't learn all he or she is capable of knowing in his own native land!Just as if any woman, who loves her husband and means to be a goodmother, would listen for a moment to the idea of taking her family intoforeign parts while her husband is tied down to business at home. 

"Married people, who love each other, live together--temptations areserpent-like, but they seldom creep upon a hearthstone kept warm bydomestic affection. 

"Parents who are willing to live apart for the sake of their children, and call it a sacrifice to duty, may not know that they are hypocrites, but other people know it. Scandal thrives upon such things, and wherescandal thrives domestic happiness perishes. 

"The marriage relations are the soul of our social life; relax them, take away one grain of their holiness, and you blast the blossom fromwhich wholesome fruit can spring. When love and truth dies out ofmarriage, its vitality is gone. God forgive the men and the women whodare to hold the most beautiful tie that links soul to soul, as a wispof flax, to be rent or burned at the will of our most evil passions. 

"Can any human being make laws for himself and trample under foot thosewhich have been for ages laid down by society, without meeting, sooneror later, with rebuke, and perhaps, ruin? Evil passions arouse evilpassions. The profligacy and power of gold is sometimes most dangerousin a generous nature. In the hot sunshine of overwhelming good fortune, fiery passions are sure to thrive and tend to a poisonous growth. War isthe mother of licentiousness. How much that men should avoid, and womenshudder at, has sprung out of the civil war, which ebbs and flows evenyet on the borders of our land! In that war men learned to be daring inother things than brave deeds, and women learned to be shameless, andglory in free speech, free actions, and free laws of their own devising. 

"These thoughts are forced from me by the violent death of a man who hadthe brain and the heart to be an honor to our State, whose capacity andcordial good-nature might have gained him the love of better men than heever knew in his brief and fiery career, and who had the brain toaccomplish great things in the future. "

I listened with breathless attention to what Cousin Dempster said. Hespoke with feeling. I didn't think there was so much in the man. He gotup from his chair and began to walk the room. 

"I cannot dwell upon this man's wildly brilliant career, " says he, "without a feeling of melancholy. Here existed the capacities of a greatman, perfect health, wonderful energy, struggling aspirations toward theright--which he might hereafter have reached--generous impulses runningwild, strong affections, and overweaning ambition, all turbulentostentations almost barbaric, and all hurled into nothingness by theblow of one bitter enemy. 

"As he had lived, so they carried him to his grave, arrayed gorgeouslyin his coffin, lying in high state, not by the sacred altar of a church, but in the Grand Opera House, which had so long been the centre of hismagnificence. Buried in flowers snow-white, as if gathered for the tombof a vestal, glittering with gold, with clouds of perfume floating overhim--in all the pomp of a monarch he was taken from New York, andcarried for a last resting-place to Vermont. 

"I wish it had been otherwise. Living as he did, dying as he did, withthe ruin of so many lives involved in his fate, that last journey shouldhave been taken in simplicity and quietness. The lesson his deathconveys is too solemn for display, too mournful for anything butstillness. The elements of a great man left Vermont only a few yearsago; New York has sent back the ruins. Let them rest in peace. "

Sisters, I did not think it possible that Cousin Dempster could get sofearfully earnest; his conversation has filled me with thoughts toosolemn for careless utterance. In this man's death I hear a cry formerciful consideration--a solemn warning--a protest against the headlongspeed with which this generation is trampling respectability under foot. This man's death is a subject of gossip now, when it should be a subjectof mournful regret. 

I do not speak here of the man who killed him, or the cause of hisdeath. One is a subject that no lady would care to discuss. The other isin the hands of the law, which should be a sanctuary for the accused. The evidence has been heard thoroughly, and a jury has decided on it, merciful or not, its verdict is final. 

But for Cousin Dempster, I should not have made this death the subjectof a report, but some things that he has said startled me. Is it truethat the alienation and separation of married people has become so easyand so fashionable? Can a husband and wife live apart months, years, andstill keep up a pretence or the reality of affection, and be honored asrespectable? I, for one, have no patience with such things. To me, marriage is a beautiful institution. 

Do not smile, sisters; I am not thinking of the great Grand Duke now. Infact I am not thinking of myself at all. Cousin Dempster's earnestnesshas impressed me with apprehension and melancholy; he places thissubject before me in a new light. 

The man who is dead was in the full vigor of his life. The poor wept forhim; he was good to them, and they believed that he had a kind heart. Sometimes that heart went back to the prayers of his mother. Had timebeen given him, something tender and good might have found a noblegrowth in his nature. We do not yet know, and never shall know, what hemight have been. 

XXVIII. 

SHE WOULD GO. 

Dear sisters:--I have had a glorious and a refreshing season. I havefelt, in the depths of my soul, that the eyes, of all Vermont were on mein a reflective way. As the moon is sometimes permitted to shine beforethe sun goes down, I have added the light of my little feminine luminaryto the flood of public homage that surrounds the greatest and best manthat our State ever gave to the world. 

Saturday night, February third, was Horace Greeley's birthday. Agentleman up-town, who thinks the world of that smartest of good men, just made a house-warming on the occasion, and invited so many artistsand poets, and editors and statesmen, and people that Providence hadlabelled as something particular, that it is a wonder the roof wasn'tblown off with the yeasting of so much genius. 

Of course the beauty and talent of old Vermont, wherever it could befound, was hunted up, and invited with unusual enthusiasm. Where beautyand talent could be found united in one person--modesty forbids me topoint out an instance--of course an especial compliment was paid. Myinvitation had a picture of the man, whose birthday we went tocelebrate, in the middle of the writing--a real good likeness, that Imean to put in a locket and wear round my neck in honor of thisself-made man and of my own native State, which may have double cause toglorify herself when the sixty-first birthday of another person juststanding in front of the Temple of Fame, with her foot on thethreshold, shall come round. I say nothing, but in the female lineVermont has laid up oceans of future glory for herself. 

Well, the day came. Once more I drew forth my pink silk dress, andironed out the flounces; one of them got a little scorched, but I loopedup the spot with a bow and a bunch of roses, and found the scorch anartistic improvement. I twisted my hair in corkscrews over night, andslept with my eyes wide open, contented as a kitten, though the pull wastremendous. I frizzed up the other woman's hair, for which I had paidten dollars in the Sixth Avenue, and made ready for the occasion overnight in a general way. 

Of course Cousin Dempster and his wife were invited, being _my_ cousins, and so saturated with the family genius, that people are constantlyexpecting it to break out, which it hasn't yet, except in a general way. But Cousin D. Made lots of money in the war, and money is thought almostas much of as talent by some people. Still, between ourselves, I don'tthink they would have been invited if they hadn't come from Sprucehill;which is taking a literary position next to the Hub since our Societyhas begun to publish my humble reports. 

Well, just at nine o'clock, if you had been in front of myboarding-house you might have seen a splendid carriage standing at thedoor, and that coachman, in his fur collar and cuffs, sitting high up onthe driver's seat, and scrouching his head down while a storm of sleetand snow beat over him. 

If you had looked toward the house, three or four eager and curiousfaces might have been seen flat against every front window as a certaindignified and queenly person came slowly down the steps, with a whiteopera-cloak folded over her magnificent person, and a pink silk longtrain bunched up under it, lining-side out. 

The moment that carriage-door shut with an aristocratic bang you mighthave seen those faces turn from the window and look at each other--thennoses turned up at sympathizing noses, giving out audible sniffs of thatenvy which the wonderful endowments of some persons are apt to engenderin the inferior female mind. 

But if you had looked into that carriage you would have seen it packedcomfortably as a robin's nest in blossom time. There was my pink dressfloating round me in rosy billows; there was Cousin E. E. 's corn-coloredmoiré antique swelling like a balloon on her side; and there was CousinDempster rising like a black exclamation point up from one corner, and_that child_ drumming her blue kid-boots against the seat in anothercorner, and snarling because a gust of sleet came in with me before thefellow outside could shut the door. 

When I saw her, my blood riled in a minute. 

"Why, Cousin Dempster, " says I, "children were not invited. "

"Children, indeed!" says the child, giving her head a fling: "I supposeCousin Frost thinks that nothing but old maids can be young ladies--theidea!"

"Daughter!" almost shrieked Cousin Emily E. , a-catching her breath, andgiving a frightened look over my way. 

"My child, how can you be so rude?" says Cousin Dempster, stamping downamong the fur robes, and mashing my foot under the sole of his boot. 

I said nothing, but sat in dignified silence, wishing those two personsto feel that it was impossible the creature could mean me, but Itrembled all over with righteous indignation, and wondered why thatBible benefactor, King Herod, had limited himself to boys, when he hadsuch a glorious chance to sweep creatures like that out of existence inthe female line. Oh! if I had been a Bible potentate!

"She was so anxious to go, being born in Vermont, " says Cousin EmilyElizabeth; "it seems as if she knew Mr. Greeley. "

"Reads the _Tribune_ every day, " chimes in Cousin Dempster, giving me apleading look. 

"I'll thank you to take the heel of your boot off my foot, if you haveheld it there long enough, " says I, with the firmness of a martyr andthe dignity of an empress. 

This wilted the whole party into silence, and we drove on, with the hailpelting against the windows, and lowering clouds inside. 

All at once we got into a long line of carriages, and moved on as if wewere going to a funeral instead of a birthday. Then the carriagestopped, the door was flung open, and we stepped under a long tent thatstretched from the front door down a flight of stone steps and acrossthe sidewalk. A carpet ran down the steps to the carriage, and we walkedup that into the house; then through a hall, and upstairs, where we tookoff our cloaks and titivated up a little in a room half full of ladies, and blocked up with cloaks and things. I let down Cousin E. E. 's dress, and she let down mine; then we shook each other out, took an observationof each other from head to foot, tightened the buttons of our gloves, and went into the hall. 

There stood Cousin Dempster, with his white gloves on, and a whitecravat with lace edges around his neck, looking _so_ gentlemanly. Wewent downstairs Indian file, for a stream of people were going down onone side all crimlicued off most gorgeously; and another stream wasgoing up, with cloaks and hoods on, so there was no locking arms till wegot into the lower hall. Then we just tackled in. I took one arm, E. E. Took the other, and _that creature_ followed after, looking like aninfantile Black Crook in her short muslin skirts and bunched-up sash. 

XXIX. 

MR. GREELEY'S BIRTHDAY PARTY. 

The parlors were large and light, and crowded full. Just beyond the doorI saw a man standing, with both hands at work, shaking out welcomes tohis friends, as a chestnut bough rattles down nuts after a rousingfrost. 

There he stood--the honored son of our dear old State--looking benign asMr. Benjamin Franklin, and sweet-tempered as if he had fed on nativemaple-sugar all his life. I looked eagerly for his "old white coat, " buthe had on a bran-new black one; his hair, long and snow-white, fell downalmost to his shoulders, that were rather broad than otherwise, which isneedful considering the burdens that have been piled on them. I reallythink any stranger, going in there, would have known that this man owneda birthday by his face, it was so radiant with good-nature. 

By and by we hustled our way to the door. A man that stood therewhispered something to Cousin Dempster, who whispered back. Then the mansung out--

"Mr. And Mrs. Dempster--Miss Phœmie Frost!"

Mercy on me, wasn't there a fluttering when that name rang through thecrowd, as if blown by the trumpet of Fame. I felt myself blushing fromhead to foot, my heart rose into my mouth. I clung with femininereliance on my cousin's arm, and, thus supported, prepared to endure thehundreds of admiring eyes bent upon me. 

Mr. Greeley came forward. The moment he heard that name he seized thetwo whitely gloved hands that I held out to him. 

"Miss Frost, of Vermont, " says he. 

I pressed his hands. I could not speak. A little address, full ofpoetry, that I had been thinking over in my mind, melted into chaos. Icould only murmur something about birthdays and long lives. Then somenew people crowded me away, and I felt myself alone long enough to takea look at the rooms. They were gorgeous with pictures and flowers;radiant with gas, which fell like August sunshine through a thicket ofvines, and flowers woven in among the burners in the chandelier, anddropping down half way to the floor. 

The marble slabs under the looking-glass at each end of the rooms werematted over with flowers, and from the top streamed down long featheryvines which ended in little bunches of red roses that swung loose beforethe glass, and left another vine there. Over the doors and windows thesevines and flowers trailed themselves everywhere. Some beautiful pictureswere on the walls. The centre one was of Greeley himself--just likehim--bland and serene, smiling down upon the crowd as if he longed toshake hands over again. 

This picture was just crowned with a mat of white flowers, in which theyear our Greeley was born, and the present year, were woven with brightred flowers. Down each side the feathery vines trailed and quivered. Itell you, sisters, it was beautiful. 

Before I could take in a full view, people had found out where I stood, and came crowding round me so close that I had to take in a reef of mypink silk dress, and they kept Cousin Dempster busy as a bee introducingthem. So many people had read my writings, so many people had been dyingto see me, it was enough to bring blushes to my cheeks and tears to myeyes. This, said I, is fame--and all Vermont shall hear of it, not formy sake, but in behalf of the Society. 

The rooms had been full of music all the time, but now the toot hornsand fiddles stopped, and I heard the tones of a pianoforte from thefurther end of the room, then a voice struck in--loud, clear, ringing. We pressed forward, people made way for us, and we got into the ring. 

A young lady was standing by the pianoforte, singing "Auld Lang Syne. "Greeley stood by her, holding her bouquet in his hand. How smiling, howsatisfied he looked as the heart-stirring old song rang over him! Closeby stood his only sister, Mrs. Cleveland, a fair and real handsomewoman, dressed in blue silk, with a white lace shawl a-shimmering overit. She looked happy as a blue jay on an apple-tree bough, and madeeverybody welcome over again when Mr. Greeley had done it once--just asa kind, warm-hearted woman ought to stand by a brother she is proud of, and looks like. 

Near by were her two daughters, just the nicest girls you ever saw. Oneof 'em in a pink satin dress with lace over it, and the other in bluesatin with lace--just lovely!

When the lady who did "Auld Lang Syne" went away from the pianoforte, every lady in the room began to clap hands, they seemed to be so gladthat Mr. Greeley had found time to have a birthday. Then Miss Cleveland, in the blue dress, sat down, looking sweet and modest as a white dove;and she sang, too, real sweet; and then the people began to clap handsagain. It seemed as if music just set them off into tantrums of delightbecause our great white-headed Vermonter had ever been born. 

I joined in with a vim; for if there is anybody I like and am proud of, it is the man who was standing there smiling among his friends, withthat great, lovely bunch of flowers in his hands, and a little one inthe button-hole of his coat. 

The wife and two daughters of our statesman and friend were over inEngland, so that his family connections didn't spread as if he had beenPresident of the United States. But then he had a great many honestfriends, and that made up for it considerably. There stood Mr. And Mrs. A. J. Johnson, who had carpeted their stone steps, set up a tent overtheir hospitable door, and turned their parlors into a blooming garden, just to show the respect they had for him; and they did it beautifully, making his friends theirs. At any rate, I can answer for one; for anyperson who does honor to a Vermont man who has glorified his State, cancount on the faithful friendship of Phœmie Frost during his naturallife. 

At eleven o'clock, exactly, we all crowded around Mr. Greeley, and shookhands with him over again. Then we shook hands with Mrs. Johnson, wholooked sweet, and was nice as nice could be; and with Mr. Johnson, andso on. After that, we all flocked out, with cloaks and hoods on, feelingthat an evening like that was a refreshing season which will not beforgotten by some of us, so long as we live. 

One thing I forgot to mention--and I do it now, with tears in my eyes. In the front parlor, on a line with Mr. Greeley's picture, was one thatmade the heart ache in my bosom, and which will bring tears into youreyes, one and all, I know. It was the picture of Alice Cary. You haveread her poetry; you know how good she was from that poetry; but I havelearned some things about her here, that, as a Society, you should hearabout. But I respect her memory so much that it must be in a report byitself. She was a great friend of Mr. Greeley's, and her shadow seemedto smile on him as it hung upon the wall. 

XXX. 

LEAP YEAR. 

Do you know that this is Leap Year? Do you begin to feel the gloriousflood of liberty which it lets in upon the female women of this country?As a society and as individuals, let us press forward to the mark of theprize--I beg pardon. 

This is not exactly a religious subject, though it does relate to thehymeneal altar, at which we have never yet been permitted to worship--alasting and burning shame, which I, for one, begin to feel more deeplyevery day of my life. 

True, my own prospects are brightening and glorifying, but circumstanceshave brought them, for the present, to a dead halt. But for the burstof golden sunshine let into my sad destiny by this opening Leap Year, Ishould be growing pale with suspense--for you know the great Grand Duke, though courteous and devotional, did not speak out in a perfectlysatisfactory manner. I knew he meant it; for no robin's nest in layingtime was ever so full of warm and brooding love as those blue eyes ofhis. But a cruel fate took him hence before the thrilling word wasspoken, and left me trembling with doubt, pining in loneliness. 

I know the reason of this now; there is not a doubt that he has beenanxious, like myself, but imperial royalty has its impediments. MyPrince must bow to the exactions of a lofty station. I took up a paperthe other day, and read something that made the heart leap in my bosomas a trout jumps after a fly. The Emperor has heard of the great GrandDuke's admiration. All Russia has heard of it and me. It is evenreported that he has married a lovely and talented female, withoutwaiting for the Emperor to say yes or no. The description answers, youwill perceive. I felt myself blush, like a rose in the sunset, when Iread it. "Lovely and talented. " Sisters, there can be no doubt about it!

I felt my cheeks burn and my heart broaden with a sense of comingexaltation. Why should the Emperor refuse? Are we not all queens in thiscountry, and is not a woman of genius an empress among queens?

I'm afraid the Emperor of all the Russias does not yet comprehend thegreat social system of our country, where the fact of being a woman hasinfinite nobility in itself--to which peculiar privileges are attached;for instance, the privilege of carrying pistols and shooting down men inhallways and street cars in a promiscuous fashion. 

As I have said--to be a woman in America is to be everything. That iswhy I think it unreasonable that Imperial nobility should be forbiddento match itself here. Once we had aristocracy of money, but since thewar, when people became rich in no time by selling shoddy and things, that has levelled down like a sand heap. But one aristocracy is leftnow, and that is the aristocracy of mind. Genius is the nobility of themind. Now as long as the Prince unites himself with that, what has anyone, even his august father, to say against it?

But there is no doubt I have given the Imperial heart some anxiety. _His_ manner was so impressive; his spy-glass was levelled at mycountenance so often, that it is not to be wondered at if the violenceof his passionate admiration did get about and fly on the wings of thewind to his Imperial home. There it was sure to make an excitement. American ladies have married lords and marquises in England, counts andprinces in other countries, and make first-rate lordesses andmarchionesses and princesses too. In fact, just as good as the bornnobility, and better too; but up to this time it is left to a lovelywoman of genius to exalt America into the region of imperial highness. Money--for your lords, etc. , etc. , etc. , generally want that withAmerican beauty and grace--money has done its utmost. Now genius comesin, and modesty crowns itself. 

I am satisfied that the great Grand Duke is only waiting, from a feelingof doubt and modesty. My heart compassionates him. Up to the first ofJanuary, I could do no more. Female propriety forbade it, but now--nowall is changed. Modesty is disenthralled. 

It is Leap Year. St. Valentine's Day approaches. The windows of everybook-store are a-blazing with valentines, burning with love, eloquent ofthe tender passions, pictorial and poetical. 

The Queen of England offered herself to Prince Albert. It must have beena touching scene. How modestly she suggested the flame that was kindledin her youthful heart, and still lies smouldering in the ashes of thatgood man's grave. I don't think she waited for Leap Year--but I will. Noone shall say that Phœmie Frost has forgotten what is due to her sex. 

St. Valentine's Day emancipates the womanly heart. I have bought avalentine, white satin, surrounded by a frost work of silver lace, sprinkled with gold stars. On the satin is a little boy with wings, hiding behind a rose-bush, firing arrows through it from a bow which helifts up roguishly. These arrows are aimed at an Imperial figure mountedon a wild horse, and running down a buffalo--a unique and beautifullysuggestive idea. This was the poem which gushed with spontaneosity frommy disenthralled mind:

 Come back, come back, from the buffalo raid! Here is fairer game for you; At thy feet the lovingest heart is laid That ever a Grand Duke knew. A lady rich in womanly pride, Whose soul clings unto thine, Is ready to be an Imperial bride-- Kneel with thee at Hymen's shrine. Come back, come back, or thy haughty sire Will command, and all is lost; But he cannot extinguish this holy fire In the bosom of----

Sisters, I ask you now, isn't this a gem? It isn't just the thing to putyour name to a valentine, they tell me, but this is something deeper andmore poetic than such things usually are. It means mischief, as CousinDempster says. It is a proposal, buried in roses and veiled in sweet andmodest verse, such as a lady might almost send at any time with a fewblushes. It will reach him out in that vast wilderness of dead grass, where he has been deluded off by Mr. Sheridan, and has risked hisprecious life in a terrific manner, shooting great, monstrous buffaloes, which are animals, they tell me, something like an overgrown ox, onlythe hair is longer, and they are kind of hunched-up about the upper endof the back, just as if the last city fashions among ladies had got tobe the rage out there. 

Imagine my feelings, sisters, when I heard that the Grand Duke was offwith that fellow and a squad of wild Indians, all in war-paint andtomahawks, hunting these terrific creatures. It almost made me feel likea widow. There he was, brought up so tenderly, eating broiled buffalohump, and drinking champagne and things out in the open lots, as big asall out-doors, and sleeping in a tent. Think of it! With his own righthand he shot down twenty-five of these humpbacked monsters, and means tocarry their skins home with him to Russia. I suppose Mr. Philip Sheridanwill be for studying the military tactics of Russia from St. Petersburgto Siberia as soon as the great Grand Duke gets back, for he isn't thesort of fellow, folks tell me, to give up a chance like that. GovernorPalmer, of Illinois, has, at any rate, given him leave of absence fromthe Chicago fires, and there isn't anything much to keep him fromhunting in Siberia if he wants to. 

Well, I got my valentine all ready; directed it to the Grand Duke in adelicate, ladylike way, and took it with my own hands down to thepost-office. 

"Be very careful of this, " says I to a young man who stood at thepost-office window, "and see that it goes straight to his RoyalHighness; I want it to reach him the first thing in the morning onValentine's Day. "

He looked at the address, and muttered to himself:

"For His Royal Highness the Grand Duke of all the Russias: care ofPhilip Sheridan and a wild Indian whose name a refined lady could notbring herself to pronounce; Buffalo Plains, America. "

"My dear madame, " says he, all at once, "this is no address at all; itwould never reach the Grand Duke. "

I caught my breath. 

"Not reach him?" says I. 

"No, " says he; "the Grand Duke has gone beyond the reach of the mails. "

"Goodness gracious!" says I; "but no matter about that, if he hasn't gotout of the reach of the females. "

"But he has. "

My heart sank in my bosom like a soggy apple-dumpling. 

"What--all females?" says I. "Won't that reach him, anyway? it isimportant--very. Great destinies depend upon it. "

"I can put it in, " says he; "but ten chances to one it will get into thedead-letter office. "

My heart grew heavier and heavier, but what could I do?

"Put it in, " says I; "live or die, it must go!"

He took my valentine and pitched it off into a heap of letters, just asif it had been a dead leaf. It fairly made me faint to see it handledso; but the fellow turned his back on me, and I went away heart-sick. 

One comfort I had in all this--if my valentine could not reach him, thatof no other female could; and my offer is sure to be first, though Ishouldn't wonder if that girl who sent him her card tied round a canarybird's neck might try. She's forward enough, anyway. 

Then, there is another comfort--Valentine's Day don't cover the wholeLeap Year, and there are other men than the great Grand Duke in theworld. We females have a whole twelvemonths to try our luck in. Ofcourse any of us would aim high the first months; but after that, thegame will grow smaller and wilder, as a general thing, and our chancesless. 

For my part, I mean to be up and doing. One disappointment isn't goingto break my heart; I've had too many for that; but if human energy andhuman genius can avail anything against an adverse destiny, my signaturewill be changed before this year closes. 

XXXI. 

A MAN THAT WOULDN'T TAKE MONEY. 

Cousin Dempster is real good to me; no mistake about that. A day or twoago, he says to his wife, says he:

"Supposing we take Cousin Phœmie down to an oyster lunch at FultonMarket. That is one of the lions of the city. "

I fairly hopped up from my chair when he said this, just as cool andeasy as if he had been talking of rabbits lapping milk. What on earthhad I to do with city lions, and such animals? Wild beasts like theseare in no part of my mission, now are they?

Cousin E. E. Saw the scare in my eyes, and smiled. 

"I know it seems strange to people from outside, " says she; "and itreally is a dirty place; but somehow ladies and gentlemen have made itthe rage. "

"Do the creatures rage fiercely?" says I. 

Cousin E. E. Looked puzzled a minute, then she answered:

"Oh, " says she, "fashion takes queer twists sometimes; in this case itreally is unaccountable. The people crowding into those wooden dens--andthe eating done there is wonderful. "

"Eating!" says I, feeling my eyes grow big as saucers. "Eating! Do theyfeed before folks, then?"

"Oh, yes; every lady goes; you never saw anything like it. SuchRockaways and other bivalves are to be found nowhere else. "

"Rockaways and bivalves!" thinks I to myself; "what kind of animals arethey? Never heard of bivalves before in my whole life, but the otherputs me in mind of old Grandma Frost's splint-bottomed rocking-chair. Noneed of saying rock-away to her, for she was always on the teater. Butshe's dead now, and the last time I ever saw her Boston rocker it wasaway back of the chimney, at the old homestead, scrouged in between thestones and the clapboards, with one rocker torn off and an arm broken. Icouldn't help asking Cousin E. E. If she remembered that chair. 

"Oh, yes, " says she; "somebody hustled it off into the garret the momentshe'd done with it. I saw it there a year after the funeral, with thepatchwork cushion of red and blue cloth moth-eaten and gray with dust. "

Now, my father owned the old homestead while he lived, and I took thisas a slur on our branch of the Frost family. This riled me internally, but I couldn't contradict her, and felt myself blushing hotly, ratherashamed of the Frost family. But the truth is, as a race, we are none ofus given to much antiquity. No female of our family was ever known toget over forty-nine in her own person, though many of them have lived toa wonderful old age. This was curious, but a fact. Such unaccountablethings do sometimes run in families. But these are facts that Isometimes choke down--I did it now. 

"We were talking of something else, and got on to chairs, " says I. 

"No uncommon thing, " says Cousin Dempster, laughing. 

I laughed too, but that child turned up her sniffy nose, and, looking ather father, said:

"The idea!" which wilted him down at once. 

"But these bivalves and Rockaways--what do they do with them?"

"Why, eat them, of course. "

"Eat them? How?"

"Raw. "

"Mercy on me! Raw?"

"Well, Cousin E. E. , it shan't be said that you are related to a coward. I'll go down to see these city lions; but when?"

"Well, to-day, " says Cousin Dempster. "Just come down to the officeabout noon, and I'll go with you. "

"Just so, " says I, feeling a little shivery. 

"Would you like to go, darling?" says he speaking to his little girl, asif half afraid. 

"Me, papa, down to that horrid place all meat and butter, and fish andthings? The idea!"

I was so grateful to the stuck-up thing, that I'm afraid Cousin E. E. Saw it in my eyes, for she sort of clouded over and said:

"That, after all, she didn't think she cared to go, but that needn'tkeep Cousin Phœmie at home. Mr. Dempster would take her. "

"Well, just as you please, " says he, a-taking his hat, "I'm at yourservice--singly or in groups. Good-morning. "

Well, in the afternoon, I asked Cousin E. E. , in a kind of natural way, if she meant to go to that feed. But that child called out:

"No, no, mamma, don't go; I won't be left alone. "

So Cousin E. E. Said she had a bad headache, and thought she wouldn'tgo, but that needn't keep me. 

Now, sisters, I wasn't brought up in the woods to be scared by owls, aswe say in our parts--and if that little upstart thought she would keepme at home by domineering over her mother, she soon found out hermistake, for in less than two minutes a young lady, of about my size, came downstairs, with her beehive bonnet on, a satchel in one hand andan umbrella in the other. 

"You will find the way easy enough, " says Cousin E. E. "The cars takeyou close to the office, and you will get splendid oysters at themarket. "

Oysters! the very word made my mouth water, for if there is a thing onearth that I deliciously adore, it is oysters--such as you get here inYork. 

"Oysters!" says I, "why didn't you tell me that before?"

"We did, " says she; "of course we did!"

I was too polite to contradict her; but I'll take my Bible oath that notone word about shell-fish of any kind had been mentioned thatmorning--nothing but a great city lion, Rockaways, bivalves, and animalslike them. Still I said nothing, but went out encouraged by the ideathat I was to have something to eat as well as the lion. 

It was afternoon, and the street-car wasn't overfull, so I took a seatin one corner and began to think over a piece of poetry that I have gotinto my mind, which shortened the way to Dempster's office wonderfully. In less than no time I seemed to get there, but he had just stepped out. One of the clerks said that he thought he had gone to the market forlunch. 

Oh, mercy! I felt as if my oysters were all out to sea again. I was toolate. 

"Which is the way to the market?" says I. 

"I will show you, " says he--which he did--walking by my side till I gotin sight of a long, low, broad-spreading building that seemed all roof, and stone floors opening everywhere right into the street. 

"Now, " says the young gentleman, "you won't help finding your way, forthere is Mr. Dempster himself. "

He lifted his hat and bowed so politely that I felt impressed with adesire to reward him. Taking out my pocket-book, I handed him a ten-centstamp, with a grateful and most benevolent smile on my countenance. I amsure of that from the glow I felt. He blushed--he seemed to choke--hestepped back and put on his hat with a jerk, but he didn't reach out hishand with the grateful spontaneosity I expected. His modesty touched me. 

"Take it, " says I, "it is no more than you deserve. "

"Excuse me, " says he; and his face was as red as a fireman's jacket. 

"Good-afternoon;" and as true as you live he went off without taking themoney. I never saw anything like it. 

XXXII. 

A DEMOCRATIC LUNCH. 

As soon as I could recover from the surprise any New England woman wouldfeel at a thing like this, I saw Cousin Dempster coming toward me. 

"Come, hurry up, " says he. "You were so late, I thought perhaps you hadmisunderstood, and come directly here. This way; be careful where youstep; Fulton market is not the neatest place on earth. "

I was careful, and lifting the skirt of my alpaca dress between my thumband finger, gave a nipping jump, and cleared a gutter that ran betweenCousin D. And myself. Then we walked into the market, with a whole crowdof other people, and trained along between baskets and square woodenpens heaped up with oranges, and things called bananas--gold-colored, and bunched-up like sausages, but awful good to eat. Potatoes, apples, books, peanuts, chestnuts, pies, cakes, and no end of things, wereheaped on high benches on each side of us wherever we turned, till atlast we passed through an encampment of empty meat-stands, and from thatinto a wooden lane with open rooms on one hand, and piles on piles ofoysters on each side the door. 

Every one of these rooms had a great rousing fire burning and roaringbefore it, and a lot of men diving in amongst the oysters, with sharpknives in their hands. 

"Let us go in here, " says Cousin Dempster, turning toward one of therooms that looked cheerful and neat as a pin. The floor was sprinkledwith white sand, and the tables had marble tops, white as tombstones, but more cheerful by half. As we went in, a man by the door called out, "Tuw stews!" Then again, "One roast--one raw on half-shell!"

Another man began firing pots and pans at the heap of blazing coalsbefore him the moment this fellow stopped for breath. All this made meso hungry that I really felt as if I couldn't wait; but I kind ofstarted back when I saw ever so many gentlemen and ladies in the room, sitting by the tables and feeding deliciously. Some of the men had theirhats on, which did not strike me as over-genteel. But, after this onehalt, I entered with dignity, placed my satchel in a corner, and took anupright position on one of the wooden chairs. Cousin Dempster sat down, too. He took his hat off, which I felt as complimentary, and a touch ofthe aristocratic. 

"Now, what shall we have?" says he. 

"A stew, " says I, with a feeling of thanksgiving in my mouth. 

Cousin D. Said something in a low voice to the young man, who went tothe door, and called out:

"One roast! one stew--Saddlerock!"

I started up and caught that young man by the arm, a-feeling as if I hadgot hold of a cannibal. Saddlerocks, indeed!

"Young man, " says I, "you have mistaken your party; we didn't ask forstewed grindstones--only oysters. "

He looked at me, at first, wild as a night-hawk, and seemed as if hewanted to run away. 

"Don't be scared, " says I; "no harm is intended; it is an oyster stewthat we want--nothing more. I'm not fond of hard meat. If you don't knowhow to cook them--which is natural, being a man--I can tell you. Now beparticular--put in half milk, a considerable chunk of butter, not toomuch pepper, and just let them come to a boil--no more. I do hateoysters stewed to death. You understand?" says I, counting over theingredients on my fingers--"now go and do your duty. "

"Yes'm, " says he, and goes right to the door, and sings out: "Onestew!--one roast!" so loud that it made me jump. Then he came back intothe room, while I retired, with dignity, to my seat by the table. 

It seemed to me that Cousin Dempster didn't quite like what I had done, for his face was red as fire when I sat down again, and I heard himmutter something about the eccentricities of genius. Indeed, I'm afraida profane word came with it, though I pretended not to hear. 

By and by, in came the waiter-man, with two plates of cabbage cut fine, and chucked a vinegar cruet down before me; then he clapped salt andpepper before Cousin D. , with a plate of little crackers. Then he wentaway again, and came back with two plates full of great, pussy oysters, steaming hot, and so appetizing, that a hungry person might have made aluscious meal on the steam. 

Oh, Sisters! you never will know what good eating is till you've beendown to the Fulton Market, and feasted on oysters there; you can't get'em first-rate in any other place. Try it, and you'll find 'em weak asweakness compared to these. Hot, plump, delicious! The very memory ofthem is enough to keep a reasonable person from being hungry a week. Talk of Delmonico's! I never was there; but if it beats this room in theFulton Market in the way of shell-fish, I'll give up all my chances thisLeap Year. 

Well, when we'd done eating, two pewter mugs were set on the table, andCousin Dempster handed one to me. I've heard of these mugs as belongingto bar-rooms and over intimate with ale and beer--things that I wouldn'ttouch for anything on earth, maple-sap being my native drink--so Ipushed the cup away, really ashamed of Cousin D. ; but he pushed it backa-kind of laughing, and says he:

"Just taste it. "

"Beer?" says I. "Never. "

Cousin D. Lifted his mug to his lip, and drank as if it tasted good. Iwas awful thirsty, and this was tantalizing. 

"Try it, " says he, fixing his bright eyes on me. "How do you know it isbeer till you've tasted it?"

"Just so, " says I; "I didn't think of that?"

I took up the mug, and sipped a cautious sip. Beer, indeed! That pewtercup was brimming over with champagne-cider, that flashed and sparkled upto my lips like kisses let loose. Then I bent my head to CousinDempster, and just nodded. 

Never think you have drank champagne-cider till you've taken it flashingfrom a pewter mug, after oysters, in Fulton Market; till then, Sisters, you will never know how thoroughly good-natured and full of fun a lonefemale can become. Some people might think champagne-cider likemaple-sap with a sparkle in it, for the color is just the same; but itis considerably livelier, and a good deal more so, especially when onedrinks it out of a pewter cup, and hasn't any way of measuring. 

Bold! I should think I was, after that. Bold as brass. 

"Come, " says I, taking up my satchel, "I'm ready to see that city lion, the Rockaways, and the bivalves fed. They have no terrors for me now. I've got over that. Where is their dens, or cages, and how often do theyfeed?

Cousin Dempster set down his pewter mug, and just stared at me with allhis eyes. 

"What is it? What do you mean?" says he. 

"What! the lion, to be sure! Didn't you say that I would see one of thecity lions when I came to Fulton Market?"

That man must have been possessed. He leaned back in his chair, hestooped forward, his face turned red, and, oh! my how he did laugh!

"What possesses you, Cousin D. , " says I, riling up. 

"Oh, nothing, " says he, wiping the tears from his eyes, and trying tostop laughing, though he couldn't; "only--only this isn't a menagerie, but a market. Did you really think there were wild beasts on exhibition?It was the market we meant. "

Then I remembered that E. E. Had called me a lion once. Now it was themarket, and there wasn't a sign of the wild beast in either case. There_he_ sat laughing till he cried, because I couldn't understand thatladies and markets were not wild animals. Says I to myself, "I'll makeyou laugh out of the other side of your mouth, "--so I turned to him ascool as a cucumber:

"What on earth are you te-he-ing about? I only want to walk around themarket and see what's going on. Isn't that what we came for?"

Cousin D. Stopped laughing, and began to look sheepish enough. 

"Is that it?" says he. 

"What else?" says I. "You didn't think I expected this great, big, low-roofed market to have paws and growl, did you, " says I. "I wouldgrowl if the city were to set me down in the mud of this pestiferousplace. So you thought I really meant it. Well, the easy way in whichsome men are taken in is astonishing. They never can understandmetaphor, " says I. "But the bivalves and Rockaways. What of them?" saysI. 

"Swallowed them, " says he. Sisters, the dizziness in my stomach wasawful. 

XXXIII. 

DEMPSTER PROPOSES A TRIP. 

Dear sisters:--I have been in Washington. The great city of a greatnation. I have seen the Capitol in all its splendid magnificence, itspictures, its marbled floor, its fruit tables, and its undergroundeating-rooms. I have seen the White House, and have had a bird's-eyeview of the President of these United States. 

I will tell you how it happened. I was getting anxious and down in themouth; my valentine had been given to the winds of heaven--no, _they_would have carried it safely through ten thousand herds of buffalocattle--but it had been given to the mails, and they are _so_ uncertain, spell the word which way you will. Day after day I waited and watched, and sent down to the post-office to be sure there was no mistake in thatdepartment; but nothing came of it; no answer reached me. I becamepeaked and down-hearted, so much so, dear sisters, that Cousin Dempstergot anxious about me, and one day asked me, in the kindest manner, if Iwould like to run on to Washington with him. 

"Run on to Washington, " says I; "how far is it, cousin?"

"Why, " says he, "about two hundred and thirty miles, I should say. "

"Two hundred and thirty miles, " says I, almost screaming. "Why, CousinD. , I couldn't do it to save my life. "

"Oh!" says he, "it isn't a very tedious ride. "

"Ride, " says I. "Why, didn't you ask me just now to run on with you? Howcan I do both?"

Cousin D. Laughed, and began to rock up and down till he almost bentdouble; though what it was about I couldn't begin to tell. 

"Well, " says he, "just get your trunk or carpet-bag packed, and I'llcall for you in the morning. Emily Elizabeth can't leave home just now, and it will be a great pleasure to me if I can have you along. "

"If you'd just as lief, " says I, "I'll speak to Cousin E. E. About it;under present circumstances, a young girl like me can't be tooparticular. I'm told that a good many married men have got a habit oftravelling toward Washington in what seems like a single state, and it'swonderful how many of them have unprotected females put under theircharge--sometimes, both ways. If E. E. Has no objection, I'll be on handbright and early. "

Dempster kept on laughing, and I went upstairs wondering what had sethim off so, but when I asked Cousin E. E. If she had any objection to mytravelling to Washington with her husband, she began to laugh too, as ifit was the best sort of a joke that a York lady should be expected tocare about her husband's travelling off with other feminine women. 

"Why, " says she, a-wiping the fun and tears from her eyes with a lacehandkerchief, "what do you think I care! We don't keep our husbands shutup in band-boxes here in the great metropolis. "

"No, " says I to myself, "nor do you get much chance to shut 'em up athome, according to my thinking. "

"Besides, " says she, with comicality in her eyes, looking at me fromhead to foot: "I should never think of being jealous of you, CousinPhœmie. "

Here, that child looked up from a novel she was a-reading. 

"The idea, " says she, which was exasperating; especially as Cousin E. E. Kept laughing. 

"That is as much as to say you don't think I'm good-looking enough to beafraid of, " says I, feeling as if a cold frost was creeping over myface. "Thank you. "

Cousin E. E. Started up from her lounge, which is a cushioned benchrounded off at one end, and a high-backed easy-chair at the other; andsays she:

"I didn't mean that, cousin; there is no one for whom I have so muchrespect. It was on account of your high religious principle andbeautiful morality that I was so willing to trust you with my husband. "

"With papa. The idea!" chimed in that child, giving her head a toss. "They'll think it's his mother. "

"My daughter!" shrieked E. E. , holding up both her hands, and fallingback into the scoop of her couch. 

"Oh, let her speak!" says I, feeling the goose pimples a-creeping up myarms. "I'm used to forward children. In our parts they slap them with aslipper, if nothing else is handy. "

"A slipper; the idea!" snapped that child. 

I didn't seem to mind her, but went on talking to her mother. 

"But here, in York, the most careful mothers wear button boots, and keepspecial help to put them on and off, so the poor little wretches have nocheck on their impudence. "

"Mamma, " snapped the creature, "I won't stand this; I won't stay in thesame room with that hateful old maid. I hope she will go to Washingtonand be smashed up in ten thousand railroads. That's the idea!"

With this the spiteful thing walked out of the room with her head thrownback, and her nose in the air. 

"Let her go, " says E. E. , sinking back on her couch as red as fire. "Thechild has got her share of the old Frost temper. Now let us talk aboutWashington. Do you mean to go _incog. _?"

"Incog! Oh, no, " says I, beginning to cool down. "We mean to go in therailroad cars. "

Another glow of fun came into Cousin E. E. 's eyes--she really is agood-natured creature; some people might have got mad about what I saidto that child, but she didn't seem to care, for the laugh all came backto her eyes. 

"Of course, " says she, "but do you mean to go in your own character?"

"Why, " says I, "don't people take their characters with them when theygo to Washington?"

"They sometimes leave them there, " says she, laughing, "but this is whatI mean; if I were you I'd take this trip quietly, and look about alittle without letting people know how great a genius they had amongthem. By and by we will all go and take the city by storm. "

"Just so, " says I, delighted with the plan, which has a touch ofdiplomacy in it--and I am anxious to study diplomacy under thecircumstances, you know; "creep before you walk--that is what you mean. "

"Just pass as Miss Frost--nothing more--and make your own observations, "says E. E. 

"I will, " says I. "It's a good idea. I don't think the people inWashington were over polite to my great Grand Duke, and I mean to paythem off, some day. "

"That's settled, " says E. E. "Now you have no more than time to getready. "

XXXIV. 

IN WASHINGTON. 

I hurried back to my boarding-house, packed up that pink silk dress andthings, put on my alpaca dress, tied a thick brown veil over my beehive, and packed my satchel till it rounded out like an apple dumpling. 

We started that night. Cousin D. Wanted me to go into a long car wherepeople slept, he said; but I saw a good many men with carpet-bags goingin there, which looked strange, and though I have great faith in theintegrity of Cousin Dempster, a young lady in my peculiar circumstancescannot be too particular; I declined to go into that curtained, longcar, and sat up in a high-backed chair all night, wide awake as awhip-poor-will, for Cousin Dempster was on the next seat sleeping like amole, and his head more than once came down so close to my shoulderthat it made me shudder for fear that people might not know that he wasmy cousin's husband, and snap up my character before I got toWashington. 

Well, at last we got out of that train, I stood with both feet in theheart of the nation, and a great, flat, straggling heart it is. 

"There it is--there is the Capitol, " says Cousin Dempster. "Look howbeautifully the sunshine bathes the dome and the white marble walls. "

I looked upward--there, rising up over a lot of tall trees and long, green embankments, rose a great building, white as snow, and large asall out-doors. The sun was just up, and had set all its windows on fire, and a great, stout woman perched on the top of a thing they call thedome--which is like a mammoth wash-bowl turned wrong side up--looked asif she was tired out with carrying so much on her head, and longed tojump down and have a good time with the other bronze-colored girls thatshow themselves off, just like white folks inside the building. 

Well, later that day, I went right up to that heap of marble, which inits length and breadth and depth filled my soul with pride and patrioticglory. I really don't believe there is another building like it on theface of the earth. Freedom, honesty, and greatness _ought_ to presidethere. 

Why, sisters, there are whole rooms here of clouded marble, ceiling, floor, walls--everything polished like the agate stone in your brooch, and I do think that the hottest sun can hardly force a beam of warmththrough. 

Down in the great wandering cellars you come upon staircases ofbeautiful marble, fenced in with railings of iron and gold and brass allmelted together and called bronze, up which deer, as big as young lambs, are jumping, and branches of trees are twisted. There are ever so manyof these staircases, and they cost one hundred thousand dollars apiece. Think of that! and mostly where it is so dark that you can't but justsee them. 

"I hadn't only one day and night to look about in, so I went up therebefore Congress got to work, as I wanted to see things without havingpeople know that I was there. But by and by a lot of men came swarmingin, and I felt like making myself scarce. 

I went back to the hotel and got a little sleep. 

It was dinner time, and near candle-light when I woke up; and when wegot through dinner, Cousin D. Told me to hurry up, and we would take alook at the White House. 

"Shall I get out my pink silk?" says I. "Does the President expect me?"

"Oh, no, " says he; "no one is aware that we are here. We will drive tothe White House, see all that is to be seen, and start home bright andearly to-morrow morning. "

"Then the alpaca will do, " says I. 

"Of course, " says he; "anything. "

I wasn't sorry. This travelling all night is apt to take the ambitionout of the most energetic character. The difference between pink silkand alpaca was nothing to me now. 

Well, in an hour after, the carriage we rode in stopped under a greatsquare roof, set on marble pillars, which spreads out from the steps ofthe White House to keep people sheltered from the storm and sun whenthey get out of the carriages. It was dark now, and two greatstreet-lamps were in brilliant combustion each side of the steps. 

Between us, sisters, that White House that we hear so much about is nogreat shakes of a building. Compared to the Capitol, it is just nowhere. 

Cousin D. Rang the knob, which was silver, and a man opened the door. 

"We should like to see the House, " says Cousin D. 

"Certainly, " says the man. "Walk in. "

We did walk into a large room, with a few chairs and two or threepictures in it; nothing particular, I can tell you. 

"This way, " says the man. 

We went that way, into a great room, long and wide as a meeting-house, choke full of long windows, and with three awful large glass balloons, blazing with lights, a-hanging from the roof. 

The carpet was thick and soft as a sandy shore, and had its colors alltrampled in together, as if some one had stamped down the leaves of amaple camp into the grass as they fell last year. 

"The chairs and sofas and looking-glasses were bought when GeneralWashington was President, " says the man. 

"Mercy on me! you don't say so, " says I. "They look rather skimpy forthese times, don't they?" says I; but then his way of buying things andspending money was a little skimpy compared to the way Presidents spendmoney now; but, of course, we grow more deserving as we grow older. "Now, those red silk curtains that almost hide the lace ones, did theybelong to Washington?"

"Them? Oh, no; we change them every four years. "

"Then they go out with the President, " says I. 

"We don't think that he will go out yet awhile, " says the man, looking alittle wrathy. 

"Well, I hope he won't, for great men are scarce in these times, " saysI, wanting to mollify him. He said nothing, and I followed him through adoor into a smaller room, so full of green that it seemed like steppingout of a blazing sun into a fern hollow. The walls were green; thecarpet was green as meadow grass; the sofas and chairs were cushionedwith green satin. The glass balloon seemed to have a sea-green tinge init, though it was blazing like a bonfire. 

Not a soul was in the room, and we went on to the next which was long, rounded off at the ends like a lemon, and blue as the sky. Down the tallwindows came curtains of blue silk, sweeping over white lace. The chairsseemed framed in solid gold; their cushions were blue silk. 

"This is the celebrated blue room, " says the man. 

"I've heard about it, " says I. 

"And this, " says he, "is the red room. The President has given adinner-party to General Sickles this evening, and they are now at thetable. Would you like to look in?"

Before I could answer, we were standing in the red room, and lookingthrough at a table crowded round with gentlemen and ladies, dressed likequeens and princes, some of them looking handsome as angels. 

"That is General Sickles, " says he, "a-sitting by Mr. Grant. "

I looked in, but could only see a face, not over young, turned towards alady who was listening to him, as if every word he dropped was a ripecherry. She had a good, honest face, and I liked her. 

"That is Mrs. Sickles, sitting by the President, " says the man. 

"What, that girl! you don't say so. Why, he might be her father. "

It was the truth--a young, black-eyed thing, rather pretty and childish, sat there by General Grant--I knew it was Grant by his features--talkingto him as if he had been her brother. Her dress was high up in the neck, but most of the ladies there wore them so low that I felt like turningmy eyes away; but Cousin D. Says that low-necked dresses always rage asa chronic epidemic in Washington, so I mustn't be surprised. 

"That is General Sheridan, " says the man. 

"That little cast-iron image, General Sheridan!" says I, a-startingback. "The fellow that cured a whole tribe of Indian women of small-poxwith bayonets and bullets! I don't want to see anything more! Just letus go away, cousin; I haven't been vaccinated, and he might break outagain. "

"Hush! hush! he isn't dangerous, " says Cousin D. 

"Dangerous!" says I, "just ask the Governor of Illinois. Wasn't itGeneral Sheridan who dragged off the Grand Duke among the Indians andbuffaloes? I tell you again I won't stay another minute in the housewith that man!"

Sisters, I kept my word. We departed at once. 

XXXV. 

GETTING INFORMATION. 

My dear sisters:--I made what people here call a flying visit toWashington, which means, I suppose, that the railroad cars go about asswift as a bird flies, which they do, if one is allowed to choose thebird--a white bantam, for instance, with clipped wings. Well, I reallydon't know much about the speed, only I was awful tired when we got outof the cars at Jersey City, and we had the lonesomest drive home justbefore daylight that two tired mortals ever undertook. The whole citywas still as a graveyard, and put one in mind of those cities over thesea, dug out of the ashes in which they have been buried hundreds onhundreds of years. 

To me, sisters, nothing is more dreary than a great city shut up andfull of sleeping people. Only think of it! half a million of humanbeings all lying in darkness, unconscious of both happiness or misery, just as if sleeping in their tombs, only that the first glow of sunshinebrings them to life again. Did you ever think of it?

Now, in the country the stillness is not so mournful--there is a senseof out-door freedom there. The leaves stir with life on the trees. Thebrooks murmur and gurgle and laugh by night as they do by day. The birdsflutter now and then, and the winds whistle and whisper, filling thenight with a stir of life. But here--here in a great city, a ghost-likepoliceman, or a poor straggling wretch who has no home but the street, is all that you see. Indeed, coming home before daybreak isn't a thing Ihanker to do over again. 

Well, after pulling at the bell-knob till I'm afraid Cousin Dempsterswore internally, we got into the house, and had a good long sleepbefore breakfast. 

"I'm so glad you've come, " says Cousin E. E. , "for the Liederkranz comesoff to-night, and I was afraid we should lose it. Of course you'll go, Cousin Frost?"

"Well, " says I, "perhaps I can tell better when I know what the thingis. It's a crabbled sort of a word, that might belong to an aligator orkangaroo; and I don't care overmuch for wild-beast shows, any way. "Cousin E. E. Laughed. 

"Well, " says she, "in some sense you are right. There will be a show ofwild animals such as never roamed in field or forest, but none of themare dangerous; at any rate, in that form. "

"Are they in a circus, and is there a clown with a chalky face and redpatches?" says I. 

"The circus!" says she, a-holding up both hands. "Why, it is to be inthe Academy of Music, and the first people in the city are going. "

"To see them feed?" says I. 

"Well, that may be a part of it, but the principal thing is the parade. "

"But where do they feed the animals--not in the boxes with red velvetcushions, I calculate?"

"Oh, how funny you are! Of course not; the supper is set out in NilssonHall, and is served _à la carte_. "

"What!" says I; "do they bring in fodder by the cartload for thecreatures? Now, really, Cousin E. E. , there is nothing astonishing aboutthat to a person born and bred in the country. You and I have ridden ona load of hay, piled up so high that we had to bend down our heads tokeep from bumping them against the top of the barn door, when the haywent in to be put on the mow; so we need not see the same thing meachedover here in York. "

"Dear me!" said my cousin; "you are just the brightest and stupidestwoman----"

"Young lady, if you please, " says I. 

"Well, young lady--that I ever set eyes on--can't you comprehend that itis a ball we are speaking of?"

"A ball?" says I; "then what did you call it a Liederkranz for?"

"The Liederkranz ball. It's a German word. "

"But I don't speak Dutch. How should I, not being an old settler of YorkIsland, " says I. 

"Well, never mind that. The Liederkranz is a masked ball. "

"A masked ball! Now what do you mean? I've heard of masked batteries, but they went out with the war. "

"There it is again; you won't take time to understand, " says Cousin E. E. , a-lifting both her hands in the air. "This is a ball where people goin character. "

I arose at once, burning with indignation. 

"Cousin E. E. , " says I, "do you mean to insult me? What have you seen inmy conduct to lead you into supposing that I would go to any ball thatwas out of character?"

"Do sit down, " says she. 

"Not in this house, " says I. "It isn't my own dignity alone that I havegot to maintain, but the whole Society of Infinite Progress isrepresented in my humble person. "

"But you are mistaken. Was ever anything so absurd! Do speak to her, Mr. Dempster. You know how far it is from my mind to give offence to CousinPhœmie. "

Cousin Dempster, who had been rubbing his hands and enjoying himselfmightily, now smoothed down his face, and spoke. 

"A masked ball, Cousin Phœmie, is an entertainment, you understand. "

"Just so, " says I. 

"In which each person takes some character not his own. "

"All slanderers, are they?" says I. 

"No, no; they assume a character. "

"Oh!" says I, a-drawing out a long breath; "make believe have one?"

"They dress the character, and act it. "

"Well?" says I, completely beat out. 

"Some dress themselves up as beasts and birds. "

"What?"

"And some as tame animals. "

"You don't say so!"

"The ladies put masks on their faces. "

"Masks! now what are they?"

"Pieces of silk, or gold and silver cloth, with holes for the eyes, anda fringe over the mouth. Then over the dress they put on a greatcircular cloak, with a hood to it, and loose sleeves that hide theshape, so that a man don't know his own wife. "

"Oh, it's a hide-and-seek ball; but ain't some of the ladies in dangerof losing themselves, " says I. 

Cousin Dempster laughed, and his wife turned red as fire. 

"People who lose themselves at the Liederkranz, generally get found outin the end, " says he. 

"But I must hurry down town. Will you go? Everybody will be there. It isthe place to meet a prince in disguise. "

As Dempster uttered these words, my heart gave a great, wild bound, andmy breath stopped. What if _he_ were to be at the ball in disguise, seeking a safe and private interview. 

"Yes, yes, I will go, " says I, "but I don't know either! The mask andcloak!"

"Never mind about them, " says E. E. ; "I have a couple ready, feelingsure that you would go. "

"Then it is settled, " says Dempster, snatching up his hat. "I will be onhand. So good-morning!"

XXXVI. 

THE LIEDERKRANZ BALL. 

Dear sisters:--That night about ten o'clock, three of thefunniest-looking people you ever set eyes on might have been seencreeping--like black, and pink, and yellow ghosts--down CousinDempster's front steps. 

I had on a long yellow cloak, trimmed with black velvet, that just sweptdown to my feet and covered them up. Then over my face was a blackvelvet mask, with gold fringe, that swept down to my bosom like an oldman's beard, and over that my hood was pulled so close that not a lockof my hair could be seen. 

Cousin E. E. Wore a pink cloak, trimmed with white swan's-down, and hermask shone like silver. 

Dear sisters, you wouldn't have known me from the Queen of Sheba. 

Dempster was black all over--mask, cloak, and boots. It seemed as ifhalf a dozen funerals had been rolled into one, and hung on him. 

Well, we crowded into the carriage and drove off. It seemed as if wenever should get untangled from the drove of carriages that swarmedaround the Academy of Music, and when we got in, and found ourselvesstruggling with the crowd, we almost wished ourselves back again. 

I looked around everywhere, as I went, for that tall and princely form;but the crowd was so thick, and the dresses so queer, that it seemednext to impossible to find out anything or know anybody. The lights fromthe great glass balloons poured down rainbows on the crowd, that movedand chatted and laughed till the noise was confusing as the dresses. 

"Step back, step back!" says Cousin Dempster, all at once, "theprocession is coming. "

We did step back, and tried our best to see the procession; but thefloor was pretty much on a level, and, though I stood on tiptoe, allthat I could see was, now and then, the head of an eagle, or a bear, ora giraffe, rising above the crowd, while the music rang out in thundersof sweet sounds, and the people swarmed in and out of the little squarepews in the galleries, like bees hiving on a hot summer day. 

Of course, I knew well enough that all this moving circus wasmake-believe, and that every wild animal had a man in him, just as everyman has the shadow of some animal in his nature. But I couldn't helpstepping back and shuddering a little, when a great big lumberingelephant rolled by, with his trunk curled up in the air, and almost trodon me. 

"Oh, mercy!" says I, with a little scream. "He's enough to frighten oneout of a year's growth!"

"Don't be terrified, " says a voice behind me, and I felt an arma-stealing around my waist; "I am here to protect you. "

I looked up. My heart stopped beating. The stranger was tall, majestic, and the eyes that shone through his mask were blue as robin's eggs. Hehad on a black cloak, and the mask covered his whole face; but how couldI mistake the princely bend of that head, the breadth of those majesticshoulders. 

He drew me back from the crowd. I forgot Cousin Dempster, E. E. , andeverything else, in the ecstasy of that sweet surprise. 

"You have forgotten the roses, " he whispered, with a look of lovingreproach. 

I felt for the bouquet Cousin Dempster had given me--it was gone. 

"I must have dropped them as I got out of the carriage, " says I. "Butwhen did you come?" I added, in a whisper, tremulous with bliss. 

"Oh, I came an hour ago, and in the usual way, " was his sweet answer;"but, not seeing the flowers, I doubted. "

"Ah! how I prayed that you would grow weary of that miserable buffalohunt, and return!" says I. 

He seemed just a little puzzled, but at last broke out:

"Oh, it's all a grotesque farce. Why should wise men turn themselvesinto wild animals, if it is only in sport? I never enjoy such partiesfor themselves. "

"I am glad to hear you say that, " says I; "and more glad that you haveleft off hunting with Phil Sheridan; he might have led you into someIndian camp filled with Modocs, who would have shot you for sport. "

"Sheridan, " says he. "Oh, he doesn't stay in one place long enough to domuch harm. "

"Exactly, " says I; "but he works quickly. Still, you are here, safe andsound; why should we waste time over him?"

"True enough, " says he; "so take my arm, and let us promenade. "

I took his arm, and clasping both hands over it after a fashion I haveseen prevalent among young girls when they walk out with their lovers bymoonlight, moved proudly through that throng--very proudly--for I knewthat long cloak covered imperial greatness that would have astonishedthat assembly, had they known as much as I fondly suspected. 

"Tell me, " says I, in a soft whisper, "did you receive a valentine?"

"Did I receive a valentine?" says he. "Why do you ask?"

"Ah!" says I, "do not question me. "

"But I must. Tell me something about it. "

"It was original. It was poetry, " says I. 

"Poetry--and yours! How can you doubt its effect?"

"I do not doubt. Are you not by my side?" I whispered. 

He drew my hand under his loose sleeve, and pressed it tenderly--sotenderly, that I did not know when the handkerchief it held escaped frommy grasp to his; but, directly after, I saw him thrust something whiteinto his bosom. It was my very best handkerchief, embroidered with myname; but I said nothing--how could I?

We walked on. The crowd swarmed and hummed like bees in a clover-field. Now and then a great gray eagle flapped by, or a bear prowled along;but, after all, it was a clumsy make-believe, and didn't scare anybodymuch. 

By and by a lady came along dressed just like me--yellow and black allover. She stared at me, and I stared at her--just my height--just myair--modest, but queenly. There was a trifling difference--she wore abunch of red roses on her bosom. 

After staring at me awhile, she drew softly round to the other side, andit seemed as if she was saying something to _him_. I can't tell you whathappened next; for just then four great big gilt candlesticks walkedinto the middle of the room, and began to dance, in a way that fairlytook me off my feet. It really was too funny. The style in which theyhopped up and down, crossed over, and stalked about, was enough to makea priest laugh. 

"Isn't it awful queer!" says I, a-turning to the man who had come so farto tell me of his love. 

He was gone. I stood there alone in the crowd, my limbs shook, my heartsunk like lead. How had I lost him?

Wild with a sense of widowhood, I wandered to and fro over thatball-room. Many people spoke to me; some gentlemen in disguise wanted towalk with me; but I evaded them all. Some I answered; to some I gavenothing but sighs. At last I felt tears stealing down under my mask, mystrength gave way, I sat down on a cushioned bench in a fit ofdespondency. The cup of bliss had sparkled at my lips, and been dashedaside. 

What did I care for the men and women who were whirling, talking, anddancing around me!

"Cousin, are you almost ready to go home?"

It was Cousin Dempster who spoke; he had been searching for me high andlow, and was shocked to find me sitting there alone. I said nothing, but, like that Spartan boy, gathered the yellow waves of my cloak overthe vulture that knawed at my poor heart, and followed my cousin out ofthe crowd--still looking eagerly for that one noble figure, but lookingin vain. 

XXXVII. 

HOW DID THE PAPERS KNOW?

Dear sisters:--Would you believe it? Cousin Dempster had hardly got downto his business after the ball, when a telegram--I think that is thename of the thing that he said came flying over the wires--called him toWashington again. Cousin E. E. Made up her mind to go with him thistime, and nothing would satisfy her but that I must join in and cut adash with them. After the strange way in which that majestic man in theblack cloak had gone off with the yellowhammer of a female, I had feltso down in the mouth that nothing seemed to pacify me. If it really wasthe great Grand Duke, his conduct was just abominable. I wouldn't havebelieved it of him; taking off a lady's handkerchief in his bosom, andthat the best one she had in the world, and not bringing it back again. Such conduct may be imperial, but it isn't polite, that I must say, though it wrings my heart to find fault with him. If he had brought itback the next day, of course it would have been different; but hedidn't, and there I sat and sat, waiting like patience on a--on a stonewall, smiling, but wanting to cry all the time. 

"It'll do you good, and cheer you up, " says Cousin E. E. 

"Maybe it will, " says I, drawing a heavy breath, "but I don't seem toexpect much. February is gone, and no answer to--"

I bit my tongue, and cut off what it was going to say about thatvalentine, for that was a secret breathed only to you, as a Society, inthe strictest confidence. 

"This time, " says Cousin E. E. , "there shall be no secrecy. The wholeworld shall know that the rising genius of the age is with us. The daywe start, all the morning papers will announce that Mr. And Mrs. Dempster, of ----, have gone to Washington, accompanied by thatcelebrated authoress, Miss Phœmie Frost, who cannot fail to meet withevery attention from the statesmen and high fashion of the Capital. "

"But how are the papers going to know?" says I. 

E. E. Laughed. 

"Oh, Dempster will manage that; he's hand-and-glove with ever so manycity editors, " says she. 

"Oh!" says I. 

"There are some things that even genius itself don't know how tomanage, " says E. E. , nodding her head, and smiling slyly; "but they canbe done. As soon as we get to Washington, all the papers there willcatch fire from New York, and the Senate will get up another committee, and vote you a seat in the diplomatic gallery by ballot. We'll breakright into the Japanese furore, and carry off the palm, " says she, kindling up like a heap of pine shavings when a match touches it. 

I began to feel the proud Frosty blood melting in my bosom. 

"The woman who writes is more than equal to the man who votes, " saysshe. 

"There is no comparison, " says I. "Women are women and men aremen--nobody thinks of comparing rose-bushes and oak-trees--one makestimber and the other perfume; we shelter the roses, and let the oaksbattle for themselves. So it ought to be with men and women--"

Cousin E. E. Cut me short. 

"That is beautifully expressed, " says she, "but save it for one of yourreports or literary conversations; my head is full of Washington. "

"And my heart is full of sadness, " says I, beginning to droop again. 

"Nonsense, you will be happy as a bird when we once get a-going, " saysshe. 

Cousin E. E. Isn't a woman of great depth, but she knows a thing or twoabout fashionable life. 

The York papers _did_ announce to the world that a distinguished partyhad gone on to the seat of government, and, singular enough, it was doneexactly in E. E. 's own words--a circumstance that rather puzzled me. What was more--the very day we got to Washington all the papers theredid the same thing, which set us at the top of the heap at once. 

I hadn't the least idea of interfering with the Japanese that came to usfrom California, and in that way seem to be turning the world the otherside about from what it used to be; but when genius takes the bitbetween its teeth, it's apt to scatter things right and left. I supposeit was the newspapers did it, but I hadn't been a day at the hotel whena letter come to us from the President's mansion, which invited us tocome to the White House and see the Japanese presentation--in fulldress. 

I declare I felt myself blushing all over when I read that. Did any onesuppose that we were a-coming to meet those outside potentates halfdressed? Some of them, perhaps, unmarried men. 

"The idea!" as that child would say. I showed the card to Cousin E. E. , who seemed to think it all right, so I said nothing, though the wholething had riled me so it seemed as if I never should stop blushing. 

"What does it mean, " says I. 

"We must go, Dick or Lottie, " says she. 

"Go--how?" says I. "Haven't they got horses and carriages in this greatcity, that we must go in an outlandish thing like that?"

Here E. E. Broke into one of her aggravating titters; but when I gaveher a look she choked off, and says she:

"It means low necks and short sleeves. "

"Low necks and short sleeves! Why didn't they say so, then? What has anyDick or Lottie got to do with it? But it's no use; I won't wear anythingof the kind. Those who want to have a shoulder-strap for a sleeve, andtheir dresses too short at one end and too long at the other, can; Iwon't--there!"

"Oh! you are privileged; genius always is, " says E. E. 

"That is, genius is privileged to be decent in Washington. Well, I'mglad of that, " says I. "Some young ladies may like to go about withbare arms and shoulders--let them. I won't!"

XXXVIII. 

RECEPTION OF THE JAPANESE. 

Well, sisters, that afternoon the distinguished party mentioned in thepapers got out of a carriage, under that square roof in front of theWhite House steps, and walked with slow, stately steps into theante-room that I told you of. One of them--a tall, imperial-lookingperson--was robed in a flowing pink silk, just a little open at thethroat, where it was finished off with white lace with a snow-flakefigure on it. A long curl fell down this lady's left shoulder, and therewas a good deal of frizzing about the lofty forehead, and any amount ofpuffs back of that. 

The other lady--who naturally kept a little in the background--worewhite satin, cut to order about the neck and shoulders, and a lot ofwhite stones on her bosom and in her hair, that shone like fire in adark night. 

The man at the door seemed to know us, for he said; "If it's Miss P. Frost and her friends, walk this way. "

We did walk that way, and drew up in that lemon-shaped room, which is soblue and white that you seem to think yourself in the clouds when you goin. Right in the centre of the room is a great big round ring of seats, cushioned all over with blue silk; and right up from the middle of itrose a splendid flower-pot, crowded full of flowers--white, pink, andall sorts of colors--with great long green leaves a-streaming over theedges, and broad, white lilies, that seemed cut out of ragged snow, a-spreading themselves among the green leaves. 

A hive of ladies, all in long-trained dresses, and necks according toorder, were sitting or standing or moving across the room, looking asproud and grand as peacocks on a sunshiny day. Among them was thePresident's wife--a real nice, sociable lady--who looked just as sheought to in a black velvet, long-trained dress. In fact, of all thewomen in that room, I liked her the best, she is so sweet and kind inher manners. The minute we came in she turned round and gave us a warm, honest smile, which was about the only downright honest thing I've seenin Washington, as yet. 

"Miss Frost, " says she, "I'm delighted to see you and your relations. Myfriend Senator Edmunds has told me about you!"

"Thank you, " says I. "No one need want a better recommendation than hecan give. We think the world of him in our State. "

"I'm glad to hear that, " says she. "We think a great deal of him too; infact, Vermont honors herself in the Senate. But you are looking at theflowers; they are all Japanese, in honor of the Embassy. "

"You don't say so, " says I; "did the Japanese bring the flowers alongwith them from Japan?"

She laughed a sweet, good-natured little laugh, and says she:

"Oh, no; we raise them in the hot-houses. "

Just then there was a bustle in the ante-room, and I saw a slow line ofqueer-looking little folks filing along toward the east room. Mrs. Granthad turned to talk to Cousin E. E. , and I just slid out into thegreen-room, and stood inside the door to see what all the fuss wasabout. 

Standing against the great window, nearly opposite to me, I saw thePresident of these United States, with a lot of men around him in blackclothes, and farther on stood another lot with their coats all coveredover with gold and stars of precious stones a-hanging one after anotheron their bosoms, and some wore swords, and some didn't; but I tell youthere was such a blaze of colors and flash of gold that it seemed tolight up the great long room like sunshine, which was convenient, forthere wasn't enough in the sky that day to light a family to bed. 

While I was wondering what all this magnificence and glory meant, CousinDempster happened to see me, and came up to the door. 

"What on earth does all that signify in a free country, " says I. "Itlooks like a circus. Do they mean to ride in there? I don't see nohorses; and it seems to me their hoofs will spoil the carpet when theycome in. Are the Japanese people fond of horses?"

"I don't know about that; the President is, " whispers Cousin Dempster. "But never you mind that; he keeps 'em in his stables, and they're notlikely to come here. "

"Then these fellows in the gold coats will only do rough-and-tumble, Isuppose, " says I. 

"Hush!" says Cousin D. , looking round to be sure that no one heard me. "The rough-and-tumble has been pretty much done up in the Senate thiswinter. "

"Oh!" says I. 

"There will be a good deal of it in Philadelphia and Cincinnati, and allover the country, I'm afraid, for I don't think General Grant cares muchabout that sort of gymnastics. "

"Jim what?" says I. 

"Turning over and over from one side to the other!" says he. 

"I think he's right, " says I. "A circus can't be much without horses andhoops, and that fellow with the painted face; but why don't the showbegin, such as it is? What do they stand there for, looking lonesome asa cider-press in winter?"

"My dear cousin, " says he, looking at me sort of pitiful, "do rememberit is the ambassadors of all Europe, to say nothing of South America, that you are speaking of. "

"Ambassadors, " says I; "so you call them by that name here, do you?"

"They represent governments, kings, and queens. "

"I've seen that done in the theatre beautifully. You remember when wewent to see 'Julius Cæsar, ' who wanted to be King of Rome; but I didn'tknow as they ever did such high-mightiness off on horseback, or througha hoop, " says I. 

"But, Phœmie, these men are genuine. For instance, that gentleman withso much red and gold about him represents Queen Victoria. "

"What, in such clothes--hat, coat, and all the rest? I don't believeit, " says I. "You won't impose upon me to that extent. "

"Not her person, " says he, a-getting out of patience, "but herGovernment. "

XXXIX. 

THE JAPANESE. 

Well, sisters, that minute there was a commotion in the room. Those whohad been leaning against the wall stood up, and the strange-looking menCousin D. Called ambassadors straightened up and fluttered a little, aspeacocks spread their feathers when the sun breaks out. 

Before I could speak, in came the highest cockalorum among the Japanese, which wasn't very high after all. 

"Good gracious!" says I to Cousin D. "The man out there told me theladies must all go into the blue room. Here I've been hiding behind thedoor, so as not to be seen, and the first Japanese stranger that comesin is a female woman! Goodness gracious! and so are all the rest!"

"No, no, " says Cousin D. , "it's a man--they're all men. "

"With those Dolly Vardens on?" says I. "Do you think I was brought up inthe woods, to take doves for night-hawks?"

"It's the Japanese fashion, " says he. 

"For men to dress in--well, skirts?"

"Certainly. Don't you see that the lower skirt is formed into loosetrousers that two or three of 'em wear?"

I did look, and saw that the black silk underskirt some of these heathenJapanese wore was puckered up a little around the ankles, just enough toshow off two peaked shoes, that must have been lovely wearing for a footthat was all great toe, but awkward for one that wasn't. In fact, Ibegan to be awfully puzzled about the dress of the first one that camealong, for above the skirt of purple silk was a Dolly Varden, all butthe puffing out, of black silk, spotted over with white needlework. Totop off all, this Japanee wore the funniest sort of a thing on the head, like a shiny black wash-bowl, with a hole in it, from which a stumpyblack ball stuck up in the air--about the pertest-looking thing you eversaw. Around the edge was a white binding, all curlicued off with queerblack figures, and a lot of stiff black stuff streamed down from behind, like a crow's tail. 

This dress was tied round the waist with a silk scarf, and to that hunga long, black sword, sideways, with the point sticking out behind, furious as could be. 

Only two of the Japanese were dressed in these frocks, figured off withwhite, with purple--well--skirts, under. Three others had thinpurple--well--skirts, puckered up into baggy trousers, which showed offtheir peaked, hawk-bill shoes beautifully. These five high Japanese camemarching one after another--Indian file--looking as solemn as eight-dayclocks. Then came five more with black Dolly's, bound with purple, andwith purple figures worked on the backs, and the underskirts puckered upinto trousers. Every one of them had swords, and they all marchedstraight up to the President with them dangling by their sides. 

"There, do you see that, " whispered Cousin Dempster. "Are you satisfiednow? Women do not, as a general thing, wear swords. "

"They may be strong-minded, " says I. 

Before Cousin Dempster had time to speak, the little Japanee that theycalled Iwakura had got right before the President. There he made a lowbow, and, as if jerked by the same string, the whole row, one behindthe other, bowed to each other's backs. Then Mr. Fish, a tall, fine-looking gentleman, they called Secretary of State, came forward andintroduced the head Japanee to the President. Then came another bow, andanother, and another, till the whole ten got into a row near thePresident. Then General Grant and Japanee Iwakura made beautifulspeeches at each other. Then there came more bows--low, slow, anddelightfully graceful--and then I gathered up the skirt of my pink silkand fled, like a bird, into the blue room, where the ladies were waitinglike pigeons anxious for corn. 

After all, I think those Japanese must have been men. The ladies gotinto such a flutter as they came in, and took so much pains to makethemselves agreeable, which it isn't likely they would have done ifthose scull caps and swords hadn't meant something masculine. Then therewas more low bows, and we ladies swept back our trains, took steps andcurtsied just as easy and graceful as they did, and Mrs. Grant talked alittle with a Japanee. He told what she said to the others, and what shedid say was just sweet and natural, which was a proof that she didn'tconsider the Japanese as strong-minded females in the least. So after wecame out I told Cousin Dempster that I was satisfied that they were asgreat men as little fellows, five feet and under, could be, and I askedhim, in confidence, if any of them were so unfortunate as to beunmarried?

XL. 

THAT DIPLOMATIC STAG PARTY. 

It is wonderful, dear sisters, how one thing grows out of another inthis world. When it got about that I had been invited to help the Mrs. President to entertain the Japanese dignitaries, every lady inWashington that was going to give a party sent me and my Cousin Dempsteran invite, till we began to think no more of square letters, withmonographs on them, than you care for chestnut burrs when the nuts havedropped out. 

But there was one of these documents that we rather jumped at, becauseit came from a man that was almost as good as born in Vermont. Maine is, after all, something of a New England State, and Mr. Brooks, member ofCongress from New York, the man I spoke of, came from there, and had aseat in the Legislature of that State when he was only just of age. Sowe all rather took to him, as New England people will take to each otherwhen they scatter off into other States, and do honor to the one theycome from. 

The minute his square document came, Cousin Dempster said at once thathe would accept, and I, who had done honors with Mrs. President, made upmy mind there, right on the nail, to do just as much for the Brooksfamily. 

Well, I never took off my pink silk after we came from the White House, only bunched it up a little more behind when we went down to dinner, andafter that screwed up my hair for a new friz, while I took a nap in thegreat puffy easy-chair that stood in my room; for this doing honors hourafter hour is tiresome to the--well--ankles. 

Having my dress on, I took something of a nap, and seemed to be draggedout of my sleep by the hair, when E. E. Came to call me, which was, maybe, owing to the tightness of the crimping wires that caught on thecushion when I jumped up, and gave me an awful jerk. But I soon gotover that, and gave my hair an extra frizzle before I went out, whichwas improving to my general appearance, and very relieving to the head. 

Cousin E. E. Had put on a span-new dress, observing, modestly, that agenius could appear in anything, but she hadn't the position which wouldstand wearing the same dress twice. 

"For the sake of New England, " says she, "I mean to do my best, " whichshe did, in silk, like a ripe cherry, with wave over wave of black laceover it, and a bunch of white stones on her bosom, burning like afurnace when the light struck them. 

Well, once again we packed ourselves into a carriage, and then, huddledup in waves of red silk, rolled off to Mr. Brooks's house, which isn'tfar from the President's homestead. 

"There don't seem to be many here yet, " says I, as we got out of thecarriage, and went up the high steps, holding our dresses with bothhands. 

Before Cousin D. Could answer, the door was opened, and the man insidewaved his hand, which had a span-clean white glove on it, and told us towalk upstairs, which we did, dropping our dresses as we went, till theytrailed half way down the steps in waves that the fellow with whitegloves on must have thought sumptuous. 

Two or three young ladies were in the dressing-room, and that was all. Ishook out my dress before the glass, gave my hair an extra fluff, andwent into the hall, where Cousin Dempster was standing. 

"There don't seem to be many ladies here, " says I; "in fact, none tospeak of. "

"Oh, " says he, "they're not expected. You and my wife are exceptions. "

"Just so, " says I. 

"This is a stag party, " says he. 

"A what?"

"A stag party, where ladies sometimes manage to see and listen. You willhave a chance from the back windows, I dare say; only sit low and keepstill, the flags will conceal you. "

"Oh! it's a stag party at the table, and crouching dears all around, "says I, "is it?"

Cousin Dempster laughed till he nearly choked. 

"That's capital, " says he. "You are getting too bright for anything. "

I couldn't quite make out what I'd said that set him off so, but Isuppose he did, for he kept on laughing all the way downstairs, and thefun hadn't left his face when he introduced me to Mr. Brooks, who was inthe room we entered, talking with some ladies that had come to look onand help his daughter to talk to the Japaneses, who don't understand aword of English. 

Sisters, I really think we New England people ought to be proud of Mr. Brooks, for he's not only tall and large, and real handsome, but he's aself-made man, having worked out his own education by the hardest toil. He edited a daily paper before he was twenty years old; was a member ofthe Maine legislature when he was twenty-three; and travelled all overEurope on foot before he was twenty-five. He has been in Congress, offand on, twelve years, besides travelling all round the world betweenwhiles, which brought him hand-and-glove with the Japanese, the heathenChinee, and all the other outlandish people that we send missionariesto, and convert a dozen or so once in fifty years. 

Well, Mr. Brooks seemed real glad to see us, and was polite as could be;so was his daughter and all the other ladies, when they found out who itwas they had among them. He'd been in Vermont, of course, before goinground what was left of the world, and his praise of the Old MountainState was something worth hearing. He asked about Sprucehill, and saidthat he had pleasant reminiscences of that place, having kept a schoolin one just like it in his vacations in college. Particularly herecollected a sugar camp where he used to drink maple sap, and eat sugartill it had been a sweet remembrance to him all his life. 

While we were talking in this satisfactory manner, the fellow in glovessung out a name that got so tangled up in his mouth that it set my teethon edge. Then came another, and another that I didn't listen to; forthat minute I saw a pair of peaked shoes coming through the door, andabove them Mr. Iwakura, with that glazed punch-bowl on his head, and hisblack and purple dress hanging limp around him. He bowed low and softly. Mr. Brooks bowed back; then this Japanee turned to bow again and again, till I began to tremble for his neck, but he went through it all like aman; and when the whole lot had been bowed to, Mr. Brooks introducedthem to me and the other ladies. 

Mr. Iwakura seemed to remember that he'd seen me a-doing honors at theWhite House, for he bowed clear down till I thought his glazedpunch-bowl would fall off, and his black veil stuck right out straight;but he rose again as if his joints had been oiled, and said somethingthat sounded soft as cream, and sweet as maple-sugar, but what it allmeant goodness only knows. 

Then another heathen Japanee stepped forward, and says he:

"The Embassador wishes to say he is delighted to see a lady author, whois an honor to her country. "

Here I laid one hand on my heart, and bent my head a little, not exactlyknowing what else to do; and I said, with what I hope was becomingmodesty:

"Oh! your Highness--is it Highness--Excellency, or High Cockolorum?" Iwhispered to the lady who stood next me. 

"Excellency, " whispered she back again. 

"Oh, your High Excellency, " says I; for, being by nature a conservative, I took what seemed best out of each. "You are too complimentary. "

With that I made him a curtsey that over-matched his bow, for there wasmore of it a good deal, on account of his smallness, and my height, inwhich we were both a little peculiar. 

The Embassador looked as if he hadn't time to answer; for he was busybowing to the other ladies, and the rest of the Japanese all came up, and there was such a slow bending time among 'em that it was ten minutesbefore there was anything else done. Then we got a little mixed, andseemed to be ladies altogether, only those who were going in to dinnerseemed to carry their own punch-bowls on their heads; as for dresses andso on, we were pretty much alike, and the master of the house in hisblack coat, and so forth, seemed the only man among us. 

By and by Mr. Iwakura came back to where I was standing, and the youngman came with him to do up the talking. 

"I have never before seen a lady that wrote books, " says he, in thesweetest manner; which the other repeated in English that wasn't half somusical. 

There was an inward struggle in my mind; the compliment was sweet, and Ilonged to keep it; but truth is truth. My foot is on the threshold; Ihave looked into the Temple of Fame, but am not yet what I hope to be;but the truth is, I haven't written any books, _as_ books, yet. Itwounded me to say so, but truth is a jewel that I have resolved shallshine, like a railroad man's diamond, in my bosom, forever. 

"Your High Excellency, " says I, with brave self-control, "my humbleefforts have not yet been bound in covers, but they will soon increaseto that extent. Have you no female authors in that Japanee country ofyours?"

When the young man expounded these questions to Mr. Iwakura, the eyes ofhis High Excellency began to sparkle from one sharp corner to the other, and he smiled blandly--

"Oh yes! we have ladies who write in Japan; but not lines of wisdom, like yourself; they write poems. "

"Love poems?" says I. 

"Mostly, " says he; and his little eyes lighted up from corner tocorner--"love poems, home poems, and such things as ladies understand byheart. "

"The Japanese language is so sweet, " says I, "the ladies cannot be verystrong-minded that write it. "

"Strong-minded--what is that?" says he. 

"Manly, strong; sometimes fierce, " says I. 

"His Highness does not quite comprehend, " says the young man. 

"Then I must illustrate, " says I. "For instance, if an American womanwere to dress as near like a man as--well, I beg pardon--as his HighExcellency and his friends dress like women, we should call themhigh-minded. "

"But do they? Shall we see any ladies like that?"

"You will no doubt see females like that, " says I, with dignity. 

XLI. 

THE DINNER. 

There was no more conversing just then, for the tall fellow in gloveswas so busy, opening and shutting the out-doors, and gentlemen camepouring in so thick and fast that we all had to attend to them. I wassorry for this, as the conversation was taking a turn that would havebeen of interest to us as a Society. I was just going to ask about themarriage relations among the Japanese, and intended to enter into adelicate investigation regarding the present company. But a smart, handsome, bright-looking gentleman came in, dressed up to the nines; andbefore I could say another word to Mr. Iwakura, this gentleman wasbowing to me, and I was making my best curtsey to him. I was justdelighted, for he looks a soldier, every inch of him, standing upstraight as an arrow, but bowing so graceful and easy. 

Then others came pouring in, and we ladies were busy as bees doing thehonors. 

There was no end of generals that bowed to me that night. There wasGeneral Farnsworth, from Illinois State, about the tallest and mostmanly gentleman among them. The long, sweeping beard that fell over hisbosom was something splendid. If that man wasn't born in New England, he ought to have been--that's all. 

But I haven't room nor time, in a short report, to give particularsabout a hundred or so gentlemen. They were all men that you've heard ofover and over again, for in his invitations Mr. Brooks had just skimmedthe cream off from Congress, and it was something beautiful to see itpour itself through the parlors into the great dining-room, built onpurpose for "that night only. "

It didn't take long for the parlors to empty themselves into that roomwhen a whisper went round that dinner was ready. In less than fiveminutes after, another fellow in white gloves came sliding into theroom, and spoke low to Mr. Brooks, --we ladies were left alone, lookingat one another, like babes in the woods. 

A cat may look on a king, and ladies do sometimes look in upon stagparties. Well, I got a little restless, and began to wonder how the catgot a good look, and how I could get a peep at the feeding stags. 

While the rest were talking, I slid off to one of the back windows, which opened upon the great banqueting hall--you have seen that term innovels--and, hid under a cataract of stars and stripes, I saw and heardall that was going on, and a splendiferous sight it was. 

The great hall was hung every which way with flags. They rolled over theceiling in waves, fell down the wall in festoons and curtains, striped, starred, mooned, crossed, tangled in gas lamps, looped up with flowers. 

Rings of gaslights dropped half way down from the roof, and from thembaskets of flowers swung over the great, long tables that were just oneglitter of silver and glass, flowers and fruit, at which a hundred ormore gentlemen were seated. 

Great candlesticks, spreading out with branches of gold and snow-whitecandles, stood half way down each table, and rising up above them weretall pyramids of flowers, crowded in with pineapples, grapes, pears, oranges, and sugar things enough to feed all the children in Washingtonfor a month. Smaller flower-pots, crowded in with fruit, were scatteredevery once in a while along the tables. 

Back of Mr. Brooks's chair was a banner with a lot of lions rampagingover it, and a harp worked in one corner of it. Over that was anotherbanner, with a full moon and a baby moon blazing away on it, and allaround them was a whole hail-storm of stars that seemed to catch firefrom the gas, and burn of themselves. 

The whole room was light as morning, and gorgeous as a sunset. Sisters, believe me, the way those men were enjoying themselves was enough tomake a genuine woman grind her teeth. The popping of corks as they flewfrom the bottles was loud and swift as the guns fired on a Down Easttraining day, and the gurgle of wine as it foamed into the glasses wasmellow and constant as the flow of that brook through the hemlock backof our old school-house. 

Then the talking, the laughing, the hail-good-fellow way in whicheverything was done, just aggravated me out of a year's growth. 

By and by Mr. Brooks got up and made a speech, welcoming the Japaneeguests and praising Japan beautifully. Then he asked General Farnsworthto do the same thing over again, which he did in the most splendid way. 

Then Mr. Iwakura got up and poured out a soft, slow flood of words, thatseemed sweet as new cider, with which the whole company was charmedalmost to death, though there wasn't a soul that knew what it was allabout, any more than I did. 

Then Mr. Iwakura sat down and gathered his purple frock over his knees, satisfied that he had done his duty, whether the rest understood it ornot. 

Then they all drank wine till there was no let up to that sound ofmilitia firing and of running brooks, except when somebody was meltingsoft-solder over somebody else, which they tell me, here in Washington, is the high privilege of a stag party. 

My opinion is that they are ashamed to compliment each other so broadlywhen ladies are by, knowing that no crowd of females could be brought tothe pitch of glorifying each other after that fashion, or would stand itto hear so much flattery wasted on a lot of men when they were by. 

XLII. 

IN THE BASEMENT OF THE CAPITOL. 

Well, sisters, that chunky woman on the top of the great iron wash-bowl, that some giant seems to have turned upside down on the roof of theCapitol, has more to do than any other female I'm acquainted with, ifshe can keep the flock of men they call Congress in any kind of order. No wonder she has the look of the kitchen about her, and seem to becarrying a bundle of soiled clothes on her head for a wash in theclouds! for, of all the sloppy places I ever heard of, this great marblebuilding seems to be the beatomest. Congressmen seem to be alwaysgetting out dirty clothes here, beside whitewashing every now and then, raking each other over the coals, and doing all sorts of kitchen andgarden work. 

Cousin Dempster told me all this before I went up to see exactly whatCongress was, and it certainly upset me, you may just believe. Thatgreat building, which might be cut up into half a dozen palaces forkings to live in, turned into a wash-house and national laundry! Thevery thought made me creep all over. 

I always like to investigate matters from the foundation, so the firstthing I did was to go into the basement story of the building, and seewhat the kitchen arrangements amounted to. Of course Cousin D. Could beof no use to me, and Cousin E. E. Declined the subterranean raid, as shenippingly called it, which ended in my going into the undergrounddepartment alone. 

Well, the first thing that struck me was the duskiness of the place; itwas like travelling through a sunset that had no color in it. The wholebuilding seemed to have put on a gray mantle and gone to sleep. I wentupstairs and downstairs, travelled over miles of stone floors, andthrough forests of great stone posts that looked strong enough to have aworld built atop of them. Once in a while I caught sight of a manscooting along in the dusk before me like a black ghost; and once Iheard noises like the rush of a steamboat down below me, and began tosuspect that the wash-house and lime-slacking department was lower downyet. I opened two or three doors, and looked into a good many dark anddeserted rooms piled up with books and crowded full of all sorts ofthings. Once or twice I saw the head of a man popping up between pilesof books, but no sign of washing, as yet. 

Well, I wandered on and on, till at last I came to a great kitchen thatlooked lively enough. Lots of men were moving about, fires were burning, and there was a lovely scent of roast chickens and boiled garden-sass--Ibeg pardon, vegetables. I would have gone in and asked some questionsabout the wash-tubs, but not a female woman was to be seen--and I hope Iknow what is due to my sex too well for any attempt to draw theattention of men in the service of their country by the presence ofattractions that--well, I was going to say that the charm of high femalesociety might have seemed a little out of place so low down in thatstone wilderness. So I took a new turn, and came out in a grand eatingdepartment, crowded full of tables, where ever so many gentlemen andladies were eating, talking, laughing, and drinking bottled cider tilltheir eyes sparkled. 

I went into the room with that quiet dignity which some people have saidwas the greatest charm of your missionary, and spreading out my skirts alittle, sat down by one of the tables. A very genteel young man came upto me that minute, as hospitable as could be, and asked with a bow whatI would please to have. 

"Oh, almost anything that isn't too much trouble, " says I. 

Says he, "There is everything on the cart. "

He pronounced "cart" with a drawl that riled me, for, if there isanything I hate, it is the stuck-up way some people have of twistifyingcommon words: but I didn't want to rebuke the fellow too much, andanswered in the bland and Christian way you have so often praised, mydear sisters, that I did not wish to stay long enough for them to unloada cart, but if he had just as lief as not, would take some baked porkand beans--that is, if there was any handy. 

The fellow shook his head. 

"No pork and beans!" says I; "do you call this national house-keeping?"

That brought the fellow up to a sense of duty in no time. He snatched upa little thin book that lay on the table, read it a minute, and thenwent off. By and by he came back with a dish in his hand, on which werea few beans, all brown and crisped to death, with a skimpy slice of porklying across the top. 

I took the dish in my hands, and examined it up and down, right andleft, with an air that must have cut that fellow to the soul, if he hadone. 

"You call that pork and beans?" says I, a-lifting my forefinger, andalmost shaking it at him. "Why, young man, it looks more like a handfulof gravel-stones. "

The young man spread his hands a little, and looked so confused that Ibegan to feel sorry for him. 

"Never mind, " says I; "no doubt you have had the awful misfortune ofbeing born out of New England, and that is punishment enough. It is thefault of our Congressmen if the great New England mystery of baked beanshas not been explained and elucidated in the national kitchen, " says I, "most people do degenerate so when they once get out of the puremountain air. But then our statesmen may consider this a woman'smission. Perhaps it is. There was a time when females understood suchthings, but we have got to hankering after offices and votes androstrums, till such things have become nostrums--excuse the rhyme, ifyou don't happen to be a poetical young man, " says I; "it isn'textraordinary that such things are neglected, and that the great NewEnglish dish introduced by the Pilgrim Fathers has degenerated intothis. "

Here I pointed sarcastically at the pebble-stones, and, with killingirony, asked him to send me something to eat. 

He took up the dish, and seemed glad to go--no wonder, my words had cuthim to the soul. By and by he came back, and handed me that thin bookwhich hadn't half a dozen leaves in it, and, says he:

"Will madam make her choice?"

I opened the book, and tried to see what it was all about; but there wasnothing to read. A lot of English words twisted out of all shape andmeaning, with some figures cut up in short rows, were scattered over thepages as if they had been shook out of a pepper-box. The only thing Icould make out that seemed to have a sensible meaning, was--beef. This Iread out loud--glad to find one good wholesome word to light on. 

"Roast beef, " says the fellow, and away he went. 

There was no use trying to get anything like reading out of that ghostof a book; so I sat still and looked on, wondering what brought so manyladies into the Capitol, as they are not considered Congressmen yet. 

XLIII. 

PHŒMIE DINES WITH A SENATOR. 

Dear sisters: I had moved my chair back a little, for it seemed ratherlonesome sitting there with nothing but a table-cloth spread before me, and a castor on it, when a gentleman came in and sat down on the otherside of the table, just as if I hadn't been there. 

He took up the skimpy book, and began to read, as if he understood everyword of it--figures and all. By and by a young fellow came up to him. They whispered together a minute, and the gentleman kept pointing at thebook. 

Just then, the young man that I had been so sociable with, came up withsome dishes in his hand, which he set down on the table, then spread hishands a little, as much as to say, politely: "Set to, ma'am, and helpyourself;" which I did. 

Sisters, the national kitchens want renovating. There is femalemissionary work here enough to keep half our Society busy for a year. That beef was never roasted by a fire. I'll take my oath of that. Itnever swung on an iron skewer, inside of a tin oven before ahickory-wood fire, since it was a born calf. There's no cheating me insuch things. Why, this beef had a taste of chickens, and oysters, andbaked pork about it, so strong that you couldn't at first tell which itwas, or if its birthplace was a barn-yard, a hen-coop, or the salt seaocean. 

Yes, there _is_ mission work in these subterranean kitchens. Still, ifmembers of Congress know how to wash and whitewash so well, they mighttake the cooking in hand too. Perhaps they have, though. 

When men try a hand at woman's work, or women take up the business ofmen, it's apt to mix things up till you don't know which is which. Irather think the members have been down here, while the women werelecturing on politics upstairs. It looks like it, in both places. 

Well, I didn't want to find too much fault. Human nature could not standthe pork and beans, but I tried my best to put up with the beef, andmake believe it was delicious. 

Just as I took up my knife the other young fellow came to the table, andset some dishes down before the gentleman. Then he took a knife andhacked away at a long-necked bottle till he got the cork loose, and letthe whole affair, foaming and sparkling, into a glass. The sight fairlymade my eyes sparkle, for I was awful thirsty, and the rich gurgle mademe more so. 

"Sir, " says I, a-holding out my glass to the young man, "if that'sVermont cider, and I seem to feel as if it is, I'll thank you for aglass. "

The gentleman looked up quickly; turned to the young man with a funnysort of a smile, and nodded his head, just as if it was anything to him. 

I'm not quite certain about it, but if that foaming stuff was cider, itmust have been made from russet apples, for it brightened me up all overtill every drop of blood in me seemed to sparkle. 

"It would be near about impossible to drink that through a straw, itbubbles so, " says I, feeling it my duty to be sociable, and make thegentleman feel quite at home at the national table. "I think the cideris about the only thing that don't degenerate when it leaves NewEngland. "

"The cider, " says he, opening his eyes wide. 

"Yes, " says I, holding out my glass again, "that keeps its own vim, anda little more so. Take another glass yourself, sir!"

I thought as I was first at the table, and a lady, that he would expecta little extra attention, and gave it with my usual bland politeness. 

He smiled, and his eyes began to sparkle under the gold glasses he wore. 

"Certainly, " says he, "you are very kind; from Vermont I think yousaid. "

"Just so, " says I. "Sprucehill. Let me help you to a little of thisroast beef, if I may call it so. "

"Thank you, " says he, and that funny smile crinkled his lips again, "Iam well served. "

It struck me as rather singular, that he, being a gentleman, didn'toffer me any of the dishes on his side of the table; but he didn't, and, as a gentle rebuke, I said to the young man who stood behind him:

"Please to pass some of those dishes this way!"

The fellow blushed and hesitated, and looked at the gentleman in goldspectacles, who blushed a little, too, but said to the young fellow:

"Certainly; why don't you pass them over to the lady?"

There was something in a dish that looked a little like mashed potatoes. I helped myself with a spoon, and tasted it. 

"What is this?" says I. "Your potatoes taste awful cheesey. "

"It is not potatoes, but calf's brains au gratin, " says he. 

"Calf's brains, a grating, " says I; "calf's brains, and I eating them. Young man, I'll have you investigated for this! Calf's brains, indeed!do you think I'm a cannibal. Take the heathenish dish out of my sight. "

The gentleman laughed, and says he:

"I will relieve you of it. "

Then he drew it over his way and began to eat. 

I declare, sisters, I couldn't bear to see that man finishing up thedish as if he liked it. He seemed to have brains enough of his own, without wanting to rob a spring calf of what little belongs to it. Buthe finished the dish and got up to go, making me a real polite bow as hewent away from the table. 

When he was gone I beckoned to the young man. 

"Is that man from the Sandwich Islands, or where?" says I. 

"That gentleman! Oh, he's a Senator from the West, " says he. "Thewhitewashing committee hate him like poison. He gives them enough to do, I can tell you. Awful in that direction. "

"You don't say so, " says I. "Is that the man who has raised the price oflime and whiting to such an extent?"

"That's the very man. "

"Dear me! and he eats brains--cheesey at that. I never saw anything likeit. "

"Oh, that is a very popular dish, ma'am. "

"With Congressmen?"

"Yes, ma'am, with Congressmen. "

"Especially?"

"Especially. "

"I shouldn't wonder, " says I. 

When I hitched my chair back, and took up my satchel, the man put a bitof stiff paper in my hands, with some figures on it. I thanked him andwent out, feeling a little lighter than I had done, on account of thecider. The young man followed me a step or two, and seemed as if hewanted to say something; but that was a familiarity I had no idea ofencouraging; so I passed on, determined to find the other kitchendepartments, and set up a private investigation of my own. But at thefoot of a flight of stairs, all made of spotted marble, I met CousinDempster, who was looking for me. 

"Oh, here you are at last! Where on earth have you been?"

"In the kitchen and dining-room, so far, " says I. 

"Kitchen--dining-room!" says he. "Oh! you have been into therestaurant--not alone, I hope. "

"Oh, yes, " says I; "there was plenty of company; but the cooking isenough to try a person. "

"Why, did you order refreshments?"

"Refreshments were offered to me, " says I, "and I accepted them, as afree-born American woman has a right to do at her country's table. "

"What are you talking about?" says Cousin Dempster, almost angry. "Whatis that in your hand?"

"A bit of paper that the young man gave me as I came out, " says I. 

"But you should have given this up, " says he, turning red. 

"What for?" says I. 

"Did you pay nothing?"

"Pay! of course not. Who ever thinks of paying anything to theGovernment?"

"You do not understand. "

"What?"

"You have been into a restaurant, " says he. 

"That's more than I know of, never having been in one in my born days. "

"And have come away with this!"

"Look a-here, Cousin Dempster, " says I; "does this great nation keep aboarding-house, or a tavern, in its Capitol? That's what I want to know. Do you think I mean to insult the country I was born in?"

"It keeps a restaurant for the accommodation of members, " says he, "andyou've been in it. Just give me that check; the country don't feed itsstatesmen--at any rate, directly. "

I gave him the square bit of paper, and, when he left me alone, just satdown on those marble steps and waited. 

I don't wonder these investigating committees want to shirk theirduties. I, being only a committee of one, and self-constituted, feel asif I'd had quite enough of exploring downstairs. But what on earthCousin Dempster is making such a fuss about, I have no idea. One wouldthink there was something dreadful on that square piece of paper by theway he acted; but he's like everybody else, I suppose, when he gets toWashington, and can't make himself more than half understood on anysubject. 

XLIV. 

MARBLE HALLS. 

Dear sisters:--In my last report I gave you a dim account of theunderground department of Congress. In fact, it was so dim down there, that I couldn't see anything clearly. I hope this report will have alittle more brightness in it; but of that I am not at all certain, for adownright honest look at anything here in Washington is like snatchingat a handful of fog. 

After wandering over all that town of cellars and basements, in searchof the whitewashing department and the washing-room, I came away withoutseeing a sign of them. It seems to me that the cooking and eating is allthat one finds done openly here. About that, too, there is somethingthat riles the New England blood in my veins. No wonder I couldn't makeout half that those waiter chaps said to me. 

There, in the great kitchen of the first nation on the face of theearth, free-born American citizens sit down contentedly and eat Frenchdishes, with bull-frogs in them, I dare say, and eat them, too, on theEuropean plan. The European plan! as if the fine old fashion set by thePilgrim Fathers was not good enough for their descendants! It's enoughto curdle the blood in one's veins to see what our country is coming to, with a plan of broken-down old Europe in the very basement of ourCapitol. Do our members of Congress remember the time when their fathersate samp and milk on a table set against the wall, with one leaf spread?Sometimes the richest of them in our State got a little maple molasseswith the samp, but oftener it was skim milk, and nothing else. But menwere men in those days; I--that is, I have heard my mother say so--ofcourse, I wasn't old enough to know exactly at what time samp and milkgot out of fashion as a first-class domestic meal. I can't help butthink, sisters, that the male sex began to degenerate while we werechildren, or we should never have been left in our native village toform a society, which seems destined to enlighten this generation, without increasing it. 

Well, sisters, Cousin Dempster found me sitting on those hard, beautifulmarble steps, thinking over these things in a saddening way. He insistedon it that I should leave off my subterraneous investigations, as hecalled my travels in the basement, and see Congress meet. 

I declare, it's a Sabbath day's journey from one end of that great longmarble building to the other. The marble stairs I had been resting oncame up near the Senate chamber. Cousin Dempster said, "But perhaps wehad better go over to the House first. "

"Whose house?" says I, getting out of patience; "I thought we had cometo see Congress. "

"So we have, " says he; "it will assemble in a few minutes, so we musthurry and get into the House. "

"Why don't Congress assemble in this building?" says I. 

"Of course it does, at the other end, " says he. 

"Then what on earth do you want to take me into any other house for? Iwant to see Congress! As for the houses in Washington, they are no greatshakes, after all. New York wouldn't take the best of 'em as a gift. "

"Cousin Phœmie, " says Dempster, sort of impatient, "you are the mostextraordinary combination of a woman I ever saw. "

I stopped short and made him a curtsey to the ground--slow, graceful, and infinitely sarcastic. He seemed to feel it keenly. 

"Judges, a little more competent than you are, have said as muchbefore, " I observed, scathing him through and through with my eyes. 

"I mean no offence, " says he, "but really you are the brightest, and--and stupidest woman!"

"Girl, if you please, " says I. 

"Well, girl. In some things a child could teach you; in others, youfairly dazzle the brightest of us. "

"Thank you, " says I; "just crown me with bitter-sweet, and have donewith it. If there is anything that riles me more than another, it is adouble and twisted compliment. "

"There, there! do be reasonable, and hurry along, " says Dempster, a-trying to shuffle out of the whole thing; "don't you see the memberscrowding into the House?"

"I haven't seen the house yet, " says I, not half pacified. 

"Of course not--how can you, till we get there?"

Cousin Dempster walked on, and, of course, I had to follow. 

"Wait one minute, " says I, "while I look at this great round pictureoverhead. What on earth is it all about? The women up there look mightyunsafe. Now, what room is this, with its roof in the sky, and its floorsolid stone?"

"It is the rotunda, " says he; "the national pictures are all around you, but we haven't time to look at them now--some other day. "

I couldn't help looking back, for such a room I never saw in my borndays. It was like a stone park roofed in so high up that the picturedwomen overhead seemed perched among the clouds. Over them the light camepouring like water down a cataract, filling the broad space below as ifit had been all out of doors. 

But I had no time to see more, for Cousin Dempster led me through ahallway and into another round room, except at one end, where a galleryran straight across and then curved around the whole room, hooping it inlike a horseshoe. In front of the straight gallery ran a row of stonepillars--tall, large, and shiny as glass--spotted, too, like theleopards in a show, and towering up like the pillars in Solomon'sTemple, which the Queen of Sheba travelled so far to examine. The ideathat she took all that trouble to get acquainted with Solomon, is justridiculous. Why, it would have taken the hymeneal monarch a wholelifetime to have introduced her to his family in a decorous way. Besides, if he provided for his own household out of the government, only think how busy he must have been in finding places for therelations of all his wives! No doubt he let the Queen of Sheba see hisTemple, and left her to be entertained by two or three hundred of hiswives. Not being a ladies' man, what more could he do?

Well, as Cousin Dempster says, I do sometimes let my pen run away withme; but when it turns toward the Scriptural history of my sex, I let itrun. 

XLV. 

RANDOLPH ROGERS' BRONZE DOORS. 

"Well, " says I to Cousin D. , "what room do you call this?"

"Oh, this is the old House, " says he. 

The old house! Sisters, there are times when I think Dempster is besidehimself. I did not deign to answer him, except with a look that wouldhave stopped the sap running from a young maple in the brightest Aprilday you ever saw. He didn't seem to mind it, though, but went on as if Ihadn't pierced him with my eyes. 

"These doors, " says he, swinging back the half of a door that seemed tobe made of brass and gold and powdered green-stone pounded together, andcut into the most lovely pictures that you ever set eyes on--"thesedoors open to the new House. They are by Rogers, and cost thirtythousand dollars. "

"Thirty thousand dollars for these two doors, Cousin Dempster! I havejust been a-wondering if you were crazy, and now I know you are. "

"Upon my word, " says he, "that is just what they cost. "

"What! thirty thousand dollars?"

"Thirty thousand dollars. "

I bent forward, and looked at the door--close. It was sunk deep intosquares, and each square had a picture of men and women that seemed tobe busy at something. 

"What is it all about?" says I. 

"Every picture is taken from something connected with the history of ourcountry, " says he. 

"You don't say so, " says I. "Who did you say made them all?"

"Mr. Rogers, a sculptor from Ohio. One of the great geniuses of the age, and one of the finest fellows that ever breathed. "

"Do you know him?" says I. 

"Yes, " says he. "I got acquainted with him in Florence, years ago, whenElizabeth and I went to Europe on our wedding trip. He was then a risingman, hard at work on the art that he has since done much to ennoble. Iam glad to see his great genius embodied here, where it will live aslong as the marble on the walls. The country has honored itself in thisalmost as much as it has disgraced itself in placing some of the vilestattempts that ever parodied art in conspicuous places here. "

Cousin Dempster's face turned red as he spoke--red with shame, I couldsee. 

"It is enough to make an American, who understands what real art is, ashamed of his country, " says he. 

"But what do they do it for?" says I. 

"Because two-thirds of the members sent here do not know a picture froma handsaw! but impudence can persuade, and ignorance can vote. Why, Ionce heard a Member of Congress speak of the statues in the Vatican ascoarse and clumsy compared with the attempts of a female woman who couldnot, out of her own talent, have moulded an apple-dumpling intoroundness. "

Cousin Dempster had got into dead earnest now. He knew what he wastalking about, and I couldn't help feeling for him. 

"Some day, Cousin Phœmie, " says he, "I will take you round and show youthe abominations which have been set up in this building--a disgraceboth to the taste and integrity of the nation. You will understand theimpudent pretension for which our people have been taxed in order thatthe National Capitol may be made a laughing-stock for foreigners, andthose Americans who are compelled to blush for what they cannot help. "

"Cousin Dempster, " says I, "why don't the press take these things up andexpose them?"

"That is exactly what I want, " says he. "It is for that very purpose Iwant you to go around among these distorted marbles and things. YourReports may do some good. "

"But I don't quite understand them myself, " says I, blushing a little. 

"Trust genius to discover genius, " says he. "You could not fail to seefaults or merits where they existed. All the arts are kindred. Poetry, painting, sculpture, go hand-in-hand. You understood the beauty thatlies in these doors at a glance. "

"One must be blind not to see that, " says I. 

"Of course; well, cousin, we will give a day to these things before wego home; but now, hurry forward, or we shall be too late to see theHouse open. "

"Just as if there was a house in all Washington that wouldn't open forus if we chose to knock or ring, " I thought to myself, but said nothing, for Dempster was walking off like a steam-engine, and I followed downone long hall, and up another--all paved with bright-coloredstones--till it seemed as if I were walking over a rock carpet. 

XLVI. 

WAS IT A MEETING-HOUSE?

Dear sisters:--At last we came to some wide marble stairs, with a twistin the middle, and they led us into another long hall with a stonecarpet, out of which some doors covered with cloth were opening andshutting all the time for folks to go through. 

Cousin Dempster swung one open for me, and I went into what looked likea meeting-house gallery, with long seats a-running all around it, cushioned off with red velvet, or something. Right over what seemed tobe the pulpit, was a square gallery by itself, which I took for thesingers' seats, but it was full of men--not a female among them--andthey all seemed busy as bees laying out their music for use. 

Cousin E. E. Was sitting near this gallery. She beckoned to me, so Iwent in. I sat down by her and whispered:

"I didn't know we were coming to a meeting. Dempster never said a wordabout it. "

"Hush!" says she. "The chaplain is going to pray. "

I did hush, and saw the congregation come in and walk down the aislesand take their seats. Some brought books that seemed like Bibles undertheir arms; and all of them took off their hats, as was proper. 

One thing struck me as peculiar: no ladies came into any place but thegalleries, and up there they whispered and laughed in a way that made myblood run cold. 

By and by a man came in, walked down the broad aisle, and went up intothe pulpit. 

Two or three men were sitting in the deacons' seat, --which ran alongbelow the pulpit, and they began to whisper together--a thing I didn'tlike in the deacons of a church. 

The minister put his hands together beautifully. The congregation stoodup, as good Presbyterians ought to do, and I stood up too, with my armsfolded, and bending my head a little, while a solemn prayerfulness creptover me; but the next minute I dropped both arms and opened both eyeswide. 

The minister was coming down the pulpit stairs. The congregation satdown. The deacons each took up a pen--so did the singers, who hadn'tsung a note yet. 

"What _does_ this mean?" I whispered to Cousin E. E. 

"The prayer is over, " says she. 

"Over!" says I. "Why, the minister hadn't begun to tell the Lord whatsinners we all are. "

"Oh!" says she, almost laughing out in meeting, "that would be too heavywork for one man. Only think how much of it there is to represent inthis place. "

"Cousin, " says I, "your levity in this sacred place shocks me. "

"Sacred place, " says she. "Oh, Phœmie, you will be the death of me. "

"Have you no regard for your own soul?" says I, in an austere whisperthat ought to have riled up the depths of her conscience. 

"My soul, indeed!" says she, with her eyes and her lips all a-quiveringwith fun; "as if people ever thought of such things here. "

I dropped into my seat--her sinful levity took away my breath. 

The woman absolutely began to talk out loud, and didn't even stop when aman got up in the congregation and began to exhort. In the distress herconduct gave me I did not hear just what he said, but at last he heldout a paper. A handsome little boy came up and carried it toward thepulpit and gave it to one of the deacons. 

Up to this time I had thought the congregation Presbyterians, but theboy puzzled me. I remembered the little fellow in red at that HighChurch service, and thought perhaps the good old New England stand-bymeeting had got some of these new-fangled additions to their board ofdeacons. The thought troubled me, but not so much as the conduct ofthat congregation. The ladies in the gallery behaved shamefully--I mustsay it. They whispered, they laughed, they flirted their fans andflirted with their lips and eyes. Sometimes they turned their backs onthe congregation downstairs. They kept moving about from one seat toanother. In fact, I cannot describe the actions of these females. Theidea of piety never entered one of their heads--I am sure of that. 

There must have been a good many notices and publishments to give out;more than I ever heard of in our meeting-house, for ever so many paperswere sent up to the pulpit, where another minister sat now ready tobegin his sermon. 

I must own it, there was some confusion among the congregation in thebody of the church. The members moved about more than was decorous, andthere was whispering a-going on there as well. 

In Vermont the minister would have rebuked his congregation--especiallythe flighty females around me. 

I was saying this to Cousin E. E. When that man in the pulpit took up alittle wooden hammer that lay on the desk before him, and struck it downwith a force that hushed the whole congregation into decency at once. 

I was glad of it, and in my innermost heart said "Amen!"

By and by a man got up to exhort. He must have been brought up as aclerk in some thread-needle store, I should think, by the way hemeasured off his long, rolling sentences, that seemed to come throughthe bung-hole of an empty cider barrel; and his arms went spreading outwith each sentence, as if he were measuring tape, and meant to giveenough of it. 

"Who is that?" says I, whispering to Cousin E. E. 

"That, " says she, "is a gentleman from ----. "

"No doubt he's a member, " says I; "how earnest he seeks for protection!"

"Of course he is a member or they wouldn't let him speak, " whispers she. 

"I know that, " says I. "The Presbyterians don't allow any but membersto speak in their meeting, of course; but it seems to me they do a greatdeal more talking than praying here, or singing either. "

"Oh, I don't believe any one but the chaplain ever thinks of prayinghere, and he cuts it short as pie-crust. "

"Don't be irreverent, " says I. 

Cousin E. E. Got up from her seat; so did Dempster. 

"Come, " he said, "I am tired of hearing about salt. "

"Especially if the salt has lost its savor, " says I, hoping to draw boththeir thoughts to the Scriptures, and get them in a proper frame of mindfor the occasion. 

"The tax is what I want it to lose, " says he, and I saw by his mannerthat thoughts of humility and prayer were far from him; so, rather thanjoin in this mockery of holy things, I followed him out of thatbeautiful and sacred edifice, softened, and, I hope, made better by theservice in which my soul had joined. 

"Well, " says Cousin Dempster, when we stood once more on the stonecarpet of the hall, "how did you like the House?"

"What house?" says I. 

"The House of Representatives, to be sure, " says he. 

"When I have seen it, I can tell you better, " says I. 

"Oh, nonsense! you have seen it, " says he, "in full session, too. "

"Look a-here, cousin, " says I; "all this morning you've been talkingabout old houses and new houses, as if this heap of marble was a green, with buildings all round it. I've seen the place you call arotunda--halls, with scrumptious stone carpets on them, and as fine ameeting-house as Solomon need have wanted. Now, if you want to show methat house where the Representatives meet, do it, and no moreparsonizing about it. "

"But, cousin, I do assure you, we have just come from it. You have heardthe members speaking. "

"I have seen a meeting-house, and worshipped in it, " says I. 

"Are you really in earnest?" says he. 

"Would I, the member of a church, trifle on a sacred subject?" says I. 

"Oh!" says Cousin Dempster, a-leaning his back against the marblewall--"oh! hold me, or I shall laugh myself to death. "

I wish he had. There!

XLVII. 

EASTER. 

My dear sisters:--Christmas isn't a New England institution, and HighChurches are not indigenous to the Down East soil. The Pilgrim Fatherstook a notion against that species of holidays, and their descendantswere forbidden by law to make mince-pies and such like, in celebrationof that particular day. In fact, Christmas was turned out of meeting, and Thanksgiving adopted in its place. As for High Churches, in the goodold times there wasn't a steeple to be seen. The meeting-houses werespread out on the ground, roofed in like barns, and quartered off insideinto square pews, like a cake of gingerbread. The only thing that lookedlike a steeple in those days was the minister, when he stood up to pray. Sometimes he leaned a trifle backward to let the congregation see thatthere was no chance that he would ever bow down to that old EnglishChurch, against which the dust from his feet had been shaken. 

The deacons ranged in that long seat under the pulpit, with iron-cladfaces and hearts, that had grown rocky in their uprightness, were suchmen as you don't meet often nowadays. They not only shook the dust fromtheir feet against the Church of England, but scattered a good deal onthe Quakers and other sects that crept in from the Old World, with anidea that they might have a sneaking notion of their own where treeswere so thick and men so upright; but you and I know they found outtheir mistake. 

Our blessed old forefathers sought Christian toleration for themselveswhen they came into the wilderness, not for anybody else. They knewexactly which was the shortest way to Heaven, and meant that otherpeople should follow it straight up. 

Having cast off the old Church of England, and sang Thanksgiving hymnson Plymouth Rock--which after all, sisters, wasn't much of a rock tobrag of as to size--of course our forefathers weren't likely to drag anyof the worn-out institutions along with them, so, as I have said, theydropped Christmas, set their faces against steeples, turned their altarsinto cherry-wood communion tables, clad their souls in iron, and NewEngland was purified from the dross of the Old World. 

This is why Christmas amounts to nothing among us. 

New England has always been an independent part of the United States. The footprints of the Puritans are not quite worn out yet, and inturning our back on saints and such, we have nigh about forgotten thatour part of the country had anything to be thankful for, except a finegrain harvest and abounding hay crop. 

Well, not knowing much about Christmas, sisters, you will be glad tohear something about Easter, which comes at the end of Lent, and is atime of rejoicing in this city, I can tell you. Let me explain:

Lent is a wonderful still time among the church people who are given tofish and eggs, and morning service for weeks and weeks while it lasts. But the last three days are what I want to tell you about; for duringthe time when hard-boiled eggs are so much the fashion, Cousin E. E. Andmyself were in Washington, where people rest a little from parties, andeat a good many oysters in a serious way, but could no more get up aregular Easter jubilee than they could tell where the money goes to thatought to build up the Washington monument, but don't. 

No; Cousin E. E. , who keeps getting higher and higher in her churchnotions, was determined to spend her Easter at home. 

"Easter! what does that mean?" I seem to hear you say. "Is it a woman, or was it named after one? Is it--"

Stop, sisters, that question is too much for me; I don't know. Wasn'tthere a handsome woman of the Jewish persuasion who put on her goodclothes and came round the king, her husband, when her relations wereall kept out of office, or something of that kind? Perhaps this Easteris named after her; but then it seems to me as if the names weren't justthe same. Anyway, the three days they call Easter mean a solemn thingthat we haven't thought enough of in our parts, up to this time. 

It means those three days when our Lord lay in the tomb. The first day, sisters, is held in remembrance of a death that was meant to make menholy. That was suffered for you and me. It is called Good Friday, and agreat many people in these parts hold it as the most solemn day of allthe year. I think it is. My own heart bows itself in dumb reverence asthe thought of all it means settles down upon me. I wonder that so manyyears of my life have gone by without giving the day a thought. Surely, sisters, Christ did not die for the Catholics and Episcopalians alone. 

Well, sisters, I did not mean to preach or exhort out of season, but myheart has been touched, and out of its fulness I have spoken. 

"Are we a-going to your High Church?" says I to Cousin E. E. When shecame to my room Friday morning, and asked if I was ready. 

"No, " says she; "even that does not reach my ideas of what is due to theoccasion. We will go still higher--to St. Stephen's. "

"Catholic, isn't it?" says I. 

"Yes, " says she, with a sigh, "the Mother Church. You will, at least, beinterested. "

"I never was in a Catholic meeting-house, " says I, "but to-day I feellike worshipping anywhere, cold as it is. "

"Not so cold as our Lord's tomb, " says she, shivering a little. 

I, too, felt cold chills a-creeping over me. 

"Come, " she says, "it is time. "

XLVIII. 

A CHURCH HIGHER YET. 

Sisters, we never spoke a word all the way to St. Stephen's Church, which is not a mite higher, and not near so handsome as a good manyother meeting-houses we had to pass. A crowd of people were going in, and we followed into the darkness; for the whole space was full ofgloom, like a foggy sunset. Here and there lights shone out like starsin a cloud, just enough to make the gloom strike home. The church wasshaped like a cross, and had more than one altar in it. That which stoodat the head of the broad aisle had just lights enough around it to makeits whiteness ghostly, and to tremble over a great picture back of it, where figures in some harrowing scene seemed to come and go in the foggyair. 

Yes, the air was foggy and thick, with sweet-smelling smoke, that camefrom some brass lamps a couple of little boys were a swinging back andforth by chains linked to them; and there, standing right in front ofthe altar, was a man all draped out in black robes, and a whiteoverdress, praying. Sisters, it was awful solemn; I couldn't but justkeep from sobbing right out. 

"Look!" says E. E. ; "isn't the chapel of the Virgin beautiful?"

I did look; and there at my left stood an altar covered with flowers, and blazing with lights starting up like a crown of glory through thedarkness. 

"Why is that altar so bright, while all the rest of the meeting-house isalmost dark?" I whispers to E. E. 

"That is the chapel of the Virgin, and there lies the body of Christ. "

"The body of Christ!" says I, with a start. 

"Yes, " says she, bowing her head. "You cannot see it, for the flowerscover it, as we strew them over the graves of those we love; but theholy body of our Lord is there, waiting for the resurrection. "

"Waiting for the resurrection!" says I. "How can you say that, E. E. , when our Lord was resurrected almost nineteen hundred years ago?"

"Oh!" says she, shaking her head and whispering, "that was so; but thebody of Christ is there this minute, under the flowers. "

"Cousin E. E. , are you crazy? Do you believe that in earnest?"

"I do, " says she a-folding her hands and dropping down her head. 

"But how--how can it be?"

"I cannot explain, dear cousin; but it is so. It is, indeed. "

"E. E. , are you a Roman Catholic?--do they believe that?"

"Every one of 'em. "

"And are you a Roman Catholic?"

"Not yet, " says she; "you know well enough that I belong to theEpiscopal Church; but my pilgrimage is not ended. "

Cousin E. E. Bent her head and spoke low. I felt the old Pilgrim bloodrile in me; but just as I was a-going to speak again, a low, mournfulnoise went a-rolling through the meetinging-house, that chilled me downlike ice-water. It came from behind the great white altar, which lookedto me like a big tombstone with night-fog floating over it. Through thefog I saw two rows of wooden seats, with high backs; and in them satmen, all in black and white clothes, singing dismally. No--it wasn'tsinging, and it wasn't reading; but a long, rolling drawl, in which afew tones of music seemed buried and were pleading to get out. With thisdreary sound, came the sobs and mournful shivers of the cold windoutside, which made my blood creep. 

It was too much; I could not bear it. Tears came into my eyes like dropsof ice; I felt preceding shivers creeping up my arms. 

"Do let's go home--I feel dreadfully, " says I, catching hold of CousinE. E. 's dress. 

"Wait, " says she, "till they have done chanting the Psalms. "

I couldn't help it; but sunk down on my knees, covered my face with bothhands, and let that awful music roll over me. It seemed like a call tothe Day of Judgment. 

At last the sound died off; the wind outside took it up dolefully, andseemed to call us out into the cold air. We went, feeling like ghosts, and never spoke a word all the way home. How could we, with that awfulfeeling creeping over us?

XLIX. 

EASTER SUNDAY. 

Dear sisters:--It seemed to me as if I never could go into that Catholicmeeting-house again; but when Sunday came, E. E. Got up so cherk andbright, that I couldn't say "No" when she wanted me to start with her toSt. Stephen's meeting-house. 

"You will hear no more crying and sobbing, " says she, "everything willbe bright and beautiful; no more penitential psalms; no more darkness. Christ has risen!"

My heart rose and swelled, like a frozen apple thrown into hot water, when I got into the meeting. It was raining like fury out of doors, butinside everything blazed with glory. The great white altar flashed andflamed with snow-white candles, bunched like stars in tall candlesticks, branched off with gold. Two great candles, as thick as your waist, burned like pillars of snow afire inside, on each side of the steps. Upamongst the golden candlesticks were two square Maltese crosses--likethe cross we are used to, only one end is cut off short to match theothers--all of white flowers, with just a little red at the tips, as ifa few drops of innocent blood had stained them. Then there werebeautiful half-moons made of milk-white flowers lying on beds of purpleflowers, but there was no other color on that altar. 

On an altar which I had not seen in the darkness, when I was therebefore, a lamb--as large as life, made out of flowers so white that itseemed as if they must have grown in heaven itself--stood among thelights that shone, like crowded stars, out from behind it. Across itsshoulders this lamb carried a cross so blood-red, that it chilled methrough and through. 

Above this altar hung a great cross six feet high, which seemed to floatin the air. It was made of gas-drops that quivered into each other, andstruck out colors that the fire seemed to have drank up from theflowers, and turned into light that was glorious. 

Over this cross floated a crown of fire, that seemed to tremble andshake with every gust of air, as if it had just floated down fromheaven, and, meeting the cross, hovered over it. 

I had but just time enough to see all this, when from the other side ofthe great altar, came a lot of boys, walking two and two, with whiteshoes on their feet, and white dresses--I should have called them frocksif it had been girls that wore them--all fastened with crimson buttons, and crimson silk scarfs were thrown across their shoulders. Then came alot more, dressed in scarlet frocks and white shoes; and after themanother class in white, with purple scarfs across their shoulders. 

These boys--they were real handsome little fellows--stood themselvesaround the altar. Then came two men, all in black and white, and afterthem four others, dressed like kings and princes, all in scarlet andgold, and lace and precious stones. 

These men knelt down on the steps of the altar. Then everybody in themeeting-house knelt too. After a few minutes they got up, and out fromsomewhere in the meeting-house, a low roar of music burst over us, andwith it came a rush of voices singing out, "Lord, have mercy on us!Lord, have mercy on us. "

Then there was a lull, and after that a whole torrent of gushing music, with an undertone of rolling sounds, and out of the noise came thesewords that seemed to catch up one's heart and fly away with it:

"Glory to God on high, peace and good-will to men!"

Oh, how this rush of sound rose and swelled, and glorified itself! Itseemed as if you could see Christ rising from the sepulchre, and all theangels of heaven rejoicing over it. 

Then came more music. I cannot tell you what it was like, only it mademy heart stir and throb, as if it wanted to break loose and mountupwards, singing as it went. 

At last a low voice sung, all alone, clear and high as a bird in theair. After that, deep, deep silence settled on the whole congregation, and everybody dropped down on their knees. Then one of the men inscarlet and gold went a step higher on the altar, and took from it agold cup, which he held high up in one hand. Out of this cup he lifted around thing that looked more like a cracker than anything else, and heldit up between his thumb and finger. I was going to ask E. E. What it wasall about, but she was bending forward, with her face almost on thefloor, and everybody around us was taking an extra kneel, which I didnot understand. Everything kept still, the congregation bent close tothe floor, and everybody seemed to be thinking to themselves for as muchas ten minutes. Then the whole congregation lifted its head. The boysin red and white frocks swung the brass lamps, which sent clouds ofsweet, white smoke up amongst the flowers, and out came another burst ofmusic, louder, sweeter, and more triumphant than anything I had heardyet. It just carried me right off from my feet. 

After this, one of the crimson and gold men on the altar turned round, and spread out his arms. Two others caught hold of his dress, and heldit out on each side, and dropped it again. The boys in white and scarletand purple made themselves into double lines, and walked out of the doorthey came in by. The leading scarlet and gold man took the gold cup inhis hands, and followed after, and the other men in their sparklingdresses--with those two in black and white--walked beside and behind himwhile he carried it out. 

There was a little stir in the congregation after this, but by and bythe man who had stood on the steps of the altar and carried out the cup, came back in another dress, and went up into a little cubby-house of apulpit, where he preached a beautiful sermon, which I didn't understanda word of, and then Easter was over in that church. 

When we got out of church I felt like a bird with its wings spread outwide. It was raining like Jehu, but I didn't care for that; the music, the flowers, the bursts of light had made me feel like another creature. Even the stormy sky looked splendid. But when we got home, I began tothink over what I had seen and heard, and as soon as Cousin E. E. Seemedto feel like talking, I put a few questions to her. 

"Cousin, " says I, "who were the men that came out there, all glisteningwith gold and things, and stood on the steps of the altar?"

"Them? Why, they were the priests. "

"Oh! And the one who held that cup in his hand--wasn't he something alittle more particular than the rest?"

"He was the arch-priest. "

"You don't say so! But what was that round thing he lifted out of thecup?"

"That? Why, Phœmie, that was the Host!"

"There was a host of people on the floor, of course; but I mean thelittle thing he held up between his thumb and finger?"

"That?" says Cousin E. E. , a-lifting up both hands, as if I'd donesomething dreadful. "That is the holy wafer. "

"The what, Cousin E. E. ?"

"The body of our Saviour. "

"Oh, cousin, how can you?" says I, a-feeling myself grow cold all over. 

"It is so, Phœmie. As yet you may not understand the mystery, but intime you will see it. "

I couldn't answer her, she was in such solemn earnest; but then andthere I made up my mind that we should have to talk over that matter inearnest before long, for I felt the Pilgrim blood riling up in my bosom. 

"Do Episcopalians believe that?" says I. 

"Those that take a high stand do, " says she. 

"Well, " says I, "we won't talk that over just now. But whose boys werethose that swung the lamps and stood round the altar?"

"Oh, those were the acolytes. "

"Any relations to the boys we saw at morning service?" says I. 

"Oh, they are all the same. "

"Mercy on me!" says I; "what a large family of boys--and so near of anage, too!"

E. E. Lifted her head and gave me the ghost of a smile--that was all. Ibelieve she felt that talking was a sin just then, and I felt a littlethat way myself. 

"That music was splendid, " says I, "and the flowers. I don't think Iever was in any meeting-house that seemed so close to heaven. But then Ialways had a hankering after such things. And why not? If God gives usmusic and flowers, light and sweet odors, can it be wrong to render themback to him? Cousin, I never knew what power there was in such thingstill now. "

"Phœmie, " says she--and a queer smile came over her face--"I shouldn'twonder if you go back, at last, a High Church woman. Then what would theSociety say?"

I felt myself turning red--as if I, Phœmie Frost, could change in thereligion of my forefathers!

"No, " says I; "there I am firm as a rock; but with firmness, I hope, cousin, that I join toleration. It seems to me that our Pilgrim Fathersmade a mistake when they expected all mankind to think with them, andanother mistake when they put aside the holiest and most solemnlybeautiful days of all the year--those upon which our blessed Lord wasborn, suffered, and ascended into heaven. 

L. 

THAT MAN WITH THE LANTERN. 

Dear sisters:--I am back in Washington. So is Cousin E. E. And Dempster, who has got a case before Congress; and when a man has that he justmakes up his mind to take permanent lodgings in a sleeping-car, and makehis home by daytime in a railroad section. 

You never saw anything like the hurry in which such men live. As for themarried ones, their wives scarcely see them at all unless they catch 'emflying with a railroad ticket in one hand, and a carpet-bag, swelled outlike an apple-dumpling, in the other. 

To us women this kind of life is tantalizing--very. 

When Cousin D. Came up from Wall Street, all in a fume, and says he:"Come, ladies, if you've a mind to go to Washington, just pack up andget your things, " we both rushed into the street like crazy creatures, and came back with our pockets crammed, and our hands full of hair-pins, bits of ribbon, lengths of lace, and so on. These we huddled into ourtrunks the last thing, drew a deep breath, and said we're ready, halfscared to death with fear that D. Might cut short the hour he has beenkind enough to give us, and start off alone--a thing he was just as liketo do as not, being a man. 

It's astonishing how much can really be done in an hour. When our timewas up we had five minutes to spare, and sat with our satchels in ourlaps, waiting for Cousin D. 

This time, being with E. E. , I just said nothing, but let things drift, which, after all, is about the easiest way to get along. Instead ofgoing in among the easy-chairs, as we did before, they took me into thesleeping-car, which is a great long affair, with what we call bunks, inour parts, made lengthwise on each side, with a narrow hall runningbetween. The bunks had curtains, and looked ship-shape when they wereonce made up; but it was funny enough to see great tall men spreadingsheets and patting down pillows for female women to sleep on. 

Cousin E. E. And I had a little mahogany pen, with two bunks in it, which is considered extra genteel, and we went to bed, first one andthen the other, not having room enough for more than one to undress at atime. When our clothes were hung up, and we inside the bunks, the penwas choke full, and off we rattled, with a jounce now and then that madeyou catch your breath. It was like sleeping in a cradle, with some greathard-footed nurse rocking you in a broken trot. 

I had just begun to get to sleep, when what do you think happened?

The door was pushed open, and a man looked in. I started up, riled tothe depths of my woman's soul. Never before, since I was a nursing baby, had any man looked on my face after it was laid on my pillow. 

What did the creature mean?

I scrouched down in the bunk, pulling the sheet over my head, and peepedthrough an opening, half scared to death. 

That man had a lantern in his hand, a dark lantern, with the fire all onone side. It glared into my bed like a wicked eye. 

"What, oh, what _do_ you want?" says I. "Remember, we are two innocentfemales that seem to be unprotected, but we have a gentleman outside--astrong, tall, powerful man. Advance another step and I scream. "

The man opened his mouth to speak; his one-eyed lantern glared upon me;he smiled as if overflowing with good intentions. 

"Go away, " says I, speaking in a tone of command from under thebedclothes, "or if it is my purse you want, take it; but take that evileye from my countenance. "

The man took the little pocket-book from my trembling hand; he opened itwith cold-blooded slowness, took out a long strip of printed paperCousin Dempster had told me to take care of, and tore it in two beforemy face. Then he put one of the pieces back, while I lay shaking andbeing shook till the teeth chattered in my head. 

"Spare me, " says I, with the plaintive wail of a heroine. "Take all Ihave, pocket-book and all, but, oh, spare me; spare me!"

He held my pocket-book towards me. I shivered, I shrunk; my hand creptforth like a poor timid mouse, and darted back again. 

The man--this stealthy railway burglar--seemed touched with compassion. My helpless innocence had evidently made an impression even on hishardened nature; he laid the pocket-book gently on the pillow, andmodestly turned his one-eyed lantern away, pitying my confusion, andfeeling, as any man with a heart in his bosom must, that I was scaredout of a week's growth. 

I breathed again. My heart swelled with thankfulness that a great dangerwas passed. I pushed back the blankets, and looked out while a timidshudder crept over me. 

The man was there yet, stooping down to Cousin E. E. 's bunk. I heardpaper rustle. Had he spared me to rob her? Why didn't she scream? Whydidn't she command the creature to leave her presence?

Robbery was nothing, but that cool way of breaking in upon two sleepingfemales had the ferocity of a wild beast in it. Was he killing mycousin--smothering her with pillows so that she could not scream out?The thought drove me frantic. My arms were goose-pimpled like a grater. 

"Why don't you order him out? Why don't you scream for Dempster?" saysI, feeling a thrill of hysterics creeping over me. "If you don't, Imust. 

"All right, " says the burglarious wretch, giving us the dark side of hislantern, and slamming the door. Then all was mournfully still. I halfrose and leaned over my bunk, pale, breathless. 

"Oh, cousin! speak to me if you are alive, " I pleaded. 

"What is it; what is the matter, Phœmie?" says a sleepy voice frombelow. 

"Ah, thank Heaven, you are alive!" I cried, a-clasping my hands in asweet ecstasy of gratitude. "Did he attempt to strangle you?"

"He. Who?"

"Why, that man. That prowling monster, with the one-eyed lantern!"

"Oh, he only wanted my ticket; he meant no harm, " says she, more thanhalf asleep. 

I drew back into my bunk, and let her go to sleep. Ignorance _is_ bliss. She felt safe, and I left her. Why should I disturb her innocent restwith the knowledge that a railroad she trusted in was infested throughand through with brigandation. If she knew the truth, I was certain thatE. E. Would never be coaxed or reasoned into travelling again, so Idetermined to keep a still tongue, and never mention this attempt atburglary again to any human creature. 

I have made up my mind to one thing, though. Phœmie Frost will nevertravel again without a pistol under her pillow. What good object can anyman have in smashing into the midnight dreams of two innocent females, and wanting to examine their pocket-books? I tremble to think what thefeelings of the great Grand Duke would be if he had heard of theterrible danger I have been in. 

Of course I never closed my eyes again till the long train of cars creptlike a great trailing snake into the depot at Washington. 

LI. 

MRS. GRANT'S RECEPTION. 

Sisters, Washington is splendid just now. In New York the winter seemsto have frozen up all the sap in the trees; not a bud on the limbs, nota tinge of green even on the willows, which are the trees of all othersthat give out their greenness first in the spring, and keep it latest inthe fall. The trees that grow in the Park were brown and naked when weleft the city. 

Here the buds are a-swelling. The willow-trees are feathered over withleaves as soft and pale as the down on a gosling's breast. Thebeech-trees are covered over with soft, downy buds, that float on theair like full-grown caterpillars. Even the ragged old button-balls areshooting out leaves like sixty, and the young trees at the SmithsonianInstitution, and the old ones below the Capitol of the nation, arebursting into greenness, while the grass seems to spring up fresh inyour path as you walk along. 

I declare it is a satisfaction to breathe the air which is kissing somany buds and flowers open; and I feel sort of guilty in doing it, whenI know that the hollows around Sprucehill are choked up with deadleaves, if not with drifted snow, and it will be weeks yet before themaple-sap will take to running. 

Nature is an institution that I hope I shall always be fond of andappreciate; but men and women are, after all, the noblest work of abeneficent Creator, and, from the delicate greenness and the soft airsof spring, I turn to them. 

At two o'clock, yesterday, Mrs. President Grant had a grand reception atthe White House. There hasn't been the ghost of one while Lent keptpeople down to a fish diet and morning meetings; but now, when theflowers of Easter-Sunday have all withered up, people begin to visit oneanother again, and this grand reception at the White House sort of opensthe way and sets the fashions a-going once more. 

Well, when the time came, Cousin E. E. And I were on hand. My pink silkdress was a little rumpled; but I shook it out and smoothed it down. 

Cousin E. E. Came out like a princess, in pale lilac-colored silk, witha whole snow-storm of lace crinkling over it. I declare, sisters, shelooked fresh and sweet as the first lilac that blows! I was really proudto introduce her as my relation. 

Cousin Dempster, having a claim, had to go to the Capitol; so E. E. AndI went together--no gentlemen being absolutely necessary to a daytimereception, you know. 

Well, we got out of the carriage as light and chipper as two birds. Thedriver held out his arm to keep our dresses from touching the wheel, asthey streamed out after us; and I must say Vermont didn't suffer much asto ladies when we walked, with the slow dignity befitting persons withthe eye of a State upon them, into the blue room, where Mrs. PresidentGrant recepted. Well, I reckon the ladies were two to one against themen in that blue room, and it just looked lovely!

In the centre of the room stood the round, blue silk sofa, I have toldyou about, cut up into seats, and rising to a point in the middle, as ifa silk funnel had been turned bottom-side up there. On the nozzle end ofthis point a great white flower-pot stood, a-running over with pink andwhite flowers, rising in great clusters one above another, till theybrightened the whole room with a glow like early morning. 

In front of this ring sofa the Mrs. President stood, looking just assmiling and sweet as a bank of roses. She had on a pink dress--no, notexactly what we call pink--but the color was soft and rosy as a cloud;snowflaky lace floated around her arms, and shaded her neck, which wasplump, and white, and pretty as any girl's. She hadn't a sign of aflower, or anything on her head; but the soft, crinkly hair curled downto her forehead sweetly, and she seemed almost like a young girl. Everybody there said that they never had seen her look so handsome. 

Well, there she stood, with a nice little lady on one side, helping herrecept; and she did it sweetly, which was likely, she being the wife ofSenator Morton, of Indiana, one of General Grant's biggest sort of guns. You have heard of Senator Morton, of course. He was a first-rate fellowduring the war, when he just buckled to and raised a half a million ofdollars on his own account for the Government, which was grand initself, and accounts for the way the people in Indiana almost worshiphim. 

Well, this lady was his wife. She looked young, and was dressednicely--not just like a girl, but as if she had her husband's dignity totake care of, as well as her own good looks. 

When we got to the door of this room, a gentleman came up, and, aftermaking a bow, wanted us to tell our names. Cousin E. E. Answered:

"Mrs. Dempster, of New York, and Miss Phœmie Frost, of Vermont. "

He didn't seem to hear distinctly, but bent his head; and says he:

"Miss, did you say?"

I flushed rosy-red, and my eyelids drooped, for I was thinking of theGrand Duke. 

"At present, " says I. 

Then the gentleman called out so loud that everybody could hear him:

"Mrs. Dempster--Miss Phœmie Frost. "

I say, sisters, did you ever see a cage full of canary-birds flutterwhen a cat was looking through the wires? If you have, that can give yousome idea of the buzz, hum, and rustle that was going on when we came upto the front of that round sofa, and gave Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Morton oneof those sliding curtsies that set off a long-trailed dress so well. 

Mrs. President Grant smiled sweetly, and held our her hand. I took thathand, I pressed it kindly--for I like that woman, whom poverty could notdaunt, and sudden prosperity could not spoil. She's a good, motherly, nice woman, and my heart warmed to her as I took her hand in mine. 

"Miss Frost, I am delighted to see you back in Washington, " says she;"especially as the weather promises to be so pleasant. "

"In some places we are apt to forget the weather, finding everythingbright and pleasant without regard to it, " says I. 

When I spoke, the ladies around crowded up to listen, and looked at eachother, smiling. One or two gentlemen came up, too, and when I bowed myhead and walked on, giving common people a chance, one of them came upto me, and says he:

"Miss Frost, I think I have the pleasure of claiming you as aconstituent, " says he. 

"A what?" says I. 

"A constituent, " says he, a-smiling softly. 

"No, " says I; "I don't remember being connected with any family of thatname. "

"But you are from Vermont?"

"I am proud to say 'Yes, '" says I, a-bowing my best, in honor of the oldState. 

"Then I have some claim on your acquaintance, " says he. "My name is----. "

I reached out my hand. The fire flashed into my eyes. "Our United StatesSenator?" says I. 

"I believe the people have given me that honor, " says he. 

"And honored themselves in the doing of it, " says I. 

I declare the man blushed, showing that high parts and extraordinaryknowledge haven't made him conceited. But I hadn't said a word more thanthe truth. Vermont, of all the States of the Union, I do think, has doneherself credit in her choice of Senators. There isn't in all the Senatea man that either of 'em cannot hold his own with, and I don't believe arough or ungentlemanly word or action has ever been on record againsteither of them. "

Before he could answer, a gentleman came and spoke low to him. Then hesaid, with a pleased look:

"This is Mr. ----, our other Senator, Miss Frost, who is, I am sure, asglad to welcome you here as I am. "

I turned, and saw a tall, spare man, with the kindest, mildest, and mostspeaking face I ever set eyes on. His voice, too, when he spoke, wasjust benign. I gave him my hand. If I looked half as glad as I felt, hemust have seen the warmest sort of a welcome in my eyes. I felt honoredby an introduction to these men. Not because they happened to be my ownSenators, but because they are men of heart and brains, capable ofunderstanding what the people want, and both honest and strong enough tomaintain what they understand. I write this without hesitation, knowingthat there isn't a society or household in Vermont that will not agreewith my way of thinking about them. 

I don't think much of beauty in a man, but there's no dreadful harm inbeing good-looking, and in that respect our Senators pull about an evenyoke with each other, and can't be overmatched by many States in theUnion. 

Well, we walked about the room, and had a good deal to say concerningthe Old Mountain State, while the crowd went in and out down the eastroom, through the parlors, and into a great, long greenhouse, blazingout with flowers that grew so thick and smelled so sweet that I longedto stay there forever. But by the time I was ready to leave, the companyhad thinned off, and Cousin E. E. Was waiting for me, a little out ofsorts, for somehow I had lost her in the crowd; but she soon came to, and when I told her our Senators were going to call on us at the hotel, she chirked up. After all, Cousin E. E. _is_ a good-hearted creature asever lived. 

LII. 

REPRESENTATIVE WOMEN. 

Dear sisters:--My ambitious longings are satisfied. I have stood beforethe Mrs. President of these United States, and in that august situationsustained the honor and dignity of our Society in a manner that I hopewill meet with your united and individual sanction. Mrs. Grant has had agreat many ladies of one kind and another standing by her side ashonored guests of the nation, but I do think the literary strata of theUnion has never been fully represented before. I do not say thisvaingloriously--far be it from me to claim anything on my ownmerits--but when the reputation of our Society is concerned, I am readyto stand up among the best, and hold my own even in the national WhiteHouse. 

That I have done according to the best of my abilities, and, I trust, tothe satisfaction of the Society, but I claim no credit for it. Any of usyoung girls can bow and smile, and give out words that melt into a vainman's heart like lumps of maple-sugar, and that is about all that isexpected from the female women who perform Society in Washington, andreal pretty, smart women most of them are; but after all, they are onlyaccidental females, and get there just because their husbands happen tobe elected to a place, and wouldn't even be heard of if some smart manhadn't given them his name--more than as like as not--before he knewhimself how much it was worth. 

Now you will understand, sisters, that no man, though he should happento be smart as a steel trap, and pleasant as a willow whistle, can giveextra brains or sweet manners to a wife who hasn't got 'em in her ownright. So there is a chance that some short comings in the female lineare not very uncommon. 

The senators and judges and cabinet people are, as a general thing, thepicked men of the nation, but they choose their own wives, and some ofthem haven't half so much taste in the fine arts, to which many of thisgeneration of women belong, as they have knowledge about politics. Still, these ladies are what they call representative women, and, nationally considered, are the cream on cream of American society. Thatis a fact, too, as far as they represent their own husbands. By marryinggreat men, or those who are merely fortunate, they are only lifted moreclearly into the public view, where their virtues and their faults areheld up for general examination. Still, it is wonderful how popular someof them get to be, and how soon they learn the duties of their places. 

Sometimes a first-rate woman happens to marry a first-rate man, andtakes her place by his side naturally. A good many such women haveearned a place for themselves in society quite equal to any theirhusbands have been chosen to hold by the people. 

Mrs. Madison, Mrs. Polk and Miss Lane were among these, and, as aperfect lady, well known for years and years in Washington, Mrs. Crittendon, the widow of Senator Crittendon--formerly Mrs. Ashley--isalways mentioned side by side with her husband, and stood quite as highamong women as he did among men. In my opinion, there is a senator'swife from Minnesota that can hold her own with the handsomest andhighest of those that have gone before; but as she is extra modest too, I give no names. 

Then there is another, I will say it, who has done honor to her positionand credit to her husband, and that is Mrs. Ulysses Grant. She is just agood, honest, motherly woman, pleasant to look at and pleasant to speakto. She acts out what she pretends to, and pretends to be just what sheis. If this woman hasn't pulled an even yoke with her husband, both inthe war and after the war, no female of my acquaintance ever did. It'sof no use talking, I like that woman. 

But I am a-going at a rate that wants pulling up, so I tighten thebridle and take a new turn. 

What I began to write about was, a reception at Mr. Horatio King's, which always takes off the first skimming of cream from Washingtonsociety. 

Mr. King is a New England man, and was born and brought up in Maine, which lifts him almost to a level with us of Vermont. 

In fact, in the way of statesmen and authors, I am bound to say thatMaine pulls an even yoke with the Green Mountain State. So far asauthors are concerned, I'm afraid she goes a little ahead of us. 

The city of Portland was just a nest of authors before they took wingand settled down in other places. 

John Neal, one of the most splendid men and brilliant writers that everput an American pen to paper, was born there, and has spent most of hislife in his native place. 

N. P. Willis was born in Portland; so was Sebe Smith, who called himselfJack Downing in his letters. 

Longfellow's family was rooted in that town long before he honored it bybeing born. 

James Brooks, who was for years a pillar of strength in Congress, andwho started the first newspaper correspondence ever thought of, in the_Portland Advertiser_, which he edited before he was twenty years old, was a native of Portland, which city he represented in the legislature, then travelled all over Europe on foot, and settled down in New Yorkbefore he was twenty-six. After this he spent twelve or fifteen years inCongress--earned a place, second to no man there, as a statesman, travelled over Europe three times, visited Egypt and the Holy Land, andfinished his travels by a trip round the world, taken between thesessions of Congress. Beside this, he never ceased to be the leadingeditor of the New York _Express_, and his book about Japan, China, andso on, which Mr. Appleton, of New York, has published, is one of thebest books of travel extant. 

Beside all these, Mr. King made his first literary start in Portland, where, as a young man, he edited a weekly paper. But he has lived mostof his after-life in Washington, generally holding a high positionthere. During a portion of Mr. Buchanan's administration, he wasPostmaster-General of these United States, and at all times he has beenconsidered a man worth knowing. 

LIII. 

A LITERARY PARTY. 

Dear sisters:--Of course I, being a young girl of New England, feltmyself at home in Mrs. King's house the minute I entered it. There issomething in the air of a dwelling like that, pure and breezy, like themorning winds on the Green Mountains. I felt myself growing frank andcheerful as I got into the hall. The parlors were crowded full--three ofthem--with people that one liked to look at, and longed to know; forevery face had an idea in it, and, beyond that, a good many were rightdown beautiful. 

But beauty by itself isn't enough to get an invitation here, and goodclothes count for just nothing, though there was plenty of them, and Ididn't feel as if my pink silk was too much. Something a little moreaustere, in the velvet or alpaca line, might have been more appropriateto the occasion. Still, there was a rosy brightness about my silk thathad a tendency to give a glow of youthful thoughtlessness tointelligence, and combine an idea of high fashion with genius. 

Mr. King, and his daughter, a proper, pretty stylish lady, stood nearthe door when I went in, with the train of my dress streaming back intothe hall, and some natural rose-geranium leaves circling my brow in away that was calculated to remind an observing person of Miss Corinnewhen she was crowned in the Capitol at Rome. 

Mr. King come forward to meet me with his hand held out. He is a thin, spare man, with the sweetest and kindest look in his face that you eversaw. I had intended to just touch his hand, and make a sweeping salute, half bow, half curtsey, that would take in the whole admiring crowd; buthis frank, smiling welcome just took me right off from my feet, and Igave his hand a good, hearty New England shake that made him feel tohome in a minute. 

Mr. King led me into the parlor, and gave me a soft seat among thecushions of a sofa in the middle room, just as Solomon must have waitedon the Queen of Sheba. Then, feeling that the eyes of more States thanVermont were upon me, I spread out my skirts, leaned one arm on the sofacushion, and settled myself just as Mr. Brady had done it when I sat tohim for a picture; thus adding an artistic feature to the fashionableand intellectual embodiment of my first appearance. Thus, with downcasteyes and a modest demeanor, which must have been attractive, I waitedfor the literary programme that lay before us. 

It commenced beautifully. Mr. King took his place under the chandelierof the middle room, and welcomed his friends with a very poetic andtouching little speech, which ended in a farewell which almost broughttears into my eyes. This was his last reunion for the year, and heseemed to feel the breaking-up a good deal, and his kind voice shookwhen he mentioned the possibility that death might carry off some of thefriends who had brightened his home, before they all met again. 

When Mr. King sat down there was dumb silence for a little while; forthe whole crowd seemed to feel all he had been saying, deep in theirhearts. But this soon changed into smiles and a soft rustle of dresses, for a nice elderly gentleman got up and made a delightful speech, fullof cheerfulness and nice friendly feeling, which brightened the wholecrowd up like spring winds in a flower-garden. 

After this, another pleasant gentleman arose with a written poem in hishand, which he read under the gaslight, filling the whole room with thesound of his friendly voice. 

The poem was written to Mr. King. It was full of sweet thoughts andgrateful thanks for all he had done to make his friends happy. But heblushed like a girl, for its praises seemed to take him by surprise, and, like all men of real talent, he is modest as can be. 

The lady who wrote this sweet poem was Mrs. Neeley, who has been writingto the Washington papers ever so long, in a way, too, that any womanmight be proud of. She sat directly behind the gentleman who read herpoem, and looked real nice in her crimson velvet dress. 

After this a lady got up and read something mournful about three curlsof hair that a man had taken from his wife's head--golden when she was achild, brown when she was a bride, and snow-white when she lay dead. 

There was a sort of sob went through all the rooms when this poem diedout. Then, after a little, every lady began to cheer up and laugh; forthe same lady was reading a poem, half Dutch, half English, about a doghowling, which was so funny that I almost forgot my dignity as therepresentative of your Society, and near about clapped my hands--a thingI should have regretted to the day of my death. 

This dog poem set everybody into a state of high gleefulness and somemusic struck up in the front room, which could be heard a little now andthen above the hum and rush of conversation that set in with the crowd, where artists, authors, and statesmen, and scientifics mingled in, andchatted promiscuously, saying such bright and wise and witty things, that they fairly made my eyes snap. I cut in, too. 

What is the use of being the emissary of a literary, scientific, andmoral institution, if one can't hold up her end of the yoke inconversation? I did my best, sisters. An artist stood near me; I talkedwith him about pictures till, I do believe, he thought that I had beenborn in Rome, and cradled with Michael Angelo--an old fellow, that bothpainted and made marble men in Italy years ago. Then I had something tosay about flowers to an agricultural bureau scientific, and about thechemistry of something to a savant or savan, or a word like that, of theSmithsonian Institution. I tell you, sisters, it was sharp work; but Iflatter myself you were not in any way disgraced. 

By and by I was introduced to the Chief Justice of the Court ofClaims--about as smart a lawyer, and clear headed a judge, as can befound in these parts, I can tell you. He was not long ago United StatesSenator from Missouri, and has left his mark among the statesmen there;but his genius lay as much in expounding the laws as in making them. Hehas written some capital law-books, too, and could mate with any judge, statesman, or author that came across his track. His wife joined in alittle now and then, as only a right down sensible and handsome womancould. It does one's heart good to see a great man and most lovely womanmated so for once. 

That was just what I did in Mr. King's parlors, and, when we stoppedtalking, it struck me that the gentleman knew a great deal more ofliterature than your missionary has yet learned of statesmanship or law. In fact, an evening in Mr. King's parlors does teach one humility, and Ibegin to discover that a person may be capable of writing poetry, andmaking a fair report, without being able to teach science to aprofessor, jurisprudence--I hope I have got the word right--to a judge, or high statesmanship to a senator. In fact, in the present state ofsociety, it seems to me that the best of us have got to live andlearn--live and learn. 

LIV. 

DRESSING FOR A PARTY. 

My dear sisters:--You have no idea how many kinds of parties there arein Washington. Some are called receptions, because they take place inthe daytime, in houses where every mite of sunshine is shut out, and thegas set to blazing as if it were midnight. That is, night isn't turnedinto day here one bit oftener than day is turned into night. 

Then there are ladies' lunch parties, where the daylight is allowed toshine in; and picnics, where one gets a little too much of it, besidesbeing tired to death, and nothing to show for it. 

Besides these, there are political parties, where men get upentertainments that are called caucuses, which no lady is allowed tojoin in. Besides dinners and breakfasts, and so on, without end, whichmakes life in this city just one rush and tumult--to say nothing ofCongress, which is just that, and a good deal more so. 

Last week, Cousin E. E. And I had so many invitations that we didn'tknow what to do with them. We should have had to go out to threebreakfasts, two dinners, and six parties a night, if we had attempted todo more than read them all. For since Mr. King's literary reunion, thepopularity of your missionary has increased like a rolling snowball, andher invitations came by the peck and half bushel. 

Well, out of this heap, there was one or two places that I felt likehonoring with my presence. So E. E. And I sat down and wrote a littlenote--all ladies write _little_ notes nowadays--and relieved the intenseanxiety of the people who had invited us, by saying, in the most politeway, that we would come. 

This act of kindness had its reward in the feeling that we had relievedmore than one anxious host, and given certainty of a brilliant successto parties that must necessarily have been in doubt until certain of ourcoming. With my usual modesty, I say "our, " wishing to give E. E. Herlittle chance, you know. 

The invitation we resolved to honor was from one of the foreignministers. Of course I expected that there would be a good manyreligious people there, and, as I hadn't mingled much with persons whowere over pious for some time, I anticipated a refreshing season; for aforeign minister must have a noble missionary spirit, and, no doubt, came to Washington on purpose to reform the members of Congress, whichis a work of Christian mercy, if ever there was one. 

For this reason, my spiritual nature was aroused, and I was burning withdesire to help in the noble cause, and let foreign nations know that wehad women in this country that could be at once brilliant and devout, celebrated and conscientious; in fact, women who could gracefullycombine two characters, hitherto supposed to be opposite. 

Yes, I was resolved to go to this ministerial reunion. Had I not been atMr. King's literary gathering, which lifted me, as it were, out of afrivolous, fashionable life into the purely intellectual, and now, should I refuse to bathe my soul in the purer element of high Christianfervor? No, a thousand times no!

On a religious occasion like this, I felt that a modest dress--simpleblack alpaca, for instance, with a pink bow at the neck--would be aboutthe thing; but Cousin E. E. Got almost huffy about it. 

"Why, " says she, "at the Foreign Minister's a full toilet is expected, always. It is but proper respect. "

"Cousin, " says I, "no one can have more respect for the ministerialfunctions than I have; no one ever attended meeting more faithfully. AmI not a missionary myself? Do you think I would or could fall short ofthe mark of the prize of the high calling? If alpaca isn't the thing, Iam open to reason and pink silk. "

"That will do, " says she, a-brightening up, "looped up with black velvetand bows, and _décolletté_. "

"Dic o' nonsense?" says I, riling a little. 

"Well, low neck and short sleeves, " says she. 

"At a meeting of ministers?" says I. "Cousin E. E. , are you crazy?"

"Well, do as you please, " says she, "only I tell you it will beexpected. I intend to be very low, with a strap for a sleeve, and all myjewels. "

"I shall be content with the jewels of the soul, " says I, with anaustere rebuke in my voice; for if there is anything that riles me upmore than another, it is flashy dressing where one's mind should begiven up to solemn thoughts. "Cousin E. E. , there are times when levityof dress and lightness of speech are to be excused, but this isn't oneof them. Put a bridle on your tongue, and something more than a strapover your shoulder. "

E. E. Colored up, and gave her head a toss. 

"Phœmie, " says she, "you are past finding out. Do as you please, andjust let me do as I please. "

I lifted my forefinger in gentle warning; for, with all her fashionablecrotchets, E. E. Is a good soul as ever lived, and I don't want to behard on her, feeling that great minds should be forbearing, especiallyin religious matters. So we parted good friends, and I went into my roomto get ready for the solemn occasion. 

I took out my pink silk dress--for the alpaca was a little rusty--andlaid it out on the bed. Then I ripped some black velvet ribbon fromanother old dress, and tied it up into bows that looked scrumptious asnew. After that I brushed my hair out straight, and braided it in anaustere fashion appropriate to the occasion. Not a friz or a curl was tobe seen; for this once I threw aside the other woman's hair, and wasfrom head to foot myself again. 

"Neat, yet genteel, " says I to myself, when my dress was on and theblack bows in place. "Nothing flash or frivolous, though everythingrefinedly elegant. No minister, be he ever so strict a disciplinarian, can find fault with me. I suppose the critics of all the religiouspapers will be there. Well, let them draw my portrait; I am ready forthe ordeal. "

With these high thoughts in my mind I went downstairs; but the sight ofmy cousin made me step back with both hands thrown up. She was just onfire with jewelry and precious stones. They flamed out on her neck, twinkled in her ears, and shot fiery arrows through her hair. Her cheekswere rosy red, and her eyes had shadows about them that had come sinceshe went down to dinner. Perhaps she had taken a nap in a dark room, though. The dress she wore was soft and white and floating, like a cloudin the sky; and there was black lace mixed with it, and roses tangled upwith that. I declare to you, sisters, if that woman had been going to aworldly party, she couldn't have been titivated off more than she was. It riled me to look at her. 

Advice scorned isn't to be offered again. I said nothing, but let E. E. Go on in her frivolous career. 

LV. 

FOREIGN MINISTERS. 

Dear sisters:--We entered the carriage, where Dempster took the frontseat, just buried up in his wife's dress, and sat there like anexclamation-point gone astray. As for me, I sat upright and thoughtful, resolved to do my duty in spite of their shortcomings. 

We reached a large brick house; before it a line of carriages keptmoving like a city funeral, only people were all the time a-getting outand walking under a long tent that sloped down from the front door. 

"There will be a full Conference, " says I, in my heart, for I was toomuch riled up by E. E. 's dress for any observation to her. 

One thing struck me as peculiar. None of the ladies wore their bonnets, and a good many had white cloaks on, huddled up around them as if theyhad been going to a party. 

If I hadn't known the house belonged to foreign ministers, I reallyshould have thought from the look of things that we had lost our way, and got into somebody's common reception. As it was I got out of thecarriage, and went up the steps with my bonnet on, and holding up thetrain of my pink silk, feeling that so much appendage was out of place. 

A colored person in white gloves opened the door, and waving his handlike a Grand Duke--oh, how that word goes to my heart--said:

"Front door, second story. "

Another time I should have known that this meant that I could take offmy things there. But now I felt almost certain that the ministers wereholding a prayer-meeting, or conference, or something in "the frontroom, second story, " so I went upstairs with a slow and solemn tread, feeling that the rustle of my pink silk was almost sacrilege. 

I went into the room and looked around. It was full of women, wonderfully dressed women, all in low necks and short sleeves, and whiteshoes--laughing, giggling women, who looked over each others nakedshoulders into a great broad looking-glass crowded full of faces thatcouldn't seem to admire themselves enough. 

I stopped at the door. I scarcely breathed. What could all thoserosy-cheeked, bare-armed ladies be doing in that house?

I asked this question, of course, of Cousin Dempster, who came into thehall a-pulling his white gloves on. 

"Dempster, " says I, in a low voice, "what does this mean? Where are theministers?"

"Oh, they are in the back room. You didn't expect them to be turned inwith the ladies, did you?"

"Well, " says I, "it is customary in our State now, though it was notformerly, when the men sat on one side at prayer-meetings, and the girlson the other, but I didn't think that notion had got to foreign parts. "

I don't think Dempster heard me clearly, for that minute his wife cameout of the room, blazing like the whole milky-way of stars. 

"Why, Phœmie, " says she, a-holding up both the white kid gloves she hadjust buttoned on, "you don't mean to go down with that bonnet on?"

"I should think you would be ashamed to go into a conference or aprayer-meeting with it off, " says I, severely. 

E. E. Stared at Dempster, and he stared at her. Then he hitched up hisshoulders, and she gave her hands a little toss in the air. 

I didn't seem to notice their antics, but went with them downstairs, where I heard the sound of music, which didn't strike me as so sacred asit ought to be. Besides, there was a buzz and a hum like a hive of beesswarming, which was puzzling. 

When we went into the great, long room, that seemed running over withlight, the crowded state of the congregation astonished me. There wasn'tseats enough for one quarter of the worshippers. 

Sisters, I was the only one present who had studied the sacred decenciesof a bonnet and shawl. The rest were dressed--well, they weren't dressedat all about the arms and shoulders, which shocked me dreadfully; themere presence of a lot of ministers ought to have made women moredecorous. 

Would you believe it, the people round the doors stared at me as if theyhad never seen a beehive bonnet, with feathers floating over it, before. 

Some people might have felt shocked at so many eyes turned on them, butI was in the straight and narrow path of duty, and their looks passed byme like the idle wind. If they didn't understand the solemnity of theoccasion, I did. 

"There is the Minister, " says Dempster, "let us pay our respects. "

"Why, " says I, "there don't seem to be either a reading desk or pulpithere!"

I don't think Dempster heard me, for he began to edge our way throughthe crowd, till we got clear into the room, which was so full of flowersand lights and music that I began to think the foreign ministers werekeeping up Easter-Sunday yet. 

A gentleman was standing near the door with some ladies around him. Dempster took us straight up to him. 

"Your Excellency, " says he, "Miss Frost. Miss Phœmie Frost, of Vermont. "

I didn't think that exactly a proper place to be introducing people in, and measured off my bow accordingly, and passed on without troublingmyself about the ladies around him, who seemed to wonder at it. As if Iwanted to know them!

When we got into the crowd again, I whispered to Dempster:

"Do tell me where the foreign ministers are!"

"The Ministers! Why you have just been presented to the very highest ofthem, " says Dempster. 

"What, that man, " says I, "with precious stones a-twinkling on hisshirt-bosom, and a bit of red ribbon in his button-hole, who seems tohave cut up his words with a chopping knife? You couldn't make mebelieve that, Dempster!"

"But it is, upon my honor, Phœmie; and those gentlemen standing aroundhim are all Ministers, or persons sent out with them. Almost everycivilized nation is represented here to-night. "

I looked around at the persons Dempster pointed out--some were young, some old, some you could understand, others you couldn't; most of themwere talking and laughing with the ladies around them. I didn't see adownright serious face in the whole crowd. 

"Them ministers!" I said, scorning Dempster's attempt to deceive me. 

"Every one of them is a Minister now, or means to be. "

"Dempster, I don't believe you. "

"Well, ask some one else whom you can believe, " says he, a-turning red. "Here is Miss ----, she can tell you. "

I didn't hear the name clear, but Dempster introduced me to a young ladythat had just sat down by me. 

"Are those men who are chatting and laughing so, really ministers?" saysI to her. 

"Most of them are; the rest are connected with the Legation, " says she. "Elegant, don't you think so?"

Before I could ask her what newfangled society had been got up under thename of Legation, a young gentleman with a round gold glass screwed intoone eye, came out from the hive of ministers, and walked toward us, moving along slow and lazy, as if walking were too much for him. 

The girl was all in a flutter when she saw him a-coming our way. Shelooked at me as if I had a seat that she wanted for some one else, but Ididn't move; and after shaking out her dress as a cross hen flutters itsfeathers, she pretended to look the other way, as if she didn't care amite whether the young minister came up or not. 

Oh, the airs some of these school-girls put on is disgusting. 

The young divinity student came up with a sort of half-dancing step. 

"Miss, " says he, a-bowing and chewing up his words as if he'd a piece ofsweet flag-root in his mouth, "delighted to--aw--aw--have the honor ofseeing you here--am, indeed. "

She bowed, she prismed up her mouth, waved her fan a trifle, and saysshe--

"Of course you ought to have expected me. I am a little exclusive, butalways make a point of coming here. "

The young--no, he wasn't over young, but did his best to look so. Well, this foreign student just turned his glass on me, his impudent littleeye stared right through at my bonnet. Then he looked at that finefiedgirl, and they both smiled at each other. 

This riled me. 

Then a couple of young ladies crowded by us, laughing a little. Thedivinity student turned his glass--eye and all--upon them, then heturned to the young creature by my side, and says he, curling up hiswisp of a mustache:

"Now, really, miss, what is the reason all the American young ladieshave the manners of chambermaids?"

I felt my Yankee heart spring straight up into my New England mouth; butthe foreign snipe wasn't speaking to me, so I sat still and listened forwhat that young creature would say. 

"The manners of chambermaids!" says she, "did you mean that?"

"Really--yes--I think they have, you know. "

"Well, I will not contradict you, for you generally are right, " saysshe, as meek as Moses--yes, Moses in the bulrushes, "but not quite all, I hope. "

The mean thing couldn't keep from trying to wring a compliment forherself out of this insult to the general American female. 

The fellow had sense enough to see what she wanted, and he gave it toher. 

"Aw--aw--of course there are a few lovely exceptions, you know, " sayshe, a-bowing so low that his eye-glass dropped out of his poor littleeye that looked like a green gooseberry without it. "I speak of Americanwomen, generally, as having the manners of chambermaids. "

I couldn't hold in one minute more. No coffee-grounds, twice soaked, ever riled up like my temper. 

"If _you_ find American ladies acting like chambermaids, " says I, "it'sbecause they feel compelled to adapt themselves to the company they arein. "

Here I bent my head with a low, dignified bow, and waved my fan with acalm but decided motion. 

That little humbug of a young lady looked half scared to death. Thedivinity student ground his glass into his eye, looked at me from headto foot, and says he:

"Aw, aw!" and walked away. 

The girl looked after him as if she wanted to cry, but just then a greatwhirl of music burst from the next room, and I thought the meeting wasabout to organize, when a tall fellow, with his mustache quirled up likean ox-horn, came tetering up to the young female by my side. 

"May I have the honor?" says he. 

The girl turned her head sideways, and rolled up her eyes like a pulletdrinking. 

"It is a quadrille, Count, " says she, "and I never join in one. "

"A quadrille, pardonne! You are right. When you daunce--if youdaunce--why, of course, you daunce a round daunce. "

The fellow flung out his white hands, making a little dive forward witheach word; then he saw my face, which must have spoken volumes, andslacked off his antics. I don't think he liked the cut of my smile, for, crooking up his elbow, he leaned forward, and says he:

"May I be honored with a promenade?"

She took his arm, and the two fluttered off into the crowd, which waspouring off into a large room beyond the one we were in. 

"The meeting is going to commence now in good earnest, " I thought. "I'lltry and get a seat where I can hear. "

Cousin Dempster and E. E. Came up, and I joined in. The lecture-room waslong, and lighted up beautifully. Right in front of the door was thesingers' gallery, hung round with red cloth, and over that hung greatwreaths of flowers, but I saw neither pulpit nor reading-desk. 

"Where will the minister be?" I whispered to Cousin Dempster. 

"Oh, he will open the ball. "

"Open the ball! What _do_ you mean?" says I. "A minister dancing! Iwon't believe it. "

"Why, they all do, " says he, innocent as a lamb. "No better dancers inWashington. "

Sisters, what _do_ you think of that? Was I to blame when I insisted onleaving that house at once? Would you have had me sit by and witnessthis degradation? "No, " says I to Cousin Dempster, "I won't stay. Ifministers of the Gospel will do such things, I, as a New Englandwoman--girl I mean--would be committing a sin to look on. "

"But you do not understand. They are Foreign Ministers, sent here byother nations, which they represent. "

"So much the worse--how dare they set such examples?" says I. 

"Ambassadors! can't you understand?"

"Of course I understand. All ministers are ambassadors from the Lord;but I never heard of their dancing, except that Shaking Quakers do nowand then, which is a part of their religion, and they are only elders, anyhow. "

"But there is no religion in these things!"

"I should rather think not, " says I, a-walking resolutely toward thedoor. "Now it's of no use explaining and apologizing to me. Dancingministers ain't of my sort. I'm going right straight home. "

Sisters, I went. 

LVI. 

GOOD CLOTHES. 

Dear sisters:--I told you in my last Report that there were three orfour invitations that I had made up my mind to accept, for I have got sonow, that it is my privilege to pick and choose who I will honor and whoI will not. 

Well, the person I distinguished this time was just one of thehandsomest and nicest ladies that you ever sot eyes on. Everybody thatknows her says that. No bird pluming itself on an apple-tree limb fullof blossoms was ever more graceful; no church member could be morekind-hearted. She is just a sumptuous young woman who worshipped atrue-hearted, high-minded father with all her might and honored him inall her acts. It is a great pity she wasn't born in Vermont, but thatcannot be helped now. I wish it could. 

Of course I felt it a privilege to represent your Society before a ladylike this; for it seems to me as if she were born to be an ornament tothis great nation. I say this because I really think she is good as goodcan be. Miss Kate Chase, though she did marry a United States Senator, will always be best known to the country as Chief Justice Chase'sdaughter, and a compliment to her is a compliment to him, which I, as adistinguished wom--I beg pardon, young girl--could pay, and stillpreserve that reputation for correct deportment which, I am proud tosay, follows me wherever I go. 

Well, not wanting to keep Mrs. Sprague in suspense, and feeling that shemight be pining for my autograph to lie uppermost in the great dish, allgold and stone pictures, which she keeps full of letters and cards andthings, I wrote her a sweet little letter, in my finest hand, with agreen and red "P. F. " twisted together on the straw-colored envelope, saying that I would come. 

After that I felt calm and content, knowing how much happiness I hadgiven. 

Cousin Dempster and E. E. Had an invite too. I really hope they havesense enough to know the source from which all these attentions come, but sometimes I doubt it. Still, they do look up to me. 

The night came, and found me ready. E. E. Had told me that when Mrs. Sprague gave a party, her guests almost always came out in span-newdresses. Her entertainments were _the_ entertainments of the season. Nobody had yet been able to come up to her, let them try ever so much, and people dressed accordingly. 

Of course I wasn't going to be behindhand on a fashionable occasion likethat, where a certain person was sure to be an object of specialadmiration and envious criticism, so I went to work at once, and turnedmy pink silk wrong side out with my own hands. 

Then I took an hour or so of solitary shopping, and had the things Ibought carried straight into my own room, for I had given out that I hada sick headache, and wanted to sleep--a fib so delicate, that it seemedalmost conscientious, besides being worth forgiving on account of itsoriginality. 

Well, I worked away like everything, determined to show the world, formy own private enjoyment, that genius wasn't limited to writing, butwould sometimes break out in silks and laces and flowers, withastonishing effects. So my heart rose, and my fingers flew. 

That headache of mine lasted three days, without intermission. Duringthis season of affliction, my meals were brought up on a hotel tray, andI took care to order them myself--the toast and tea, which cousin sentup at first, not being quite satisfactory as a persistent diet. 

At last my dress was ready. E. E. Said _she_ had ordered hers fromWorth, ever so long ago, expecting that something super-elegant mightturn up, like Mrs. Sprague's party. I didn't ask who Worth was, notthinking a masculine mantua-maker worth inquiring about; but I kept aclose mouth about my own toilet--that word needs explaining, sisters. With us it means a half-moon table, curtained down, and ruffled overwith spotted muslin, and set under a looking-glass. But here it meansyour whole dress-frock, boots, everything that you wear from top to toe. This is why the word "toilet" comes in so naturally in my Report. Butunderstand, it does _not_ mean a table--quite the contrary. 

You should have seen me when I came out of my room that evening. Up tothis I had been harmonious in my dress, but newness was the thing here, so I had studied the grandly poetical harmony of contrasts. My aim hadbeen something poetical and striking. 

My pink silk had turned beautifully. It looked good as new, if not moreso; the fresh lining hunched it out behind, till a good-sized baby couldhave sat on it, as such little fellows billow themselves among theclouds in an old picture. Contrast, I have told you, was myidea--novelty my object. Pink and white roses I had worn, black velvet, too, and natural geranium-leaves, which are given to wilting fearfully;so I cast these things all aside, and looped up my dress with pondlilies, of a rich orange color. 

Sisters, the effect was wonderful. The broad green leaves on the pinkground, the yellow flowers clustering amongst them. The lilies of redgold entwining my head was a picture in itself--to say nothing of thetall and elegant young person who, as I may write, carried off thedress. 

You should have seen Cousin E. E. When I swept into the room, where shestood ready, my pink silk rustling, my golden lilies on the high quiver, my hair crinkled in front, curled behind, and looped up with thoseyellow flowers. Sisters, her surprise was really a tribute. 

I did not deign to ask her how she liked my dress. The look thatfollowed her first surprise was clouded with the envy she did not dareto speak. I was seized with a desire to punish such malice, and swept upand down the room, looking back on my train, as a peacock spreads histail-feathers in the sun. 

E. E. Looked ready to burst. She saw that her own dress was nowhere, andresented it in angry silence. So I kept on walking slowly up and down, in order to bring her into a reasonable state of mind, which Christianexertion, I am sorry to say, failed. 

Dempster came in, and he, too, was struck dumb with admiring surprise. He looked at me, then at E. E. , but said nothing. Still the comparisonmust have been humiliating to a man who really does take some pride inhis wife. 

LVII. 

THE PARTY OF THE SEASON. 

Dear sisters:--The carriage was full to overflowment; E. E. And I filledit with the sumptuosity of our garments. Dempster was nowhere. Now andthen the carriage jolted his head into sight--that was all. 

Mrs. Sprague lives in a great, square corner-house that looks rich andrespectable--two things that do not always come together in these days, when people creep into society, and build themselves up there on theproperty that should belong to the Government. It has some wide, juttingwindows, and plenty of room inside. 

The hall-way was crowded full of ladies, and so was the stairs. Somewere going up, and some were coming down. The first in shawls andcloaks, the others with their arms and necks uncovered, or with just ashadow of lace on them, nothing more. 

The great square chamber that we went into was as full as a bee-hive. Silks swept and rustled against each other like oak-leaves when the windshakes them. The great looking-glasses were full also--you saw a crowdof handsome faces coming and going in them all the time. Each glass waslike a picture always changing. 

The bed was covered over with cloaks and shawls, but you could see thatthe bedstead was beautifully carved, and the pillow-cases were ruffledall round and edged with lace. On a table near the door was a case ofshiny black wood, curlicued with gold, and lined with velvet. In it wasa lot of gold things, essence bottles, knives, scissors with goldhandles, and glass cases with gold lids. It lay open, and anybody coulduse the things that wanted to; I didn't, but had a good look while E. E. Was titivating in the crowd before the glass. 

My dress must have carried out the grand idea in my mind when I madeit, for all the ladies stopped, and gave me a good, long look beforethey went out, and I could see smiles of approbation dancing about theirmouths. My triumph commenced, sisters, even in the dressing-room. 

Dempster was waiting for us, and we followed him downstairs into thelargest and handsomest room I've seen in Washington City. 

It was just afire with lights. The great curving window was crowded fullof flowers; every table in the room blazed out with them. Twofolding-doors, like those we have in a Vermont meeting-house, openedinto another great room, just as rainbowish with light, and smellingjust as sweet with flowers--I never saw anything like it. 

A crowd went in with us, and we had to wait till they let us go up toJudge Chase and Mrs. Sprague, who stood in the front room. 

Goodness gracious, what a female woman that is! No willow tree was everhalf so graceful, and, as for manners, the nicest woman I ever saw isnowhere to her. Her dress--well, I really cannot say that it didn't pullan even yoke with mine--at any rate the contrast between us wasstriking, nothing could have been more so. But I can say, withoutvanity, the crowd as it came in stopped to look at mine quite as much asit did at hers. Original taste, you know, sisters, is everything; thenliterary genius united with taste isn't easily matched. Still, Mrs. Sprague's dress was well worth noticing. 

"What did she wear?" I hear you say. 

Sisters, your wishes are laws to me. 

This lady, for she _is_ a lady, every inch of her, as I have said, was acomplete contrast to your missionary. Her dress had three colors; bluesatin in front, wreathed across with a wreath of rosebuds and leavesover each flounce. Running up each side were other wreaths, fasteningdown the edges of a long train of white silk, that was fastened in awide box-plait at the back of the neck, and swept away to the carpet, where it fell and floated like a snow-drift scattered over with roses, for they were done in needle work all over the white robe, and seemed togrow there. The dress was cut square about the neck, and filled in withlace. She had half-sleeves, too, a thing I was glad to see, for some ofthe stuck-up persons who came there with no sleeves, and their dressescut short about the neck, might have taken it for a rebuke. Thankgoodness, I didn't. 

Mrs. Sprague wore some jewelry. A wreath of blue stones with white onesthat shone like rain-drops in the sunshine, was fastened in her hair, and hung quivering in her ears. She had gold bands, full of fierystones, on her arms, and some gold thing fell down to her bosom, setwith something that looked to me like half-ripe cherries. Pink coral, E. E. Said it was. 

There now, you have Mrs. Sprague's dress, and you have mine. I saynothing. Certainly hers was handsome. I am not the person to drawcomparisons, but, from the notice given to mine, I had no reason to bedissatisfied. 

Chief Justice Chase stood by his daughter, and shook hands with me inthe most friendly manner--he was quite impressed, I can assure you. Hewas large and tall--in fact, grand in his appearance. His smile wasenough to make any one long to know more of him. It reminded me a littleof the great Grand Duke's, which made my heart beat a little sadly. 

We moved into the crowd. There I saw a lot of those foreign ministers. One of them bowed to me. I gave him a dignified bend of the head. Thismessing-up of divinity and parties goes against my ideas of propriety. 

A Vermont minister would be turned out of his pulpit if he ventured toshow himself in a worldly gathering like that. 

"What are you so dignified about, Cousin Phœmie?" says Dempster. "Didn'tyou see the minister bowing to us?"

"Yes, " says I, "but I don't mean to encourage backsliding and worldlyamusements in Christian leaders. They have no business here. "

"But they are not particularly Christians, " says he. 

"I should think not, " says I; "and the Churches that sent them hereought to know how they are going on. "

"But the Churches did not send that gentleman. It was the Queen. "

"Exactly, " said I; "and isn't she the head of the Church. No, no, cousin, you can't make excuses for them. "

"But their mission is political, " says he. 

"Of course, " says I. Church and State--I understood. "

A whole lot of candles, white as snow, were burning over the wide doors. That opened into another long room where a great picture, worked with aneedle, years and years ago, hung on the wall, and crowds of people weremoving about. Then came a storm of music, and I saw one of the ministersteetering off with a lady as if he were going to dance again. 

"I declare I won't look on, " says I to Dempster; "take me somewhereelse. "

He did take me into a little room full of books, and there--standinground a table on which a great giant of a china bowl stood, filled tothe brim with punch, on which slices of lemon floated temptingly--wefound some more of them ministers, each one with a full glass in hishand. 

Sisters, I stood there like a monument, and saw them drink that punchwith my own eyes--more than one glass apiece, too. Ministers, indeed!

While we stood watching them in one door, they went out by another, andthen Dempster took us in. 

E. E. Sat down on a sofa; so did I. Dempster went up to the great bowl, and began to dip out the punch with a big silver ladle as if it had beensoup. He filled two glasses. A slice of lemon floated on each one; theylooked deliciously cool, and I was thirsty. Sisters, I took that glass, and I drank of the punch. After that I began to feel more charitabletoward the foreign ministers. In fact, I rather think a sweeter and morebenevolent feeling came over me in all respects, for a soft mistinesssettled on the crowd, and the dancers were peculiarly mazy. I feltmyself smiling blandly, and, in fact, glided into a state of dreamyenjoyment that was pleasant. 

The music stopped; the dancers locked arms, and moved toward an opendoor through which a fresh flood of light was pouring. We followed intoa great tent, hung all round with damask linen. Two long tables, loadeddown with great vases full of fruit and flowers; steeples, and towers, and baskets, made out of candy, and running over with sugar things;peaches, and grapes, and all sorts of fruit, natural as life, but candyto the core--all delicious and gorgeous and--well, I haven't language toexpress it; but the whole thing was sumptuous. 

All down and around these two long tables great wreaths of flowers andleaves, half buried in moss, made a border of bloom, and over them thelight came pouring, while the music sounded nearer and nearer, and thecrowd poured in. 

Really, sisters, I can say no more. That whole scene was more than I candescribe. It just sent me home dizzy with bewilderment. 

LVIII. 

DOWN THE POTOMAC. 

Dear sisters:--The Father of our Country was a great man--no doubt onthat subject. He conducted a war on small means and with few men, whichgave us a country that will be a crowning glory of all ages, if we don'tmelt down and go to nothing under the hot sunshine of our ownprosperity. He was a great man and a good boy, not because he cut downthe cherry-tree and wouldn't lie about it, for good boys and great menare not made out of one action, but a harmonious character whichproduces many good actions. 

Then again, I am not so certain that the action was what it is crackedup to be, anyway. In the first place, good little boys don't cut downtheir father's fruit-trees. Generally, they like to climb them a greatdeal better, especially when the cherries are ripe. I know that--being agirl, who could have borrowed a hatchet and made myself immortal bychopping instead of climbing to pick half-green cherries, which I did, and tore my frock, besides getting a pain in the--well, heart, which twothings betrayed me just as the little hatchet betrayed George. 

Now, when my mother asked me what the mischief I'd been about, I didn'tthink of saying I couldn't lie, because I could, and longed to do it;but I knew that New England women would find me out and give me double"jessie" if I piled a whopper on top of the green cherries and tornfrock, so I told her I didn't know, being conservative--took my whippinglike a man and a trooper, scorning to cover up two sins under one pioustruth. 

I didn't follow George Washington's example, for two reasons. First, Ihad never heard of the hatchet; and again, the story don't wash to adegree that is expected of high-priced morality. When the youthful boy, Father of our Country, said he _couldn't_ lie, he was a-doing it thatvery minute. What boy ever lived that couldn't lie? Lying is born in'em, and they take to it as naturally as a kitten laps milk. 

The fellow that wrote that story was a botch. Why didn't he make littleGeorge say, "Father, I won't tell a lie; so there--I cut down thecherry-tree with my little hatchet. "

There would have been something heroic and above-board about that--astruggle against temptation foreshadowed, and a brave determination tostand up to the rack, fodder or no fodder, worthy of a boy that meant tobe father of the man, who in his turn was the father of his country, thus doing up all his paternity in a wholesale way. But to say hecouldn't was so sneakingly good that I don't believe it of him. In fact, I don't believe one word of the story. 

Put that down on the records of your Society. 

Of course, one never thinks of George Washington, that a nice boy, showing a hatchet, does not come in as the first picture. 

The reason I happened to think of it was an invitation to go in aGovernment steamboat down to Mount Vernon, Washington's old homestead, and see the tomb where he was buried. 

Of course I wanted to go. When the President of these United States getsout a Government steamboat on purpose to carry a distinguished NewEngland female down to the tomb of her country's forefathers, it's anhonor she's bound to accept. 

I did accept it with enthusiasm, and at once invited Cousin Dempster andE. E. To go with me, for it always gives me pleasure to act as a sun totheir moon. 

The Japanese were invited to join me on the boat, and as many as twohundred other people were allowed to go down, which I was rather gladof--they being amongst the best--and my nature being social, as youknow. 

Well, between nine and ten in the morning, we drove up to the NavyYard--a place where the Government builds the ships that are alwaysbeing altered, and mended, and made worse than they were before. It'slike a village on the water, is this Navy Yard, with a high wall aroundit, and a gate big enough for our carriage to go through, which it did, taking us down to the water in fine style. 

"Do you want to go on board the 'Tallapoosa'?" says a man on the wharf. 

"The 'Tallapoosa'!" says I to Dempster. "What outlandish thing is that?"

"The steamboat, " says he. 

"Well, why don't they call it a steamboat?" says I; "such airs!"

With that, I jumped out of the carriage, taking a neat dancing step as Itouched the ground, and spread my parasol. 

Just then another carriage drove up, choke full of little dark men. 

"It is the Japanese, " says Dempster. 

"The Japanese! How can you say so?" says I. "Where are their punch-bowlhats and stiff veils?"

"Oh, " says Dempster, "they have given those things up, and dress just aswe do now. "

"Dear me!" says I, a-looking into the carriage from under a slope of myparasol. "How funny they look with stovepipe hats, and boots, too--ohmy!"

The Japanese were getting out of their carriage, but they seemed as ifafraid of straining too hard on their clothes, and stepped on the groundas if it was paved with eggs. 

Bang!

"Oh, goodness gracious!"

It was I that screamed out these words, and I hopped up at least half ayard from the ground, for somewhere, close by, a great gun wentoff--roaring over the water, like thunder. 

"What does that mean? Does anybody want to murder us?" says I, shakinglike a poplar-leaf. 

"No, no, " says he, "they are only saluting us. "

"Saluting _me_?" says I. "How dare they? Of course they knew I shouldjump and scream. So loud, too! No young girl would stand it. "

With that, I lifted my parasol, and walked across the plank on to thedeck of that steamboat, and sat down. 

Them Japanese came after, and sat down close to me. Mr. Iwakura lookedat me, and I looked at him. He smiled, and I smiled. This Japanee knowshow to smile with his eyes, and that's more than a good many other mencan do. 

Then I felt it my duty to talk a little, as these Japanese had beeninvited on my account; so, thinking that he would expect somethingoriginal from me, I said:

"I think we shall have a pleasant day, Mr. Iwakura. "

"Yes, " says he, in real cunning English, looking as if he appreciated mylittle speech. 

"I really hope, " says I, "that you and your friends will feel quite athome. "

He said "Yes, " again, and smiled. 

That smile was catching. 

"I wonder if Mr. I. Left a wife behind to languish for that peculiarexpression? If not--"

I checked these roving thoughts as incompatible with former ideas. 

The steamboat was puffing and blowing, and giving a scream now and then. It began to tremble--it veered and made a slow plunge down the river. The decks were crowded with ladies and gentlemen--all smilinghappy--that seeming to be overjoyed to have the pleasure of coming withme. 

The Potomac River is just lovely. All the trees along its banks werebudding and feathering out with greenness. We passed by a town. Then agreat round heap of stone walls, that they called the Fort. The grasswas green around it, and some soldiers came out on the walls to look atus as we swept by. 

It was pleasant; I felt the occasion to be something like that on whichthat Egyptian woman went down the River Nile in a row boat; so I loweredmy parasol as we passed the Fort. 

At last the steamboat made a dead stop in the river. We were rightopposite Mount Vernon. I looked at the sacred old place from the water. It was lovely in itself, standing there on a high knoll, carpeted withsoft spring grass, and with tall trees a-bending over it. The sunshinelay on the water and the shore, but that old house was a good deal inshadow, and all the more pleasant for that. 

Some smaller boats came up to the steamboat. We got into them and wentashore. 

LIX. 

MOUNT VERNON. 

Mount Vernon had looked lonesome enough till now; but when we all landedit was like a picture. We wandered about; we broke up into littlecrowds, and the whole place was alive with happy people. 

Mr. Iwakura and the rest of the Japanese walked slowly up the road. Dempster, E. E. , and I went with them till we came to a tomb dug intothe bank, with an iron fence before it. 

Iwakura took off his stove-pipe hat and held it, just as if he had beenat a funeral. The rest did the same, looking sad and touchingly solemn. 

I dropped my parasol low, to hide the tears that came gushing up to myeyes, without warning. Cousin E. E. Began to sob. 

I turned away, longing to creep off into some dark corner, and have agood cry all by myself. 

A good many of the people had gone up to the old homestead which isspread out low on the ground, and has a stoop with pillars running allalong the front. From this stoop you can see the bend of the river andthe blue of its water through the trees. There was a well near by thatput me in mind of home; a lot of girls were drinking from the bucket, and chirruping together like birds around a spring. 

I didn't like the sound just then, and went into the hall-way of the oldhomestead. There was nothing worth while in it but a great, big, heavykey, covered with rust, and big enough to knock a man down with. 

"This, " says a gentleman, a-standing close by me, "is the key of theBastille. "

I jumped back. 

"What!" says I--"that old prison in Paris, where men were buried alive, without trial?"

"The same, " says he. "Lafayette gave it to General Washington. "

I felt myself shuddering, but said nothing. The subject struck me dumb. We went upstairs into the chamber where Washington died. It was not overlarge, and low in the joints; but the windows looked out on the treesand the river, which took away some of its gloominess. Nothing but abedstead, with high, spindling posts, was there. 

"Did he die on that?" says I to a gentleman near me. 

"No, " says he, "but on a bedstead just like it. "

I turned away. What business had a sham bedstead in that room? The ideaof it riled up something besides sympathy in my bosom. I had rather seebare walls than a bedstead _like_ the one he died on. Why don't theytake it down?

We went into the parlor. It isn't over-large, and looks cheery. An old, coffin-shaped piano was there, with broken wires; some old china platesand dishes were piled together. That was about all. 

I couldn't stand it. The tomb had sunshine about it, and wasn't half sogloomy. The hall-door was open, and I went out. A little way from thehouse was Washington's flower-garden, where a few jonquills and crocuseswere spotting the earth with yellow. Near that was a large brick house, long and low, crowded full of plants which had flowers on them. 

This wasn't Washington's greenhouse, but a brand new one, which lookedlike a spring bonnet worn with a ten-year old dress. This riled me too. It seemed to me that the old homestead should be kept just as Washingtonleft it. Newfangled improvements are an aggravation. 

Before I came away from Washington there was a good deal of talk aboutthe lady who lives here and takes charge, but I couldn't for the life ofme find out anything that seemed extravagant or wrong about her. Thetruth is, the ladies of this country have spent years collecting moneyto buy Mount Vernon, and make it a place sacred to the nation, but theyfailed in obtaining a fund large enough to maintain it with honor. 

The society give this lady no remunerative salary, and nothing but apure missionary spirit could keep her in that dull and mournful place. If she raises money enough to keep the homestead in repair, it is allany one ought to ask, and all the nation wants. But for my part, I scornthis quiddling way of making money. There is a meanness about it thatdisgraces the nation. 

The thing that should be done is this: put the whole concern into thehands of Congress. It ought to belong to the nation. Washington was notthe saviour of a lot of women only, but of the whole country. Let thecountry have possession of his old home, and appropriate all the moneyneeded to keep it in perfect order, as Washington left it. If the womenof America raised money enough to buy the estate for no better purposethan to peddle out a sight of Washington's tomb for twenty-five cents asight, and keep flowers to sell, they have sent their patriotism to amighty small retail market. 

Well, in the afternoon we all went on board the steamboat again, and hada good time running up and down the river, which is just one of thethings I should like to do every day; for the day was bright enough tokeep one out-doors forever, if it would only have lasted so long. 

When we had got out of sight of Mount Vernon, a band of music came ondeck, and played like anything, while we went down into the cabin, oneparty at a time, and ate dinner, which tasted delicious, I can tellyou--to say nothing of the bottled cider, and such like, that kept thecorks a-flying about like bullets. 

It is wonderful what smartness that cider gives to a person. It sparklesthrough one like the first spring sap in a maple-tree. 

When I went on deck again, my limbs felt springy as a steel trap, and Icouldn't help dancing along, for a band of fiddlers and toot-horns wasa-pouring out music, that, joined to the cider, was enough to make onewant to dance with her own grandfather. 

They did dance, sisters--I own it, with shame and contrition. I joinedin with the other young girls, and flatter myself they know by this timewhat a genuine Virginia reel is. 

Forgive me, I know it wasn't just the thing for a church member to do, especially while returning from that tomb; but bottled cider andfiddlers must be a stronger power in the hands of the Evil One thananything I have tried yet; and more church members, and ever so mucholder persons than me, just made that deck shake with their dancing, half the way up that beautiful river. 

Still, my head aches this morning, and I have a sort of backslidingfeeling. The truth is, Tombs and Virginia reels don't seem to gibe intogether. 

LX. 

MR. GREELEY'S NOMINATION. 

Dear sisters:--What do you think of the dear old Mountain State now?Have you reason to be proud of her, or have you not? Do you understandwhat she has done lately in the way of literature--in the female line, Imean--and now, only think of it, the next President of the United Statesis expected from that sacred and hilly soil. 

I know that Vermont will be almost tickled to death about this. It willbe a crown of glory to her mountains, and a song of rejoicing in hervalleys. The sap in her maple-trees will start earlier, run brighter, and sugar off more gloriously than it has ever done before. Up to thistime, Vermont has never had her share of honors at the national Capitol, but now her time has come. 

I am so glad I went to Mr. Greeley's birthday party, and I haven't adoubt that a great many other persons feel pretty much as I do aboutit. When I shook hands with him there, and saw him standing in the midstof his friends, with his kind face looking smooth and enticing as asweet baked apple, I little thought it might be the next President ofthese United States that was enjoying himself over a birthday. Butthings do get tangled and untangled dreadfully in this world ofours--don't they? and the most uncertain thing on this side of sundownis any man's destiny. The most certain thing is the popularity ofsuccess. It seems to me now as if I think considerable more of thisgreat Vermonter than I did last week, but what has he done to makeme?--that's what I should like to know. He's just the same man; has justas many faults--no great new supply of virtues. In fact, what has hedone this week more than he did last, that I should feel a sort of honorand glory in being his friend?

I have been putting these questions to myself, and the answer makes mefeel a little meachen. I am the missionary of one of the most augustbodies that can be found in this or any other country. I represent abody of blameless, heroic ladies, whose glory it is to be aboveprejudice, and capable of self-judgment--ladies that are ladies, andwish to set an example of Christian womanliness to their own sex and therest of mankind, feeling that "the eyes of all Vermont are upon them. "

I am all this, yet I feel the humiliation of thinking all the better ofa man because a great hullabaloo of other men have declared before theworld that they want him for President of these United States. This isweak, but natural--natural, but awfully weak. Why should we let crowdsof men we never saw judge for us? But then, how are we to judge forourselves?

After all, this self-government is a difficult thing to carry out. Whatman really does govern himself?--either through his brain, or heart, some one else governs him. He gives himself up by the wholesale to acrowd, or by retail to his own family. 

In the parlor of our hotel last night there was nothing but confusionand commotion. I went down there with Cousin E. E. , for we all felt theglory that had settled down on us in a reflected way, and longed toenjoy it before folks. So down we went, trying to look as if nothing wasthe matter, but feeling the smiles quivering and playing about our lipslike lady-bugs about an open rose. 

The parlors were full. Everybody had something to say. Some weresmiling, some looked ready to cry, and others looked grim as gunlocks;but most of the faces we saw were beaming like a harvest moon. 

As for me, I felt--yes, as the poet says, "I felt--I felt like a morningstar. "

"Well, Miss Frost, how do you like it?" says a little mite of a woman, with pink ribbons spreading out on her bosom. "What do you think of thenomination?"

"Think?" says I. "Why, this is what I think--the sun will rise and seton the top of the Green Mountains like a crown of glory, after this. "

"Will Vermont go for him?" says another, cutting in. 

"Will the mountains stand on their old rocky base?" says I. "What aquestion!"

"Then you think it will?"

"Think! I know it will. When did that glorious old State neglect one ofher own sons?"

"But it's so strange!" snivelled the little woman. 

"Strange!" says I; "what is strange?"

"Why, that Mr. Greeley should be nominated. "

"Well, " says I, with cutting irony, "do you think it strange that thepeople of this country should choose an honest man once in a while?ain't we always ready to reward merit? Haven't we done it in themilitary way with General Grant? Haven't we a right to go into a newfield? First the sword, now the pen. "

"Oh! not that; but--but--"

"Well, but what?"

"He's so--so peculiar. "

"Yes, he is, " says I, "if integrity, simple good faith, and sound senseis peculiar--and I begin to think it is. "

"Do you know him, Miss Frost?"

I drew myself up, and that feeling I have spoken of came over me. It wasa temptation, and--well, I and Mrs. Eve are a little alike in ourfeminine weaknesses; I'm glad I have Bible support in the disposition tofib a little that comes over me. 

"Do I know him?" said I. "Yes, intimately. "

"Ah!" says she. 

"You can judge how intimately, " says I, smitten with compunction, andcraw-fishing down into a deceiving truth, "when I tell you that I was anhonored guest at his birthday party. "

"You don't say so!" says she. 

I didn't feel bound to remind her that I had said so, and only drewmyself up a trifle, and waved my fan back and forth with a dignifiedmovement. 

"And you really think well of him? But, then, he is an editor, andauthors always have a sort of affinity for gentlemen of the press, " saysa pert young creature, twisting her head on one side, and coming up tome. 

"I think well of him, " says I, "because he is a man that has worked hisway up in the world by the hardest; studied wisdom from the type he wassetting, when he had no time for books; worked like a Trojan to supporthimself days, then sat up half the night to improve his mind. Mr. Greeley is in all respects a self-made man. This nomination is but theproper and natural crown of a busy life like his, of integrity like his, and of wisdom like his. "

"You talk earnestly, " says a gentleman, coming up into the little crowdthat grew thick around me. 

"Because I feel earnestly, " says I, a-doubling up my fan, and layingdown the law with it. "I don't pretend to know a great deal aboutpolitics, but I do know something about the history of my country, andit has never been better governed than when self-made men have ruledover it; but here is something more--the editor of a great daily journalis gathering up knowledge and wisdom every day of his life. He hasopportunities for watching events and judging of actions that preparehis own mind for the exercise of power when it comes. "Why, " says I, warming up, "the greatest statesmen that you have are editors andself-made men. The fact is, men who have worked their own way in theworld, haven't time to be rogues, and very seldom are even grasping. Itis your lazy fellow, who lives by the cunning that he calls wits, who isnot to be trusted. For my part, as two candidates have to be in thefield to have a good run, I am glad that those Cincinnati folks had thesense to take a man right out of the bosom of the people to govern thepeople. Brought up so close to the public heart, he'll know how itbeats. Having been a working man, he'll know how to feel for toilerslike himself, just as General Grant now feels for the soldiers. "

"You talk like a book, " says the young lady, a-twisting her head theother way. 

"I didn't know till you told me, miss, that books did talk, " says I, opening my fan again. 

"Oh, yes, they do, " says she, giggling. 

"Bound to talk, I suppose, " says I, a-smiling in my usual bland way. 

They all laughed at this, but the girl looked around as if she wonderedwhat it was all about. 

I just made a little inclination of the head, and went on:

"We were speaking of self-made men, I think, " says I; "such men havedrifted away from New England, like shooting stars. Wherever they mayshine, New England is proud of them, and claims them as her own; forthis reason; and because I love my country, I am glad Horace Greeley ison the highway to be its next President. With him and Grant running neckto neck, I shan't care much which beats. "

LXI. 

WOMEN AND THINGS. 

Dear sisters:--I wish you could have seen that stuck-up thing, with allthe color taken out of her hair, perking herself up for an argument withme. All the people in the room had crowded round us, which set her allin a flutter. 

"Oh, pray excuse me, " says she, a-shaking her curls, "we are broachinginto politics, and I assure you, " says she, a-primming herself up, "Iknow nothing about such subjects. "

"Why, " says I, "you speak as if ignorance were something to be proudof. "

"I--I do not pretend to know anything of politics, at any rate, " saysshe, a-coloring up with inward madness. 

"Indeed, what is politics, " says I. "The history of the present? Whyshould the most refined lady on earth be ignorant of one period ofhistory more than another?"

"Politics are things going on at the present time, and no real lady isexpected to take interest in them, " says she. 

"What is the present time? The breath we are drawing--nothing more. Thatvery breath has now gone into the past, which is history. All the restis guess-work and prophecy, " says I. 

"Dear me, how strong-minded you are, " says she, giving her curls a toss;"I suppose you would be splendidly eloquent on Woman's Rights too. "

"No, " said I, "all my life I have had more rights than I have known howto use, so I leave that question to persons who have no better field ofambition. Mine happens to be of a different kind. I want to make womenwise, good, generous, faithful to duties that come down to them fromtheir mothers. I want to improve women, miss, not turn them intocontemptible men. "

"By talking politics?" says she, as saucy as a sour apple; "what is thegood of that if you don't go in for voting?"

"What is the good of any knowledge which may be turned into blessings bywoman's influence?" says I, blandly. 

"Then you believe that women ought to have influence in politics, " saysshe. 

"I think that women should have influence everywhere, " said I, "but onlyas women. We are governed through the heart, and those finer portions ofthe intellect that people call taste. Men plant the grain and timber ofevery-day life with their strong hands, which God made for that verypurpose. We women fill in the hollows and crevices and swelling bankswith flowers and ferns and delicate shade-trees, which make the vigorouswork of their strong hands beautiful. "

Sisters, I said this to that stuck-up girl because I wanted to expressan opinion on this subject--first, because it was my opinion, and again, because I know that it is yours, going as you do for it in a spirit offeminine spontaneosity. I don't want the nature of our Societymisunderstood. We are not Woman's Righters, nor Woman's Wrongers, butstraight out women, wanting nothing better on this earth than to be justas God made us, with a full, free, and generous development of all thefemininities that belong to the sex. 

For my part, I don't want to be a man; his work is too rough and hardfor me. His thoughts have too heavy and coarse a grain. His clotheswouldn't fit me any better than his thoughts and duties. 

We being women, according to a beneficent God's intention, have gotenough to occupy a whole life in the same path that our good old NewEngland mothers trod. We don't want to get out of that path into anyother, and we don't mean to entice the children that are growing upamongst us into an idea that pure-thinking, hard-working womanlinessisn't the highest and best destiny that God has yet given to hiscreatures. 

I have no patience with women who scorn their own sex so much that theywould rather turn into weak, meddlesome men than work, study, bring upchildren, and live as high-souled, loving women should. As for votingand all that, it's just turning gold into brass, and getting nothing butthe baser metal for change. 

Why, influence is a thousand times sweeter and more certain than legalpower, and that is given to every woman who loves and is beloved. 

As for my part, I should be ashamed if I couldn't persuade ever so manymen to do any right thing I wanted. Shouldn't I be a fool to swap offthat influence for the rights that only one man owns for himself?

If women want power, let them be sweet, good, and persuasive, wiseenough to have their opinions command respect, and bright enough toenforce them pleasantly. That is the way to move nations, if the mind ofwoman ever can do it. At any rate, it is the way to govern families andmake them respectable in the next generation; and out of familiesnations are made. 

"Have you ever noticed one thing?" says I to the people about me. "Whenever women get dissatisfied with themselves and hanker after therights of men, the very foundations of life seem to be breaking up allaround us. Marriage ties fall into ashes like fire in hatcheled flax, morals are burned up, families torn to pieces, and society falls intorevolt against law and religion. When women begin to hanker after votes, they hanker after divorces too, and, while they want unlimited powerwith men, throw away the noblest of all power over men--that of honestrespect and a sacred consciousness of protecting. "

If women will break through all the delicate safeguards and childlikepurity which keeps them so much above men, that they are aspired afterand worshipped, let them take the consequences. To be hustled inconventions, hissed off from platforms, and received with hidden sneersby three-fourths of mankind, doesn't seem to me half so pleasant andrespectable as the friendship of one's neighbors, and the love of one'sown family; but, if they like it better, I haven't the least mite of anobjection. Only such things force an honest woman into awful badcompany once in a while, and it sometimes happens that ambition leadsthem to shake hands with persons that sweet charity itself could neverpersuade the best of them to touch with a ten-foot pole. 

"Don't think, " says I, "that I go against female progress, or would stopits infinite capabilities--far from it. There are questions mixed upwith this subject that ought to have our warmest sympathy and mostardent help. Female labor is one of them, and in that lies the greatestmoral question of these times. 

"When a woman finds herself doing the work nature carved out for her, with a man crowding her out, doing no more, yet getting double pay, onlybecause he happens to be a man, it is a burning shame and disgrace toboth sexes. If that injustice can't be swept away by fair means, I go infor trying any that a female woman can handle without bringing herselfdown to a level with the males who seem to be as sick of being men assome of our sex are of being women. 

"Still, it seems to me that the best way of doing this is by suchappeals for justice as have brought the women of New York State morefreedom than they know what to do with. At this day there is no legalslavery for any woman in the great Empire State. The fact is, the womenthere have got their feet on the necks of the men. But this don'tsatisfy them, and they are all the time crying out for more, as theScripture says, like the leeches--which is a passage of Scripture that Inever have quite understood, because leeches in our day suck your_blood_ without asking, and I never yet heard of one who went fartherthan a bite in the way of crying out. 

"Excuse me, " says I, drawing breath, "if I sometimes digress, and turndown a Scripture path in search of scientific truth or illustration. Iwas saying that a woman in New York State is to all intents and purposesmaster of herself--herself and husband too. If she has money when a poorfellow marries her, it is all her own to do with as she has a mind to, just as much as if she had never been married at all. But he has tosupport her, anyway, keep up the house, pay all the bills, settle herdebts, if she is mean enough to make them, and she can be hoarding upher own money all the time, while he has no more right to touch a centof it than the man in the moon. 

"More than this; when he dies, she comes in for a full third of his realestate for life, and has half his personal property, to sell, give away, or do with as she pleases. If _she_ dies, he cannot touch a red cent. Then, again, she can sell all the real estate that belongs to her, without so much as asking his advice, but he cannot sell an acre or awood-shed, and give a clear title, without her written name to the deed. Then, again, if he earns money, the law makes him support her; if sheearns money, he has no right to a cent of it. 

"Poor, downtrodden creatures are these women of New York State--don'tyou think so, " says I. "Is it a wonder they get dissatisfied with theirhardships, and hanker after more power, more freedom, and less work?When marriage is so profitable, is it strange that some of them want agreat deal of it, and go through the divorce courts three or four timeswith a rush, picking up scraps of alimony and leaving scraps ofreputation along the way. 

"If it wasn't that I mean to stand by my own sex through thick and thin, I should say that the laws lean a trifle over on the woman's side inYork State; but, being a woman, I keep a lively thinking, while theother poor, downtrodden souls rush to the women's rights meetings, andwring their hands in desperation over the wrongs I have just explained. "

"But what has this to do with your Society?" says Cousin E. E. 

"Everything. We are in for Infinite Progress. We want women to be allthat God intended them to be--the full companions and helpmates of men. We want them to cultivate all the Christian and kindly virtues, not onlybecause they make women lovely and beloved, but because men arehumanized, softened, and made better by such help and suchcompanionship. When men seek peace, rest, the inspirations of prayer, they turn at once to us for tender guidance and sympathy. Would they dothat if we elbowed them at the polls, or held knock-down arguments atthe primary elections? No, no! If we can soften human misery, strengthenweakness, make women wiser and men better, it is all that the best womanamong us can ask. "

Sisters, I had got too much in earnest. I felt the blood come like adash of wine into my face. It seemed to me as if I were on a platform, lecturing, and the thought covered me with confusion, like a crimsongarment. I bent my head slightly, and went away dreadfully ashamed ofmyself. 

LXII. 

A TRIP TO ANNAPOLIS. 

Dear sisters:--Another of those pleasant excursional entertainmentswhich this nation gives to genius in the female line has been offered tome, and I accepted. For my part, I think the country ought to beencouraged in giving these little testimonials to her favored children. She hasn't done much of that in former years, but has practised a gooddeal more on foreigners than she has ever thought of doing wherehome-made writers are concerned. 

Them Japanee potentials always seem to go along when an entertainment isgot up for me, and, if that didn't rather mix things up, I should beglad of it; for Mr. Iwakura is just splendid in his black coat andstovepipe hat, and talks beautifully with his little black eyes; I feelit in my bones he has not left a heathenish impediment behind, oranything that ought to stand between him and a wife who might carryfresh missionary spirit into his benighted land. 

Of course, all the other Japanees were on hand, and seemed to feel proudand chipper, as if the party had been made for them instead of me; but Ididn't mind that a bit. Even if they did think so, what harm? There isso much happiness in delusions, that I wouldn't rob those nice-lookingheathens of one for the world. 

Besides the Japanees, a very distinguished party had been invited to gowith me, and I couldn't help but feel the whole thing a triumph. 

There was Postmaster-General Creswell, with a head of hair and a beardthat warmed you, it was so silky and bright. There was his wife, too, areal pretty creature, with manners as sweet as her face; and Mrs. Fish, almost a mate for a lady I will not name for queenliness; and GovernorCook with his wife. Besides these, there were lots of young people, andold people, and middle-aged people, filling car after car, till we had awhole train all to ourselves. The party was large, but so is a genuineNew England heart, and I managed to make them all welcome in anoff-handed, queenly way, which I hope was understood. It certainly wasby Mr. Iwakura, who lifted his stovepipe hat and bowed like a nativeVermonter before he sat down. 

Sisters, I do think there is a meaning in that--a Japanee isn't likelyto study the elegancies of our manners for nothing. Still, I wish hewasn't a heathen. The Greek Church of Russia sat heavy on my conscience, but a heathen! I shall have to meet all this politeness with the icychill of Christian reserve, unless--the thing is possible, for, to love, all things are so--that heathen should adopt our religion with thestovepipe hat. 

There was a thing that troubled me a good deal before I came away fromthe hotel that morning. I have been told that Mr. Grant and our Vermontstatesman have got up a little spirit of rivalry about beingPresident--a thing I never dreamed of, they seemed such good friends, and, till now, I thought Mr. Grant had kind of half invited his oldfriend to take the chair. But it isn't so by any manner of means, andI'm afraid there may be some little dispute about it in the end, whichwill be unpleasant to those who like them both. 

Now, sisters, here comes in the benefit of being a female, which isgreat in such perplexing cases. Female women are not expected to beconsistent, and they're not expected to take sides for any great lengthof time. They can just climb any fence that comes handy, and sit on itwith the dignity of hen turkeys at sundown if they have a mind to, andno one has a right to scare them up. But, considering myself as anexceptional female, whose duty it is to have ideas, I scorn the fence, and come right up to the crib, corn or no corn. 

It is a duty I owe to the State, and from that I shall never turn aside. Besides--I own it boldly--in this case duty and a hilarious state ofpleasure unite and make me jubilant as a Fourth of July salute. I likeGreeley because he is first-rate as an author, an editor, and a man. Iadmire Grant as a brave soldier and as a man too, but then, the oldState! I don't care who knows it--from this day out, white is my color. 

But, feeling this in my very bones, how could I accept the greatnational compliment of a special train filled with admiring friends fromthe Government, which is General Grant?

I spoke of this to Cousin Dempster, and, says he:

"This makes no difference in the world. Take all you can from theGovernment. That is high patriotism. "

I shook my head. 

"Cousin, " says I, "it kind of seems to me that this special train is asort of a trap. How can I, a free-born Vermonter--national in somerespects, and brimming over with first-class patriotism, but Vermont tothe back-bone--first and foremost, lead off a party like this, one carchoke full of Mr. Grant's cabinet people. Now, if Mr. Greeley and Mr. Grant should rile up against each other--which I hope they won't--don'tyou see that I am in an awful mixed position?--the National Governmenton one side with that stupendous soldier at the head, and that greatwhite-hatted Vermonter on the other?"

"That is, you want to be neutral, " says Dempster. 

"Well, yes--kind of neutral, " says I, "and a little for both. "

"Not exactly on the fence, but cautious, " says he; "keep your boat inharbor till the tide rises and the wind blows, then hoist sail and catchup with the old craft that has been tugging on in shallow water?"

"No, " says I, feeling the old Puritan blood beginning to boil up. "Thatmay answer for some people, but not for me. An idea has just struck me;a woman's political ideas should be suggested, not proclaimed. "

Without speaking another word, I put on my things, went right down toPennsylvania Avenue, and bought a soft white hat, a little broad in thebrim, which I turned up on one side. Then I went into a milliner'sstore, carrying it in my hand, and made a woman curl a long whitefeather over the crown, which gave the whole affair a touch of thebeehive, stamping it with beautiful femininity. 

With this hat on my head, and a double-breasted white jacket over myblack alpaca, I took my honored place in the cars that day. 

Of course I sat in the cabinet car, feeling myself the solerepresentative of Vermont in that august company. The ladies looked atme sidewise when I came in; some of the cabinet men half winked at eachother and tried to smile. But that white hat was no laughing matter, andthey wilted down before it. 

LXIII. 

AMONG THE CADETS. 

Dear sisters:--The train started, and there I sat in my glory till wegot to Annapolis, just the sleepiest town, crowded full of the oldesthouses and the slowest people that I ever saw in my born days. Somecolored persons were dawdling around the depot, and a few lazy whitefolks passing down the street, stopped to look at us as we got out ofthe cars. Especially my white hat and double-breasted jacket seemed totake them. 

Once I heard something that sounded like the beginning of a cheer, butthe voices were so lazy that they couldn't carry it out, so it muttereditself to death, and that was the end of it. 

Twenty of the Japanees were with me when I alighted from the car andspread my white parasol, which hovered like a dove over us, for I madeit flutter beautifully as we passed along. 

The cabinet people followed after, and just as we were forming to godown street, like a military training, my white hat and feather leadingthem on, a gentleman came up to us and began to shake hands all round. He was a tall, genteel sort of a person, with light hair and a beardsoft and silky as corn tassels; but all under his eyes, blue powdermarks were scattered, as if he'd spent half his life firing off Fourthof July powder salutes, and had burst up on some of them. 

While I was wondering who it could be, Mr. Robeson, who has somedealings with navy yards and shipping, come up to where I stood, andsays he:

"Miss Frost, allow me to present Commodore Worden, the gentleman whodistinguished himself on the first Monitor. "

Sisters, that minute the powder marks on Worden's handsome face wereglorified in my eyes. I reached out my hands. I pressed his, my beamingeyes covered him with particular admiration. Feeling as if I were thecolonel of that company, I longed to lift my white hat and give him amilitary salute. What I did say was significant. 

"Worden, " says I, "when certain events come about--I say nothing, butthis hat and jacket are typical of what I mean--when these great andluminous events fill the hemisphere your glorious bravery on that ironflat-boat shall have its full record. I will myself send your picture tothe great Grand Duke of all the Russias, and if there is a higher notchin the public shipping than you have, I know nothing of the friend whosecolors I wear if anybody stands before you. I have seen the picture ofyour Monitor. To my eye it looks like a flat-iron, with the handle inthe water; but it did good work, and so did you. Grant knows it. My ownimmortal statesman will appreciate it. "

Commodore Worden bowed, and smiled, and squoze my hand so long that Ibegan to feel anxious about my white gloves. But he dropped it at last, and we all moved on, my white feather waving in front, just like thatwhich King Henry of Navarre wore in battles. Only mine was a peacefulemblem, dyed in the milk of human kindness, and curled up in thesunshine of prosperity. 

We marched through dull streets and round deserted corners, cutting inand out every which way till we came to a large gate, which shut theNavy Yard out from the rest of mankind. 

Then we filed through into a beautiful meadow, with the grass cut short, sprinkled over with trees, and cut into footpaths. Part of it wasbounded by water, the rest by rows of handsome houses and greatbuildings that looked like factories shut up for want of work. 

The minute I and Mr. Iwakura walked through the gate, bang! went acannon; bang, bang, bang! seventeen times. 

"What on earth is that?" says I, turning to Dempster, who was justbehind me. 

"It is a salute for us, " says he. 

"Us!" says I, with accents of disdain that put him in his place at once. 

"For you, then, " says he, smiling in a way I didn't like, for, having noenvy in my own disposition, I cannot endure it in others. 

Mr. Iwakura and I walked on slowly. He looked at me and smiled as theguns kept going off, till I counted seventeen; then they stopped and Iwas glad of it, for I remembered that our meeting-house bell tolls oncefor every year, when a person dies, and I felt a little anxious aboutthe number of guns they might pile on to live folks. But they stoppedshort at seventeen, which is an age no girl need be ashamed to own, andwhich showed how young some persons can look in spite of hard literarytoil. 

Well, first we went into Commodore Worden's house, where Mr. Iwakura andI were introduced to Mrs. Worden and some other ladies. Then the restcame in for a little notice, and we filed off into the grounds again, where there was a general training of boys in blue jackets, with buttonsand things, all armed with guns, which they handled like old militiamen. Sometimes, when they poked their guns right at us, I kind of gotbehind Mr. Iwakura, who, being small, wasn't much of a shelter, butbetter than nothing. In fact, I was rather glad when this part of thefun died out. 

After this, we went into one of the big houses where the blue boys live, and a whole lot of little, make-believe ships were shown to us, and twoJapanee boys told Mr. I. How they were worked--which would have beeninteresting, only we didn't know a word of that language, nor much aboutthe baby-house of ships, and didn't listen to what was said in English. 

Then the boys in blue and buttons went into the meadow again, and gotout a lot of small cannon, and banged, and ran in lines and squads downto the river, as if they were awful mad with the water and meant to damit--dam it up, I wish you to understand, for even indirect profanityisn't in my nature. 

After this, we all went down to a great, lumbering old ship, which isall the home these blue boys have the first year they come to theAnnapolis school, which, being a sailor institution, gives them a tastefor creeping into holes and sleeping on a yard or two of rope swung tothe ship's beams--which may be pleasant fun, but doesn't look like it. 

Sisters, it was getting along in the day, and, though in a certain sensespiritualized by genius, I was hungry. Mr. Iwakura, too, had a pitifullook in his black eyes; but a storm of music called us from hankeringthoughts, and we all streamed, at a faster double-quick than the boyscould show, into the great dining-room of one of the big houses. Asplendid table was set out there, which we gathered round like ahalf-starved regiment on training-day. Then began such a practice incider bottles, flying corks, and cider foaming and fizzing into glasses, as beat all the cannon and howitzer blazings of the day--for that endedin something, and the rest didn't. 

It is astonishing what effect eating and drinking has on the feet; Icould hardly keep from dancing all the way from that dining-hall to theother building, which is kept especially for dancing. Well, we diddance, for the music just took one right into the midst of it, want toor not. Besides, we hadn't been to a tomb, and nobody had been killed, so we just went in for it. My alpaca dress isn't over long, and I wasn'tafraid of showing my feet when there was no train to tangle them up. Wedanced with our bonnets and hats on--we ladies, I mean--and the way mywhite feather rose and fell and fluttered over the rest was enough towake up the American heart in every bosom present. 

LXIV. 

AMERICAN AUTHORS. 

Dear sisters:--You have heard of Mr. Shakespeare, a writer of oldEngland, who died, years and years ago, in a little country place inEngland. He was celebrated for several things besides writing. Going tosleep under trees is one of them; shooting deer that belonged tosomebody else--who took him up and made an awful time about it before ajustice of the peace, who fined him, or something--is another. Then, again, he married an elderly girl, and forgot to live with her ever solong. While she stayed at home, he went up to London, and wrote playsand played them before her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, who ought to havereminded him of his married elderly girl, being her own royal self ofthat class, only not married. There is no reason to think she did havemuch influence in that direction though, for that particular queen wasmore celebrated for keeping husbands away from their wives than bringingthem cosily together. 

The truth is, from the very first--when she got up a series of rompingplatonics with Lord Seymour, her step-mother's husband, to her last, gray-headed old flirtation with the young Essex--her taste ran againstthe practical idea of husbands living with their own wives. Thatnon-matrimonial creature may have tried her power on Shakespeare--whoknows?

Sisters, there is one part of this man's life and character that mayshock your religious feelings. _He wrote plays_; _he acted plays too_;and that female queen encouraged him in it. Now, ever since I went tosee the "Black Crook, " I scorn myself for ever having one mite ofcharity for such things, and I haven't the conscience to say one word intheir favor to you, as a Society. Still, this Mr. Shakespeare did writesome things that might have sounded tolerably well in a lecture or asermon that wasn't too strictly doctrinal. 

Last night I was talking with a lawyer from away "Out West, " who spokereal kindly about Mr. Shakespeare's writings, and seemed to think if hehad put off being born until now, and settled "Out West, " where he couldhave given him a hint now and then, he might have made a first-rateliterary man. "Even as it is, " says he, "I do my best to make himpopular, for he wrote some very readable things--very readable, indeed. For instance, not long since, in an exciting slander case, I quotedthese lines, with a burning eloquence that lifted the judge right offfrom his bench:

 "'He, ' says I, 'that steals my purse, steals stuff; 'Twas something, t'aint nothing, t'was mine, 'Tis hisen, and has been slave to thousands; But he that hooketh from me my good name, Grabs that which don't do him no good, But makes me feel very bad indeed. '"

"Is that the genuine old English that Mr. Shakespeare wrote in?" says I. 

"Oh, that is the beauty of it, " says he. "Shakspeare was no doubt a veryrespectable writer, but perfection is the watch-word of modern progress. Of course one doesn't introduce a quotation of his without all themodern improvements. Shakespeare--"

"_Mr_. Shakspeare, " says I, determined to keep up the dignity ofauthorship with my last breath. 

"Well, Mr. Shakspeare would have made a very superior writer if he hadlived in this country and been fostered by an American Congress. "

"An American Congress, " says I. "What on earth did that ever do forwriters?"

"Why, don't it publish books for the members to give away. Isn't thatencouraging literature?"

I said nothing, never having read one of the books in my life, and neverhaving seen any one that had. 

"Then, " says he, "hasn't every man that can write the life of aPresident of these United States before his election, been made anambassador, or counsel, or something? Didn't Pierce send Hawthorne toLiverpool, not because of his transcendant genius, but for the reasonthat he had written a paltry life of himself?"

"_Mr. _ Hawthorne, " says I, with expressive emphasis. 

"And didn't General Grant send Colonel Badeau to London, after his lifewas taken by that young man?"

"I give in, " says I; "the literature of this country has been fosteredbeautifully. Hawthorne was rewarded for degrading the finest genius thiscountry has ever known, by writing a commonplace life of a ordinary man;and Adam Badeau was made a colonel, and is now figuring in London, because all the talent he ever had was crowded into such a book. Yes, Igive in. But one thing is to be relied on, each of the Presidentsstruggling to rule over this country next, has brains enough to writehis own life. Grant has written his out with a sword, and Greeley canhandle his own pen. He won't have any debts of that kind to pay off, andI'm awfully mistaken if the authors of this country won't stand almostas high with him as corporals in the army do now. In his time bayonetswill be stacked, and pens have their day. During the next four years Ishouldn't wonder if Mr. Shakspeare might have a little chance if he werealive. "

"That puts me in mind, " says the Western gentleman, "that a statue ofShakspeare is going to be unveiled in the New York Central Parkto-morrow. "

"To-morrow?" says I; "then I'm off to New York to see it done. By andby, when we have put all the British authors in marble, some one born inAmerica may get a chance. "

"But Shakespeare belongs to the world, " says Cousin Dempster, who wassitting near me. 

"All men or women of genius belong to the world, " says I, "just as faras the world knows them; but the country in which a great man or womanwas born, and has lived and written, is the place where he should befirst honored. Have we done anything of that kind yet? I'm not sayingone word against Mr. Shakespeare; his monument ought to be in the mostbeautiful spot we have; but let the next statue be that of somefirst-class American. Mr. Shakespeare belongs to us as much as he did toEngland, because when he lived England was our country, and he belongsto us now. But since then we have cut loose from the Old World, andbuilt up a powerful nation, where great authors, both men and women, have worked out their own birthright of genius, with no help but thepower God has given them--worked it out, too, with not half therecognition that our Government and our people, to their shame be itspoken, have given to coarser and weaker intellects from over the sea. "

"Why, Phœmie, " says Cousin Dempster, "don't get so excited; do you knowthat you are talking like a book?"

"It must be an English book if any American takes much notice of it, "says I; "but rile me up on this subject, and I don't know or care how Italk. In our part of the country we are Americans to the backbone, andwe mean to keep so. "

"Well, but this statue of Shakespeare was first thought of by the actorswho have been living over his plays years and years--Booth, Wallack, Wheatley, and your dead and gone Halleck, set it a-going. 

"What Shakespeare did for theatres, theatre people know how toacknowledge. They have some spirit; but what author ever comes forwardand asks a place for his fellow-author? How can they expect the countryto be generous to them when they do nothing for each other?"

It kind of took me down when Cousin Dempster said this, and not havinganything to observe, I said nothing, but got right up, and says I:

"If we mean to start for New York, it's time to be getting ready. "

LXV. 

THE STATUE OF SHAKESPEARE. 

Well, sisters, we got to New York in time, and went right up to CentralPark, which was just one garden of flowers, all in full bloom. Thetrees, too, were of a bright, lovely green, and the little lakes blue asa baby's eye, sparkled and rippled wherever the sun shone and the windswept over them. A wide green circle, with lots of trees shading it, andgreat heaps of bushes heavy with pink and white flowers everywherearound it, was just alive with men and women. They were all in theirSunday go-to-meeting best, some on the grass, some in carriages, and allchatting, laughing, and enjoying themselves mightily, but crowdingtoward one spot. 

Under these trees, where the grass was greenest, and the flowersbrightest, there was a sort of pyramid, covered over with star-spangledbanners of bright silk. Sweeping round that, like a ring cut in two, were platforms with rows on rows of seats, built against flag-poles, from which ever so many flags were a-streaming out on the wind. Theseseats were crammed and crowded full of people. The centre platform wasroofed in, and just running over with men holding fiddles, drums, twisted horns, trumpets, great puffy bass viols, and everything elsethat could turn music into thunder, and thunder back into music. 

There was an inside circle nearer to the pyramid, and our tickets tookus there, among the greatest people of the country, which was an honor Ifelt in behalf of the society. This was the penetralia, which, Isuppose, from the first syllable, was got up especially for authors. Itook my seat in that honored place, and, spreading my white parasol, looked about me, feeling the exaltation of my position in a modest way, but willing that others should make their little mark even if I wasthere. 

Well, the first thing that came was a crash that made me hop right up, and near about break my parasol. No wonder; for more than a hundred menwere just flooding the air with music, that rose and fell and flutteredtill the trees and bushes shook under it. I do believe the sweetness andthe thundering outbursts would have inspired me to break into some goodold tune myself, if there hadn't been so much rustling and talking andflirting all around me. As it was, there arose a clatter of confusingsounds that gave one's nerves a jerky feeling that I for one haven't gotover yet. I do wonder why city people have no better manners. I shouldjust as soon think of speaking out in meeting, as of chattering whenothers wanted to listen to music. 

Well, after a hard tussle between the people and the music, the peoplecame out first-best--more shame to 'em. Then a gentleman they call JudgeDaly--a real nice-looking person--got out and reached out his armstoward the pyramid, wrapped up in flags. 

The minute he did this all the people began to stamp and clap theirhands, and fling out their handkerchiefs as if they had gone crazy. Themore he tried to speak, the more they stamped and clapped and shouted;and he kept a-bowing real graceful, till by and by they stopped and lethim speak. 

Then he went right on and told them all about the statue, which ought tohave been done and put up on the day that Mr. Shakespeare was threehundred years old, only the statue wasn't ready then, but that was of noaccount, when we considered how beautiful the whole thing was, and whatan honor it would be to American art. Judge Daly was all alive with thisidea, and spoke splendidly. When he had done, I just laid down myparasol, and clapped my hands till a pair of three-button gloves gaveout. Sisters, that one clap cost me just three dollars and fifty cents. 

When Judge Daly sat down, a gentleman walked up to the pyramid, andstood by it looking awful pale and anxious, as if the thousands andthousands of eyes bent on him had drawn all the blood from his body. Hewas a fine, handsome-looking man, and somehow I took a shine to him atfirst sight. 

All at once his face flushed up, and I saw that he held the end of arope in his hand. While I was a-looking and wondering, he gave the ropea jerk, and down come those silk flags, all in a wild flutter, and therestood Mr. Shakespeare as if he'd just stopped to rest a minute afterwalking, and had been struck with an idea which he was thinking over. His head was just a little bent, and he held a book up against hisbosom, with his finger between the leaves. 

Mr. Shakespeare must have been a proper handsome man about two hundredand seventy-five years ago. No wonder that elderly young lady fell inlove with him. I could have done it myself, not because I am elderly, far from it, but because he was--well, I suppose because he wasShakespeare, and awful handsome at that. 

Queen Elizabeth must have given him the suit of clothes he wears; forwhen I said his trousers were too puffy and short for my liking, and hiscloak nothing to speak of in the way of a covering, a gentleman near mesaid the dress was Elizabethan. 

This rather set me against the memory of Mr. S. He ought to have diedrather than take anything from that cruel, hard-hearted old--I was goingto say old maid, but refrain, not wishing to be hard on her, cruel asshe was. 

Oh, mercy, what a shout that was. It seemed as if every heart in thatgreat crowd had burst out in a glow of admiration. Mine just flutteredlike a night hawk. I stood up and whirled the white parasol over myhead; more than that, I split the other glove, and was glad of it. 

That Mr. Ward had been working eight years on the statue he had justuncovered, and our enthusiasm was his best reward. There he stood faceto face with the people, who were to give him pain or crueldisappointment. I felt for him. No wonder his face turned white and thenred as fire. Years of labor for one hour of triumph. He deserved all thepraise he got, and that was stupendous. 

The statue was now all uncovered, and the sunshine lay upon it. Sisters, it is beautiful; but one thing troubles me--the color. Was Mr. Shakespeare of that complexion, or has the great man been darkened outof regard to the Fifteenth Amendment and Mr. Sumner? When a man isstatued in bronze, does he always turn out a mulatto? I don't like theidea--it's carrying the Civil Rights Bill too far. 

Judge Daly had made a present of this statue to the park, in his speech. Now Mr. Stebbins, the President of the Park Commissioners, came forwardand thanked him for it in the nicest way. He was just the man to do it, though he is a broker and banker; for he cares quite as much for art ashe does for gold. Wherever he finds genius, this man spends his moneylike dew upon it. It was he that gave Miss Kellogg her first start inmusic, and a good many other stragglers have secretly been helped by himwhen they felt almost like giving up. For my part, I honor and glorifysuch men. 

The next thing I saw was a grand-looking old man, with a long, whitebeard falling over his bosom, and soft, white hair floating about hishead. I held my breath when this man arose, and while the crowd yelledand shouted and made the ground tremble under me, I looked at him withmy heart in my eyes. What Shakespeare was to England, this old man is toAmerica--the best part of the land that gave him birth. He made a longspeech, a beautiful speech. I have read his poems, so have you; but thepoetry of his spoken words, of his voice and looks, is grander thanwritten language, and nothing that I can write will give you the leastidea of it. 

For my part, I hope that the next statue set up in the park will be thatof William Cullen Bryant. What is the reason that we should wait till aman is dead before we give back something for the genius with which hehas honored his country? The readers that may come up three hundredyears from now owe him no more than we do. What are we waiting for, then? When Mr. Bryant sat down, there was another earthquake ofapplause, which had but just time to stop, when it burst out again forEdwin Booth. The best actor, and one of the handsomest men you ever saw, came forward and read a long piece of poetry, which just made the bloodstir like wine in your veins. There was a double gust of genius in thispoem; because the poet Stoddard wrote it, and then Booth gave it thefire of his soul and the music of his voice, which seemed to float andwhisper around the statue long after the crowd had scattered itself overthe park. 

LXVI. 

RACING DRESSES. 

Dear sisters:--Don't be startled; don't hold up your hands in holyastonishment when I tell you that I--Phœmie Frost--your moral and--I sayit meekly--religious missionary, have been to a horse-race. I am shockedmyself now, in the cool of the morning, not exactly because I went, butfrom what happened after I got there. 

Have I done wrong? Can a missionary, without knowledge, do her duty? Ifshe knows nothing of sin, how can she warn against sin?

Then, again, is the running of swift horses sinful?

Sisters, I am troubled. The more one knows, the more one is perplexedand put about. It is so easy to condemn things by the wholesale that youknow nothing about. One can speak so positive about them, for totalignorance admits of no argument, and is entirely above all evidence. That is why ignorant stubbornness is so self-satisfied and comfortable. 

After all, I begin to think that "ignorance is bliss. " Is there anythingon this earth more snoozily comfortable than a litter of white pigsrevelling with their mother in a mud-puddle--say in August? What dothese contented animals care for the mud that soils their whiteness, with the pink skin shining through--rosy pigs, as one may call the kindI am speaking of. Think of them muzzling about in the rily water, freeas air; then turn to your learned pig, chained to a master by the forcedaction of its own intellect--poor thing! obliged to play cards with itsfore-foot, teach geography, and cipher out numbers like aschoolmaster--and then say if ignorance isn't bliss! Look in the littleblack eyes of the animal, and see the sad and hungry look that knowledgehas brought to him!

To know is to want--to want is to suffer. 

Where was I? Speaking about horses, naturally I wandered off down toother grades of animals--the laziest, largest, best-natured creatures ofall--but, as you may observe with propriety, not suggestive ofhorse-races, which I admit and apologize for. 

Well, right or wrong, I have been to the races at Jerome Park, which isa hollow among the hills, clear out of New York, and the other side ofHarlem River. There, every spring and fall, the best horses owned abouthere are set a-going like wildfire, and the one that beats is thoughtthe world of. 

The park isn't much of a piece of woods, after all; a good-sized maplecamp in Vermont has got twice as many trees, but then a good deal of itis turned out to grass. Then, again, a level turnpike curls in a ringall round one of the hills, and on the top of that is a kind of hotel, or long tavern, with a tremendous stoop stretched around it, where theupper-crust of fast horsedom crowd in to see the creatures run. 

On the other hillside, right against the tavern, is a great long, openshed, with seats after seats sloping down from the inside, where thelower-crust of fast horsedom crowd in from the railroads, and so on. They have to pay for going in, but, for all that, haven't a right to goacross to the upper side, which must be aggravating. 

All the men that go to the upper-crust tavern wear a huge round thingwith a ribbon fastened to their coats, and strut awfully under them, asif they were the crowning glory of all creation. Maybe they are; I don'tknow, not being highly educated in horsiness. 

Well, Cousin Dempster has one of these medals, which he hitched to thelappel of his coat that morning. Cousin E. E. Had been fidgeting awfullyall the week about a dress she was bent on wearing, and when it didn'tcome home from the dress-maker's till late the night before, I reallythought she would take a fit right before us all. But the dress came atlast, and then she wheeled right round the other way with joy. 

"Such a dress!" says she. "There won't be anything to match it. All myown idea, too"

Here she tumbled a cataract of silk from a great paper box, and shook itout till it fluttered like the leaves on a young maple-tree. 

"Isn't it superb?" says she; "peacock green and peacock blueintermingled like a poem, sloping folds up the front breadth two andtwo, bunching splendidly behind, frilled, flounced, corded, folded, trailing, and yet demi to a large extent. Cousin Frost, Cousin Frost!did you ever see anything so original, so--so--"

"Scrumptious, " says I, a-helping her out, "peacock green and peacockblue; if we only had the half-moons on the train now. "

She looked at me earnestly; her soul had taken in the thought, and itburned in her eyes. 

"Oh, why didn't I think of that?" says she. 

I smiled. It takes genius to understand the fine irony of genius. CousinE. E. Is bright, but the subtle originality of a new thought isn't inher. That usually does in a family what this Government is trying sohard for--centralizes itself in one person. 

It is not difficult to say where this supreme essence condenses itselfin our family. Still, I do not object to other members making theirlittle mark, and if E. E. Can make hers in the peacock line, why not?

To my fancy, that dress was a nation sight too much. It was all in aflutter, silk heaped on silk. E. E. Tried it on, and fairly waded insilk when she walked. There was neither elegance nor simplicity in it, nothing but a sickening idea of extravagance and money. 

E. E. Looked like a peacock, walked like a peacock, and seemed to feellike one. She took a little mite of a bonnet from a box that came justafter the dress, and put it on. It was shaped like the small end of aloaf of sugar, with a pink rose and a bunch of green and blue featherson the top, bee-hivy in height, but brigandish in shape, slightlypastoral, and a little military. 

"Isn't it stylish?" says she, setting it on the top of her curls andpuffs, with such an air. 

"Original, " says I, "but you know which is _my_ color. "

E. E. Laughed till the feathers shook on her head. 

"Oh!" says she, "Dempster and I are prudent. After the middle of Julyperhaps we may--"

"Till then, " says I, "you'll sit on the fence peacock fashion. "

We had more words, for E. E. Is nobody's fool; but just then Ceciliacame in, and I made myself scarce. 

XLVII. 

THE FIRST HORSE-RACE. 

Well, we started for the races in high feather. Cousin D. Had just gothis open carriage cushioned off beautifully. His horses had rosettes ontheir heads, and little looking-glasses about as big as a dollarflashing between their ears. 

Cousin E. E. Wore the peacock dress and the brigandish hat. The parasolhad a red coral handle, and, to own the truth, no horse on therace-ground looked faster than she did. 

I followed her modestly. My pink silk seemed to grow brighter when itsettled down against her green and blue; my white hat was looped up onone side with a white cockade, and the white feather streamed out bannerfashion. With me all was simplicity, patriotism, and whiteness--pure asthe distinguished individual of whom they were a delicate typification. 

The drive up to that race-ground was just too lovely for anything. Thehorses fairly flew. The wind just shook the white fringe on my parasol, and kept my emblematical feather dancing after my hat. Cousin Dempsterdrove, and that girl Cecilia sat high up on the front seat by him, withher short dress ruffled and pinked about the bottom like a full-blownpoppy; her--well, ankles visible to the knees, and all her hair floatingout loose and crinkly. I say nothing, but ask you, as females ofexperience, what kind of a woman will that stuck-up child make, in thelong run?

The race ground was gay as a general training when we got there. It hadrained lately; the trees and grass were green as green could be, andthousands of red-birds, yellow-hammers, blue-jays, and golden-robins, seemed to have settled down around the long tavern, the hill-side, andunder the old trees. I declare, the sight was beautiful. 

Cousin D. Had to show his badge and thing at the gate; then we drove upto the long tavern with a dash, hopped gracefully out of the carriage, and walked right in among the great crowd of gentlemen and ladieschatting, laughing, and moving about the long stoop. 

Sisters, I do try to be humble, but it is awful hard work. When I wentinto that crowd, with my pink silk trailing and that white feather allafloat, the whole congregation seemed to break into groups and hush up, just to look at me. I didn't pretend to notice this delicate ovation, but walked slowly forward, and with a becoming blush on my cheek, whileE. E. And that child kept bowing and shaking hands with everybody theymet. 

After I had seated myself in one of the great splint-bottomed chairsthat stood in dozens on the stoop, the crowd felt at liberty to go onagain--and it did. A flock of birds couldn't have twittered and titteredand flitted more joyaceously than the females crowded together on thatstoop. 

But I soon had something else to look at. Down in front of the hotel alot of horses were prancing to and fro, up and down, breaking into a runhere, wheeling round, going back, standing still, and generally cuttingabout in a promiscuous manner, as if they were dying to have a dance inthe street. 

Sisters, in all your born days, you never saw anything like thosehorses! Slender, smooth as glass, with eyes like balls of fire, theyjust took the shine off from everything in the horse line that I everset eyes on. But the animals were nothing compared to the funny-lookingcreatures that rode them. A circus was nothing to them--neither is atheatre. Some of them were dressed in red, some in yellow, some in blue;one had on purple--all fitting just as tight as the skin to a rabbit'sback. Each one had a boy's cap on his head; and, in fact, they alllooked like boys out on a spree. There was a place just above the longtavern where most of these fellows always took their horses after alittle run and blow--that was a little, cubby house, built up high fromthe ground, in which some men stood like captains on a steamboat. 

By and by there was a stir among the horses and a hustle among the men. 

"They're going to start! they're going to start!" says everybody toeverybody else. A flag on the little house seemed to break down. Thenoff the whole lot flew like a flock of wild birds. The flying horsesrushed along the road, beating time on the hard ground, and fairlytaking the breath from one's lips. 

I gave a little scream, and jumped up. The whole crowd rushed forward, and seemed as if it would pour itself over the railing of the longstoop. 

"Where have they gone?" says I. "What has become of 'em?"

"Here they come--here they come, " shouted the whole crowd, answering meall at once. 

And they did come skimming along the road likewildfire--flash--flash--now two horses abreast--now one ahead--nowanother--then a sudden pull up, and the brown horse had won. Now itseemed to me as if the whole squad came up pretty much at the same time, but the whole crowd fell to clapping hands over the brown horse. Iclapped too, and swung out my handkerchief as well as the rest; for whena multitude go into a thing like that it just sets one wild. 

Then the flag took another fall, and off went another squad of horses, and around the hill they went out of sight. Then came a stormy sound ofhoofs, and another streak of lightning dash in which a chestnut-coloredhorse showed his head first, and then came another rolling thunder-clapfrom the crowd, and "Joe Daniels has beat, " ran from lip to lip, as if"Joe Daniels" had been up for the Presidential election and got all thevotes. 

Then the people cooled down, and, after a long wait, there was anotherrush, as if a whole training band had broke loose. We had hardly time todraw a deep breath, when they all came sweeping round in front of thelong tavern, two of 'em just a little ahead, running so even and sofast, that I really believed that both of them beat the other, till thecrowd began to clap and shout Alarm, which frightened me, for I thoughtsomething dreadful had happened; but Dempster hushed me up, saying itwas the name of the horse that had won the race, and he was glad of it, for his friend Travers was one of the warmest-hearted, kindest fellowsin the world, and ought to have a horse win every day of his life. Thisfriendly little speech set me clapping my hands, both for the horseAlarm, his orange-colored rider, and the jolly-hearted man who ownshim. 

There was a great commotion after this. The whole crowd was in a wildwhirl of excitement. All the ladies were talking about gloves and pools, and gentleman riders, while the gentlemen talked fast, looked eager, andwere restless as caged birds. Something was going to happen now, I wassure of that. 

"Do tell me what is the matter, " says I to a gentleman that cousin hadjust introduced to me, "everybody is so excited. "

"Yes, " says he, "all on the keyvive. "

What queer names they do have for horses. Alarm had just come in ahead, and now Keyvive. 

"What kind of a horse is the Keyvive?" says I. 

He didn't seem to hear me. No wonder, for that very minute five horses, with such nice-looking fellows on their backs, took a start, like aflock of wild deer, and went up the road so swift that before I couldsee them they were gone. 

"It is the hurdle-race, " says the same gentleman, "splendid--splendid;what a leap!"

His eyes were bright as stars; they fairly danced in his head. 

I sprang up, for a great wind seemed to be rushing around the hill. ThenI gave a scream, for some wicked person had built a fence right acrossthe road, and those five horses were galloping like mad right toward it. 

"Oh, stop them--stop them--for mercy's sake!" says I, a-clasping myhands, and pleading wildly to every one around. "They'll be killed--theydon't see that awful fence. "

While I was screaming, the whole five horses came, one after another, sailed right over the fence, dived down like hen-hawks after a chicken, and away toward another fence that choked up the road. Before I couldshriek out, and warn them, over they came, like a whirlwind, withouttouching the fence or seeming to care--over, and away up the road, taking one's breath with them. 

"Mercy on me! what a providential escape!" says I to the gentleman;"what wicked wretch could have heaped up things in the road? I do hopethey'll be found out and sent to State's prison. Why, it's just as badas blocking up a train of cars. Such nice-looking riders, too!"

The gentleman looked a trifle puzzled, then he smiled a little funnily, and says he:

"Perhaps you do not understand that this is a 'hurdle-race. '"

"No, " says I; "they told me that it would be horse-racing--nothing worsethan that. "

"Well, " says he, "it is nothing worse than that, only a little moredangerous, and to you ladies more interesting, because the riders areall gentlemen. "

"What, those men in the caps, gentlemen--not circus-riders, nornothing?"

He laughed, and says he:

"I dare say no one of them has ever been in a circus since he left offtunics, but they have learned to hunt, and love these hard leaps. "

"You don't mean to say that they skiver over such fences on purpose?"says I. 

"Indeed they do, and build them higher and broader every year. "

"You don't say so, " says I, feeling my eyes open wide. 

"They love the peril, for that increases the excitement. "

"What if some of them were to be flung head over heels?"

"Oh, that has happened. "

"Not to-day?"

"Yes, but fortunately the man was not killed. "

I felt myself a-growing pale. 

"But they don't know of it. Everybody is laughing, " says I. 

"Yes, it is generally known, but that is a part of the excitement. In acrowd like this, it is difficult to realize trouble or death. "

"How strange!" says I, putting the handkerchief that I had torn withhard shaking into my pocket, with a deeply penitent feeling. 

"It is strange, " says he; "but this is no place for deep feeling, or youwould not see so many smiling faces around you, for a gentleman who ownssome of the race-horses, and came up only a day or two ago to see themtried, is lying dead in his home now. "

My heart sank. I felt tears crowding up to my eyes. Death in oneplace--all this gorgeous confusion and wild gayety here. A lonely widow, weeping bitter tears; all these gay fluttering young people reckless andhappy, in spite of it. 

I arose, and looked around me. No one seemed to feel this man's death. Never in my whole life had I been in such a whirlpool of gayety. Therewas not a sad or thoughtful face in the crowd. Yet many of the personsthere had known the man who lay dead in the city. I had never heard ofhim till then, but no smiles came to my lips after that mournfulknowledge reached me. In the midst of all this hilarious gayety I feltthe shadow of human suffering creeping over me, and I rode home from therace-park in sad silence. 

LXVIII. 

OFF AGAIN. 

Dear sisters:--New York City is full of epidemical contagions. Horse-racing is one of them. Every spring and fall it rages fearfully, especially among the female women who wait for the races--dress up forthe races, and come out with splendiferous spontaneosity, whenever thefast horses are ready to run. 

I have been up to see the creatures rush once, and sent you my report, which, owing to verdancy of mind caught from the Green Mountains, wasonly skim milk to which I now pour in cream with a liberal hand. To ownthe truth, it takes more than one visit before a regular New Englandyoung lady can understand the inns and outs of a horse-race. 

Now, I dare say you think it a sort of agricultural fair foranimals--for the horsey kind meant to show off their beauty, try theirspeed, and encourage farmers to go in for improvement. 

Exactly, and a good deal more so. Why, sisters, it's gambling--justgambling, open handed and above board, in which the upper-crust femalewomen of New York take a hand with the men, and glory in it. But I meanto tell you all about it in the regular way, and shall do it as I goalong. 

You never saw such a crowd of carriages, wagons, buggies, and queerhorse machines as crowded along the road when we got within three orfour miles of the race-course. When we come to the long bridge that runsacross the Harlem River, there were two lines of carriages stretchingbefore and behind us, just as far as we could see, horses that tossedtheir heads and champed their bits, and shone like satin under harnessesmounted with gold and silver, with little looking-glasses flying in andout over their heads, and hoofs that struck the ground like the feet ofa Vermont girl when she dances from the heart. 

All these carriages were filled as if they were on the way to a highjubilation, choke full of ladies, with parasols hovering over them likewild birds taking wing, and great clouds of silk, lace gauze, and shinystuff a-billowing over the sides, till you could but just see the silkcushions they leaned against. Then, again, some were crowded over withgentlemen, mostly in white hats--which delighted me--some with cigars intheir mouths--some not--but every one of them just boiling over withgood-nature and fun. 

This was the way we went. Cousin Dempster has made a good deal of moneyin Washington--contracting, or something--and he got a spick-span newopen carriage for this high occasion--a carriage made soft as a bird'snest with brown satin cushions, and that glittered outside like a crow'sback whenever the sun struck it. 

We had a great big fellow, in new plum-colored clothes on the driver'sseat, and another genteel youngster by his side--all plum-color andhat-band, like the coachman. Inside, there was Cousin E. E. With apea-green dress on, all flounces and fringe, and overskirts piled up sohigh behind that she couldn't lean back, and your missionary, MissPhœmie Frost, in her pink silk (turned again), and the white hat withplumes of snow, which bespoke at once her good taste and her most sacredpolitical preferences, which would keep going on both sides all I coulddo. 

There, in the front seat, with his back to the horses and his face tous, sat Dempster, looking out with envy and bitter feelings on the menin buggies, that were laughing like fun, and smoking like New Englandstone chimneys. At such times I do not think that Dempster appreciatesall the sweet benefits of female society. 

Last and least, I am sorry to say, was that child, Cecilia, with a pinkparasol about as big as a good-sized toadstool, fluttering before herface, and all in a storm of flounces above her knees, with nothing butkid boots and silk stockings below. 

I do wonder what possesses Dempster and E. E. To train that child alongwherever they go! She is just the aggravation of my life. 

Well, with our open carriage yeasting over with green, pink, white, andblue, which Dempster broke up with a lean streak of black, we rolledthrough the gate of the race-grounds and came up, with a magnificentsweep, to the back door of the club house, when E. E. And I gave a neatlittle jump, and tipped gracefully around the long stoop, right into theupper crust society of New York. 

Sisters, it was like wading right into a flower-bed! Everybody there hadon her good clothes--I may say, her bettermost clothes of all. Red, green, purple, blue, white, black--every color or shade of color to befound in the sky, in flowers, in fruit, or in water, rustled againsteach other. Sisters, it was gorgeous! But one thing struck me aspeculiar--most of these female ladies had the loveliest pink color intheir cheeks all the time. While my face was turning red and white, as Igrew warm or comfortable, theirs kept one steady pink. Ladies with hairas yellow as gold had ink-black eyebrows and lashes--things we never seetogether in the country. I don't understand it. Well, we had but justgot seats on the largest stoop when the people below us let off a squadof horses that seemed to fly; for the mud was soft as mush on the road, and their hoofs made no more noise than as if they had trod on velvet. 

Just before these horses made their first dive, Dempster came up to uswith a person who carried a white hat in his hand, and held it out as ifhe wanted something put into it. I thought that somebody had beencheating the poor fellow, for there was nothing but little, crumpledbits of paper in the hat. Of course I did not want to equal thesetreacherous people in meanness, so I took out my pocket-book and droppeda five-cent piece into the hat, smiling benignly on the good-lookingsuppliant as I did it. I really was ashamed of Cousin E. E. ; for insteadof giving the poor fellow a trifle of money, she just nipped up one ofthe crumpled bits of paper, and, opening it, called out, laughing like agirl:

"I've drawn the favorite! Oh, isn't that splendid!"

I declare I was mortified by such silly nonsense, and wanting to keep upthe credit of the family, dropped another five-cent piece in the hat, and nodded toward E. E. , as much as to say: "Never mind; I give it forher. "

Instead of thanking me, the man stared and turned a trifle red, as ifthe gratitude that filled his heart were trying to burst through hisface. It was a noble feeling, and I appreciated it by another kind nodand smile. 

Then he held out the hat to "that child, " and she, too, snatched up oneof the papers and began to giggle over it. I declare you might havelighted a candle by my face, it burned so. 

"Is there no end to such meanness?" thought I, and once more I opened mypocket-book. 

"No matter, Phœmie, I'll attend to that, " says Cousin Dempster, wavinghis hand at me. 

Out came his pocket-book then, and he took from it a handful ofgreenback-bills, which he gave to the man, who laughed as if he werehalf-tickled to death, and well he might be, for Dempster was asextravagant as the female portion of his family had been mean. 

"Here is the last number, and our pool is complete, " says he, taking abit of paper from the hat, and dropping it into my lap. "Don't troubleyourself, Phœmie, it's all right. "

I did trouble myself, in spite of his smiling face. Charity is onething, and ostentation is another. After my gift, which I must say wasliberal enough, there was no need of such a display as Dempster made. Nowonder the man looked pleased as he marched away, with the money in onehand, and that white hat in the other. 

When the horses came rushing by again, and made a sharp halt just abovethe house, the man came up to us choke full of pleasure, and wanted tolook at my paper. I thought he was taking liberties, but gave him themite of paper, and drew back in my seat, in proper fashion. 

"Your horse has won, " says he; "Mid-day has the race by a length. "

With that he laid a roll of bills in my lap, and went away, bowing low, till his white hat almost touched the floor. 

"Mercy on me! what does this mean?" says I, a-taking up the money. "Isthe man crazy?"

"It means that you have won the pool, " said Dempster. 

Before I could ask him what on earth he meant, Cousin D. Was swept offby a crowd of ladies, and three sandy-haired horses were put upon therun. I could not tell one horse from another, they were so alike; butthey all were long and lank, with hind legs that looked as if all theirstrength lay in that direction to a wonderful extent, and the way theythrew them out was surprising. 

About this time I saw a great many white hats flying about, and men hadpocket-books in their hands, while ladies talked wildly about gloves andneckties, and clapped their hands when the horses rushed by, and theword "pool" was in everybody's mouth--in fact, it was Bedlam let loose. 

LXIX. 

THE STEEPLE-CHASE. 

Sisters:--This horse hurdling is something that just lifts you right offyour feet. All that I had seen was nothing to what was to come. Allalong the winding road, and the lots each side, some men went tobuilding fences, till every few yards were fenced in, and yet sevenlong-legged, long-bodied, and not over fleshy horses, with riders inwhite, in blue, in yellow, and striped brown and yellow, were ready foranother start, which they made like a thunderburst. 

On they came, flying and flashing through the lots, like a flock ofbirds, right up to the first fence. I sprang up--everybody sprang up, wild and anxious--I expected to see the whole grist of them pitchhead-foremost against the rails, when up they all rose, and away theywent straight over, and off like a shot to the next and the next, clearing one after another, before you could draw a deep breath. Acrosslots, down the road, in and out they went, jumping fences, now abreast, now in a swift line, till they came up all at once to a pond of water. 

I screamed right out, and felt myself growing cold, for they wererushing toward it full split, and it was wider across than themill-stream back of our school-house. 

"Stop 'em, stop 'em! They'll be drowned, they'll be killed!" I screamedout, just crazy with fear. 

No one minded me; the whole crowd was too busy watching those wildriders to mind me if I had yelled like an engine whistle. They camerushing up nearer--nearer, almost in a line, as if some enemy wereahead, and the whole squad meant to ride right through and trampleeverything down. They were close by the water now, with a low fence thatside. On they rushed--a whole cloud of hoofs ploughed up through theair, and those seven horses went shooting like sparrows over the fenceand across the water. Their hoofs struck fire from the stone wall on theother side, and away they went, pell-mell, their riders shooting outcolors like a broken rainbow, and the crowd cheering them on as if ithad been a sham fight on training-day. 

On they flew like a young whirlwind, though one bay horse they called"Blind Tom" fell short. The rider, trying to bring him up, was pitchedover his head, at which the crowd was hushed, but burst out again whenBlind Tom left the poor fellow behind, and dashed on with the otherhorses neck and neck round the fields, leaping a fence or two, beforethe poor stunned rider could roll over and pick himself up. 

Oh, it was too droll--that plucky horse, dashing along with the rest, shooting over the fences, up to time, and acting like a soldier chargingunder command. I could just have gone down and kissed the splendidcreature, and the whole crowd--thousands and thousands--set up shoutafter shout that you could have heard almost on the Green Mountains. 

Another horse came out first best on the second round, but a couple ofmen, right behind me, insisted that Blind Tom ought to have themoney--what money I didn't understand--but I agreed with the men, ifthere was anything that a horse could accept, Blind Tom was the animalfor the money. 

Sisters, there don't seem much that is wrong about this. You can't seeany amount of deep iniquity in it, can you now? I didn't discoveranything poisonous to the moral character; but then we female womendon't always see deep enough into great social and religious questions, and horse-racing is one. 

What do you think the gloves and neckties meant? What hidden sin layburied under the pools? What, after all, took that great multitude up tothat beautiful hollow among the hills? Gambling, my dear; male andfemale gambling, nothing more, nothing less. The horses run for money. The jockeys ride for money. The men bet money, hats, gloves, hundreds, thousands, on this horse and that. Everybody gambles, and everybodylikes it. 

Sisters, that poor man's hat was a pool; there wasn't a drop of water init; still it was a pool. The two five-cent pieces I threw into it were adead loss to charity. The scraps of crumpled paper meant dollars. Theheap of bills that I tucked away in my pocket-book, innocent as twentylambs, was money that I had won gambling, ignorantly, innocently. 

With Christianity at my heart, and gambling money in my pocket, I feeldemoralized as a church member; yet I must confess it exhilated me as ifI had been on the top of a high mountain, and was looking down withdelicious dizziness. I a gambler, I a diver into pools no larger than aman's hat, but dangerous as the bottomless pit! I cannot realize it; andwhen realized, it seems to me as if I couldn't be properly penitent. That sort of thing doesn't seem so awful to me as it did before I gotinto it, in this pleasant, innocent, and sweetly promiscuous manner. 

Is this "rolling sin like a sweet morsel under the tongue"? Am I gettingfaithless to the trust with which I set forth on this city mission?

This much I will say in my own behalf: horse-racing, if pernicious, isawfully pleasant, and horse-betting (gloves and neckties I mean)is--well--ditto. 

_Such_ a ride home as we had! Trees and grass, cool and green--no dust. The sun going down, and throwing red shadows across the fields. Carriages crowded full of smiling people, horses wild to pass each otherand get home; yourself deliciously tired, with half a dozen swifthorses chasing each other through your brain, and trampling down yourconscience. 

Well, sisters, I may have been wrong, but frankness is my peculiarity, and I should like to try it all over again, just once. Don't think hardof it, but I should. 

LXX. 

PREPARING FOR SEA. 

Dear Sisters:--With an aching head and bitter taste in my mouth, I takeup my pen to write. Myself, and not myself, I sit here as if I had justcome out of the upheaving of an earthquake. If I write anything of whathappened yesterday, it must be sensational; for, of all sensations thatever riled up a human constitution, that I felt while out to sea beatall that I ever knew or heard of. 

I have been out to a yacht race. 

Horse-racing is a science not unknown, in its rudiments, to our ruralpopulation. You can remember when we took our first lessons, bareback, with a rope-halter looped around the horse's nose for a bridle. No--thatwas our second lesson; the first was on father's old grey horse, whichwas blind of one eye, and had a natural saddle curved into his back. Being a mite of a child, I sat in that hollow like a bird in its nest, hung on to the mane with one hand, and held a crooked stick before theeye that could see when I wanted the creature to turn. In this way Ibegan my horse-alphabet. First, we waded through the plantains andburdocks, at a slow walk, with a stumble now and then, which set mylittle heart to quaking like a swampy bog trod upon. Then I grewventuresome, and the old grey warmed into a soft trot, which shook me uplike anything, but was more exhilarating than the walk. With my barefeet pressed close to the animal's side and my fingers gripped into hismane, I began to rattle my stick timidly against his shoulder; at whichhe broke trot and racked himself off into a canter, which made my heartleap with every fall of his hoofs, and filled it with the courage of atrooper. 

Didn't we wade through the burdocks and sweet ferns then! Didn't we rideround and round that pasture lot, without giving the dear old beast timefor a bite of grass or a fair nip at the sweet ferns! Didn't my crookedstick rattle and my hair fly out in the wind! Didn't my mother screamafter me, and my father rush out like a crazy man, with both arms spreadout, and try to head Old Grey off! Of course he did. But the dear oldhorse didn't want to give up, and I didn't mean that he should; so heshied, and, of course, having nothing to hold him in by but the tuft ofhair and the stick, he left father behind, and, I do believe, kicked upa trifle, just to show his independence. 

That was my first lesson on horseback. On the second, my father insistedon haltering the creature, which gave me a pull at his head, and mane, too, which rather interfered with the use of my crooked stick, andbunched me up, till father called out to me to sit up straight--which Idid, at last, going it with both hands on the halter, and the hairblowing about my face like a veil. That morning Old Grey and I jumped abrook a full yard wide, and cleared both banks beautifully. 

After that I did a great deal of bareback riding, along the road and inthe pasture lots, and could sit and ride like a trooper before I evergot into a side-saddle or knew what a curb-bit was. 

Sisters, that is the way to learn things--begin at the beginning, andget a firm, steady seat before you attempt to cut a dash. The lady thatcan't sit her horse handsomely without regard to bit or stirrup, needn'tset herself up as much of a rider--at any rate, in our part of thecountry. 

So much for one kind of racing. Now for the water-course. 

We used to send little boats, dug out with a jack-knife, under papersails, down that brook by the school-house, and see them swamped amongthe cowslips or capsized in the eddies, when we were in the A B C class. Some of us went far enough to sail down the mill stream in a canoe dugout of the trunk of some big tree. In fact, I have a remembrance ofcrossing a large river in a scow pushed forward with awful long poles. But beyond these rudimental experiences, ship-rowing is not indigenousto the Green Mountains, as a general thing, and I do not see how it canever become a Vermont institution, yet awhile. Therefore I say, horse-racing you can understand, but ship-racing is really a novelty inthe Mountains. 

Now, a yacht, sisters, is nothing more or less than a baby schooner, which has two masts, or a sloop, that has one, built up slender andgraceful, with a cock-pit, which is in the stern, and a cooking-room, which is in the bow, and all the other fixings which make it as muchlike a ship as a first-rate baby-house is like an old homestead. 

Dempster has been to Washington, and got some contracts or something, and what does he do but come home one hot day when we were all justsweltering in white loose gowns, and says he:

"Girls, what do you say to going down to the Regatta?"

"The Regatta, " says I, "what is that--anything cool?"

"Why, it is a race given by the Yacht Club, " says he, "and of course itwill be cool if we go out to sea. "

"Well, I don't object to seeing, if that will make things cool, " says I;"but how a club can race, except when it is in a policeman's hand, Ican't begin to make out. "

Cousin D. Gave one of his long, hearty laughs, and says he:

"Now, really, Phœmie, don't you understand what a club is?"

I felt the blood rise up into my face. 

"Don't I know what a club is?" says I. "Well, I should rather think so. There are hickory clubs, oak clubs, yellow pine knots, that answerpretty well, and locust clubs, but how a little ship can be turned intoa club beats me!"

"Oh, it isn't one ship that makes the club, but a good many, " says he, "crack ships, too. "

I just dropped the two hands I had been holding up, quite out of breath. 

"So a good many ships make one club, do they?" says I. 

"Just so, " says he. "When a lot of men join together for any particularthing, it is called a 'club. ' There is the Jockey Club, the Union Club, the Rural Club, the Union League Club, the Yacht Club. "

"Oh, for mercy's sake, do stop before you club me to death, " says I, clapping both hands to my ears. "We have got timber enough in Vermont, but clubs of any kind are not in our line. Just tell me what you want ofus, and we'll say Yes or No. "

"Well, I want you to get into my new yacht, and go a little way out tosea, " says he. 

"To see what?" says I. 

"The Regatta. "

"Can't you for once speak honest English?" says I. 

"Well, a Yacht Race, " says he. 

"That is, little ships running races, " says I; "but where?"

"On the Atlantic Ocean, " says he. 

My spirit rose. I have seen the East River and the upper bay, and morethan once have caught a view of the Long Island Sound from thecar-windows, but a live ocean--a great, broad, heaving ocean, with wavesroaring up thirty feet high, is an object we do not often get a chanceto contemplate on the slopes of the Green Mountains. Would I go and seethat? Wouldn't I?"

"Then you will go?" says Cousin Dempster. 

"Go!" says I, "yes, if I have to walk afoot with snow-shoes on. "

"Well, then, get your yachting clothes ready, " says he. 

"Pink silk?" I suggested. 

"Oh, no; something that can stand the water, " says he. 

"Say black alpaca, with a white hat and plumes--principle and patriotismbefore anything else, " says I. 

"That will be lovely on the blue waves, " says Cousin E. E. "I will weara blue feather, and Cecilia shall turn up her Leghorn flat with ananchor. "

"That's just the thing, " says Cousin D. , with maritime enthusiasm. "Ihave had the yacht painted white, and on her long white pennant you willfind a name all Vermonters love particularly, and the world generally. "

"What is her name?" we all said right out at once. 

"The Vermonter, " says he, straightening himself up proudly. 

We all sprang to out feet, and clapped our hands with the wildestenthusiasm. 

"I'm not afraid to dare the wildest storms on the ocean with thatcraft, " says I. 

"Nor I. "

"Nor I. "

Sisters, it was a spontaneous outburst of pure state patriotism--eventhat child Cecilia seemed to feel it--for ten minutes after she was busyas a bee, sewing a silver anchor on her Leghorn flat, and that day, forthe first time, I kissed the child with spontaneosity. 

LXXI. 

YACHT-RACING. 

Sisters:--When you go to a yacht-race, the first step is peculiar. Youget into a carriage or a car, and ride down to the docks. Then you steamoff in a ferry-boat to Staten Island, get into a thing they call a yawl, which floats like a cockle-shell, and carries two or three people, androw off to one of the cunningest, prettiest, slenderest, mostscrumptious little ships you ever set eyes on, sitting on the water likea white duck with its wings spread. 

Some black-walnut steps fell down the side, over which I climbed, withmy heart in my mouth, and jumped into a little pew, with a sofa runninground it, and some light cross-legged chairs ready for visitors. 

The sun was hot overhead and up from the water, so I just went down intothe prettiest little cabin you ever saw, all finished off with shinywood, like a lady's bedroom, and carpeted with sky-blue, with a paletouch of gray in it. Right by this were two lovely little bedrooms, allblue and cloud color, with snow-white beds and cloudy curtains. Therewere four beds in the cabin, too, built into the wall, and lots ofsilver things were shining on brackets and silver hooks. 

A sofa, all cushioned with blue, ran down each side of the cabin, and onone of these I took my place while the rest came in. 

Cousin D. Had invited a dozen people to try his new yacht, and when theyall came swarming in, it was cheerful as a beehive. 

Some cramped themselves in the cockpit, some flung themselves on thelong sofas of the cabin, some got under the sails, cosey as birds in atree, two and two; but I always remarked that two men and two womensomehow never got together; they were sure to split up one of each sort, just as they are apt to do on land. 

Well, the yacht spread her sails, made a graceful dive and off she went, her canvas snapping and her colors flying. A whole squad of othervessels set sail too, and off we went like a flock of birds. 

The water of the bay was blazing like quicksilver. Some white cloudscooled the sky a little, but everything around was sweltering withhotness. On we went, fleet and cheerful, sending up the water insparkles, and flying toward the ocean, with green banks on each side ofus, and that gloriously hot sun heating up the air like a furnace. 

By and by we passed a couple of great stone forts, and came out into theocean. Oh, what a broad blaze of sky and water--blue and silvereverywhere, blue and silver!

On these waters, far out, lay a crimson ship, settled down like amammoth red bird, and around that a crowd of little vessels, with theirsails spread ready for flight. Ever so many steamboats, crowded withpeople, waited a little way off for the race to begin. 

One of these steamboats had the President of these United States onboard, and hung out its flag that all the world might know where to findhim. We didn't try, but kept modestly down among the small craft. 

By and by there was a fluttering among the yachts around the red ship;then a gun banged off, then another, and away the whole flock went, flying across the water in a white cloud. 

After it went the steamboats, ploughing and snorting through the water, and after them a whole storm of sailing craft, all on the wing, eachdashing up foam like fury. 

Now the wind rose higher, and seemed to cool the air, while it spreadout all the sails as they flew before it. This seemed to bring in awhole army of little waves from the great ocean, and, as true as youlive, every wave had a white hat on. 

I jumped up and fairly clapped my hands when I saw these waves troopingin, battalion after battalion, all tossing up their white hats anddancing forward, as if the winds were singing Yankee Doodle behind them. 

Then the party in our yacht gave a shout. 

"They are rounding the spit, " says Cousin D. "Do look, Phœmie. "

I did look, but saw nothing particular--who could? What would one spitbe in a whole ocean of water. 

Then came another shout. 

"They have marked the boy. "

"Goodness, gracious, " says I, "is there a boy overboard? Do fling out aboat-hook or something!"

"Do not disturb yourself, Phœmie, " said Cousin D. ; "that particular boyhas been swimming in one spot these ten years. "

"And alive yet?" says I, feeling my eyes widen like saucers. 

"Just as live as he ever was, " says he. 

"You don't say so, " says I. "Can we see him from here?"

"Yes; yonder!"

Cousin D. Pointed toward something in the water, black, with a red capon. There did not seem to be much danger of his sinking, for he kept hishead high, and a good many boats were near enough to keep him up. I lostsight of him, and watched the vessels flying off again. But somehow, when they came in sight once more, my enthusiasm was all gone, and Ibegan to feel limp and dreadfully discouraged. I haven't had such anuproar about my--well--heart, since the Grand Duke sailed, and that wasvery different, a sort of affectionate flutter, while this is beyondex-pres-sion. 

Sisters, at the end of the last sentence, my head fell into one of thoseblue cushions, and I have a dreamy feeling that waves with white hats onwere bowing to me right and left. 

I have lifted my head again. The yachts are coming in full split. Aseach comes up, the steamboats and vessels give a yell that makes the seatremble, and scares all the birds in the neighborhood. One time theyshriek--that is for the _Gracie_. Then there was a deep, long howl--thatwas for the _Jantha_. Then there was a yell, a shriek, and a howl, alltogether, which was for the _Vixen_. 

What yacht beat, I don't pretend to know, but it comes to me as if in ahideous dream that it was the _Vixen_. 

The next thing I have on my mind was, a table set out in the cabin, andthe popping of corks from long bottles, with a sound that made me quiverall over. Then I recollect that some one was persecuting me with offersof something nice to eat, for which I shall loath them as long as Ilive. 

Sisters, I did _not_ see a single ocean wave thirty feet high--far fromit--but those I did see were quite high enough. If you don't believe me, go to a yacht race, that's all. 

LXXII. 

MUSIC THAT IS MUSIC. 

Dear sisters:--I love music. My soul was brought up on Old Hundred, andrefreshed from time to time with Yankee Doodle. The lively tones of afiddle drove me wild with delight, in my foolish, school-girl days; andI cannot keep my feet still when one rattles of money-musk or the OperaReel even now, when enthusiasm is delicately toned down into gracefulease. 

The truth is, Nature is full of music, and we who live in a mountainouscountry know how much of it is to be found outside of instruments andthe human voice. In fact, the sweetest music I ever heard has come to methrough the woods--not from the birds, but the whispering leaves. Haveyou ever listened--with your heart--and learned, by the faintest sound, the different voices of the trees--the quick, soft rustle of the maple;the stronger sound of the oak-leaves; the weird, ghostly shiver of thepine-needles? I know little of music, if anything out of heaven cantouch a human soul more tenderly than these sounds. Then the birds--whatjoyous or solemn music they can make! Have you never felt your heartleap to the singing of a robin among the branches of an apple-tree infull blossom, or shiver and grow sad at sunset, when the cry of a lonelywhip-poor-will comes wailing through the dusk?

There is the music of trees in the spring, when their blossoms are sweetand their leaves are just unfolding--soft, cheerful, happy music, fullof tenderness and love. Then there is the low, drowsy music of thesummer-time, when bumble-bees and lady-bugs and humming-birds fill thewarm air with greedy droning as they plunder the wild flowers of honey. 

Did you never close your eyes, half go to sleep, and listen to them, with a lazy consciousness that you could rest and enjoy, while thoselittle, busy creatures were singing at their work? I have, a thousandtimes. 

Then comes the fall, when the hills are burnt over with red and gold andbrown. How the full, rough-edged leaves strike together, with a sound ofcopper and brass--with a rustle and shiver that makes one think ofmilitary funerals. Then comes the swift, rustling sound of ripe nutsrattling from burs and husks; the coarse, bass voices of the crows amongthe naked stubble-lots; the mellow crash of corn-stalks, as the cattletread them; the slow, liquid grinding of cider-mills, and the sharpsound of the hackle, where flax is broken for the spinning-wheel. 

After this, comes stormy music--fierce, high winds, whistling sharp andshrill through the long, naked branches of the woods, which answer themback with moans and sighs and wild shrieks that make you shiver at nightand hide yourself under the bed-clothes. 

When I was a little girl, sisters, my heart rose and fell to music likethis till I suffered terribly, sometimes, without speaking a word to anyone--for these are feelings which one never does talk of--there is nolanguage that I ever learned which will express them. But I have neverheard any music that could reach my soul like that which God gives us inthe blossom season--the summer, the fall of late fruit--and the bleak, hard winter, when the clash of ice against ice has a sound that no manor woman can reach. 

This is my idea of music, and that is scattered far and given to all menalike. You can't gather it up and deal it out in great, thunderinggushes. It isn't to be got for five dollars a ticket. In fact, the bestand sweetest things we have are given to the poor and rich justalike--free, gratis, for nothing. 

LXXIII. 

HUBBISHNESS. 

Sisters:--The music I have just been writing about is not fashionable byany manner of means. Boston, the great central hub of all creation, can't bottle it up or engage it by the ton to astonish all creationwith. She must have the manufactured article, and has sent all over theworld to get it. 

Every fiddler, flute-player, drummer, and curlecued horn-man in Europehas been brought over here to thunder-out and roll-off billows of soundfor people to pay for and wonder at. 

We have a Niagara of waters that astonishes the world. Now the people ofBoston are determined to give us, in a great, wild, conglomeration ofvoices, a full Niagara of sound. 

I am New England all over, from the top of my beehive-bonnet to the soleof my gaiter, but--confidentially, among ourselves--don't you thinkBoston takes a little too much on herself? That narrow-streeted, up-hilly city isn't all six of the New England States by a long shot. 

My opinion is that Boston is putting on airs, and I for one don't meanto put up with it. I hate stuck-up people, and I despise stuck-up towns. 

Of course it is my duty to see all things in behalf of the Society, andto do my best to lay them before you. I cannot say that my ideas ofBoston have not toned down considerably since I came to New York. StillNew England is New England, and Boston is Boston, if she does now andthen make a tremendous old goose of herself, and sometimes threatens tocackle the hub all to pieces. 

Cousin Dempster hasn't much to do in summer-time, so he was on hand forthe Great High Jubilee; and E. E. Was just crazy to go; for she is whatyou call musical, and goes right off the handle whenever a fellow thatcan't speak English plays on the piano or sings to her in some languagethat she don't know a word of. 

Well, we went, and found Boston just running over with people. Everyhouse along the crooked streets had one or two flags a-streaming fromthe roof, or out of the windows--star-spangled banners tangled-up withred and yellow and all sorts of colors; some with eagles, some without, but making every street gorgeous, as if the Fourth of July had burst outbefore its time. 

The Coliseum is a tremendous building, big enough to roof-in fortythousand people, and leave room for the whole swarm of drummers, toot-horners, piano-thrashers, blacksmiths, anvils, and swivel-guns, with a thousand people to blow, thrash, and blast them off, and twentythousand singers behind, ready to pile in the thunder of their voices. 

The Coliseum is grand, barny in its structure, and all outdoorish whenyou get into it; but there is a good deal to see before you do get intoit. The streets were just jammed-up with people when we came in sight ofthe great building, which stands out in a bare piece of ground, withouta tree near it, and the hottest sun you ever wilted under beating downon everything around it, till I felt as if approaching the mouth of agreat New England brisk oven, heated to bake a thousand tons of beansin. The streets were blocked with people. 

The little wooden bridges built over the railroads were creaking underthe tramp of a never-ending crowd. The street cars were crowded likebeehives till the horses could not move, and some of the cars brokedown, choking up the track. 

Female women, with red books in their hands, scrambled through thecrowd. Little tents and shanties were scattered all about, everybodytalked fast and loud--some in one language, some in another. It was likegoing into the Tower of Babel, with all the languages in full blast. 

From one of the shanties we heard the sound of a loud, eager, wildvoice, as of some fellow going to be hung, and wrestling for his life. 

"What is that?" says I to Dempster. "What on earth are they doing inthere?"

"Oh, it's a prayer-meeting, " says he; "some man is wrestling with theLord in behalf of sinful souls. "

"Oh, that's it, " says I, just disgusted: "Well, I hope he'll get throughwith his wrestling before we come this way again. To haul religion andforce prayers into such a crowd as this, is making a farce ofChristianity. We have churches for such things, and the calm of a holySabbath set aside for the service of God. Who has time to think of suchthings here?"

"Oh, it takes all sorts of men to make a world, " says Dempster, pushinghis way through the crowd, while E. E. And I followed, with that childa-dragging after us. 

We went at the rate of three feet in as many minutes, and thatwrestler's voice was wrangling over us all the time. If the angelscaught one sentence, I'm sure they must have clapped their wings totheir ears and left the hub to take care of itself. 

LXXIV. 

THUNDERS OF MUSIC. 

Well, at last we crowded and fought our way into the Coliseum, which waspretty well filled up when we got through the entrance. 

It was a sight, I must say that. Before us was a whole mountain-side ofbenches, rising one above another till you could hardly see the end ofthem--benches, benches, benches--crowded down and running over withpeople, all in a state of bewildering commotion--humming, whispering, and rustling together like ten millions of bees in a mammoth hive. 

You never saw so many female women together in your born days. Think ofit, thousands and thousands with crimson books fluttering in theirhands, as if each woman had caught a great red butterfly and was holdinghim out by the wings. All these female women were rigged out in gorgeousdresses, rustling, moving, and flaming with all sorts of colors, like ahillside covered with gorgeous flowers, broken up with a dash ofblackness now and then, as if a thunder-cloud had settled down amongstthem. These black patches were the musicians, the flower garden was thesingers--almost all female women, with fans, and voices, and red booksin motion. 

Below were the people, crowded together by the acre, all jolly, smiling, and looking as if Boston were ready to burst her tire and whirl on herown bare hub, with all her spokes a-whizzing. 

Flags streamed and blazed on the walls, the roof, and around thepillars. All the stars in the skies seemed to have been torn down, scattered on a blue ground, and hung over that great building. It was agrand sight, I must say that--grand, but hubby. 

It was the German day, Cousin Dempster said. England had had her turn, France had flared up, and now Germany was to splurge just as much as shewas a mind to. 

Well, Germany did splurge, but she began with a loud, deep, woe-begonerush of music, that seemed to roll out from a graveyard where everybodylay uneasy in his grave and was begging to get out. This ended off whenthe day closed with a dreary, low complaint, as if they had begged longenough and gave up. Now and then they broke in with a grand crash thatmade me start from my seat, and went off in a low wail, with a storm ofmusic between. 

Something lively followed the first moan. Then a lady got up and sangall alone by herself, and her voice went floating through that greatbarny place, full, loud, and clear, as if ten thousand nightingales--notthat I ever saw or heard a nightingale in my life, but I persist init--as if ten thousand nightingales had broken loose in a swamp of wildroses. 

"Who on earth is that?" says I to E. E. 

"Madame Puschka Leutner, " says she, clasping her hands. "Isn't shedelicious?"

Then out E. E. Drew her handkerchief and set it flying. 

"I never heard anything like it, so strong, so sweet, so spreading, "says I, flirting out my own handkerchief with enthusiasm. "The humanvoice is something worth while in the way of music after all. "

It was no use saying more, for up jumped all the thousands of people inthat great encampment, out went a swarm of white handkerchiefs, flockingtogether like a host of frightened seagulls, and the roar of the peoplewent up like thunder. 

Then a great band of men, mostly with yellow beards and rosy faces, goton their feet, and went at the fiddles, the twisted horns, the drums andthings, like crazy creatures, and the way the music rose, and swelled, and thundered out was enough to drive one crazy. 

Once more that great crowd burst in with yells and shouts, and a wildstorm of praise. Then one of the yellow-haired men stood up alone with awide-mouthed toot-horn, made of bright brass, in his hand. After lookingaround a minute, he just put the horn to his mouth, and blew a slow, long blow. Then he went at it tooth and nail, bringing out great roundtones that seemed as if they never would grow faint or die away. 

I have heard a great many toot-horns in my life; in fact, I have blown atin one myself to call the men folks in to dinner; but never did I hearanything like that. It was what Cousin E. E. Called wonderful--so-low. 

I couldn't quite agree with her there, for to me it seemed wonderfullyloud and riotous, but it was enough to make one in love with brasstoot-horns forever. 

By and by something happened that just took the starch out of my NewEngland soul. There, in the midst of all those dashy singers, onehundred and fifty men and women of the colored persuasion rose up in ahuman thunder-cloud, and broke into that noble song of freedom, which isa glory to one New England woman, and a glory to New England, for nobetter thing has been written since the "Star Spangled Banner:"

 "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming Lord. "

Oh, sisters! there mightn't have been the highest-priced music in thosecolored voices, but the words are enough to wake up a dead warrior; theywent through and through me as the wind stirs a forest. It was somethingto hear those dusky-faced freedmen chanting the glory of their ownemancipation--something better than music, I can tell you. But thethrill of the thing was all gone when twenty thousand white people, withdrums, trumpets, fiddles, organs, everything and every creature thatcould make a noise, thundered in, and bore all the sentiment off in awild whirlpool of thunder. 

I do wish the white people would stop helping the colored population somuch. They only drown them out and stifle them. Why couldn't thejubilant darkies be left to sing their own song, and rush on with oldJohn Brown without being whirlpooled up in twenty thousand white voices. They could have stood their own without help, I reckon. 

There was a little resting spell after the darkies sat down; then came agreat heaving crash and storm of music. Everything from a jew's-harp toan organ was set a-going, and behind them thousands of women sent uptheir voices amid a crash of anvils, the thunder of guns, and theringing of bells that plunged one headlong into a volcano of sound thatwas neither music, nor thunder, nor an earthquake, but altogether astampede and whirlwind of noises that engulfed you, body and soul. Ring--crash-bang--thunder rolling, rolling--oceans in tumult--whirlwindsof sound--armies crashing together--the world at an end!

That was what it seemed like to me. Sisters, I haven't a nerve left inmy body; my temples throb, my heart feels as if it had been blown upwith brass horns. There is a drum beating in each temple. Oh, if I couldonly hear a robin sing, or a brook in full flow--anything soft, andlow, and sweet--it would be a relief. 

LXXV. 

SARATOGA TRUNKS. 

Dear sisters:--Do you know where Long Branch is? I reckon not, owing toits being a sandy slip, cut off from the edge of New Jersey, and notmuch of a place over two months in the year; it hasn't got into thegeography books as a school item of importance, though, if a Presidentor two more should settle in there, it might lift it a notch higher. 

But in duty bound, I am here in pursuit of my great social mission, andcan tell you, confidently, that Long Branch is a great watering-place, brim full, and running over with fashion once a year, when the hot sundrives all the upper-crust people out of New York, and everybody that isanybody feels the want of extra washing. 

When I speak of watering-places, do not understand that I mean a taverncorner with some brook emptying itself into a huge wooden trough forhorses to drink out of. Of course, that is our Vermont idea; with awillow-tree shading the trough. That, no doubt, gave the name here. Butthe two things are no more alike than trout streams are like the broadocean. 

I ask no questions, always finding it best to wait and watch, and learnfor myself; but when Dempster asked me if I would like to go down to awatering-place in New Jersey, I asked him if there wasn't Croton Waterenough in the pipes for all the horses they kept. 

Dempster laughed, and said it was salt water he was thinking of, andasked, right on that, if I had got a bathing-dress?

"A bathing-dress, " says I. "Goodness, gracious, no. When I bathe, as ageneral thing, I--that is--I take off--"

Here I broke off, and felt myself turning red. I declare, CousinDempster has a way of putting things upon you for explanation, which I, as a single lady, with expectations, of course, find embarrassing. 

Just then, E. E. Came in, all of a flurry about her trunks; she wantedmore and must have 'em, she said. Seventeen Saratoga trunks, and abasket or two, were just nothing to what she needed. Dempster must goout and get half a dozen more. Why, her fluted skirts alone filled threetrunks. 

Dempster went. To own the truth, he is an obedient creature as ever worecoat and--well pocket-handkerchiefs. It wasn't long before a lot oftrunks--big enough for country school-houses--were piled into the hall, and then Cousin E. E. Began to revel. Her bed was crowded and loadeddown with skirts, dresses, shawls, bonnets, round hats, broad flats, peaked caps. You never saw such heaps and mountains of clothes; such alitter of small things; such stacks of boots and shoes. 

It really seemed as if she was fitting out an army of feminines. EvenCecilia was down on her knees packing, and E. E. Was deep in a hightrunk with her slippers half dropping from her feet as she punchedthings in and pressed them down. The help, black and white, kept runningup and downstairs like hens with their necks wrung. Every few minutesthere came a ring at the door, and paper-boxes and bundles were set downin the hall, and struggled upstairs when any of the help thought itworth while to bring them, which was once in about ten minutes, allmorning. 

I think Dempster made a cowardly attempt to get out of the way, but itwas of no use. On such occasions men are wanted, especially when thebills come in, and E. E. Knows her privileges. 

LXXVI. 

THE DOLLY VARDEN. 

As I stood looking on, wondering if cousin really meant to turn thehouse inside out, and set up a village of trunks somewhere on thesea-shore, that hard-working creature lifted her face, and looked at medeploringly. 

"Oh, Phœmie, " says she; "are you packed? How cool you look. "

"Packed, " says I; "oh, yes; I always keep my pink silk folded. "

"But your summer things, are they ready? Surely you'll have a Dolly?"

"No, " says I; "its years since I have thought of a doll, and I haven'tthe least idea of going back to my play-house days. "

"But I mean a dress, " says she, lifting her head out of the trunk, andwiping the swe--well, perspiration from her face. "A Dolly Varden. Don'tyou understand?"

"A dress, and some Miss Dolly Varden, all at once! Now I can't thinkwhat dress you mean; and, as for that young person, I don't know herfrom a bag of sweet corn. How should I? Never having been introduced!"says I. 

E. E. Just sat back on the floor, and drew a deep breath. 

"Oh, Phœmie, " says she, "you are so stolid about some things. Why, it isonly a dress I mean. "

"Then what did you drag in that young person for?" says I. 

"Because she gives her name to the dress. "

"I'm sure the dress ought to be very much obliged to her. That is if shecame by the name honestly, " says I. 

"And it's all the rage now. You must order one, Phœmie. "

"What, the dress or the girl?" says I. 

Cousin E. E. Got out of patience, and sprung up red in the face. Acrossthe room she went, slopping along in her slippers, flung back the lid ofthe trunk that seemed to be overrunning with poppies, marigolds, andmorning-glories, and, giving something a jerk, brought up a puffy, shortgown of white muslin, blazed all over with great straggling flowers--themorning-glories, poppies, marigolds that I had seen bursting up from thetrunk. 

"There is a Dolly, " says she, a-shaking out the puffy, short dress, asif it had been a banner. 

"Not by a long shot, " says I, laughing. "It may be a whopping big doll'sdress; in fact, it looks like it, for what woman on earth would everthink of wearing that? Why, the flowers would set her on fire. "

"This is for Cecilia, " says she, "but I have one just like it, and meanto wear it if you've no objection?"

"Not the least in the world, " says I. "It isn't my mission to stoppeacocks from strutting and showing their half-moons if they want to. "

E. E. Laughed. She is a good-hearted creature, and I set store by herafter all. 

"I will try this on, " says she. "They are all the rage, I tell you. Tryone, Phœmie; your tall figure would set one off splendidly. "

"Do you really think so?" says I, beginning to take a notion to thegreat bunches of flowers which did stand out from the white ground withscrumptious richness. 

"I am sure of it. No one carries off a dress so well, " says she, "and itwill be expected of you. Distinguished persons are so criticised, youknow. "

I looked at the dress again; the flowers were natural as life; themuslin was wavy, and white as drifted snow. 

"But the cost?" says I. "A burnt child dreads a blisterouscontamination. That pink dress of mine is a scrumptiousgarment--palatial, as one might say, but costly. The value oftwenty-five yards of silk is a load for any tender conscience. "

"Oh, a Dolly doesn't take half as much, " says E. E. ; "besides shortskirts are the style on the sea-shore. The expense really isn't veryenormous. In fact, almost any one can afford a Dolly. "

I yielded. Human nature is weak, and I had a letter yesterday from uncleBen, saying that the hay and corn crops are promising. Besides, there isa sort of reason just now why I should be a little self-liberal in theway of dress. As Cousin E. E. Says, people do expect something betterthan alpaca and calico of high genius--especially when the form is tall, and the figure commensurate to the genius. 

"But have I time? That French dressmaker will want three weeks, atleast. "

Cousin E. E. Saw by this that the austerity of my economical educationwas giving way; so she jumped up, flipped the slippers from her feet, and was soon buttoning her boots and tying her bonnet, ready for astart. 

"Where are you a-going?" says I. 

"Where they'll take your measure and send the Dolly home to-morrowmorning, or down by express. Leave it to me, and you shall havesomething really beautiful. "

"Let there be plenty of flowers, " says I. 

"Of course, " says she, "bright, rich colors. "

"Hollyhocks, " says I, "are my favorites; dandelions and feather-edgedpoppies come next; then a vine of trumpet flowers tangling the bunchestogether, would look scrumptious. "

"I see you enter into the spirit of it, " says she; "but have you goteverything else?"

"Everything else? Of course I haven't. Who has, in fact? But my pinkdress is turned wrong side out, and packed. "

"Have you a flat?" says she. 

"A flat! I? Not that I can call my own. Dempster has introduced half adozen, but I don't claim them. "

"Oh, I don't mean men, but a broad straw flat that answers for a bonnetand an umbrella. "

"No, " says I; "I have a Japanese thing that opens like a toad-stool, and shuts like a policeman's club. Will that do? That Japaneseembassador gave it to me, with such a tender look. I never open it thathis smile does not fall upon me like sunshine in a shady place. "

"That will be distinguished; take it, by all means. But you will wantthe straw flat, and a bathing-dress as well. "

"Now, Cousin E. E. , says I, "what do you mean?"

"Why, you mean to bathe, of course?"

"Cousin E. E. , have you ever seen a Vermont lady--not to say a woman ofgenius--who did not bathe?" says I, with dignity. 

"But you will go into the water?"

"To a certain extent, " says I, "that has always been my habit. "

"But the ocean--salt water?"

"Well, " says I, "salt water is beyond me; but if that is the fashiondown at Long Branch, I don't object to a trifle of salt. "

"The bathing is delightful, " says she. "At the turn of every tide yousee parties in the water all along the shore. "

"Parties in the water--_parties_?"

"Ladies and gentlemen. "

"What!!"

"Children, too. "

"Ladies and gentlemen bathing together! Cousin, you--well, if I weretelling a story like that to a congregation of born idiots, they mightbelieve me--that's all. "

"But it is true. "

"And you call this a civilized country!" says I, blazing withindignation. "Emily Elizabeth Dempster, do you mean to say that men andwomen--gentlemen and ladies--go down to the salt water and bathetogether?"

"Indeed they do. "

"I don't believe it! I won't believe it! If my great-grandmother were torise from her grave and swear to it, I would tell her to go back againand hide her face. Somebody has been imposing on you, Cousin E. E. "

"Believe it or not, it is the truth, " says E. E. "Ask Dempster. "

"Ask Dempster! Do you think I have lost every grain of modesty, thatsuch an outrageous question should pass my lips?"

"Well, believe it or not, as you like, " says she, "I haven't time toprove it; only it isn't worth while to scout at what every one does, andyou are a little apt to do that, Phœmie. "

"So, if I lived among hottentots, I mustn't object to rancid-oil on myhair--but I think I should, anyhow. "

"Well, well; get on your bonnet, or the Dolly Varden will never befinished in time, " says she, laughing. 

I put on my beehive, and we both went right down town. On our way we sawa wire woman standing in a broad, glass window, with a dress on, thattook the shine off from anything I had ever seen in the way of a dress. 

"There is a Dolly, " says E. E. , "and really, now, I do believe it wouldfit you. "

We went into the store, had the wire woman undressed, and her Dollycarried up-stairs, where I put it on, behind a red curtain, with achatty female woman hooking it together, and buttoning it up in puffsand waves that made me stand out like a race-horse with a saddle on. Thegirl was French, with a touch of the Irish brogue--just enough to giverichness to the language. 

I asked her what was the reason of it, and she said in theirestablishment a great many of the upper crust Irish came to trade, andshe had caught just the least taste of a brogue in waiting onthem--which was natural, and accounts for the accent so many of theseFrench girls have, which I must own has puzzled me a little. 

When my dress was on, E. E. And this French girl led me up to a great, tall looking-glass, and stood with their hands folded, while I took anobservation. The French girl clasped her hands, and spoke first:

"Tra jolly, " says she. 

"No, " says I, "that is not exactly my state of mind--composed I may be, but not jolly, by any manner of means. "

"She means that the dress is beautiful, " says E. E. 

"Oh!" says I, "why didn't she say so then?"

"Well, she did, in her way. "

"Magnifique, " says the girl, cutting the word off with a squeak. 

"Why can't you open your mouth wide enough to say magnificent, " says I, "if you like it so much; nipping off words with a bite isn't one thingor another. "

"Oh, but it is, beside the dress, that figure, " says she, a-spreadingher hands. 

After all, the girl did manage to express herself. I was sorry for notunderstanding her at first. 

Before I could say this, Cousin E. E. Got out of patience. 

"Does the dress suit? for we have no time to throw away, " says she. 

"Suit, " says I, turning round and round with slow enjoyment of thatqueenly figure in the glass. "Of course it does. Why, cousin, it issuperb; the bunching up is stupendous. Then the pattern--a whole flowergarden in full bloom. "

"Then it had better be sent home at once, for we must go early in themorning, " says she, short as pie crust. 

I paid for that Dolly Varden with satisfaction. It might have beendear--I think it was, but there were no extras, and I knew what I wasabout from the first. Besides it was a smashing affair, rain-bowish, beautifully puckered up, and blazing with flowers. 

Well, we went into the street, and then Cousin E. E. Began:

"One minute, Phœmie; I want some hair pins. "

We went into the next door and got the hair pins, then out again. Afterwalking about fifty feet she broke out once more:

"Dear me, I forgot the black ribbon. "

In she darted through another door, and came out stuffing a bit oftwisted paper into her pocket. Ten feet more and she turned squareabout:

"Some pins, Phœmie; I must get some pins. "

So we kept darting in and out of doors till there wasn't another in thestreet, and went home with both our pockets stuffed full of pins, lace, gloves, combs, buttons, and a general assortment of other small things, all of which E. E. Had forgotten till the last minute. 

That night I left her plunged headforemost into a huge trunk, with asloping roof, her feet just touching the ground, and complainingbitterly because Dempster was not at home to help press the things down. 

LXXVII. 

STARTING FOR LONG BRANCH. 

Early the next morning a big wagon-load of trunks drove from the door. Then a carriage came up ready to take us to the boat. It was awful hot, and the air in that house was so close one could hardly breathe. Theparlors were all shut up. The stone girl and that other fellow had whitedresses on, and for once made a decent appearance. The chairs and sofaswere all done up in linen, the blinds were shut, and the whole houselooked like a church whose minister had been sent off on his travels atthe expense of an adoring congregation. 

E. E. And I stood in the hall, I with a satchel in my hand, she with alittle brown affair buckled on one side of her waist. 

That child was a-standing in the open door, watching the men pile thetrunks on the wagon. 

"Mamma, " she called out, as the man drove away, "I'm sure they have lefta trunk, for I counted, and there was only nineteen. "

E. E. Ran to the foot of the stairs. 

"Dempster, Dempster!"

Down came Dempster, looking hot and worried. 

E. E. Called out:

"Do stop the wagon, something is left. "

Dempster ran into the street, stopped the man, and stood in the hot suncounting over the trunks. His face was in a blaze when he came back. 

"It's all right, " says he, "twenty of them, full count. Come, get intothe carriage. "

E. E. Moved forward a step or two, then halted. 

"The basement door--is it bolted?"

Dempster dived down to the lower hall and up again, panting for breath. 

"The scuttle, " said E. E. , pointing upwards. 

Dempster rushed upstairs, banged away at the roof, and ran down again. 

E. E. Drew down her veil, and tightened her shawl. 

"Oh, Dempster, have you locked the wine-cellar?"

Again Dempster made a rush into the depths of the earth, and came upagain dripping with swe--well, perspiration. 

"There, I think everything is safe now, " he said, offering E. E. Hisarm. 

She took it a moment, then dropped it suddenly. 

"Dear me! Dempster, you haven't been near the stable, and I haven't adoubt it is wide open!"

Dempster said something between his teeth which I tried my best not tohear; then off he went down the pavement, looking as if he would givethe world to knock some one down. By and by he came back, panting like amad dog. 

"Anything more!" says he, savage as a jack-knife, wiping his face with awhite pocket-handkerchief. 

"Yes, dear, " says E. E. ; "I'm afraid I left my parasol--just run up andsee. "

Dempster went, and came down with the parasol in his hand. 

She took it, and got into the carriage. I followed, and "that child"dived in after me. Dempster had his foot on the step, when E. E. Brokeout again:

"Oh, darling, what shall I do?--Snip has been left behind. I think youwill find her in the bath-room. "

Dempster dashed the handkerchief across his face, ran up the steps indesperate haste, and by and by came out with E. E. 's little black dog inhis arms. 

E. E. Reached out her arms, but Cecilia snatched it from her father. That moment a policeman went by, and E. E. Leaned through the carriagewindow. 

"Why, Dempster, you have forgotten to see the policeman. "

Dempster followed the man, diving one hand down into his pocket. I sawhim draw out some money, which the man took; then poor Dempster cameback on a run, and plunged into the carriage. 

"Drive on--drive on, I say--or we'll be too late for the Long Branchboat!"

The man did drive on, but E. E. Jerked the check-string. 

"Oh, husband, do oblige me just this once--I have left my longest backbraid on the bureau!"

"No, " says Dempster, "I'll be--"

I put my hand over Dempster's mouth. 

"Dempster, " says I, "if you ever want to be a Christian, this is theplace to begin in, for here patience can have its perfect work. "

My gentle rebuke had its effect. Dempster got out of the carriage, andonce more mounted those stone steps. 

By and by he came back with a long braid of hair trailing from his hand. Then he planted his foot on the carriage step with decision, and sayshe:

"Drive on!" which the man did. 

LXXVIII. 

THAT HAIR-TRUNK. 

Dear sisters:--We are here at Long Branch, bag and baggage--CousinDempster, E. E. , myself, and that creature Cecilia, who is more troublethan the whole of us put together. We came down in--not on--the_Plymouth Rock_, which is nothing of the sort, but a steamboat, as longas all out-doors, with room enough for a camping-ground for the nextgeneration on the decks, and rows of staterooms that would line the mainstreet of Sprucehill on both sides, and have some to let. There was awhole lot of fiddlers and horn-players on board that began to play theminute we came in sight--a compliment that I should feel more deeply ifit hadn't become so common; but somehow wherever I go, those musicalfellows start up, and grind and blow till one almost begins to wish forthe privacy of an obscure position. 

Fame is beautiful, and reputation is the glory of genius; but when theyare sounded out by fiddles in broad daylight, and blasted over creationby wide-mouthed toot-horns, innate modesty shrinks within itself. 

I really felt this way when a squad of music-grinders burst out in highjubilee the moment my foot touched the deck. It was a compliment, ofcourse, but the sun was pouring down upon us, hot as a fiery furnace. 

The express-men were smashing our twenty-two trunks on deck endforemost, caving one in every minute or two, and I felt too hot andanxious for reciprocity when the musicians struck up, for all the geniusand ambition was just burned out of me. 

When we got aboard, the thermometer was running up so fast that anotherhitch would have made it boil right over. Those glass things ought to bemade longer at both ends. 

I haven't a blinding faith in express-men since I saw three of E. E. 'sbest Saratoga trunks stove in, so I let the music storm on while I keptwatch of my own hair-trunk, which came down from my grandmother on thefather's side, who fed the calf that gave up the skin that covers thattrunk only with its innocent life. She fed it with skim-milk from herown saucer, and set store by the trunk on that account up to the day ofher death. Then she willed it to me in a codicil, that being more sacredthan the original testament, she said, which I cannot understand--alltestaments, old or new, being first in my estimation. 

Well, of course, I kept watch of that trunk, and when I saw a greatbroad footed Irishman take it from the wagon and pitch it ten feet ondeck, I just shut my parasol, clenched it in the middle, and went up tohim. 

"How dare you pitch my property on end in that way?" says I. 

"I hain't touched none of your property, " says he, a-wiping his foreheadwith the cuff of his coat. "Never see a bit of it. "

"That trunk is my property, " says I, pointing toward it with my parasol, which I still held belligerently by the middle. 

"Well, " says the fellow, eyeing the trunk sideways, "it does look sortof pecular, but still I reckon it's nothing more 'en a trunk, afterall--one of the hairy old stagers--but only a trunk, anyhow!"

"Sir, " says I, with emphatic dignity, for the honor of my ancestors wasconcerned, "that is a traditional trunk--a testamentary bequest from mygrandmother--who was revolutionary in her time. "

"What, " says the man--"what is that you say?"

Here a real nice-looking gentleman came up to where I stood, and says heto the man:

"You should be more careful, the trunk is evidently an heirloom. "

"You are very kind, " says I, relenting into a bow; "it's only ahair-trunk--grandmother's loom went to another branch of the family. "

"Well, anyway, I'll put the crather by itself, and bring it to yez safe, marum, never fear, " says the Irishman; and with that he sat down on myblessed grandmother's trunk and wiped his face again. Then he waved hisdirty hand and motioned that I should go away, which I did, and found E. E. Spreading her skirts out wide on a settee, and looking as innocent astwenty lambs if any one seemed to turn anxiously toward the extra seatshe was covering up for me. 

I took the seat thankfully, spread my parasol, and tried to catch amouthful of air, but there wasn't a breath stirring. The water in theharbor was smooth as a looking-glass. The sky was broad, blue, and sohot with sunshine that it blistered one's face to look up. 

I put a blue veil around my beehive, and wilted down into my corner ofthe settee. Dempster stood by us blowing himself with a broad-brimmedhat, but not a breath of air he got. 

"I'll run down and see how the thermometer is, " says he. "Never--neverdid I swelter under such a stifler in my life. "

Off he went, swinging his hat. In a few minutes he came back again, panting with the heat. 

"It's a hundred, " says he. 

"What?" says I. 

"The thermometer, " says he. 

"And is it that which makes things so hot?"

"Of course, " says he, "one hundred is as much as we can bear. "

"Then, why on earth don't they get rid of some? What is the use ofpiling-up things to this extent? For my part I never will travel onboats that carry these red-hot thermometers again. It's as much as one'slife is worth. Nitro-glycerine is nothing to it; that blows you rightstraight up, but these other things pile on the heat and never come toan end. "

Congress ought to put a stop to such dangerous freights being piled-upin steamboats. It's enough to breed suicides on the water. 

Dempster wanted to laugh, I could see that, but his face just puckeredup a little, and it was all he could do in that line. So he took acamp-stool, pulled his new white hat over his eyes, and fell into asoggy sort of sleep. There he sat, kind of simmering, like a baked applein the mouth of an oven, till the steamboat stopped on the end of asand-bank, and gave a lazy snarl, as if it was glad to get rid of us. 

After this they packed the whole cargo of live people in a line of cars, and sent them off sweltering through the sand with the engine roaringbefore them like a fiery dragon. 

LXXIX. 

AT THE BRANCH. 

By and by, we came to Long Branch, where the engine gave another longwhoop, and were turned out into the sunshine again among stages, wagons, carriages, and all sorts of wheeled creatures, all looking as if theyhad been in a whirlwind of red dust. 

Cousin Dempster had sent his carriage ahead, and there his handsome bayhorses stood sweating themselves black, and dropping foam into the dustyroad. We got in, helter-skelter--no one cared which was first--and weredriven toward the sea-shore. 

When we got in sight of the water the horses made a sudden turn, andwheeled into a wide, dusty street, that runs right along the edge of thewater. It was an awful grand sight, but the waves didn't seem to havestrength enough to move, only gave out a lazy sob once in a while, as ifthey were tired of carrying so many loafing ships about that hadn'tspirit enough to flap their own sails. 

Long Branch is a real nice place after all; and just the broadest, coolest, and most scrumptious tavern in it is the Ocean Hotel, whichstands just back of the sea-shore, stretching its white wings widely, from the centre building a quarter of a mile, I do believe, each way. Before the house is a great green lawn, with walks and carriage roadscut through it that lead from the house to the high bank, against whichthe ocean keeps beating all the year round. 

On each side the walks are great white marble flower-pots--vases theycall them here--choke full and running over with flowers and vines, andgreat broad-leaved plants that looked cool and green, hot as it was. 

"Oh, " says Cousin E. E. "Isn't that beautiful? So fresh, so bright, itis like a moving garden. "

So it was. All along those deep verandahs that run clear across thefront of the hotel in double rows, were swinging baskets full of flowersand cool green leaves--hundreds of them--brightening the whole broadfront of the hotel, and under them was a crowd of people--gentlemen, ladies, and children--reading, chatting, sleeping in the great easywillow chairs, or walking up and down on the soft grass. 

Sisters, I know now exactly the way an Arab feels when he finds a brightspring--which they call an oasis--in the deserts of Sahara, and hearsthe leaves shiver and the waters murmur. This hotel looked cool, still, and refreshing like that. All the front was in shadow, before it lay thedeep blue water. Inside was Mr. Leland, a potentate among hotel-keepers, ready to make us at home. 

There it was again. Ovations will follow me. I had but just taken off mydusty clothes, bathed my face and hands with cold water, and stepped outon the verandah, when a storm of music burst out from a littlesummer-house on the grass. Wherever I go this sort of ovation followsme. Music and flowers seem to be my destiny. No matter where I roam, inall the steamboats and hotels they send storms of homage after me. Well, I am grateful, and I hope bear these honors with Christian meekness. 

I have been riding all along the beach. The sun has gone down and theocean ripples to the softest and blandest wind I ever felt. The vesselsthat move on it show signs of life now. Their great white sails bend andstrain with a look of power. The day has been hot, but a cool wind comesoff the water, and you breathe once more. 

Sisters, do not be led to suppose that the Ocean Hotel, large and grandas it is, means all Long Branch. Why, there is a mile of hotels andcottages running along the beach, all swarming over with people. As youride up the street you pass dozens and dozens of little summer-houses, full of young people looking out at the sea, which comes in with a slowrush and swell now that leaves a lonesome feeling in the heart. 

LXXX. 

THE RACE-COURSE. 

There is a race-ground three miles from here, where everybody is goingthis morning, though the weather is hot and the ocean is sound asleep, with great silver scales of sunshine trembling over it. 

New York has come down in crowds to Long Branch, and all the hotels haveemptied themselves on to the race-course. Three miles of road arecovered with moving carriages, wagons and stages--one cloud of yellowdust rolls along the road without a break. Every carriage is gay withbrightly dressed ladies. Thousands go up or down on the railroad, whoseengine stops and pours out clouds of black smoke close by the racetrack. From the cars a stream of people now on to the course, packingthemselves into the benches of the Grand Stand, or scattering on thegrass around it. 

When we got into the enclosure fifteen thousand people were waiting, some in the hot sun, others in the hot shade, all choked with dust andsweltering with heat. 

We were late. There was but one thing that we wanted to see: the racebetween Longfellow and Harry Bassett--two of the swiftest horses in thecountry. 

If horses could gamble I should call these two beautiful creaturesblack-legs, and the gayest of gamboliers; but as they can't do itthemselves men and women do it for them. 

This time twenty-five thousand dollars was to go to the swiftesthorse--twenty-five thousand dollars--enough to build a meeting-house. Doesn't it make you tremble in your shoes; but that isn't all. Everybodywas betting with everybody else, just for the fun of betting. 

I saw a little shaver there, ten years old, who boasted that he had wonthree pair of gloves from a little girl of eight. 

The cream of that fifteen thousand skimmed itself off and consolidatedin a handsome square building that they call the Club House. We wentthere, of course, and soon got seats among a crowd of upper-tenists onthe roof, which took in a view of the whole race-ground. 

One or two horses, with funny little fellows on their backs, were movingup and down before the Grand Stand, but no one seemed to care aboutthem. Harry Bassett and Longfellow were all they wanted in the way offast horses. 

Sisters, don't fancy now that Longfellow is of a poetic, or evenliterary, turn of mind. Nor do I want you to think that his owner namedhim after our great New England poet because he was fired withadmiration of his genius. Nothing of the kind. I don't suppose that "oldKentucky gentleman" ever read a line of Longfellow's poetry in hislife--may be, though I hate to think so, he never heard of him--at anyrate this great, long, swift, beautiful animal was named after himself, and nobody else. His body is long and slender, very long, and that iswhy the colt got his name. I wish it had been the other way, but itwasn't, and truth is truth. In fact, I'm afraid literature isn'tappreciated on the race-course. It takes all the romance out of one toknow that this grand young horse was named after his own body, and notafter our great New Englander. 

Never mind about the name now, Harry Bassett is coming down the road, and slackens his speed in front of the Grand Stand. A beautiful, beautiful animal, with limbs like a deer, and a coat smooth as satin, colored like a plump ripe chestnut. Fifteen thousand people clap theirhands, stamp their feet, shout, cheer, and flutter out theirhandkerchiefs as the horse goes by. 

Sisters, you never saw anything like it. A camp-meeting, where everyman, woman, and child was just converted, might be a comparison, withdrawbacks. 

Harry Bassett took all this cool as a cucumber. It didn't disturb a hairon his glossy coat. The creature knew that he was being admired, andliked it--that was all. Down he came by the Grand Stand, past the ClubHouse, where he got another ovation and another whirlwind of whitehandkerchiefs, and, wheeling round, walked back again and gave the otherhorse a chance. 

Longfellow came next--a little larger, a little longer, and heavier inthe limbs--a splendid horse; but he did not take my fancy as HarryBassett did. From the first minute I wanted that chestnut beauty tobeat; there was something about him, I can't tell what, but he suitedme. 

I was half put-out with Longfellow for being such a grand, powerfulfellow. When he came opposite the Grand Stand, out flew thehandkerchiefs and out rolled the thunder, just as it had when Bassettwent by. Both the animals were so handsome that you couldn't helpclapping your hands. 

Bless you, the splendid creature didn't care a cent for it all. Thecrazy applause passed him like wind. He liked the fresh air, and gloriedin a swift run, on his own hook; twenty-five thousand dollars werenothing to him. But he showed off his magnificent proportions andallowed the hot sunshine to stroam over his brown coat with the mostabominable indifference. 

I insist upon it, Longfellow is a noble horse, but not so handsome or solithe in his movement as Bassett. If these two creatures should evercome to Sprucehill, I know you will all stand by me in what I say--butthen every one of you would be turned out of meeting if you only lookedat a race-horse through a spy-glass. 

Well, when the two handsome beasts had shown themselves off long enough, they drew up together and made ready for a start. A red flag wasfloating close by them. There was no noise now; not a man in all thosebenches clapped his hands. Instead of that, the whole crowd seemedafraid to breathe. 

The red flag fell. The two horses started close together, and kept soonce round the course; then that long-bodied fellow began to stretchhimself a little ahead. They passed us like two arrows shot from onebow, Longfellow's head showing first. Once more they went round. Now aroll of wild, thundering noises followed them. Longfellow was ahead; youcould see a gap of light between them. Beautiful Harry Bassett tried hisbest; but that long-bodied trooper just flew, and came out yards ahead. 

I declare it riled me. I know that the chestnut beauty could have beatenif something hadn't been the matter with him. Poor fellow! he lookedawfully down in the mouth when he was ridden up right into the whirlwindof noises that rejoiced over that other horse. It seemed to me as if heknew the pain and humiliation of defeat, just as well as if he had beenhuman; I am sure he did. Still, sisters, I stand by Harry Bassett. 

Oh, mercy, how hot it was coming home those three dusty miles! How tiredand thankful I was when we got safely into the Ocean Hotel, with plentyof lemonade and ice-water, with a cool wind blowing up from the water. 

Sisters, I sometimes think you do not quite appreciate all thesacrifices that I make for you. The great want of our society, has beena thorough knowledge of what is going on in the wide world outside ofVermont and the Hub. That deficiency I am determined to make up by extramission duties in the direction of general human nature. In order toprove or condemn a thing, one must see it in all its features. Ifignorance were goodness, the universe would be crowded with piouspeople. But it isn't any such thing; and your pioneers and missionarieswho mean to teach, musn't be afraid to learn. Now, there is a good dealto be said about races, and if 'twere not for the betting--which isgambling, under another name--I should rather like it. A noble horse infull training is a brave sight; and, next to a noble man or woman, I, for one, am glad to see him put forward. There isn't a bit of harm inswift running; but then twenty-five thousand dollars lost and wonbetween two horses, is a snare and a delusion that the noble beasts havenothing to do with. I do not like that, and am quite sure that you willmake it a subject of particular denunciation. I hope you will. Not thatsuch things have ever found a mite of countenance in Vermont; but horsesare raised there, and that may lead to something dreadful. If a patch ofground level enough for a race-course can be found in the State, some ofthese New Yorkers will be for fencing it in; and the way they areprogressing here, some ambitious fellow may be wanting to charter theGreen Mountains for a hurdle, for horses all but fly in these parts. 

Understand me--I am not blaming the animals--they are just splendid; butbetting, especially among women, is my abomination. It is an open gatethrough which feminines slide into a habit of gambling. I don't like it, and the sooner our American feminine women know my opinion, the soonerthey will be ready to turn back and consider what they are about. 

LXXXI. 

CLIMBING SEA CLIFF. 

Dear sisters:--You are right. My mind has been too much in the world. Ihave been led into walks of life that do not accurately jibe with thepious experiences of former days. I confess my shortcomings withhumiliation, and am resolved on a season of mission duties in anotherdirection than horse-races. They are exciting, and give one ahigh-stepping inclination. Still, my motive is good. 

"Try all things, and hold fast to that which is good, " is scriptural, but on some occasions may be temptations, especially when the thing thatis good happens to be disagreeable, and the other is awfully enticing. 

Any way, sisters, I am determined to do my duty in every walk of life, and the foremost duty this moment takes me far away from Long Branch, puts me on two steamboats and two short snatches of railroads, whichland me at the foot of a great, sandy, high-sloping hill--some peoplecall it a bluff--but which religious people of several denominationscall "Sea Cliff Grove. "

Now, Sea Cliff Grove is a sacred institution, lifted high up towardHeaven, and bathed in an especial odor of sanctity, conglomerated fromever so many different churches, and so centralized in a place that may, to the fanciful mind, be considered a city set on a hill. 

Indeed, it is. If Jordan is a hard road to travel, Sea Cliff Grove is anawful hill to climb, even in a covered stage, with two long, thin horsesdragging the blessed pilgrims upward with all their might. 

Before we got clear up, there was now and then an encouraging glimpse ofbrightness from the dome of the tabernacle, covered over with tin, whichblazed and sparkled and shone in the hot sunshine, till it set one'sbrain to sweltering. If it hadn't been for a cool fringe of treesrunning along the edge of the hill, it seemed to me as if the wholebluff must have burned up, and gone off in a blaze of glory. That dome, which looked like a great cone, roofed in with milk-pans set on edge, was the crowning glory of a new tabernacle--not the one built withouthands, for it took a great many hands to build this great, ramblingaffair, besides the cottages and tents and long, open stoops, that lookout on the sea from morning till night. 

Among these tents and little houses and the great tabernacle, the manwho drove us took his ten cents a-piece, and set us down, and wheeledabout, singing "Old Hundred" to his horses, and swinging his whip withslow solemnity as he lumbered down hill again. 

Then we started off afoot in search of Cousin Dempster's cottage, for hehad sent on ahead, and hired one of the little cubby-houses for us tostay in till the religious season was over. 

We found our cubby-house at last, but somebody else had got their ninepoints of the law out of it. So the man sent on beforehand had pitched atent on the grass, which we went into like Indians just returned from ahunting-party--dusty, thirsty, and sort of wolfish for something to eat. 

We took off our bonnets, and pinned them by the strings to the walls ofthe tent, which were of the best tow-cloth I ever saw out of Vermont. Then we shook ourselves, as hens do when they have been rolling in thedust, and pushed back our hair with both hands, which E. E. Said wasmaking a rural toilet worthy of the occasion. Then I, with the kindestintentions, shook out E. E. 's--full panier--and found it puckered-upwith green burdock burs, which she had got on from the weeds on her wayto the tent. These I picked off, one by one, while she was stamping herfoot with a spirit that shocked me dreadfully in that sacred place, forall around us the people were singing and praying, and shouting"Hallelujah" and "Amen" and "Glory, " in a way that made the piousteachings of my grandmother rile up within me. I looked upon the burdockburs as a judgment upon Mrs. Dempster, especially as I hadn't anypuckerings in my dress to catch them in, and she had brought all herwordliness on her back. 

LXXXII. 

FIGHTING FOR THE BODY. 

By and by the shouts and noises hushed up a little, and there was astampede, like a rush of cattle, in the grounds. 

"Come, " says Dempster, "or we shall get nothing to eat. "

"Does that mean dinner?" says E. E. , with a hungry look. 

"Just that, " says Dempster, "so look sharp; for here it is every man forhimself, and the----"

"Dempster!" said I, stepping back with pious horror, "do you know whereyou are?"

"Exactly; but I know, too, that unless we look sharp, we shall feel flatwhen we get to the dining-hall and find everything swept off. "

We took the hint. I lifted the skirt of my alpaca dress gently, betweenmy thumb and forefinger, just enough to give an idea of the anklewithout revealing it, and went out of the tent, imbued with the spiritof the place, but humiliated with worldly craving. 

Sisters, if the denizens of this Sea Cliff are only half as earnest intheir souls' salvation as they are in replenishing poor, frail humannature, there will be a glorious harvest of regeneration this holyseason. The way they poured out of the tents, the houses, the longstoops, and through the bushes was fluttering and noisy as the flight often thousand chickens from a barn-yard. Still the crowd did not breakall at once from the spiritual to the temporal wants of human nature. They kept on praying and singing in breaks and snatches clear up to thedining-hall, when the old earthly Evil One got uppermost, and each manseizing a knife and fork, went at the first dish he saw, and held on toit with one hand, while he did double express duty with the other. 

Sisters, this crowd of sinners sanctified, and to be sanctified, wasmade up of about the hungriest mortals that I ever set eyes upon. Theway those safety-seeking souls took care of their bodies wasregenerating, I can tell you. For my part, after seeing every dish sweptaway from before me, with Christian fortitude becoming to the place, mycarnal nature rose uppermost, and, seizing upon a plate of summersquash, I held on to it valiantly, while E. E. Snatched a potatoe withits jacket on, from a flying dish, and Dempster wrestled with one of thesaints for a plate of bread, as Jacob wrestled with the angels; onlythis saint was six feet high, wore a hood-brimmed straw hat, and carriedoff the plate of bread in his hands, after all. 

I greatly fear Cousin Dempster didn't meet this test of a meek and lowlyspirit with the fortitude of a martyr. In fact, I'm afraid he saidsomething beside "Amen" between his grinding teeth, when that platedisappeared. 

As for E. E. And myself, we got a spoon between us, and dined on thesquash, generously giving up the potato to Dempster, with an admonitionwhich did not seem to suit him much better than that stone-coldvegetable. 

Well, when we had vegetated the inner man to this extent, and watchedthe swarm of hungry eaters devouring the food like a cloud of ravenouslocusts, Cousin Dempster laid down his potato-peel on the table withmournful sadness, and said, plaintively:

"This is all we are likely to get; let us go. "

"Wait, " says I, "some one is going to return thanks. "

"What, for two spoonfuls of squash and one hollow-hearted potato forthree of us? Never!" says Dempster. 

Really, sisters, the spirit will have a tough job before it brings theproud nature of Cousin Dempster into a state of perfect sanctification. E. E. And I gave him a beautiful example, and looked as humbly gratefulas two hungry female women could, over a double spoonful of waterysquash; I fear he did not appreciate it though, for when a deep Amenrolled down the hall, after the thanks were given, he meanly growledout--well, a very peculiar word, that made my heart jump into my mouth. In any other place, I should write out boldly that Cousin Dempster--butin that out-door sanctuary--no, the secret of what he said shall go withme to my grave. 

LXXXIII. 

LIONS AND LAMBS. 

Sisters:--The tabernacle under that tin roof will hold, well packed, sixhundred anxious souls--each with a weak, human body attached. The seatsare all cushioned with the softest pine, and have luxurious board backs. A stage rises grandly for the ministers of many churches who harmonizeand fraternize like lions and lambs, each shepherding his own flock anddrawing converts into his fold, wherever he can find a straggling sinneron his knees. The dining-room all at once emptied itself into thetabernacle; the ministers mounted the stage, and out in front came a manwhose first words woke you up like the blast of a war trumpet. 

A stout, smart, almost grand-looking man, who looked over the crowd asif he owned every man and woman in it, and meant to regenerate them inflocks, or turn them over to what-you-may-call-him at once. His darkface, broad forehead, and silver-gray hair looked strong, if nothandsome. His light eyes gleamed out from behind a pair of goldspectacles, and when he got in earnest his heavy brows drew together andleft deep lines between them which made him look stronger yet. 

"Who is that?" I whispered to Cousin D. 

"Inskip, " says he, "the greatest gun amongst them. "

"Dear me!" says I. 

There was no time to say more, for that great gun was pouring a hotstorm of eloquence into the crowd, and stirring it up as a north-easterlashes the hemlocks on our mountains. Sisters, the scene was wonderfullyimpressive. I felt the old revival spirit in all my bones. When hestopped a minute for the crowd to say Amen, the word rattled out like adischarge of guns on a training day. 

By and by his discourse grew warmer and more startling. He just pitchedheadforemost into the cause, and stirred up that great congregation likea tornado. The Amens grew noisy, and were let off from lip to lip likefire-crackers on a Fourth of July. Then some one sang out "Hallelujah!"and another "Glory, Glory, Glory!" till the whole congregation brokeinto a young earthquake. Some started up, some rocked on their seats, and half a dozen fell to the ground, trembling, praying, and shouting"Hallelujah. "

There was a mixture of all sorts of people in the crowd, which made ityeast over like a baking of bread when the rising is lively. When onegot a-going the rest set in. Half the crowd were crying and the otherhalf clapping hands. 

Then Mr. Inskip rested a little, and a real handsome young gentlemanstood up and sung beautifully. When he got through, the crowd joined in, every man, woman, and child singing on his own hook, which was noisy, and might have been harmonious if half of them had settled on the sametune, which they did, but cut across each other and sung out "Glory, "when they forgot everything else, which made the music a little uneven. 

Of course when a crowd like that gets a-going in a full blast ofeloquence, stirring up consciences, and dancing and thrilling along thenerves, there is sure to be a whirlwind of magnetism heaving soulsagainst each other till they cry out with the shock. 

I looked around; the crowd was all in commotion; every face burned withexcitement of some kind, for under that man's voice human nature wasstirred, aroused, lashed into a fury of wild enthusiasm. Female womengrew pale, and trembled on the hard seats; men wilted down intochildish softness; children cried and shouted. 

Before the stage was an open space, left free for sinners underconviction to come up and beseech the thrice-regenerated ministers toexhort and pray for them. Into this space those mostly stricken in thecrowd, came like sheep looking for a shelter, some sobbing, somepraying, some half sullen, as if the man's eloquent pleading for soulshad forced, rather than persuaded them into that "Pen of the Penitents. "But with each new convert, Brother Inskip broke forth in a new place, and the crowd shouted "Glory!" "Amen!" "Hallelujah!" till you could nothear yourself think. 

The enthusiasm was catching. I felt it blaze and tremble over me fromthe crown of my head to the sole of my foot, and when a young ministerjoined in, and poured the notes of a beautiful hymn on the tumult, myheart fairly swelled with the glory of it. 

I looked around for my cousins. 

There was Dempster, with the eyes fairly dancing in his head, clappinghis hands like an overgrown boy, though he did drop them when he met mylook, and turned his head away, half ashamed of his own feelings. 

I looked around for E. E. , who sat with her mouth half open, while sobscame through her trembling lips. 

"Oh, cousin, cousin, what shall I do? Have I really been regenerated, orhas the Lord sent me here this day to be made a new creature?"

I did not answer her; there was no chance for free thought or coolreason in a crowd like that. In fact, I began to feel like a vilesinner, myself, and as if being unregenerated was the duty of everyfemale woman every time a camp-meeting offered a good opportunity. Seeing E. E. Crying there as if her heart were breaking up, and both menand women wild with joy or grief all around me, I just caved in, pulledout my handkerchief, and sobbed with them, though what on earth we wereall crying about I couldn't have told to save my life. 

The truth was, the more some women cried the more others shouted; andwhen the meeting was over, everybody told everybody else what arefreshing time they had experienced under Brother Inskip's preaching, which was true as the Gospel, if tears refresh the soul as rain does theearth. 

LXXXIV. 

EXPERIENCES. 

After the preaching was done, the crowd broke up into sections and had ahalf-dozen prayer-meetings and spontaneous love-feasts, where men andwomen, and sometimes little children, got up and told all the strangerswithin hearing how wicked they had been--with tears, and sobs, andgroans, that made one's heart ache. Still one and all of them seemed toenjoy their own depravity and put themselves down as such horriblesinners, that any amount of praying could not have dug them out of thedegradation into which they dived headforemost and seemed to revel in, for a thousand years at least. 

Everybody told his experience. 

Among the rest, a young man from the Hub, slim as a beanpole and fieryas a race-horse, prayed and shouted, and sung, and blazed away at thecrowd, like all possessed. His straight, black hair was parted down themiddle of his forehead, and his mustache rose and fell like fury as thewords of warning came like red-hot shot through his lips. 

"Who is that?" says I to Cousin Dempster, who was listening with all hisheart. 

"That, " says he, "is Corbett, the young fellow who shot Wilkes Booththrough the crevices of the old barn in which he had taken shelter. "

I shuddered all over, and I'm afraid the spirit of prayer had a shock. 

That young man was about the last person I should have expected to seepraying, storming, and exhorting at a camp-meeting. He told us all howhe had become so sanctified by the Lord, that small-pox could not touchhim, though he went into the midst of it and nursed people down with thedeadly disease, right straight through. 

In fact, he seemed to think sanctification a certain preventativeagainst small-pox, only I suppose you must be sure to get the genuinething, just as he had got it. 

Then another little fellow got up and told us that he had been an awfulbad boy in his early days, and learned to chew tobacco and drinkcider-brandy when he wasn't more than knee-high to a grasshopper. Thatthe cider-brandy and tobacco had stuck in and defiled him through andthrough, till nothing but saving grace could have washed him clean andmade his soul white as a lamb, which it then was, Glory hallelujah. 

All the congregation chimed in here and struck up a solemn chorus ofGlory, Glory, Glory, Glory, which ended in a rejoicing "Amen, " when theyoung man informed us that religion had reformed all his depravedtastes, and now he both hated and despised cider-brandy, tobacco, andall the abominations he had formerly hankered after. 

Before the young man sat down, another was on his feet, brimming overwith sympathy. 

"I too, " says he, "have got an experience which urges me to beartestimony that what our precious brother says is true. I know it. I feelit in my own soul, for I, too, have met with regeneration, whereby allthings with me have become new. Why, brethren, before I got religion Icouldn't bear the sight of tomatoes, cooked or raw. They were anabomination to my unconverted mind; but now that I have got religion, there isn't a wigitable that grows, which I set store by as I dotomatoeses. So I can testify that old things pass away, and everythingbecomes new. "

After bearing this testimony, the man wiped his mouth with one hand, andsat down, his head meekly bowed. 

"Cousin, " says I to E. E. , "as camp-meetings do not belong to ourspecial persuasion, and as I do not feel the regenerating spirit growstrong in my bosom just at present, supposing you and I go back to thetent? Don't you see it is getting to be after dark now, and we have hadan awfully warm day in all respects. "

Cousin E. E. Arose, looking heavy-eyed and worn out. 

"Yes, Phœmie, " says she, "I have gone through a good deal, and feel thenothingness of everything but religion. Oh, cousin, if one could alwaysfeel as we do here. "

I shook my head, but only answered:

"Come, cousin, we can hear the still, small voice better alone in ourtent. "

She yielded, and we started to make the best of our way out of thecrowd, but five or six thousand persons swarmed around that regeneratingcamp-ground, and it was some time before we got safely into our owntent. Then I sat down by Cousin E. E. , drew a deep, long breath, andsaid, "Thank goodness, " with all my heart. 

LXXXV. 

THE SECOND DAY. 

Dear sisters:--I have been two days at this camp-meeting, fasting, because I have given up the fight about something to eat, and awake allnight because the hot weather almost drove me into the anxious seat, from dread of a hotter place. 

I hope you are satisfied with the way I have been walking this straightand narrow path of missionary duty. I wish I could say quiet path, but, being of an honest turn of mind, I must say it is both steep and noisy. Just at this minute a prayer-meeting and revival is going on in the nexttent to ours and the groaning and shouting is enough to drive one crazy. The tent is crowded full of women and children, and I don't know whichjump the highest or make the most noise. 

Well, I am not a wife--which you know is not my fault; neither am I amother, which, under the circumstances, I am grateful for; but whylittle boys and girls should be brought here, and put in the way of asecond birth, puzzles me. One event of that kind ought to be enough forany family of moderate ambition. In fact, I know of people who would dowithout any, with Christian fortitude. But here we are--men, women, andchildren--trying to save each other with all our might, and doing it ina way that brings strangers together with a jerk sometimes. 

Just as we were coming into the camping-ground this morning, where thewhole road was beginning to swarm again, a nice old lady, in a graydress, and with a little, white muslin shawl pinned over her bosom, cameup to me, and, lifting her meek eyes from under her sugar-scoop bonnet, informed me that the Spirit was upon her. She was exercised with a senseof duty regarding my sinful condition, which was miserably apparent inthe white feather that curlecued itself around my hat, and the cut of mygaiter boots that had heels enough to send a dozen souls to everlastingruin. 

I looked down at my boot, which is a scrumptious one, and said, withthankfulness, that I couldn't see anything in them that should carry thesouls off; besides, they could be heeled again. 

The woman shook her sugar-scoop bonnet at me, mournfully, and saidsomething about a wicked and perverse generation, as if all mankind werestanding in my gaiter boots, and she was rebuking it in a lump. 

"Oh, sister!" says she, "if I could only make you see with my eyes, andhear with my ears! Why will you be so perverse? Have you no fear of theeternal flame that burneth and burneth forever?"

"Fear!" says I, a-looking up at the hot sun, and wiping my forehead. "Ishould think so! If all creation has a hotter place than this, I'm toobig a coward to hurry that way. If there is an ice-house in theneighborhood, I should prefer that by all manner of means, by way of apunishment, if I deserve any. "

"Ice!" says she, solemnly. "Ice! have you never read the Scriptures?"

"Several times, " says I, with sarcastic forbearance. "My father had abook of that kind, which he sometimes opened. "

She could not understand the delicate irony of this answer; but pressedforward like an old camp-meetinger as she was. 

"Did that good father never read of a place where a drop of water couldnot be found to cool a certain person's tongue?" says she. "If not, yourpaternal ancestor fell short of his duty. It is no wonder his childshould have gone half through life without a ray of saving grace, andwith a white feather in her hat. "

Sisters, I was riled. "Half through life, " says I. "Madam, do you knowhow old I am?"

She looked at me half a minute, with all the eyes in her head; then, with the cool air of a woman counting money, said, "about for--"

Sisters, I _cannot_ repeat the audacious falsehood of that creature'scalculation. It was enough to rile up venom in the heart of a borncherubim. If ever a fiend took the disguise of a sugar-scoop bonnet, Ihave encountered one. A heart of stone lay under the innocent folds ofthat muslin half-shawl. 

"Madam, " said I, with a look of overpowering indignation, "you must havebegun and ended your arithmetic in multiplication. Take off half of theyears you have mentioned. "

The woman smiled so knowingly, that I longed to-- Well, no matter, shesmiled, and says she:

"At any rate, you are not too old for the mercy-seat. "

"I should think not, " says I. 

"Look yonder. "

I looked at half a dozen children jumping, kneeling, praying, andsinging before the revival tent, which had been so full of worryingnoises all night long, that none of us had got a wink of sleep. 

"Look, " says she; "unless you are born again, and become like one ofthese, there will be no chance that you will ever enter the kingdom ofHeaven. "

I looked at the lovely children, and I looked at her. 

"Excuse me, " says I, "the object don't seem quite equal to the trouble. I have no notion of going backward in my life. In the first place I wastoo handsome a baby in the beginning to hanker after a change, and sincethen--I say nothing; but really, I have seen a good many people thatclaim to have been born again, and, so far as I can judge, they don'tlook a mite better, or a day younger, after taking all the trouble, which is discouraging. "

"Discouraging!" said the woman; "why, you are talking of regeneration!Come--come with me to the anxious-seat--hundreds are flocking therenow. "

"Excuse me, " says I, "if you please. Crabs may change their shells, andsnakes creep out of their skins--I rather think they do sometimes--butborn-again females look so much like the old pattern, that it don't seemto me worth trying after one is grown up. "

"Many an older person than you are has been born again, " says she. 

"You don't say so, " says I, a-fanning myself with a palm-leaf, for everydrop of blood in my body grew hot when she talked about my age, and Iwas mad enough to bite a tenpenny nail in two with my front teeth. 

"Yes, I do say so, humble as I am, " says Sugar-scoop. "Look out there. See those women in Israel--three precious souls, just gathered into thefold. For two days they have been constantly at the redemption-seat. Thespirit is upon them now. Their souls are struggling to be free. Beforeanother morning they will be born again. "

I looked at a group of women she pointed out, and the human naturewithin me yeasted over. They were three of the homeliest creatures Iever set eyes on--long and lank, with faces like sour baked-apples. 

"Oh, my beloved sister, " says Sugar-scoop, a-laying her cotton-glovedhand on mine; "can you look on that heavenly sight and not pray to belike unto them?"

I shook the cotton glove from my arm, and the hand that was in it, justas St. Paul shook off the viper. 

"Like them, madam--like them! If I were one-half as lank and homely, Ishould want to be born again once a week, at least. "

Sugar-scoop lifted both hands in awful horror. 

"There are souls, " says she, "given up to eternal darkness, I fear. Oh, sister, how I tremble for yours!"

I was trembling with indignation. What right had this woman to assaultme in this fashion? I did not know her; she did not know me. My whitefeather was a badge of noble patriotism; my gaiter boots fitted a footthat has been an object of encomium with every shoemaker who has beenhonored by taking its measure--to say nothing of a glance given it byimperial eyes. Does religious zeal justify uncivil intrusion? What righthad this sugar-scoopy woman to exhort me? How did she know that my heartwas not already in the right path?

I asked this very question:

"Madam, " says I, "by what right do you pretend to teach me, a stranger, of whose life you can know nothing?"

"I'm in the service of the Lord, " says she, "looking up lost sheep. WhenI find one, torn and draggled with sin, it is my duty to drive it intothe fold, where its fleece can be worked white as snow. "

"But how can you tell? By what authority do you claim the right to judgeof a person you have never seen?"

"Are we not told to go out into the highways and the hedges, and forcethem to come in?" says she. 

"Whether they want to or not?" says I. 

"Exactly, " says she; "their not wanting to come into the fold shows thestate of wickedness into which they have fallen. "

"But how do you know that I am wicked?" says I. 

She looked at me a long time, as if the idea were new to her. She hadbeen so eager in raking up sinners, that it seemed to hurt her feelingsto think that any human being she met wasn't on the high road to--well, what's its name?

"That feather, " says she, "isn't a mark of regeneration. "

"No, " says I, "but it is the badge of a patriotic idea. "

The creature didn't take in this delicate political hint. In fact, anything fine or keen is sure to puzzle your woman of one idea. 

"Where do you go to meeting?" says she, as abrupt as a cracked stick. 

"Where my father did, generally, " says I. 

She looked at me queerly from under her sugar-scoop. 

"Haven't backslid, nor nothing; because, if you have, remember, beforeit is too late, that the last state of a backsliding sinner is worsethan the first. "

LXXXVI. 

THE BLACKSMITH'S CONVERSION. 

Before I could answer that audacious woman, a man came along with greenspectacles on his eyes, and a broad straw hat on his head. 

"What, sister, hard at work? got hold of a case, I reckon; but pressforward to the mark of the prize. "

"Oh, brother, " says Sugar-scoop, "can't you stop a moment, and sow amorsel of seed on this barren rock. This is a precious sheep. "

"Lamb, if you please, " says I, quickly. 

"No, " says she, as smooth as oil, but no doubt boiling over with inwardspite, "I have eyes, and can see. Sheep is the word. She is a precioussheep that, perchance, has once been in the fold, but is wandering faraway from the straight and narrow path. "

"A backslider, " says he, eying my face over his spectacles. 

"Hardened, " says she. 

"Take her to the anxious-seat. Brother Blank is just the man for hercase. You've heard of Brother Blank, just from the West, and burningwith zeal. Heard of the way he converted a blacksmith out there--agreat, stout, burly, unregenerated fellow. Why, compared to him, thispoor, sinful creature is just nothing. That was a mighty work. What, younever heard of it? Well, I was there, and heard all about it on thespot. 

"You see, Brother Blank, who belongs to the Methodist wing of thiscamp-meeting, was sent out by the conference to a sparse Westerndistrict, where the meeting-houses were a good way apart, and there wasany amount of horseback riding to be done. On the cross-roads, near oneof the stations, there was a blacksmith shop, where a great, two-fisted, tough old sinner was blowing up red-hot coals into red-hot flames, morning and night, which ought to have reminded him of the eternal fireswhich threatened him, but only kindled his wicked soul into fiercerebellion against God. 

"Now this fellow had an awful spite against the ministers, and never leta new one pass his shop, without going out with his leather apron on, and a hammer in his hand, to scare the pious soul half to death withabuse, if nothing worse. When Brother Blank came on the district, he hadto ride by the four corners like the rest; but he was a brave soldier ofthe Cross, and rode a first-rate horse, besides being a tall, powerfulman in body as well as in spirit. I rather think he had heard of theblacksmith, but that made no difference to him, he neither rode fasternor slower when he came in sight of the shop, but looked straight ahead, and trusted in the Lord. 

"The moment Brother Blank came in sight, that miserable heathen broughthis hammer down on the anvil with a crash, flung it across the shop, andwent out with his fists clinched, his great bony chest bare, and hiseyes blazing like sin. 

"'Hallo!' says he, standing right in the middle of the road. 

"'Hallo!'

"Brother Blank drew up his horse, and says he:

"'What's wanting, my friend?'

"'I want you to just tumble down from that saddle, and pay toll, ' saysthe old sinner. 'No minister passes this corner without stopping to takea thrashing from these. '

"Here the blacksmith held up two clinched fists, hard and black assledge-hammers. 

"'No nonsense; but get off, I say, ' he bellowed out. 

"Brother Blank had a heavy whip in his hand, with a short plump lash, which he began to play with. 

"'Get down, I say!'

"Brother Blank got down and laid the bridle on the neck of his horse. 

"'Now step out here and take it like a man, ' says the blacksmith. 'Thelast two ministers were such puny fellers, there was no fun in thrashingthem; but you're something worth while. Stand out, I say. '

"While he was talking, the fire-blowing wretch rolled up his red flannelshirt-sleeves to the elbow, and went at Brother Blank with both fists. 

"Now, sisters, Brother Blank is a true Christian--meek as a lamb inprayer and persuasion, but the sight of that audacious old sinner riledup the natural man in him awfully. He stepped back. His right arm swungout, and that whip-lash curled round the fellow's bronzed neck like agarter snake. Again and again the lash fell, now across the red face, now across the naked arms, but generally left great red welts, like thebars of a fiery gridiron, across his chest. 

"Blind with the blows, and crazy with rage, the fellow struck outfiercely, but the lash stung him at every point, and at last he was gladto yell for quarters. Then it was that Brother Blank remembered that hismission was to convert sinners. 

"'Down upon your knees, ' says he, pointing to the dusty road with hiswhip--'down upon your knees, and pray the Lord to forgive your sins. '

"Down the fellow went, plump on his two knees, and down Brother Blankwent beside him right in the dust of the street; and the way he wrestledfor that blacksmith's soul was a lesson to all faltering Christians. 

"'Lift those blood-shot eyes to Heaven and pray, ' says he, and his voicewas tender with compassion. 

"'I won't. Pray for me, ' says the sinner. 

"He did pray. All the old Adam had left Brother Blank's soul when helaid down that whip. It was flooded now with the milk of human kindness. In a voice, strong as his right arm and clear as his conscience, hepoured forth a petition to Heaven, so loud, so powerful, so full ofChristian force, that the blacksmith began to tremble on his knees, thetwo hands that had been clenched like sledge-hammers clasped themselves, till the palms met and were uplifted to Heaven as a child pleads withits mother. 

"By and by another voice--hoarse, deep, and earnest--joined with theprayer of Brother Blank. All that it said was, 'God be merciful to me asinner;' but that was enough, for there was that stout old reprobatewith his face to the earth, his broad chest swelling with repentance, and great tears making furrows through the cinders and ashes on hischeeks, penitent as a child, and meek as a spring lamb. 

"When Brother Blank saw this, his feelings came forth in a gratefulshout, tears leaped down his own cheeks, and in one voice these two menthanked God for the soul that had been saved. "

When the man with green spectacles had finished his story, he took out asilk handkerchief from the crown of his hat and wiped his own eyes;then turning to the Sugar-scoop, says he:

"Let this encourage you to persevere to the end, for 'while the lampholds out to burn, the vilest sinner may return. ' If this person ishardened in the perversity of a depraved nature, think of theblacksmith, and do not despair. "

"Did that heathen blacksmith hold out?" says I, so interested in thecindery wretch that I passed over his comments about my perversity. 

"Hold out!" says he; "I saw him at a camp-meeting three years after, andheard him tell the story with his own lips. Brother Blank himself wassitting on the speaker's stand, and the blacksmith pointed him out tothe people, and called on him to say if it was not his prayers that hadsnatched him as a brand from the burning. 

"Brother Blank got up and walked with a lazy motion down the platform. Putting both hands behind him he smiled benignly down on the agitatedface of his old enemy. Then he looked around on the congregation, andspoke:

"'Yes, ' says he, 'I really do believe that I was the humble instrumentof mauling some grace into that precious brother's soul. '

"Sisters, that was a glorious moment for Brother Blank; think of it--ahuman soul turned heavenward in the midst of its wrath; persevere withthis one. Leave her not till she is brought to the anxious-seat, and soby regeneration to membership with the church. "

"But I am a Church member, " says I. 

"A Church member?" says the man with spectacles. 

"Certainly, " says I. 

"In good standing?" says the woman, dropping her underlip. 

"A missionary from one of the first societies in the world, " says I, with becoming dignity. 

The woman with the sugar-scoop bonnet looked at the man with spectacles, and the man with spectacles looked at the woman with the sugar-scoopbonnet. Before they could begin again I bowed my head with a lofty anddignified air, and walked away; which, I take it, was something of arebuke to people whose religious zeal runs ahead of their good breeding. 

I have left that camp-ground and descended a hundred or two feet nearerthe earth again, without feeling the worse or very much the better forit. The path of duty is sometimes awful steep. I found this precipitousto a wonderful extent. I really think nothing but the saving grace ofchurch-membership kept me from the anxious-seat; but the opportunitiesof a new birth are not unlimited, and when one is folded and tetheredamong the lambs, there is a little awkwardness when you are exhorted tohave it all done over again by a new minister and another church. Fortified with a certificate of church membership, I passed through thewhirlwind and storm of this camp-meeting, with that graceful dignitywhich has won the high post you have kindly imposed on me. 

True, sisters, the pressure brought to bear upon me was long, strong, and persistent. A fierce raid was instituted against my back hair andthe soft puffings of my frizzes in front. My white hat was a terriblesource of trouble to those who want regeneration in nothing butreligion; and the feather seemed to get more notice than the preachingdid wherever I happened to take it. 

LXXXVII. 

THAT OVATION OF FIRE. 

Sisters:--I give you this little dash of camp-meeting, because I wish tolevel myself gradually and gracefully down to the gay sinfulness of LongBranch again, where the salt air is revivifying, and our return is asource of complimentary jubilation at this no-end of a hotel. We camehere in the ten o'clock boat--that floating mansion-house, which Mr. James Fisk left as a memorial of the public good a splendid sinner cando when he is active and oriental in his taste. 

I am used to these things now; but it was gratifying as we drove up inDempster's carriage from the railway to hear a glorious burst of musicswell out from a round summer-house on the lawn. A serenade of that kindwas what I had not expected, and my heart swelled with not unworthytriumph when I listened. The moment that crowd of musicians saw my whitefeather, they struck up "Lo, the Conquering Hero comes, " with a soft andtouchingly subdued sweetness, which threw an exquisite femininity intothe air, and plainly marked out its object. 

Feeling this, I bowed a graceful recognition to those superiorperformers, who answered with a prolonged blast from the most curlecuedof the long toot-horns as our carriage swept down the curving road thatforms a horse-shoe--just a little broad at the heel--in front of Messrs. Leland's hotel. 

Feeling that many admiring eyes were upon me, I stepped with dignityfrom the carriage, and walked with a downcast look, which I did my bestto make unconscious, through the gay crowd that had gathered in front ofthat long portico, only just to get a glimpse of me as I went in. 

Sisters, I had compassion on these people, and walked with slowgracefulness through their midst, determined to give even the humblest achance to see how true genius can deport itself when ovations of musicand respectful admiration recognize its greatness. 

There was a great publisher present when we got back to the hotel. Ihave no doubt that he listened to the music of that band when it gave methis harmonious reception, and I hope he indirectly felt the complimentreverberate back on himself. It was an honor he deserved to share withme, or any other high-bred, intellectual person to whom he had opened agolden pathway to the Temple of Fame through his numerous art journals. 

I had an idea of the gentleman in my mind, and tried to single him outfrom the crowd of persons standing in silent homage on the balcony as Ipassed into the hotel, but I think he was not there. 

Before the day was out, I could give a good guess at the reason why hedid not appear to claim the honor of my acquaintance. He was meditatinga delicate little surprise for me--one of those poetic fancies that takeroot only in highly artistic minds. By and by you will hear what it was. 

In Washington, and at the Grand Duke's reception at Sandy Hook--why thatstrip of salt water, which lets ships in and out from New York to theAtlantic Ocean, is called a hook, I cannot make out, for the life of me;and as for its being sandy--well, in my opinion, it is deep, salt water, and nothing else. But, as I was a-saying, in Washington, and at SandyHook, the largest guns of the nation did me homage. Here I am receivedwith bursts of music from the middle of a home-lot belonging to thehotel; but this evening the crowning glory of an ovation was given me bythe great publisher, who, unseen, and with the most delicate attention, startled me into a wild enthusiasm of gratitude. 

By guns on the water, by guns on shore, and by enchanting strains ofmusic, my appearance in society has been heralded. Now the cap-sheaf hasbeen placed on all these honors by a compliment of fire combined withthe most exhilarating music. On Saturday nights, every hotel along thebeach is crowded from ground-floor to gable, and gay as a springmorning. Then the husbands and brothers and beaux come down from NewYork, till all the trains run over with masculine humanity. When thecars come in, it really is a sight to behold. Out from a long train ofcars rushes a swarm of men, with here and there a feminine sprinkling, carrying carpet-bags, satchels, umbrellas, and little baskets of fruit. Then they cluster in a thick, black cloud around the depot, like beesswarming from their hives. The streets all around are choked up withcarriages, hacks, omnibuses, wagons, and all sorts of wheeled things, inwhich drivers sit, on the sharp watch, and ladies and girls wait fortheir men folks to get in and be drove away. I beg pardon--driven away. 

On Saturday night, every female seems to own a mate of some kind, and beon the watch for him. Then the engines give a snarl, and carriages makea grand start and go off in a line, stringing down Ocean Avenue a mileor so, and leaving clouds of dust rolling along the beach, each drivergoing it as if he were crazy to leave all the other fellows behind. 

Well, this fills the whole Branch with delightful confusion. The ladiesput on their most scrumptious dresses, and the masculines blaze in redand blue and green neckties that almost set you on fire. 

Everybody dances on Saturday night. Streams of music pour upon you incataracts if you walk up the beach after dark. All the doors and windowsare open, and you feel dizzy with the idea that all creation has gotinto one grand whirl. This is Saturday night at Long Branch, as ageneral thing; but the particular Saturday night after we came from thecamp-meeting, was the beatinest thing of all. Early in the evening thepeople seemed to flock in crowds to this hotel. They came afoot; theycame in carriages; they came by the omnibuses, load after load. CousinE. E. Was astonished, and couldn't understand it. "Never, " says she, "have I seen such a crowd before. What can it mean?"

I said nothing, but kept a deep and satisfied thinking. What did itmean? Hadn't _I_ just arrived? Hadn't the news spread? Was not this apopular uprising--a great wave of homage to the worth and genius of awoman whom I did not care to mention? These thoughts were in my mindwhen a great storm of music broke out from that summer-house in thefront home lot. Then whiz went a fiery snake, clear up into the sky, where it bent its head, opened its mouth, and poured a stream of burningstars down over the people. 

Mercy, what a great crowd those falling stars lighted up! The street infront of the hotel was black with people. The long, long stoop wasswarming with them--the ladies all in scrumptious dresses; the gentlemenwith red and blue ribbons on their hats, and the same colors glowing attheir throats. This I saw by the light of the gas-globes and of thoseshooting stars that dropped like great jewels through the still air. Thesight of that fiery snake frightened me; I jumped like a pea on a hotshovel, and gave a little scream. 

"What does it mean? What temptatious snake is it?" says I, a-tremblingall over. 

"It's a rocket, " says E. E. ; "a publishing gentleman is going tocompliment the ladies with a display of fireworks. "

"The ladies!" thought I, in silent irony. There is but one lady to whomso noble a compliment can be paid, and that lady--is--but no matter!

I did not say this in words. Let E. E. Have her vanities and her littledelusions. She does assume a few airs on account of our relationship, but I seldom notice it--let her make her little mark in society. Itpleases her, and does not hurt me. Only, an ovation like this--to thinkshe, or any one else, could share that with me, is asking a little toomuch. 

Out went another snake, curling along the grass, shooting straight up, with a venomous blue light in its folds that was enough to frighten one;but it sort of melted away in sparks, and then a great wheel offire--crimson, blue, green, yellow, rainbowish in every line andspoke--began to whirl round and round at the other end of the home lot, sending out great curving plumes of sparks, and twisting them into tenthousand rainbows, all winding, whirling, and shooting fire like a greatwheel of jewels and revolving stars. 

Another broke out, and began to whirl close to one of the mammothflower-vases, raining light down upon it, till the great white vaseshone like snow, and all the flowers it held were frosted over with abeautiful light. 

Then another wheel--another and another--kindled and burst out, sendingtorrents of fire every which way, changing, flashing, shooting outgorgeous flames of color, till the grass was all aglow with light, andflashed under the vivid rain of sparks like a meadow full oflightning-bugs. 

Now the whole front of the hotel was blazing with wheels, and the airwas alive with fiery serpents that spit forth a storm of great jewelsbefore they died. Between the wheels, tall thickets of fire started up, and rose into quivering trees, and shot golden fruit of many colors intothe air, lighting up the crowd like ten thousand gorgeous lamps tossedupward and broken as they fell. 

All this time the music was swelling through the fiery display, and thecrowd clapped hands, as if enough honor could not be done to theoccasion. My heart swelled--I felt this homage intended by this display, and the wild sympathy of the crowd filled me with a tumult of gratefulfeelings. 

I arose, and, with one hand on my heart, bowed profoundly every time thecrowd clapped its multitudinous hands. It was a glorious moment. Ilonged to meet the publisher face to face, and tell him how profoundlyhis generosity had touched my soul; but, with that modesty which everaccompanies true merit, he kept in the background, and hid away from thethanks my soul was panting to give. 

Oh, Sisters, I wish you had been here in a body to see how this greatwhite house--a half a mile or so long--was turned into a snow-whitepalace by the flood of fire in front of it. Then the sea--the great, heaving sea--on the other side of the road, was red as blood, and brightas gold, when the flames shot highest. I tell you, the golden gates ofthe New Jerusalem could not have been more beautifully luminous. 

Earth, sea, and air were kindled with light, and full of shooting-starsfor a whole hour. Then, as the fires began to wane, and the jewels tomelt, two great, tall balloons, striped red, white, and blue, wereilluminated, and sent sailing up and up in the air, each with a trail ofshooting-stars dropping along its path. Up and up, higher and higher, the balloons rose, with a slow, graceful movement, and drifted away tosea--away, away, away--till they shone like little stars, and went outin the distance. 

Then a great shout went up from the pleased multitude, which increasedto frenzy when I once more showed myself. 

My white hat was on; the feather floated out in the air like a banner. In my hand I held a fan. In the fervor of my emotion I pressed itagainst my bosom. The people saw it, and the storm of applause thatburst from them fairly took me off my feet. Emotion overcame me; Iretired from that long stoop. 

Cousin E. E. Followed me. She hasn't been herself since thecamp-meeting; and when I asked her if it was not a beautiful ovation, she shook her head and answered, that all flesh was grass, which I don'tbelieve any more than I believe that grass is flesh, which I know is notthe fact, each being itself independent grass and independent flesh. 

"Well, " says I, "call it grass, or anything you please, but wasn't thewhole thing perfectly gorgeous. "

"Yes, " says she, "it was a pretty compliment to the ladies of thehotel. "

Sisters, that jealous, provoking woman said "ladies of the hotel, " not"the lady of the hotel. " She is an aggravating creature, sometimes; I dobelieve she is jealous of the homage which is lavished on yourmissionary. At any rate speeches like this look like it. Don't you thinkso?

I said nothing. A tart reply trembled on my tongue, but the atmosphereof that camp-meeting still clung to me, and I forbore to rebuke her. 

Sisters, I was too lenient; somehow or other E. E. Has spread herselfish idea through this hotel. The ladies were all carried away by thefireworks--no, excuse me, that would be dangerous to such as had tinderytempers, but they could talk of nothing else, and made a great fussabout the compliment paid to them. To them--as if any man who has anappreciative soul would think of diffusing a compliment among a crowd often thousand people; but the vanity and presumption of some females arejust disgusting. But for the secret consciousness that no one could havebeen intended but myself, their conceit would provoke me. As it is, letthem have their conceity illusions. Others may think what they please, but I have an inner consciousness that is satisfaction enough. 

LXXXVIII. 

LET HIM GO. 

Dear sisters:--You know, or can guess, at the anxious state of mind inwhich a sensitive female-woman must have found her experiences since thegreat Grand Duke left this country. I am told that the Imperial Court ofRussia is hard to please in the way of marrying its sons--that nobilityis not considered enough, and nothing but the child of an emperor or ofa king will satisfy the pride of Czar Alexander. 

But emperors are not to be found, like huckleberries, in the woods, andthose among them that have lots and lots of children can't always findmates ready cut-out and made-up for all of them in the very uppermostcrust of all the world. 

When emperors are scarce, and imperial children plentiful, is it strangethat some of them should be sent to a free country, where the highestroyalty in all the world is to be found waiting for orders. 

Republics have but one kingly order, that of individual genius, whichranks above kings all over the world, and is aspired to by queens, whenever a queen is gifted with superior ambition, as little VictoriaGuelph was when she wrote her book of travels, and the life of herfirst-class husband. 

That which a queen hankers after, the son of an emperor may be glad tomate himself with. Is it wonderful, then, that a Grand Duke of all theRussias should aspire to the first feminine genius of a free land, andto a certain modest extent receive encouragement from her?

A union between an archduke and the first lady writer of thiscountry--excuse me, but truth is stranger than fiction--was aconsummation that you as a Society ought to expect, and this nation, inits administrative capacity, ought to have insisted upon. If an aspiringand unprotected female cannot receive the support of her own Government, where can she go for it. 

Sisters, this union between Sprucehill and Russia is a great nationalquestion, which ought to have agitated this country from the shores ofthe two oceans, the Mississippi and Rocky Mountains inclusive. 

There has been considerable of an internal rumbling sort of aconvulsion, earthquaky and threatening, in various sections, which oughtto have given timely warning of what the true national feeling was; butsomehow Russia don't seem to understand it, and I'm beginning to thinkthat there is secret treason here at home--deep, double-dyed treason--ofwhich your missionary is the object. 

It is a shameful fact that the Government has taken no sort of interestin an engagement which would have linked the two great social centres ofRussia and Sprucehill in a close and loving union. 

From the day my Alexis had an interview with President Grant myheart-history has been allowed to drag like a lazy funeral train. Before, all was bright and luminous, with beautiful aspirations; butfrom that time suspense has coiled around me, hope has flared up, blinked, and almost died out. I did not understand it then. It seemed tome that fickleness was in the heart of the great Grand Duke. 

But I did him a cruel injustice. If our two hearts and destinies aresevered, it has been by the underground machinations of thisAdministration. General Grant saw what was going on, and has cruellycircumvented two young and unsophisticated hearts that were knittingtogether, like ivy round an oak sapling. 

I am determined on it. The country shall hear of my wrongs. Sprucehillshall have redress for the insult put upon her favorite daughter. In allthat General Grant has done in the way of omission, nothing approachesthe inactivity which has wrung my heart, as wet blankets are twisted inthe strong hands of a washerwoman. 

_He_ has not written me a line. His letters must have been interrupted. Evil machinations have been at work. The Government detectives areeverywhere scattering slanders and distrust. I shouldn't wonder a bit ifthey have been to our old homestead on Sprucehill, mousing among churchregisters, and interviewing family physicians. Well, let them. Since Ilearned to write, some figures have been changed in the old FamilyBible, and, thank goodness! old Doctor Perry is dead. The keenestdetective won't find much difference between 1830 and 1850. It onlyrequires that the curve of the three should be rubbed out, and a dashsharpened to a point added. If they look for eighteen hundred and thirtythere, I can tell them it isn't to be found. Let them search--that'sall!

This was my state of mind three days ago. Now I am revivified with extraanimation. Hope has perched on my white hat and sits there waving itsfeather like a pennant. 

I am glad from the bottom of my heart that I didn't follow the dukeacross the ocean. After all a duke is only a man, hard to catch andexpensive to cage. Why should we trouble ourselves about princes anddukes and lords, when we have the most genuine of all manly articlesright under our feet. Dukes are scarce and hard to scare up, but thereare as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. That's my mottoto-day. 

LXXXIX. 

DONE UP IN A HURRY. 

Sisters:--the atmosphere of Long Branch is propitious, not to sayexhilarating, for close by this half-mile of a hotel is another, crowdedfull at this time of the year, in which we can hear fiddling and dancingevery night of the week. The hotels at watering-places are celebratedfor several things, particularly low ceilings, widows, youngish ladies, and girls like our Cecilia, who wonder every day of their lives howtheir mothers ever got along decently till they were born to tell themhow. 

Well, the most enterprising of these hotel accompaniments are thewidows. Their superior advantages of experience is just overpowering, and these advantages are used with unscrupulous freedom. I say this withfeeling, being one of the class that suffers from such unwarrantablecompetition. 

A widow was in the hotel I have spoken of. Yes, what might be called twowidows rolled into one, for she had put two husbands into their littlebeds, and tucked in the sods comfortably before she came to Long Branchin search of a third. 

Sisters, she found him; her little traps and lines and baits had beenall out to no sort of purpose for three or four weeks. She danced in theparlor, exhibited all the lines of a plumptitudinous figure at thebowling alley, which is a place I never saw, but have heard about;walked on the beach with a Leghorn hat on, curled up at the ears, and infront too, and Japanese umbrella, brown outside and yellow in theinterior, which looked as if she had lots of money and meant to put iton the market with a dash. 

There was a great deal said about this widow. Some observed that she washandsome. Some said she wasn't--mostly ladies. Some observed howgraceful she was, at which others smiled and shook their heads. Oneperson persisted in it that she was awful rich--two or three hundredthousand dollars, at least. Then that was contradicted. Forty thousandwas more than any one could prove she had. Others persisted that herwealth, like her virtues, was unlimited. In fact, being a widow, shemade the best of it and let people talk, minding her snares and trapsand things all the same. 

Last week a strange man came to that hotel. It was Saturday morning, andthe first object that his eyes fell upon at breakfast was this widow, without the sign of a cap, and with a long curl straggling down to oneshoulder, very fluffy and enticing. He looked at the curl; then his eyeswandered up to the widow's face. That face had smiled through a coupleof matrimonial campaigns, and received the first battery of admiringeyes with a sweet, downcast look, innocent as blanc-mange. Then shelifted her eyes with slow modesty, and glanced wonderingly at heradmirer, as if she were sort of bewildered by his looking so much thatway. 

The stranger did not smile, but a light came over his face when hecaught that childlike glance. Then both these innocent creatures fell toeating. Then he happened to look up again. So did she--a romanticcoincidence that sort of affinitized them to a great extent, beforeanybody saw what was going on. 

After breakfast the stranger hunted up some one who knew him and thewidow also. An introduction brought the two halves of that pair ofscissors together, and the blades fitted beautifully. All they wantedwas the rivet. But wait. 

At twelve o'clock that day the stranger ventured to ask a favor. Wouldthe widow give him a little music?

The widow said she would. The sweetness of a whole boiling of maplesugar was in her smile as she sat down by the parlor piano, and sent hertwo little hands fluttering over it like a pair of white pigeons withlove-letters under their wings. 

The widow flew her fingers; the widow looked at the stranger from underher eyelashes, and her voice thrilled through him till he began to thinkof magnolias and mocking-birds and other ornamental things which softena man's feelings down to the fluffiness of a feather bed. 

When she had done singing, he asked her to walk with him on the beach. She gave another slow lift of her eyelashes, said she would, and ranupstairs after the Leghorn and the Japanese umbrella, brown and yellow, with as many bones in it as the first April shad. 

They walked the beach up and down, she leaning heavier and heavier onhis arm at each turn. Then they sat down on the sand with their faces tothe sea, and held the umbrella so as to shade off the people on thebank--they didn't care for the sun a bit--and in that condition they satand talked and talked and talked. 

By and by he got up from the sand. She lifted her eyes with a pitifullook of helplessness. He reached out his hand, and she rose to itgracefully, like a trout to a fly. The hand clung to his more than aminute after she got up--the sand was so uneven, you see. The strangerbore this with Christian fortitude, and really seemed as if he ratherliked it. In fact, he encouraged her to hold on; and she did, with hersweet widowed face lifted to his just long enough to set his heart offlike a windmill, when she dropped it again. 

When they came up the flight of wooden steps that leads down from thebank, both her white hands were clasped over his arm as loving as thesoft paws of a kitten, and he looked like a fellow that had been outshooting doves, and had come in with his net full. 

They went in to lunch, and ate spring chickens; then they ended off withsilly-bubs, which is a sweet froth that melts to nothing on thetongue--delicious, but not exactly hearty food. 

Two hours after lunch, the stranger asked the widow to ride out withhim; which she did, in the puffiest and silkiest of dresses, and with alace parasol, lined with pink, between her and the sun. This was one ofher snares, for she depended on that pink lining for her blushes, having left them a good way behind her somewhere about the firstwedding. 

The drive was paradisical. They talked, they smiled, they said theloveliest little things to each other with delicious reciprocity. Hedrove, and divided his manly attentions between her and the horses, giving her a generous share, which was creditable to him as a man. 

It was nearly twelve o'clock that night when those two people went up totheir neglected couches--nothing but a widow would have stood the shockof such impropriety among the critical of her sex; but she didn't care amite. 

Early the next morning, which was Sunday, these two persons were seencoming out of the little cubby-houses under the beach in the queerestsort of dresses--I cannot describe them, because, up to this time, beachflirtations have been forbidden subjects with me. 

But they came out on the beach, clasped hands, and walked right into thebiggest waves they could find. 

What she said to him there I cannot tell, but by and by they came backto the hotel, the sneakiest-looking creatures you ever set your two eyeson. 

I don't know when it was that she brought him to the point, but thewidow had netted him so close that he didn't even try to flounder. 

That night there was sacred music in the hotel parlor, and, somehow, aminister of the Gospel dropped in, with a white cravat on, and waitedfor something, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. 

He hadn't been there long before the strange gentleman came in with aswallow-tailed coat on, a white vest and cravat, with ball-gloves on hishands. 

Hanging on to his arm was that widow, in a long, white dress, thatstreamed after her in windrows, and with a shower of lace falling overher. 

The minister got up, and opened his book. The people hanging abouthushed their talk, and in less than ten minutes a third gold ring waschucked over the other two that weighed down the widow's finger, and shewalked off with number three as proud as a white peacock. 

It took this widow just two days and part of a night to spring her trapsand draw her hooks--but, then, she was a widow. 

Sisters, there is a good deal of commotion in our hotel just now. Ruralsingle ladies talk of going over to the other place. 

I had a little hankering in that direction at first, but, come to thinkit over, mean to stay where I am. It isn't the house that has done this, but the bland atmosphere of Long Branch. If that sort of thing isindigenous to the place--and I mean to test it thoroughly--Russia iswelcome to the Grand Duke; a whole-souled American is good enough forme. Besides, Russia is an awful cold place, and I don't think I evercould bring myself to eat cabbage-soup or the roe of a sturgeon. 

Sisters, if this sort of thing lies in the atmosphere, don't you thinkit would be a good thing for the whole Society to come down here nextsummer? A generous diffusion of masculine energy into the course mightbe a desirable change. For my part, I don't mean to leave this placetill frost comes. I believe this thing is going to be an epidemic at theBranch, and when contagions rage I am sure to catch any disease that isgoing. I have had the measles twice, and two pretty severe tugs with thescarlet-fever. In fact, I was celebrated, as a child, for catchingdouble. One thing is certain--I never ran away because a disease wascatching, and I'm not going to do it here. On the contrary, I am makingover one of my old alpaca skirts into a bathing-dress. If I know myselfI shall fight it out on that line, if it takes all winter. 

CHAPTER XC. 

THE YELLOW FLAG. 

Dear sisters:--I have gone and done it! Now let me give you a littlewholesome advice. It comes out of my superior knowledge of the world, and experience of the human heart. Never say that you won't do a thing, because if you do, just as sure as you live it is the very thing thatyou are sure to plunge into, whether you want to or not. Besides, peoplewho know enough to doubt themselves, understand that men and women aremade up principally of human nature. Now human nature is a great fraud, and isn't to be trusted when he's found in the interior of your ownheart, or anywhere else. 

In one of my reports, I expressed myself as shocked out of a year'sgrowth, when I heard about gentlemen and ladies going into the salt-seawaves together, and submerging themselves like mermaids in the swell andfoam of the ocean. I said, in the heat and glow of modest feminineshrinkitiveness, that nothing on earth, or in the water, should induceme to do it; but circumstances alter cases, and the capacity of eternalchange is the essence of genius, which is always making new combinationsand discarding old prejudices. 

I say it with reluctance, but truth demands frankness. Sometimes I am alittle hasty in my conclusions. 

Have I said enough--need I go on to explain that the result of a thingproves its propriety?

Now, bathing in company, in the abstract, does seem--well, peculiar. Imight add other words which at one time came uppermost in my mind; but, looking toward results, I feel constrained to say nothing on the socialaspect of multitudinous ablutions, but go into the high moral questionwhich has slowly presented itself to my understanding. 

Isn't there a passage of Scripture somewhere that speaks about "fishersof men"? I think there is, and I am inclined to see that kind ofbusiness from a high moral stand-point. If men are to be legally caughtwith a dripping dress and an old straw hat for bait, who shall say thatthe thing is wrong? If men are told to go down to the sea in ships, whatshould prevent a female woman from going down in a four-cornered strawhat, a flannel tunic, and--well, pantalettes on? Everything depends onthe point of view from which one sees a thing. 

As a marine picture, salt-sea waves rushing in upon a sandy beach canhardly be considered complete without throwing a little life into theforeground; but when that life is composed of a flock of old straw hats, and a lot of staggery, blinded, dripping people under them, I can't saythat I hanker after this particular marine view. 

From an artistic stand-point then I reject the whole subject; but as themeans of catching a heart afloat, that same picture offers numerousfacilities. 

Well, sisters, as a social institution I no longer sneer at sea-bathflirtations. When two days of them end in matrimony, it isn't worthwhile to fight out the question on that line any longer. I give in. 

Such engagements may be unstable as water, but a damp engagement isbetter than none at all. 

With these sentiments, I finished off my bathing-dress, and put a redribbon over a high-crowned, square-brimmed hat, coarse and clumsy, whichwas to keep my face from the sun, and my flowing tresses from the brinyocean waves. 

Early in the morning I went out into the veranda, and took a survey ofthe ocean--the broad infinite expanse of waters into which I was aboutto plunge in search of--well, health. 

In front of the veranda, on the high bank, was a pole, like theliberty-poles we run up on almost every village green of New England. Onthat pole a pale yellow flag was flying. 

A chill ran over me, and I know that my arms must have been roughenedlike a grater. 

"The yellow-fever. " I knew it was in the harbor, shut up there by theauthorities. Had it escaped through Sandy Hook, and come poisoning thewaters along shore? Now that I was ready for the first plunge, were mybest hopes to be frustrated? Had I sat up all night sewing red braid onthat tunic, and those--well, Turkish pantalettes, for nothing? Had Iconquered a great New England prejudice, to be conquered myself bycareless health officers? Why hadn't they taken an example by some ofthe old stock, and divided the whole thing among them in perquisites? Ionly wish they had. 

Sisters, it was a keen disappointment. I was looking at that yellowflag, with tears in my eyes, when Cousin E. E. Came on to the veranda. 

"Come, Phœmie, " says she, bright as a May morning, "where is the newbathing-dress? It will be splendid bathing!"

I looked at her, I looked at the ocean and at the path that led down tothe beach, along which half a dozen real nice-looking gentlemen werepicking their steps like rabbits toward a sweet-apple trap. It wastantalizing. 

"Yes, " says she, as contented as a lamb, "it will be lovely bathing thismorning; I mean to try it. "

"Try it, " says I; "haven't you read that yellow-fever is in the harbor?"

"Well, what then?" says she. "It won't hurt us. "

"Won't hurt us, " says I. "Did you ever hear of poison getting into waterthat could be washed out? No, if it is in the harbor, some of it willdrift down here. Look, you can see it sweltering in the waves now. "

She looked out on the ocean, where a faint yellow tinge rippled andshone with treacherous temptatiousness. 

"Oh, that is only the sunshine, " says she. 

"But the fever, " says I, "I know it is in the harbor, for the newspaperssaid so. They have run up the yellow flag wherever it is to be found. See there. "

Cousin E. E. Sat down and dropped both hands in her lap. 

"Cousin Phœmie, " says she, "I really don't know whether you are a realgenius or the greatest goose that ever lived. You are just a puzzle tome. Who ever heard of yellow-fever in the water?"

"I have, " says I, "in the harbor, and isn't the harbor all water?"

"Yes, " says she, "that is true. "

"Then, isn't it dangerous to bathe in that water, and don't that flaggive us warning not to do it?"

"Cousin, " says she; "as I said before, you know too much for commonideas to make an impression. Now do try to understand. There is one shipin the harbor that has yellow-fever on board--that is all. It will notbe allowed to spread from that one ship. "

"Oh, " says I, drawing a deep breath, "then it has not poisoned thewater. "

"Not at all. "

"But the yellow flag?"

"That means good bathing, and plenty of it. Come along. Don't you seepeople crowding down to the shore?"

CHAPTER XCI. 

THE MAN THAT SAVED ME. 

I ran into my room, and came out with a bundle in one hand and a coarsestraw hat in the other. That group of gentlemen was just dropping downthe bank out of sight, and after them went a crowd of girls, with theirparasols flaming in the sun like a bed of poppies. 

"Come, " says I, all joyful animation, "I am dying to begin. "

E. E. Spread her parasol, and off we marched. 

We came to the steep bank, and went down a flight of wooden stairs tothe sandy shore. Right under the bank was a long row of cubby-houses, made of boards. 

"This is ours, " says E. E. , "come in. "

I went in. Sisters, what happened in the privacy of that boardsanctuary, is not for the public--let this satisfy the curious. 

Two ladies went into that little retreat, with bunched-up skirts, beehive bonnets, and a general assortment of dry-goods, such as weighsdown the ladies of the present generation to an extent that approachesmartyrdom. 

Two persons came out skimped down into nothingness. They had grown talland slim, not to say spooky. There was a deficiency of glossy ringletsunder the two hats that squared off in front and behind, and wereflapped down over each ear. 

E. E. 's plumptitudinous figure was mostly lost and gone, and I--well, Ifelt like a church steeple on a very high hill. I say nothing, thesubject being one of great delicacy; but from my experience in thoseTurkish--well, pantalettes--the female that begrudges her husband thatclass of garments, must hanker after change more than I do. When I cameout of the little house, Dempster stood on the sand with a pair--well, of garments like mine, only more so, on, and a flaming red uppergarment, bright enough to set the waves on fire, covering his broadbosom. 

Another gentleman stood near him--blue and brown in his sea-outfit, youngish, and with eyes that made me wilt like a poppy the moment theyfell upon me. 

My goodness, how I did feel in that dress! It was all I could do to keepfrom kind of scrouching down to hide my bare feet; but it was of no use, so I dug them deep into the sand, and felt myself blushing all over, while that gentleman in blue fixed his eyes upon them. 

Anyway, there was nothing to be so mightily timorous about, for, according to my calculation, two smaller or whiter feet didn't leavetheir prints in the sand that day, though I do make that assertion withmy own lips, that ought to be mute. 

Cousin Dempster came forward, took both E. E. And my trembling self bythe hand, and led us to the water. 

I took one glance: a swarm of straw hats, a crowd of men, women, andchildren were floundering, swimming, screaming, laughing, tumblingthrough the waves, that lifted them up, flung them down, pitched themforward, and behaved in a way that no well-bred ocean would have thoughtof doing. 

I shrank--I shivered--the heart seemed to die in my agitated bosom whenthe first wave kissed my feet; I gave a little scream, but checkedmyself bravely. The waves were full of men, some of them were looking atme. 

I determined to act bravely, and be the heroine of the occasion. I letgo of Dempster's hand. A wave struck me, my head went down and my feetwent up. In my fright and anguish I remembered their size and whiteness, and found consolation in the thought while I strove to right myself. 

It was in vain; while I staggered with one big wave, another took meunawares, like a thief in the night, and dragged me under, like a wildbeast growling over some poor helpless lamb--it tore me away. Ishrieked--I plunged--I fought madly for my life. Up through the vividgreen of the waters the sunshine came toward me like light upon beamingemeralds. I clutched at it. I tried to scream; but my mouth filled withwater, green flashes shot through and through my eyes. I began to pray. The Green Mountains, the farm, and all my life there shot through mybrain; things I had forgotten came uppermost, and those thoughts grewpleasant while the waters seemed roaring me to sleep. 

Something came toward me, bluish. Was it a monster of the deep hungryfor the life that was so fast dying out?

It seized me. I was born upward on a great wave, and swept off into thelight. The claws of some monster, or the arms of some friend, held meclose. Which was it?

Some power of good or evil, beastly or human, had dragged me into thesand, where white foam curled around me, and the sun struck down upon myeyes like fire. 

Some man was thanking another for a great favor; a crowd of people cameswarming around me. I attempted to open my eyes, but the water drippingdown from my hair came into them sharp and salt. 

"Is she sick? Is she afraid? Do tell who it is?"

These questions came from women who had rushed up from the waters, andflocked around me like mermaids. I did not care about them, but by andby it came to me that men might be there as well. I lifted my hand, swept the wet hair back from my face, and, with a smarting pain in myeyes, saw my deliverer. 

His blue garments were black with dripping water, the thick hairstreamed over his forehead, his bare feet looked hard and powerful onthe sand. It was the man under whose admiring eyes I had blushed andtrembled. 

"My preserver!" said I, clasping my wet fingers in an ecstasy ofgratitude; "shall I ever live to thank you for the poor life you havesaved?"

He smiled, he shook his head; I am afraid he laughed, such was his joyand exultation; yet the modesty of true greatness possessed him still. 

"It is nothing, " he said. "A wave knocked you head-foremost--that wasall. "

I knew better. It was the inherent greatness of a noble soul thatimpelled him to make nothing of his own heroic act. He must havesupported me miles on miles in those stalwart arms. No protest of hiscould lessen the bravery of his action or the force of my gratitude. Ifwoman's gratitude and woman's love are anything, his reward shall begreat. 

They bore me into that weather-beaten cubby-house, and there, with thehelp of E. E. , my dripping garments were taken off, my wet hair done upsnugly under the braids that had been left behind, and, filled withtender gratitude, I walked up to my hero in blue before going to myapartment in the hotel. 

"Let me see you to-morrow, " said I, pressing the hand of that heroicman. "Then I may find language to express my life-long gratitude. "

He bowed; he drew his hand, with evident reluctance, from my clasp, andretreated. 

Ah, sisters, my destiny has come! I feel it in every breath I draw, inevery sweet thought that haunts my brain. To-morrow I shall see himagain. To-morrow!

Oh, sisters, he has just left me. Alas! alas! for human aspirations. Ihad written thus far when he came. 

I received him in my room, looking pale, and, I think, interesting, forthe sweet romance of my feelings left its imprint on my features. Hecame in with hesitation, and sat down on the edge of his chair, lookingill at ease, as if wishing to escape a mention of his own heroism. Ifelt a glow of admiration, a thrill of tender gratitude. 

"You have saved my life, " I said, clasping my two hands, "and from thishour I devote that life to your happiness. Tell me how I can begin torepay you. "

He sat uneasily; he shifted in his chair. Then he murmured:

"Anything you please; I never thought of asking. It was only my duty. "

"Heroic man!" I exclaimed; "and brave as modest. It is my pleasure to bemore than grateful. Never, never can I repay you save with the warmestand sweetest emotions of a woman's heart. I owe you--ah, how much--howmuch!"

My hands were clasped, my eyes were uplifted; emotion prevented mefinishing my sentence. He spoke, while my soul halted for words--

"Well, if you think so much of just helping you out of the way of aseaward wave, supposing we say five dollars. It is my duty, asbathing-master, to help people up from the sand when they get facedownwards, as you did; but as you insist, I don't mind a fiver. "

Oh, sisters!

XCII. 

PLEASURE BAY. 

Dear sisters:--I really do think that Cousin Dempster is one of the bestcreatures that ever lived. He seems to understand all the wounds andpains that a female woman's heart is exposed to, and sort of eases themoff, so that you are cheated out of half your natural suffering. 

I cannot say that the bathing in the salt-sea waves was not a failure asa matrimonial speculation; but that is my luck. In some respects, thefuture to me is like a mirage--I put my hand out hopefully, and graspnothing but fog. 

That bathing-master was a fine-looking man until he opened his mouth andattempted to sit down on a chair. He created a pleasant delusion in mybosom for a few moments, and then--well, we will say nothing more aboutthat--the private sanctuary of a female woman's thoughts are too sacredfor a Report. 

If I wept in the stillness of the night, no one but the angel thatrecords broken love-dreams will ever know of it. With this preciousangel I am in full sympathy. He has done too much of that kind ofwriting for me not to feel the cruel pangs of the long list ofdisappointments with which his books are blotted. 

Well, I arose the next morning after my experimental bath, heavy-eyed, heavy-hearted, and altogether blue as indigo. Cousin Dempster saw this, and his generous heart seized upon a remedy. 

"Let us go down to Pleasure Bay, " says he. "What do you think of a day'scrabbing?"

"Crabbing?" says I, "just as if I didn't feel crabbed enough already. Doyou want me to keep it up all day?"

Dempster laughed; so did E. E. ; just as if I'd said something awfulfunny, which I wasn't in the least conscious of, not having a spark offun left in me since that salt-water deluge and its consequences. 

"Oh, " says he, as good-natured as pie, "there is nothing like PleasureBay when one has the blues--a lunch under the trees, and a boat beforethe breeze. "

I stopped him; the dear, good fellow was launching off into poetrywithout knowing it; association with genins is doing everything withhim. There is no knowing where he might have ended, if I hadn't liftedmy forefinger, for a whole gust of poetry was riling up in his earthlynature like yeast in a baking of bread. 

"I'll go to Pleasure Bay, " says I, "but, for goodness sake, don't trythat sort of thing again; genius isn't catching, and though you havemarried into our family, don't expect that it will spread like anepidemic into yours, because it won't. "

"Why not?" says he; "is there nothing in association?"

"Well, I can't exactly decide, " says I; "strange things do happen inthat direction. I have heard of young women marrying literary men whonever wrote a line worth reading before, who burst out into full-blowngeniuses right in the honeymoon. But it is wonderful how much theirstyle was like their husbands'. Of course, those must be cases ofespecial affinity. When a woman has ransacked a poor fellow's heart, shenaturally begins to pillage his brain, and I reckon he must like it atfirst; but after that, he subsides into himself, and she subsides intoherself, and somehow she writes just as she did before, and so does he!"

"Then there are plenty of young ladies who carry their ambition andtheir flirtations in among the newspaper people and stray Bohemians, "says E. E. , kindling up to the subject; "for every time they get into anew flirtation, which is once in about three months, their stylechanges, giving them a wonderful versatility of talent that, somehow, dies out after awhile, as she grows old and homely. "

"That is, " says Dempster, laughing, "every time a literary lady of thisstamp changes her lover, she changes her style, too. "

"Exactly, " answers E. E. , "and where she hasn't any good-natured lovershe retires into modest privacy till one comes along. "

I just listened, holding my breath. 

"What, " says I, "does fraud and deception creep into the sacredliterature of our country? I cannot believe it. "

"Can't you?" says E. E. ; "but you have never been in Bohemia. "

"No, " says I, "that is a part of Europe that I hope to visit, but neverhave. Is it a popular place for Americans?"

"Oh, wonderfully popular, for people who dash off things here and there, write for this and that, and are willing to give half that they earn andknow to any adventurer that comes along, free gratis for nothing; or, onoccasion, sell reputation by the line, and for a price. Oh, Bohemia is asplendid place for adventurers and adventuresses to forage in!"

"What!" says I, "genius sell itself?"

"Yes, " says she, "and its readers, too. "

"Cousin E. E. , " says I, "you slander the grandest, the purest, the mostsublime people on the earth. "

"Do I?" says she, nodding her head and laughing. "Wait and see. "

"Remember--you are speaking of authors, the first and purest aristocracyknown to our free nation. "

"No; I speak of would-be authors--guerillas in literature--men and womenof erratic ability, who adore inspiration and scorn work; forauthorship, I am told, and believe, requires the hardest work of anycalling in the world. "

"I'm afraid it does, " said I, drawing a long breath, "but then such workbrings its own prompt payment. The power to write is happiness initself. "

"But what has this to do with Pleasure Bay?" says Dempster; "we mean togo there--not to Bohemia. "

"Just so, " says I, a-tying on my bonnet. 

We got into Dempster's carriage, and after a delightful drive, we camedown on the edge of a little bay, with green grass growing close down tothe shore, and great, tall trees clumped here and there all around it. 

I was so charmed with the scenery that I didn't realize where we weretill the carriage stopped before a white house, with a long wooden stoopin front, when we got out and walked right away down to the shore, wherea plank platform ran out from the land, and a cunning little boat, withwhite sails, lay dipping up and down like a duck in the water. 

Sisters, I'm not timersome, but getting into a boat that rocks like acradle in the water tries me, I must own to that. With what holding onand keeping your dress well down upon the ankles, one is seized with asense of being awfully unsteady. This riles up the constitution to astate of dizziness that makes your ears buz like a bumblebee's nest. 

I was thankful to get seated at last, and, tucking up my dress, preparedat once for a long sea-voyage. E. E. Had slung a great straw gypsy haton her arm, by the strings, when she left Long Branch, which she bentdown over her head like an umbrella with herself for a handle; over thatshe spread a broad yellow parasol that blazed in the hot air like agreat sunflower. 

"Phœmie, " says she, a-looking up from under her straw tent, "didn't youbring a flat?"

"No, " says I; "the young fellows of that stamp didn't happen to be aboutwhen we started. "

"Dear me! you'll burn your face up, " says she; "that beehive is noprotection. "

"About as much as one of your York flats would be, " says I. "Butsupposing I hoist my parasol, too--one don't need a beau for that. "

The sun was pouring down like blazes, and I was mighty glad to spread myparasol, I can tell you; so I did it, and settled down on the same benchwith E. E. 

Dempster had been awful busy on shore, pulling out fish-lines, lookingup nets that swung like a great hang-bird's nest, on the end of a pole:and now he was on his knees, hacking a fish into chunks, which he tiedto a line and dropped into the bottom of the boat. At last he lifted hisgreat straw hat, wiped the blazing warmth from his face, and jumped in. 

CHAPTER XCIII. 

NETTING CRABS. 

Oh, sisters! judge of my feelings, when directly after Dempster, came asplendid gentleman--a creature of romance, shaded from the vulgar gazeby a felt hat, and dressed like a mariner along-shore. He lifted his hatto me, and also to E. E. --with a lofty reservation in her case. 

"Mr. Burke, " says Dempster, with a degree of carelessness that, I amsorry to say, is characteristic--"he will teach you how to catch thecreatures; for there is an art in it. "

"Then I shall never succeed, " says I, in a low, gentle tone of voice. "Where anything but pure nature is expected, I must always keep in theshade. You know, Cousin E. E. , what an artless young thing I alwayswas. "

E. E. Smiled--not at me but right up in the face of that strangegentleman. I declare, I never saw anything so bold in my life! But itwas of no use; he came and sat down close to me. In fact, he took theparasol from my hand with a gallant air that made my heart beat like apartridge on a log. In one respect that movement wasn't an advantage:the parasol was not large enough to shade two, and he held itcarelessly, as was natural to a dashing, splendid creature like him; butsomehow the shade always fell on his side. I felt dreadfully certainthat freckles were falling like split peas all over my face. Still hesmiled so sweetly and looked so magnificent that, freckles or nofreckles, I was ready to give him up my beehive, too, if he had onlylooked as if he wanted it. 

Dear me, how that boat did heel up and rock as we went sailing off downto a green grassy point, where the gentleman told me the crabs swarmedlike lady-bugs around a full-blown rose--pretty simliar, wasn't it, sisters, and so original?

I was dying to know what sort of a fish a crab was, never having seenany in our brooks. Were they like sun-fish, rainbowish and flat; or liketrout, sparkled over with dripping jewels; or small and silvery, likeshiners and pin-fish?

I did not like to ask that magnificent stranger about this, and let himbelieve that crabbing had been an amusement of my childhood up in theGreen Mountains--not that I said so outright--but my idea of discretionis to say nothing of a thing you don't understand, but wait and findout. What is the good of telling the world how much you don't know?

Well, I hadn't the least idea what a crab was, but the name made me feela little rily. The water was full of them; I was pretty sure to findout; so I waited. 

By and by, Dempster flung a great stone co-slash into the water, andtied us up just below a little green point of land that took thesunshine in its long grass till it seemed full of drifting gold whichspread out upon the water in soft, shiny ripples. 

E. E. Shut down her parasol. Mr. Burke shut mine. "Now, " says he, "forthe lines. "

With this he took up a lump of raw fish, gave it a swing and a splashinto the water, and handed me the other end. Dempster gave another lineand a chunk of fish to his wife, and then took one of the hang-bird netsand stood by as if he meant to do business. 

By and by I felt a sort of hungry nibbling at the end of my line, andgave it a jerk just as if it had been a brook trout, hard to catch. 

"Oh, goodness!" I just dropped the line and screamed like everything, scared half to death. If ever an innocent female caught a claw-footedimp, I came near doing it then. Why the animal, varmint, double andtwisted serpent--I don't know what to call it--clung to the bait till Ihauled him clear out of the water, and then fell back with a big sprawland an awful splash, sinking down again like a great mammoth spider thatmade the water bubble with disgust. 

"What was it? What was it?" I said, turning my scared face on Mr. Burke. "What kind of young sea-devil is this?"

He laughed, and laid down the net he had just taken up. 

"You pulled too quick, " says he. "Crabs are like women. "

"Like women, " I shrieked. "What, those horrid things? Sir, I thank you!"

My voice shook so I could hardly get the words out with proper irony. Agenerous rage in behalf of my sex possessed me. 

"You did not hear me out, " says he, pleasant as a sweet apple. "I wasgoing to say crabs were like women in this respect. They must be ledalong, enticed, persuaded up to the bait. "

"Oh!" says I, "that is a sentiment I can appreciate, but the comparisonis dreadful. "

"There is hardly anything in nature which would not be dreadful comparedto some females that I know of, " says he. 

I laid one hand on my bosom and bowed, but the next instant I felt oneof those scraggly fiends pulling at my line, and I drew it softly in, hand-over-hand. Oh, how the beastly thing crept and crawled, and spreadits scraggles as it nibbled and rose with the bait! I declare it madethe flesh creep on my bones. 

"That's right, draw gently--lure him up. Ho!"

As he spoke Mr. Burke just slid his net under the varmint, and flashedhim up into the air, bait and all. 

Sisters, there is no use in talking; if these creatures they call crabsain't great salt-sea spiders, no such animals exist; and eels ain'tfish, that's all. 

Oh, I wish you could see them crawl up through the sea-grass and spreadthemselves. I declare it is just awful. 

Well, down went this crab--which they all gloried in, being a great biggridiron of a fellow--into a hole in one end of the boat, and out wentmy bait after another. 

At one great pull I brought up two wapping big fellows at a time, andtrolled them on while Mr. Burke scooped them up. Chasing dragon flies inthe old times was nothing to it. 

E. E. Was busy as a bee on her side of the boat, Dempster ladled theanimals up for her, till we had a couple of dozen trying to creep away, and fighting each other like chickens in a coop. 

By this time I could see that E. E. , like a good many other people Icould mention, was getting sort of restless for other attentions thanthose her husband could give. She kept casting side-glances at Mr. Burke, and at last says she to Dempster:

"Dempster, it isn't expected that a man should always be a-hanging abouthis wife. It's time for you to do some netting for Phœmie. "

E. E. Said this almost in a whisper, but I heard it, and all the temperin me riled up to my throat. 

Sisters, this married woman was just dying to change off her husband forthe beau that was devoting all his energies to me. I felt that thecrisis had come that self-interest and a high moral standard demandedthat I should keep this man from the lure of a married woman. I owed itto myself, to Dempster, and, above all, to the cause of morality, tohold that man firmly to his post. 

"Phœmie, " says Dempster, coming up to me and looking as if butterwouldn't melt in his mouth, "let me scoop for you?"

Before I could speak Mr. Burke took that nefarious hint and went over toE. E. 

I gave Dempster a look of withering contempt, and flung my bait out witha splash that must have scared all the crabs out of a year's growth. 

"No, " says I, "you may be willing to desert the marital outposts, but Iwill not help you. Go back to your wife; I can catch all the crabs Iwant without help. "

"Well, just as you like, " says Dempster, and, settling down on the bowof the boat, he pulled his hat over his eyes and went to sleep, then andthere. 

Three crabs come up to my bait--nibble, nibble, nibble. I drew in theline, they crawled through the water after it. Still I drew and drew. Three great plump fellows came to the top of the water. It was a goodchance to call Burke away. He was leaning over E. E. And whispering, while she listened. 

"Here, here!" screamed I, "three at a haul. Will nobody help me?"

That man did not seem to hear me, but kept on whispering, while E. E. Listened with a smile on her lips and her eyes half shut. The sight mademe awful mad. 

"I'll catch them myself, " says I, and down I plunged my hand into thewater. I meant to grip the crab, but he gripped me. 

Oh, mercy, how he pinched and bit, and screwed his claws around my hand. It seemed as if he were twisting it into a corkscrew. I shrieked--Iyelled--I tried to shake the varmint off--to dash him to atoms againstthe side of the boat. It was of no use: his sharp claws dug into me infifty places; he bit like fury. The blood ran down my fingers, my voicegrew weaker, but it broke up that flirtation. It was a cruel price, butI paid it cheerfully. While I retain my moral sense, no married womanshall degrade her sex by a flirtation in my presence. Never, never!

Yes, my screams broke up that well-arranged plan to delude Mr. Burkefrom my side, and it broke up the crabbing party too. 

Dempster woke up and hauled in the lines. We had thirty crabsfloundering in the hold, all fighting like imps of darkness. 

"We'll have them for dinner, " says Dempster, ferociously, "they won't beso lively half an hour from now. "

He was right, it took us just fifteen minutes to sail back to that whitehouse with the long stoop. Fifteen minutes after that, every crab was inwater so hot that they gave up clawing and began to turn furiously red. 

Half an hour after we sat around a long table out under the trees, witha great platter of those scrawny creatures lying with their red shellsuppermost, a good deal easier to catch than they had been, I can tellyou. 

Mr. Burke was busy as could be, telling me how to put in my knife underthe red shell, so as to lay the sweet white flesh open. 

I say nothing, but it seemed to me there was one jealous female aroundthose premises, and that female certainly was not me. 

The meat of those creatures is just delicious--what there is of it. 

Take it altogether, sisters, it seems to me that catching and eatingcrabs is an amusement which promises better than bathing. 

If I am not very much mistaken, Mr. Burke held my hand longer than wasquite necessary when he said good-night after we reached the hotel. Isaw E. E. Looking at us sideways, and I let it rest--rest lovingly inhis clasp long enough to wring her heart. What right has she to have anyfeeling about it, I should like to know? Isn't she married?

CHAPTER XCIV. 

EXTRA POLITENESS. 

Dear sisters:--Life is a pleasant thing to have when its chariot-wheelsrevolve in smooth places. I went to bed last night angry with Cousin E. E. Ever since Mr. Burke was introduced into our party she has exhibiteda desire for gentlemen's attention which I think entirely unbecoming amarried lady. I do not wish to be severe or captious; such feelingsshould be left to maiden ladies of an age that I have not yet dreamed ofreaching. But a married woman who hankers after any other man's societythan that of her own lawful husband is--well, not to speak harshly, anexample that some people may follow, but I won't. 

This morning, as we sat on the long stoop of the hotel, gazing out onthe broad expanse of the boundless ocean, Mr. Burke came gently to myside, and spoke:

"Miss Frost. "

My heart beat; my eyelids dropped, but I lifted them, in shy innocence, to his face, inquiringly, wistfully. What would he say next?

"Miss Frost, have you ever seen a clam-bake?"

I reflected a moment. Were clam-bakes indigenous to our Vermont soil?Were they a product of the mountains, or a spontaneous growth of theriver vales?

"I do not think I have ever seen them growing in Vermont, " says I, atlast; "yet there are few roots or vegetables, wild or tame, that I don'tknow something about. There is wake-robin, on the mountains, with itsspokes of red berries; and snake-root, and adder's-tongue; but I don'tremember clam-bakes among them, and I know they are not cultivated inour parts as garden-sas, I beg pardon, as vegetables. "

Mr. Burke smiled out loud, and his black mustache curled down on eachside of his lips delightfully. 

"I fancy you have never seen anything of the kind in Vermont. Clam-bakesare only found at the sea-side--principally around Rhode Island. I don'tthink they prevail much in the mountains, as yet. "

"You don't say so!" says I. "Then they are a salt-water plant?"

"Principally found in the sand and mud. "

"That don't seem to me very remarkable, " says I; "most vegetables arefound in one or the other. Watermelons, for instance, grow best in abare sand-bank: perhaps your new-fangled vegetable is of that species?"

Again his black mustache gave a lovely curl, and his black eyes lookedinto mine so tenderly, as if something I had said tickled him almost todeath. 

"You _are_ an original creature, " said he. 

I put one hand on my heart, and bowed. 

"People about Sprucehill, especially the Society of Infinite Progress, have done me the honor to think so, " says I. 

"But about the clam-bake--if you like it, we must start for Pleasure Bayat once, " says Mr. Burke. 

"Do they grow down there?" says I. 

"Not as a general thing, but we shall make out to get one up, with alittle trouble. "

"Do they grow so deep?" says I. 

"You will see when we get there. Mrs. Dempster is ready, and thecarriage is waiting. "

To please that man I would have done almost anything; but it did seem awild-goose chase for a lot of grown people to rush down to Pleasure Bayfor the fun of pulling up a lot of the strangest vegetables that evergrew. 

"Do make haste!" cried E. E. Through the green slats of herwindow-blinds. 

I got up and shook out my dress. 

"It will be such fun!" she called out. "Mr. Burke has been so kind as toinvite us, so don't keep him waiting. "

I lifted my eyes to the dark orbs of that noble-looking man, and he musthave known from the expression that I did not mean to keep him waitingin any respect. Gently bending my head, I withdrew. 

I came from my room like a moving picture, with my black alpaca newlyflounced, and surmounted by that fleecy white jacket with great buttonsand double-breasted in front. Then my white hat, curled up victoriously, and the feather waving above it and curlecued around it, was enough totantalize a minister. 

Mr. Burke smiled graciously when he saw me come forth clad in thewhiteness of my principles, and I knew that the sympathy between us wasnational as well as individual. 

E. E. Came out of her room flaunting a red jacket and a long blackplume. Dashy for a married woman! But I said nothing. Let that youngwoman work out her own destiny; I am not her husband. I caught hersending sly glances from under her eyelashes at Mr. Burke. I wishDempster had been close by, to see for himself, that's all. 

If there is anything on earth that I detest, it is a flirty marriedwoman. 

We rode down to Pleasure Bay, four in the carriage, with that childperched up alongside of the driver. E. E. Wanted to sit opposite to Mr. Burke, and, seized with a fit of extra politeness for that occasiononly, insisted on it that I should get in first--which would havebrought me face to face with Dempster. But I, too, was suffering under asudden epidemic of good manners, and stepped back, bowing till the whitefeather shaded my face. She kept waving her hand; but I would not bepersuaded into pushing myself before a married woman, and at last shegot in, biting her lips as if she had a tenpenny nail between her teeth. I followed, looking innocent as a cat with cream on its tongue, and awaywe went. 

CHAPTER XCV. 

THE CLAM-BAKE. 

Two carriage-loads of people were at Pleasure Bay, wandering about underthe trees in front of the hotel. Down between them and the bank was alot of men piling up a heap of round stones and crossing sticks of woodover them till a high sort of a cross-beam pinnacle was built, to whichone of the men set fire. Mercy, how it blazed up and flashed through thecracks in the wood! They seemed to enjoy the blaze, and worked likebeavers around it--though I don't know how a beaver works, never havingseen one. 

Some of the men went down to the water, and, dragging up great armfulsof dark green and yellow grass, swelled out here and there with bulbsand blisters, laid it in a heap before the fire. Some of the others satdown on the rocks, with pails of potatoes and sweet corn between theirknees, which they began to wash and tie up in their husks. 

I was awful curious to know what all this was about, but made up my mindto wait and see; for Mr. Burke seemed so anxious and busy that I didn'twant to stop him by asking questions. 

When the wet weeds, potatoes, and corn came on, I thought that the nextthing would be some clam-bake; but instead of that, a fellow came downfrom the house with a lot of young chickens, picked clean, which hecarried by the legs, and another loafed up from the water with threegreat horrid green monsters, like crabs swelled out--green as thesea-weed, and so dreadfully crawly that the very sight of them made mecreep all over. 

"What on earth are those creatures?" says I to Dempster; "mammothcockroaches that have taken to a seafaring life, or what?"

"Why, lobsters, " says he. 

"Lobsters!" says I. "Not a bit of it. All the lobsters I have ever seenwere bright red, and still as mice. "

"That was after they were cooked, " says he. "Wait till these come out, and they'll be red enough, I promise you. "

Well, I waited and watched, for what these men were up to was more thanI could make out. When the wood was all burned down they brushed thecoals and ashes away with an old broom, and two colored men came up fromthe shore, carrying a two-bushel basket full of little longish-roundcreatures, hard as stone, and with a long black sort of a knot hangingout of one end. They were dripping wet, and pieces of sea-weed clung tothem, as if they grew in the water like the crabs and lobsters. 

Well, when the ashes were swept away, and nothing but the hot stoneswere left crowded close together, the two nig--well, colored persons, lifted that great basket between them and poured the round creaturesamong the hot stones till they sissed again. Then they piled on a heapof sea-weed, and a cloud of steam came pouring through. Then anotherlayer, and over that the potatoes and corn were poured down and laid on. Then another layer of weeds, and the chickens and three great largefish, done up in cloths, were laid out for a steaming, and with themthose live, green lobsters. Oh, mercy! how they did spread their clawsand crawl through the sea-weed! It was enough to make you creep allover; but the men soon smothered them with steaming grass, which heavedup and down for a while, and then sank off, till the lobsters lay asdead as the chickens, and made no more fuss about being roasted alive. 

By this time the whole heap--grass, chickens, corn, lobsters, and othershell creatures--was big as a small haystack. At last the two coloredpersons came down with a long tin pail, in which was a roll of butterand some vinegar. They sunk the pail down into the steaming sea-grass, clapped the corn on, and buried it with all the rest. Then more sea-weedand an old boat-sail flung over all, and that little mountain ofroasting things was left to steam and sizzle while the whole party wentto take a walk along the shore. 

Mr. Burke kept by my side, and part of the time he carried my parasol, shading my face with it in the tenderest way. 

He said something about the clam-bake, but I had really got so sick ofeverything in the fish, fowl, or vegetable line, that a curiosity, moreor less, was of no consequence, so I said I should know how I likedclam-bakes better when I had seen one. 

He answered that would be soon, for half an hour was enough to put onethrough. 

Sisters, I was in no sort of hurry about it, for the rest of them werebusy chatting and talking, so that we were just as good as alone, andthe moments were precious as gold sands in an hour-glass. 

By and by some one set up a shout. Mr. Burke wheeled right round, andsays he:

"They are going to open the clam-bake; come and see it done?"

CHAPTER XCVI. 

THAT CLAM BAKE. 

He walked fast. I followed him with reluctant footsteps. What did I carefor clam-bakes or any other new-fangled vegetable while he was by myside?

The crowd were all around that heap of sea-weed when we came up. Men, women, Irish help, and nig--well, colored freemen, with eager eyes andopen mouths, were waiting for the sail-cloth to be taken off. On thegrass, under the trees, a great long table was set out with plates, glasses, castors, and things. At the end, two pails of ice, with thenecks of a dozen bottles peeping up like hungry birds in a nest, stoodready for somebody to uncork. 

Well, the nig--freedman gave that sail a jerk, and a cloud of saltysteam rolled up from the sea-grass. Then he raked away a winrow of that, dug out a pail of melted butter and vinegar, and held a lobster up byone claw, looking red as a British soldier's jacket. The creature hadgiven up fighting, and hung in his hand meek as Moses. The poor thingwas green enough when he went in, but came out blazing red and steaminghot. 

More sea-weed; chickens dripping with gravy; heaps of corn; potatoes, mealy, and broken open; fish, and then those longish-round shellthings, heaped in plates and dishes, were carried off to the table. Wefollowed those dishes; we sat down to eat. Those longish hard-shelledcreatures had all burst open, and something that smelt delicious layinside, with black heads sticking out. 

I watched to see what the rest did with those animals, then seized oneby the head, drew him out, soused him in the melted butter, and droppedhim softly into my open mouth. 

"Delicious, scrumptious, beyond anything I ever ate in my life, " says I, when Mr. Burke leaned toward me and wanted to know how I liked it. "Butwhat are these black-headed things with shells, called?"

"Oh, soft-shells--the best part of the clam-bake, I think, " says he. 

"I reckon you are right, " says I, taking another little fellow by thenape of the neck, and biting him off at the shoulders. Then I drank aglass of the sparklingest cider you ever tasted, and went in for an earof corn, smoking hot, and the breast of a chicken. 

Mr. Burke wanted me to eat some of the red lobster, but the thought ofit made me creep all over, so I asked to be excused, and said Ipreferred a dozen or two more soft-shells. 

There was a good deal of first-rate cider drank around that table, andwe left a bushel of open shells under the trees, besides a heap oflobsters, clams, and chicken bones, well picked. 

Then we went back to look at the place where they had been cooked, andfound nothing but a heap of smoking stones, a ring of burnt grass, and apile of steamy sea-weed. Somehow, the sight of it all made me feel sortof faint, and it didn't seem to me that I should ever want to eat ordrink again. 

We went home from Pleasure Bay in the carriage, feeling lazy and kind ofhalf sea-sick. 

That night I dreamed that a whole regiment of green lobsters werecrawling over my bed, clawing at me fiercely as they went. Then Ithought that Mr. Burke came and shoved them off with both arms flungout, and invited me to breakfast on a heap of empty shells, dipped inbutter, which set awful heavy on my stomach. 

In fact, I had a worrying night, and got up feeling as if I had beenfeasting on tenpenny nails and roasted flat-irons. 

XCVII. 

ONE HOUR OF HEAVEN. 

Dear sisters:--You haven't the least idea of what warm weather is inVermont. Why, if one of your mountain trout streams could have runthrough New York, it would have boiled over and cooked the poor littlespeckled creatures that live in its waves. You never saw anything likeit in your born days. The sea breezes at Long Branch seemed to come overan ocean of melted lead, blasted up by some old furnace of a volcano. For one whole week I was just dying of envy, when I thought of the pigsroving loose in our village, with such lovely mud puddles to lie downin, without caring a sumarke whether their clothes were mussed--excusethat word, I got it here in York--or not. 

While I was panting for breath on the sea-shore, I could think of them, with home-sick longing, up to their throats in the soft, mushy fluid ofa delicious puddle, with swarms of yellow butterflies rising, floating, and settling around them, as if a bed of primroses had got tired ofgrowing in one place, and had burst off on a grand spree through theair, settling down for a drink now and then. 

Yes, sisters, I was brought, in the hot blast of those summer days, to astate of unchristian envy, and would have been glad to swap places withflounders, or have slept in some cellar, with a block of ice for apillow. 

But nothing that I ever saw lasts for ever, or if it does I haven'tlived long enough to prove it. Still, one gets restless in weather likethis, when human beings are dropping down dead in the streets of a cityclose by in dozens, from sunstrokes. 

This morning I sat in my room, with a short gown and not over manyskirts on, looking through the green slats of my door, and watching thesunshine shimmer down on the waves where the little white vessels werefolding their sails, and going to sleep like birds too lazy for flying, when a colored person came to my door, and says he:

"Mr. Burke's compliments, and will Miss Frost take a walk with him onthe beach?"

I started up, and, says I:

"Won't I!" Then I composed myself, and sent back compliments, and MissFrost will have great pleasure in complying with Mr. Burke's politeinvitation. 

When the--colored messenger was gone, I sat down in the Boston rocker, clasped my hands, and drew a deep, deep sigh of ecstatic expectation. Then I remembered that he was waiting, and sprang to my feet. 

With my two shaking hands I fastened the other woman's hair over my own, that would neither curl nor friz worth a cent that awful hot day. Then Iput on a white muslin dress, that looked seraphically innocent, andtightened it up with a plaid silk sash, that circled my slender waistand floated off like a rainbow breaking through a cloud. 

Then I took my parasol in one hand, held my flowing skirts up with theother, and went forth to meet my destiny. Oh, how my feet longed todance! How my girlish heart beat and fluttered in this innocent bosom. 

He was waiting for me in the long stoop, leaning against a post, andfanning his manly head with the broad brim of his Panama hat. Oh, howmajestic, how--but language fails me here. 

Arm in arm we walked along the beach. He leaned toward me, I leanedwith gentle heaviness on him--delightful reciprocity--eloquent silence. A soft breeze blew up from the ocean, and kissed us both with refreshingsoftness. 

"Ah!" said the noble man by my side, "this is delicious. "

"Deliriously so, " I murmured. 

"You feel the revivifying effect?" says he. 

"Exquisitely, " says I, leaning a little more confidingly on his stalwartarm. 

He bent his stately head and looked down into my eyes. Sisters, thethrill of that glance shook my delicate frame as bumble-bees set afull-blown rose to trembling when they swarm in its heart. 

"Shall we go down to the sands?" says he; "the incoming tide is dashingthem with coolness. "

I understood the delicate meaning conveyed in these words. Nothing couldbe more exquisitely suggestive. The tide--what was that but his ownnoble self? The sands--pure, white, untrodden--in my whole life I neverheard anything more typical. 

"If you desire it, " I said. 

"If I desire it. Ah! Miss Frost, it is for you to say. "

My heart leaped to this as a speckled trout snaps at a fly. Nothing sonear a proposal had ever reached me before. But a New England woman ismodest; she does not snatch at the first offer--far from it. I pretendednot to understand the badly hidden meaning of his metaphor. A little artof this kind is feminine and excusable, even in a young girl dignifiedwith Society membership and a mission. I felt that he could appreciateit. He did. Some people were below us on the sands. They paused to lookup as this noble creature handed me down those wooden steps. The effectmust have been artistical. My cloud-like skirts floated softly on thezephyrs. My scarf streamed out like a banner. I am afraid the curve ofmy boot might have been seen from below, for many admiring faces wereturned that way, and Mr. Burke cast his eye downward in a fugitivemanner. 

At last we reached the sands, on which both the sun and waves werebeating luminously. By a ridge of white sand he paused. 

"Shall we sit here?" says he, with tender questioning. 

"Anywhere, " says I, with sweet feminine complacency. 

Then I dropped down on the sand ridge, and sweeping my skirts together, cast a timid glance up and around. 

That noble man was spreading a silk umbrella. There was a hitch in thespring, and, such was his eager impatience to occupy the seat I had sodelicately suggested, that a real naughty word broke from his lips--aword I, as a missionary, never could forgive, if it hadn't been theproof of such loving impatience. As it was, like a recording angel, Iblotted it out of my memory with a forgiving sigh. 

That refractory umbrella was hoisted at last, and its owner placedhimself on the sand beside me, holding it not seaward, but like a tent, shading us two from the whole world, while the sun took care of itself. 

"This, " says he, "is a sweet relief. Don't you find it so, Miss Frost?"

I answered him with a sigh, soft, but audible. 

"Yes, one can draw a full breath here, " says he. "I was sure you wouldenjoy it. "

"I do, indeed, " says I, playing with the sand in the innocence of myheart. 

Evidently embarrassed by deep feeling, he too began to sift the whitesand through his fingers, which came so near mine that they made mecatch my breath for fear he might clasp them. On the contrary, he gaveup the temptatious exercise, and throwing a generous restraint onhimself, began to talk metaphorically and metaphysically about manythings, especially about gathering maple-sap, of which he questioned metenderly, veiling the hidden meaning in his heart, by a seeming interestin our trees. 

He asked me, with infinite meaning in his voice, at what period thesparkling sap began to mount up from the curly roots of our maples, andvivify the trunk, twigs, and branches of that noble tree. 

I understood his meaning, delicately veiled as it was. He wished toreveal his contempt of young saplings compared to the vigorous tree. Itwas a poetic way of comparing young snips of things with whole-souledgirls, who had all the bloom of youth, and all the strength of maturity. 

I spoke my mind on the subject. I said that strength, greenness, afull-grown trunk were necessary before sweet wholesome sap couldcirculate from root to top of a sugar maple. That saplings amounted tojust nothing at all. In fact, they kept absorbing, but gave forthnothing; that a rich maturity was desirable before the maple becameimportant as a forest-tree or an object of wealth. 

I think he understood me--or rather he understood that I, with theexquisite intuition of genius, understood him. For right off, on that, he said that he would like to live in Vermont, and own maple-treeshimself; that native sugar was a sweet business, and must have asoftening tendency upon those who entered into it. 

He sometimes bought it of little boys in the cars, and always felt asoothing influence after eating it, that made him long to drink thenative sap fresh from the tree. In fact, he took a deep interest inVermont and all its institutions. 

While we were talking on these sweet subjects, quite a breeze sprang upfrom the water. 

Things brighten around us. The sky looked blue. The heaving waves of theocean began to swell and sparkle as if a diamond mine were breaking upin their depths. I am satisfied that Long Branch is all that it has beencracked up to be--and more too, when kindred souls meet on its sandyshores. 

"How bright! how beautiful!" says he, backing off suddenly from themaple question, which had covered a world of hidden meaning, and lookingout to sea, with a delicate wish, no doubt, to spare my blushes. 

"Some persons have been kind enough to think so, " says I, "but it isn'tfor me to say. "

"I love the fitful changes--the soft transparency: nothing can be morelovely, " says he. 

The occasion required downcast eyes and shrinking silence. I gave himboth. There could be no better answer for a speech so personal and yetso poetic. 

"I hope you share my feelings in this. "

That moment--that precious, precious moment--was broken in upon in a waythat makes me clench my teeth as I write. Up the sands, racing forwardlike a young colt, came "that child, " with her flat flying back by thestrings, and a broken parasol in her hand; up she flew toward Mr. Burke. 

"Come here, " says she, "I want you to whip that boy out there within aninch of his life. I broke my parasol over his head, but it wasn't halfenough; I want you to give it to him good. "

"But what has he done, " says Mr. Burke, no doubt riled to the depths ofhis noble heart, as I was. 

"Done enough, I should think. He mimicked the way I carried my parasol, and said some folks wanted to be young ladies before they couldread--that's what he has done, " says the creature, flaming out like abantam. 

"Perhaps we had better go in, " says Mr. Burke, lifting himself out ofthe sand. 

"Not till you've given him hail Columbia, " says the creature, taking anew grip on her broken parasol. 

"I rather think he has got that, " says Mr. Burke, reaching out his handto help me up. 

I arose. I jerked that Leghorn flat by the strings, and tied it underthe creature's chin with a pull that made her scream. Then I took Mr. Burke's arm and mounted the wooden steps, with a feeling at my heartthat is not to be described by mortal pen. What a world of bliss thatwicked little wretch broke in upon. His soul was verging towards mine sobeautifully. The final words were burning on his lips when she rushedin. Still, memory is left, reason is left. I know what was in thatnoble heart, and that knowledge is bliss. 

I felt this: I knew his meaning. To a common woman he might have said, "I love you dearly. I wish above all things to spend my life with you;"but to a creature made up of sensitive pride and poetic niceties, unclothed proposals of this kind must be quite out of place. Of course Iunderstood all that, and felt the refinement of his conduct deeply. 

What more _could_ a man say than this? In order to be delicatelypersonal, one must talk by comparisons. To praise the State one is bornin, is to praise one's self. To seize upon any material thing for apoetical comparison with a human being, is to be intensely complimentaryto that being. 

For the first time in my life I feel the sweet certainty of duplication. My heart swells with the beautiful faith of hope deferred. Thoseheavenly lines we have sung so often together in our meeting-house comeback to my mind--

 "To patient faith the prize is sure--"

I dare not go farther and complete the rhyme, because human sensationshould not encroach on the divine; but the spirit of that hymn sings inmy heart; for if there is anything on this earth that woman should begrateful for, it is love. 

Yes, my sisters, at last I feel that I am beloved. A ray of sympatheticfeeling has darted from a grand and noble soul to mine, changing thatdull, sandy coast to Elysium. 

Last night, when I retired to the secrecy of my chamber, it seemed to methat if ever a woman's heart--beg pardon, a young girl's heart--was bornagain, mine had become more tenderly infantine than it was when I layone week old in my loving mother's arms. 

The moonlight was streaming through the muslin curtains of my room whenI entered it. It was an ovation of silvery light dawning upon the newlife that opens before me. I do not know how other people feel when thecrisis of fate is on them, but in my heart there is room for nothing butinfinite thankfulness. 

Yes, sisters, I think you can conscientiously congratulate me. Virtuedoes sometimes meet with its own reward, especially when it is combinedwith youthfulness, elegance, and high mental attributes. 

XCVI. 

C. O. D. 

Dear sisters:--The cruelty of one female woman to another is somethingawful. As a general thing, E. E. Dempster is a good-natured, amiableperson, but her conduct on the very day after that heavenly season onthe shore was worthy of the Spanish Inquisition. She has lacerated theheart in my bosom, and torn me away from this place like a ruthlesshighwayman. That is what she has done. 

Early in the morning, while I was dreaming sweetly of the sea-shore, that unfeeling female rushed into my room. 

"Phœmie, " says she, "you can't sleep any longer. We are packing up forthe city. Cecilia has been insulted here, and I won't stay another hourin the place. "

"What! what is it?" says I. "How could you! He was just giving upmetaphor and coming squarely out in the sweetest way. "

"You will have no more than time to pack your trunk before the trainstarts, " says she. 

"Starts--what for! where?"

"For New York, and after that to Saratoga; Cecilia insists on it, poor, sweet darling. "

"For New York?" says I. 

"On the way to Saratoga. "

"But--but who is going. Is--is--?"

"Why, you and I, Dempster, and that sweet, ill-used child. Would youbelieve it, that rude boy's father refuses to whip him, and said a girlthat could give a black eye with her parasol was--well, I can't find theheart to repeat it. At any rate, she doesn't stay another hour under thesame roof with that little fiend. "

"But is that all--Oh, tell me is no one else going?" says I feeling asif a ton of lead had been heaped on me. 

"Dear me. There is no one else to care for the poor child. Of course, noone will take it up but us. So make haste. "

Out she went, leaving me just heart-broken and ready to give up. Howcould I go? how could I leave him and "the Branch, " as if my soul werefleeing from his?

It was of no use. E. E. Was set upon going, and I couldn't help myself. 

Well, sisters, two hours after I left that bed we had packed up bag andbaggage, given a cart-load of trunks for the express-men to smash orcarry, just as they liked, and then took a little run of railroad, and asail in a steamboat so grand and airy, and no ending, that we began tofeel sorry that James Fisk was dead, or that his splendid ghost didn'troam along the steamboat track and keep things ship-shape, as he leftthem. 

Well, in that steamboat we reached New York, warm, restless, and nighabout ready to give out, or take a friendly sunstroke and be peaceablycarried away to a cool vault in some shady graveyard. 

I mentioned this alternative to Cousin Dempster, but he shook his headand answered that some of us might find ourselves waking up in a moreuncomfortable place than the streets of New York; which I thoughtimpossible, but said nothing. 

Well, we had a few hours to stay in the city before a boat would beready to take us to Saratoga Springs--a name that sounded so cool andrefreshing, that I longed to get there and breathe again. 

Cousin E. E. Said, when we went ashore:

"Phœmie, " says she, "there are a few hours before us; suppose we goa-shopping? I want ever so many things. Saratoga is a dressy place, andI haven't a thing to wear. "

Then, before I could object, says she to Dempster:

"A check, my dear, or if you have the funds on hand. "

Dempster gave a sigh that shook his manly bosom through and through, andsays he:

"There, " drawing a roll of bank bills from his vest pocket, "will thatdo?"

E. E. Unrolled the bills and sorted them out. 

"Ten, twenty, fifty, ten, ten, ten, fif-- Why, Dempster, what do youmean? How far will a hundred and fifty dollars go? I want to spend morethan that on Valenciennes lace for Cecilia's dress. The child must havesomething to wear. "

She spoke in a grieved, half-angry way, that touched Dempster to theheart. He took out his pocket-book, but not another sign of money was init. Then he felt in three or four pockets with the air of a man who wastormented with doubts of finding anything. At last he stopped looking. 

"I haven't another red cent about me, dear. Indeed I haven't. "

"Dear me, what am I to do? There is a guipure sacque at Stewart's that Imust have. "

"Couldn't you get along without it?" says Dempster, with such patheticearnestness that I really felt sorry for him. 

"Get along without it! How can you ask?"

"That Brussels lace thing, " faltered Dempster. 

"What, that? I have had it six months at least; besides, I saw anotherjust like it at the hotel, and that is enough to disgust one withanything. If people will pattern after me, I can't help it. Then againone gets so tired of the same thing. "

"But I have no more money. "

"Can't you draw a check?"

"My check-book is at the office. "

"Always so when I want anything. Now, Dempster, this is too bad. "

"Well, " says Dempster, desperately, "get the thing, and tell Stewart tocharge it?"

Cousin E. E. Turned her face away. It was awful cloudy, and I could seethat she was biting her lips. She had an awful long bill at Stewart'salready. Then her face lighted up. 

"Can't I have them sent C. O. D. , by express? You will have time to getplenty of money before then, " says she, as soft as silk weed. 

"I hate the system, " says Dempster; "money in hand is the only way alady should make purchases. Then she knows what she is about. Everythingelse leads to extravagance. I hate bills as if they were copperheads;they are things I never will forgive. "

I saw that E. E. Turned pale, and a red flush came around her eyes as ifshe were just ready to burst out a-crying. 

Dempster thought it was because he had stood out about the money andgave in a trifle. 

"For this once, " says he, "have the things charged, but bring the billwith you. I must know what I am about in these matters. "

"But I mightn't find them all in one place. Hadn't we better make it aC. O. D. , just for once?" says she, pleading for her own way as if hermouth were full of humble pie. 

"Do as you please for this once, " says he, half out of patience, "butremember, I am set against bills and running accounts--pay as you goalong, is my motto. "

E. E. Drew a deep breath, and, putting the money in a little mite of aleather satchel fastened to her side by a belt, took up her parasol andprepared to march off. 

Cecilia followed after, surveying her little toadstool of a parasol, andstooping forward as she walked, like an undersized kangaroo. 

I only wish E. E. , or even Cousin Dempster, could see that child as Isee her. But they can't. Where she is concerned, they seem born fools, both of them. 

Well, off we went one way, and Dempster the other--he to get the money, and his wife to spend it. I looked on, and wondered how any man livingcould afford to get married. The whole thing made me down-hearted, andhalf-ashamed of my relationship with a woman who could worry money outof her husband like that, and not feel how mean she was--could not mycousin see that she was poisoning the soul of her own child by anexample which she was just as certain to follow as she was to live. 

Well, we got into a carriage and drove up Broadway; but instead of goingto Stewart's great marble building, E. E. Stopped at some other places, and kept buying and buying till I got tired out, and sat on a roundstool by the counter, saying nothing, but thinking a good deal. Eachplace we left, I heard her say, "Grand Union Hotel, Saratoga: C. O. D. , "till I got tired to death of the word. 

At one place my cousin and that child had a grand set-to in the store. Cecilia wanted a bright-red silk dress to wear under her lace one; butE. E. Liked blue best, and ordered it. Then Cecilia declared she didn'twant any dress at all, broke her new parasol striking it against thecounter, and ended off by flinging herself down on a stool and drummingher feet against the counter--so mad that she cried till everybody inthe store heard her. 

Of course E. E. Gave in, just to pacify her, while I would have givenfifty of the brightest silver dollars ever issued by the U. S. Government, for the happiness of giving her the neatest little trouncingshe ever got in her life. But luxuries like these, I can hardly expectjust yet. How that cousin of mine can give up a parental prerogative sotempting to the hands I cannot imagine. I really would not put so muchpleasure off an hour. 

XCVII. 

TAKEN IN. 

Well, after trapesing about from one store to another till I was nighabout tired to death, E. E. Concluded that she had got through hershopping, except a few things that we could carry in our pockets, whichkept us rushing in and out of every little shop we came to for an hourlonger. Then she said we would stop into Purssell's and get something toeat, for she was beginning to feel hungry. This had been the case withme ever so long; not that I hankered much in hot weather for heartyfood, but I felt a sort of faintness; and when she said something aboutPurssell's having delicious peaches, I knew that they were exactly thething which would appease all the internal longing of my nature. 

But just as my mouth was beginning to water, E. E. Took out her watchand gave a little scream. 

"Why, " says she, "who would a-thought it? We have but just fifteenminutes to reach the boat in?"

My heart sank. The taste of those peaches had almost got into my mouth, but now a taste of dust came in their place. I could just have sat downand cried. 

"Never mind, " says E. E. ; "we can get dinner on board. "

"Dinner on board!" Thin soup; hot meat down in the bottom of asteamboat, with a smell of oil, sour water, and musty linen all aroundyou--that is what "a dinner on board" means, and nothing else. The verythought made me feel rily about the temper--all that I wanted was somepeaches. 

You will not wonder, sisters, that I hankered after this deliciousfruit, which is about the only good thing that grows which we do nothave in the old Vermont State. Only think of them--round, plump, juicy;with the redness of a warm sunset burning on one side, and pale-goldglowing on the other; cool, delicious, melting away in the mouth with aflavor that just makes you want to kiss some smiling baby while it ison your lips! Think of them! then imagine my feelings when I was hurriedinto a hack, and rattled off to the steamboat with the promise of a hotdinner in its internal regions. We saw peaches on every hand as we drovealong--in stores, on street tables, in baskets carried by Irish women, who looked up at the carriage-window pleadingly as we drove along. 

"Wait one minute, " says I, as a woman came up with her long basketbrimming over with the luscious fruit; "I must have some peaches. "

"Not a second, " says E. E. ; "don't you see Dempster beckoning from thedeck? The last bell is ringing. Come, come!"

The Irish woman lifted up her basket, and stood there enticing me. E. E. Rushed up the plank, calling out: "Make haste, make haste!"

Cecilia sung out: "Come along, Phœmie!"

Two men had hold of the plank bridge. I had to cross then, or be leftbehind. I cast one yearning look towards the basket, rushed up theplank, and stood panting, by the side of Dempster. 

"Oh dear, it is too bad!" says I. 

"What is it, Phœmie?" says Dempster. 

"Peaches!" says I. "Those delicious peaches--see how they glow in thesunshine!"

"Oh, nonsense! There is plenty on board, " says he; "I'll go and getsome. "

"Not yet, " says E. E. ; "the deck is so crowded. "

Dempster got seats for us and a stool for himself. The crowd was packedso close that one could hardly breathe. I was thirsty, I was tired out, and just ready to cry. E. E. Was tired also, and a little cross. Ceciliawas just as she always is--a nuisance. I felt like thanking Dempsterwhen he jumped up, and says he:

"Now for the peaches!"

Away he went, just as good-natured as could be, calling back for me tokeep his seat for him. I laid my parasol on it, and kept my hand onthat; but a minute after came a great heathen of a fellow and attemptedto take the stool. 

"It is engaged, " says I, pressing down my hand. 

"What of that?" says he, jerking the stool away, and throwing my parasolon to the floor. "Every one for himself, and no favors. "

I was blue as indigo before that. At another time this creature wouldhave riled me into a tempest, but now I felt more like crying. But therehe sat, plump on the stool, looking as self-contented as if butter wouldnot melt in his mouth. 

Dempster came back. I looked up longingly. His hands were empty. 

"I am very sorry, " says he, "but there isn't a peach on board. "

Well, there I sat, with the sun pouring down on me, while E. E. Read theillustrated papers, and that child made herself generally numerous amongthe passengers. After awhile I got up to look over the side of thevessel, when that horrid wretch snatched up my seat and carried it off, looking back at me and laughing. 

I said nothing--what was the use?--but leaned against the cabin-door, holding my satchel, the most forlorn creature you ever saw. Just thensome one spoke to me. I looked round. It was a roly-poly, oldish woman, who spread considerably over her chair, and held a travelling-basket onher lap. She had found an empty stool, and asked me to take it. 

I sat down while she smiled blandly upon me. 

"Never mind that fellow, " says she. "Some men are born animals of onekind or another, so let them go. "

Her words were kind--her manner motherly. I liked the woman. She is notelegant, I thought, but who could be with all that breadth of chest andbrevity of limb? I smiled and thanked her, wondering who she was. 

"Pretty scenery, " says she, pointing to the bank on which somecottage-houses, and a wooden tavern with red maroon half-curtains at thewindow, seemed to set the whole neighborhood on fire. "Now I would giveanything for a house like that. Snug, isn't it?"

She might have been looking at the wooden tavern, or at a cottage closeby with a beautiful drapery of vines running along the porch. "Ofcourse, " thought I, "she means that. "

"Yes, " says I, "it looks delightfully quiet. "

She nodded, and opened her basket, a capacious affair, quite largeenough to hold half a peck of peaches. My mouth began to water. Perhaps--

"Take one, " says she, handing over a cracker. 

I took the disappointment, and tried to eat, but with that hankeringafter peaches in my throat it seemed like refreshing one's self onsawdust. She noticed this, I think, and, with a little hesitation, looked into her basket again, then closed it, and, looking towards me, whispered--

"That's dry eating. Come down to the cabin, and I'll give you somethingnice. "

"Something nice!" I felt my eyes brighten. "Something nice--peaches, ofcourse. What else could she have but peaches?" I thanked her withenthusiasm; my eyes gloated on her basket. Peaches and plenty ofthem--delicious!

The stranger arose, smoothed down her dress, and led the way downstairs. Her presence was imposing, her step firm as a rock. Assuredly my newacquaintance was no common person--a little stout, certainly, but so isthe Queen of England. 

I followed her eagerly, thinking of the peaches, longing for them withinexpressible longing. We went through the cabin--on and on--back ofsome curtains that draped it at one end. Here she paused, set her basketon a marble table, and proceeded to open it. 

I did not wish to show the craving eagerness which possessed me, anddelicately turned my eyes away. Then she spoke in a deep mellow voice, as though she had fed on peaches from the cradle up. 

"Look a-here, " says she. "Isn't this something nice?"

I looked! the basket was open. She held a tumbler in one hand and abottle in the other, from which a stream of brandy gurgled. That rotundimpostor came toward me, beaming. 

"There, " says she, "take right hold. It's first-rate Cognac. "

All the Vermont blood in my veins riled suddenly. I drew myself up tothe full queenly height that so many people have thought imposing. Disappointment sharpened virtue's indignation. 

"Madam, " says I, "you have practised a hospitable fraud--in Christiancharity I will call it hospitable--on a New England lady, who looks upontemperance as a cardinal virtue. Put up your bottle. Maple sap and sweetcider from straws are the strongest drinks I ever indulge in. "

"Maple sap, " says she, with a rumbling, mellow laugh, which ended in acough as the brandy went down her throat. "Sweet cider, through straws!Well, every one to her taste. "

Here she filled the glass again and held it out, smiling like a harvestmoon. 

"What, you won't take the least nip, just to save it, you know?"

I turned my back upon that rotund tempter, and walked with a statelystep to the deck, followed by a rich gurgle from the second glass as itwent down that perfidious creature's throat. 

"Goodness gracious! What a surprise!"

This was my exclamation when I saw Mr. Burke coming towards me, acrossthe deck, with a small basketful of the most delicious peaches in hishand. 

There he came, smiling so blandly, and held out the basket for me tohelp myself. He was going to Saratoga, he said. The hot season haddriven him to seek mountainous air. O sisters!

THE END.