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I wishi I were. llomie again.  Oh dear! Oh11 dear!" - p. 31.




I WILL BE A LADY:
A BOOK FOR GIRLS.
BY MRS. TUTHILL.
" She had a kindly word for all,
And was a patient listener too,
Nor deemed it made her more refined
Her household duties to eschew."
OLD BALLAD.'Enchanted with Polkas, with waltzes delighted,
Devoted to curling, and frizzing, and flouncing,
Good sense she despises, good manners has slighted,
Herself, ne'ertheless, a fine lady pronouncing."
TWENTY-NINTH  EDITION.
BOSTON:
CROSBY, NICHOLS, AND COMPANY.
111 WAsIINGTON STREET.
1854.




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1944, by
WILLIAM  CROSBY,
in the Clerk's office of the District Court for the District ot
Massachusetts.




CONTENTS.
CHAPTER                                      Po E
1. A PLEASANT WELCOMIE,...
II. THE PUZZLING WORD,... 
III. ZEPHINA'S MAMMA,... 
IV. GIRLISH CORRESPONDENCE,..  23
V. AIRS AND GRACES,.                   29
VI. FRIENDLY SUGGESTIONS,..  35
VII. FREE AND EASY,...                8
VIII. THE BOWER,.4.                        49
IX. PARTING TOKENS,..  64
X. A GENTLE REPROOF,.                   6
XI. AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION,.          74
XII  THE JOURNEY,..                  78... 
XIII. CITY ACQUAINTANCES,..       5
XIV. SHOPPING,.....        91
XV. A SURPRISE,.                        91
XVI. A FRIENDLY VISIT,                       99
XVII. LES TABLEAUX VIVANTS,.,      102
XVIII. A FATIIER's LETTER,..            110
XIX. AN INVALID,....           115
XX. HARRIET ANN AT HOmE,.              119




iv                CONTENTS.
XXI. AN AXWKWARD ACQUAINTANCE,.   124
XXII. A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION,.. 129
XXIII. ZEPHINA'S GRIEF,....   134
XXIV. HoIr,.. 138
XXV. AN INTENDED MARRIAGE.               144
XXVI. A NEW FRIEND.3. 
XX  II  THE FUTURE MOTHER-IN-LAW.         16.1




C0I AH PTER  I.
A I'IPEASANT WELCOMIE.
BEULATI MIORUIS.  It is not a pretty name, and
yet Beulah was a very pretty girl, and a nice girl
too, and as we1ll beloved as if her name had been
Isabella, Araminta, or Sophlonisba.
It was sunset, a beautiful sunset in June. Beulah was gathering roses.  She held the two corners
of her white apron in one hand, and with a pair of
scissors in the other carefully cut red and white
roses into it. The front-yard was filled with flowers that Beulah cultivated, and yet it was not a
sweet little cottage before which they grew, but
a large, square farm-house,- a red house; there
were only two white houses in Baxter, - the minister's and the doctor's.
The town of Baxter was named after that mnan
of blessed memory, whose " last words" were so




A PLEASANT WELCOME.
precious, that after his death, they continued to
publish " More Last Words of Richard Baxter."
It is a primitive New England village, where the
good people have yet only " heard tell" of a railroad;-where no factories have yet disturbed
the pure streams, that, after flowing through the
green meadows, dash over the rocks in beautiful
cascades. The wells still go with a long sweep,
-a pole with " the moss-covered bucket" at one
end, and a large stone at the other. The old
brown houses are two stories in front, and behind
slope almost down to the ground; but Squire Morris's house was a red one, and the rose-bushes
had been sent from a distance, many years before,
by the Squire's cousin.
Beulah, while filling her white apron, repeated
those sweet lines written by Mary Howitt; —
"God might have made the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small,
The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,
And not a flower at all."
Mrs. Morris came to the door. " Beulah, my
child," said she, " why do you cut so many flowers? you know I want them for rose-water."
"': You spared them this morning, mother, and
told me I might have my apron-full; see, it is only




A PLEASANT WELCOME.              3
just full," replied Beulah, showing her h(aped-up
treasures; " and you know, as the bushes were sent
us by Mrs. Whately, it is no more than right that,she should enjoy as many of the roses as she canSee, mother, how beautiful they are. I cannot
think they were only made for rose-water, for we
might have had that,'And not a flower at all.'"
"You are a queer child, Beulah, a very queer
child.  And what are you going to do with the
roses? "
"Ornament the white room, the nice spare
chamber, for Mrs. WVhately," replied the litte girI.
"And be laughed at, as a silly little countrygirl, for your pains, " said the mother.
Beulah could not think so. " The lady would not
have sent them so far for a present," said she,
" if she did not love roses."
" She knew they were good for rose-water; —
but follow your own notion," said Mrs. Morris.
While Beulah flew to the spare chamber to arrange the roses, Mrs. Morris spread her suppertable;- cold ham stood in friendly nearness to
sweetmeats, and pickles kept their sourness to
themselves by the side of cakes and pies; — the




4           A PLEASANT WELCOMIE.
broiled chickens, toast, and hot potatoes waited for
the arrival of the visiter.
Squire Morris now came in from the labors of
the farm, followed by two stout lads, his sons.
"Well, wife, all in order? - that's right,dressed in your Sunday best; I don't think I shall
make much change myself, — only try to be a little
neater. There's no comfort in being untidy.
Azariah and Medad, if you are ashamed of your
revery-day clothes, you can rig up a little."
Azariah did not choose to take the trouble, but
1Iedad went to put on his Sunday suit.
While the Squire was performing his ablutions,
a plain but handsome carriage, with a pair of
sleek black horses, drove up to the door, and all
the way down the front-yard to the gate went the
Squire, vigorously wiping hands and face.
From  the carriage stepped a lady of about
i.hllrty-five.
" Well now, cousin Whately, this is kind, to:come so far to see us," said the Squire, giving the
lady a hearty kiss. Then, seeing there was a
very gaily dressed person in the coach, he said,
"Is n't the other lady going to get out?"
Mrs. WVhately said, in a low tone, " That is one,of my domestics;" then, addressing the coachman,




A PLEASANT WELCOME.            5
"Thomas, you may drive back to the inn we have
just past, with your wife, and remain till I send
for you, after you have placed my luggage withiri
the yard."
The man did as he was ordered, while the Squire
whispered, " 7Why do you send them to the tavern; we have room enough for all your folks.
Though't would n't be quite so pleasant for such
smart pieces to be in the kitchen with old Cato
and his wife."
"I prefer that they should stay there," replied
she, and the coachman mounted the box and
drove off.
" I've no doubt they'11 take that smart body for
the lady at the tavern," said the Squire, "and
she'l play off her airs at a great rate."
Mrs. Morris received Mrs. Whately with the
same cordiality as the Squire had done.
"This is little Beulah," said Mrs. WVhately.
" I had no idea that she could be so tall; you must
be nearly twelve years old, dear."
"I am quite twelve," replied Beulah.
"I do n't believe you would have known the
boys, Azariah and Medad; they will soon be as;
tall as their father."
I' [ should not, indeed," replied Mrs. Whatelv.,




6          A PLEASANT WELrOB5tE.
looking up to the boys, either of whom would
have measured six feet in his stockings, although
the oldest was not yet nineteen.
Mrs. Whately was shown into the spare chamber, to take off her travelling-dress, and soon descended to the sitting-room.
The Squire handed round a brimming glass of
brandy toddy, which Mrs. Whately declined, say.
ing she did not know that so ancient a custom
was yet retained in any part of New England.
" I go for comfort, cousin Whately, and so does
my old woman," said the Squire, taking a drink
and passing it to the boys. "But come, sit down
and try how you can make out a supper from
country fare."
_Mrs. Whately looked around upon the bountiful
table as she sat down, and said, " Your luxurious
fare speaks of more than comfort, and some one,
Mrs. Morris I suppose, has a love of the beautiful."
Mrs. Morris did not understand the allusion, and
blushed without making any reply.
" The roses so tastefully arranged in the room
you have appropriated to me look beautifully.
The snow-white curtains looped up with the pink
roses, and the white ones laid along the dark mantel, have a charming effect. Their perfume, too,
gave me a delicious welcome."




A PLEASANT WELCOME.           7
" O, that was some of Beulah's nonsense," said
the mother.
" How came you to think of that, child? " inquired the father.
" The flowers that I love so dearly," replied
Beulah, " I have often been told were sent to us by
Mrs. Whately, and I thought it would please her to
find they were still as beautiful as ever."
" Why, she spends half her time when out of
school in tending them," said Mrs. Morris, laughing, " and she often talks to them as if they were
living beings."
"I am  glad they have given you so much
pleasure," said Mrs. Whately. The sweet smile
that accompanied the words Beulah did not perfectly understand, but it went bright and warm to
her heart, like a sunbeam into one of her own
roses.




CHAPTER II,
THE PUZZLING WORD.
LONG before daylight the next morning, Mrs.
Whately was awakened by a variety of sounds,
very different from those to which she was accustomed. She could sleep in spite of the rattling of
carts over the paved street, but the farm-yard
chorus of cows, pigs, turkeys, chickens, geese,
and guinea-hens was quite too much for her.
She arose and enjoyed that beautiful sight, so seldom seen in the city, —a glorious sunrise. The
first civility offered her on descending to the
C sitting-room " was a glass of bitters.
"No, no; Cousin Joab, do not offer me any
thing of the kind; I never drank ardent spirits in
my life, and it would not be well to begin just as
every one else is leaving off. Have n't you a
Temperance Society yet in Baxter? "




THE PUZZLING WORD.             9
"No, we have n't; our minister says, we har(lworking folks require a little spirits now and
then," replied the Squire.
" That accounts for your having formed no society of that kind.  He probably indulges himself
in the use of it."
" He takes a leetle, a very Icetle, occasionally,"
was the reply.
" I am sorry to hear it, because his example is
important to his parishioners," said Mrs. Whately.
"There is our Beulah, now," said the mother;
"she has read some of those temperance stories,
and she would n't drink a drop for the world."
Again that smile of approbation from Mrs.
Whately made the little girl's heart throb with
pleasure.
While they were at breakfast, in rushed a young
girl without any ceremony, and, throwing her
bonnet aside, took a vacant seat at the table.
"Do n't you see the lady, Finey," said
Squire Morris.
The girl scarcely looked up, but, bowing slightly, said, "I-Iow d' ye do, Ma'am," and commenced eating with a right good appetite the nice
things that the Squire heaped upon her plate.
She was dressed in an old, faded satin, a rich




10           THE PUZZLING WORD.
material so disfigured that it was almost impossible to tell that the original color was purple.
The bonnet, too, of yellow silk, was made for an;
older person, and had been razeed to suit the present wearer; in consequence of frequent exposure
to all sorts of weather, the artificial flowers had
streaked it red and green.
"What a forlorn specimen of the shabby genteel," thought Mrs. Whately.
" Take another piece of beefsteak, Finey," said
the Squire; "I like to see you take comfort."
" And Finey will take a drink of cider? " said
Medad, laying his hand upon a large pitcher.
" No, I thank you, Mr. Medad; I prefer coffee,"
replied the girl; " but I wish you would not call
me Finey; I do n't admire any thing fine; and
besides, I do n't like that young men should speak
to me in that manner."' Good," said Azariah, striking the table wit.
his fist till the crockery fairly danced; " call him
Daddy."
"I shall do no such t.ling," replied she, blushing; " I would not be so impertinent. Do not think,
because I am such a wild harum-scarum, that 1
have no sense of propriety."
Mrs. Whately was much amused by this con




THE PUZZLING NWORD.           11
versation. "Your young friend," said she to Beulah, "seems to have some very just notions. You
must introduce us to each other."
Beulah did not understand the ceremony of an
introduction, but her young visiter did, and, looking for the first time into Mrs. Whately's face, she
was much surprised to see an exceedingly ladylike stranger. She blushed deeply as she said,
"My name, Madam, is Zephina Fanshaw. I was
named for my father; — his name was Zephaniah.
I hope you will excuse my rudeness, and you,
too, Mrs. Morris, in not noticing there was a stranger at table." Then, rising hastily, she continued,
"' Will you allow Beulah to walk a little distance
with me, Mrs. Morris, —just down the field behind
the house."
"Yes, Zephina, but you must not keep her
long," was the reply.
"Certainly not, when she has so much reason
to wish to be at home," said Zephina, looking at
Mrs. Whately.
" Beulah is going to show me her flowers while
the dew is upon them, this morning," said Mrs.
Whately.'" Come, Beulah dear, make haste, then; I'11 not
letain you long," said she, and the faded yellow
2




12          THE PUZZLING WORD.
bonnet was tossed on the head, receiving a glalee
of ineffable scorn from its wearer, who, bidding a
hasty "good morning," left the house, followed
by Beulah.
They had gone but a few steps from the house
when Zephina said, " Pray tell me, Beulah, who
that woman is at your house? "
"It is my father's cousin, Mrs. Whately."
" Your father's cousin! " exclaimed Zephina;
"they do n't look any more alike than an oyster
and a cream-cake. I wonder that I did not notice her when I came in. Your father is so kind
and helps me to so many good things that i can
see nothing else. But I shall enjoy no more of
these nice times, for mamma has forbidden me to
go any more to your house, because she says
country folks are all vulgar. Now do n't be angry, Beulah, because she does not know your
family, a single one of them; if she did she
could n't help loving you all as I do; and you
know it is my only pleasure to see you, and come
to your house."
"I am very sorry, Zephina, but I am not angry,
for I do not know what your mother means by
vulgar," said Beulah.
"Only not genteel," replied Zephina, while




THE PUZZLING TORD.           13
the large tears rolled out upon her cheeks;
" poor mamma wishes to make me a lady, but she
never will succeed, never. I may sit with my
toes turned out and my shoulders braced back to
a board, practise on the piano four hours a day
and study four more, and yet not become a lady.
I like much better to enjoy the country and the
good honest country folks. They are as happy
again as the city folks that I used to see; I remember their cross, proud looks."
"But Mrs. Whately is from  the city," said
Beulah, "and she does not look cross and proud."
"That she does not. She is a lovely woman. I would not call her a lady for any thing,
for I hate the very name. But, Beulah, she is
waiting for you, and we must part. I shall come
often to this old oak-tree.  This shall be our
place of meeting, and our post-office, too; for I
mean to write to you, and you must answer my
letters."
"I will try," said Beulah; and they threw
their arms around each other's necks. A dozen
kisses were interchanged, and they parted.
"I do n't know much about them," said the
Squire in answer to Mrs. Whately's inquiry,
"Who are the Fanshaws? "  " Nobody seems to




14          THE PUZZLING WORD.
mnake out n uch, though it is n't for want of pry
ing. Mrs. Fanshaw is a widow, and Finey is her
only child. They live down at the cottage, as
they call it, about half a mile off. I like Finey,
and I love dearly to see her eat, for I've got a
notion that she is kept on short allowance at
home. I've asked her to come and take a meal
with us often, and she generally drops in about
this time in the morning, before her mother is up,
I reckon."
"She is always dressed in some such old CrazyKate finery as she had on this morning," said Mrs.
Morris; " I never saw her have on any thing fit
for a respectable young girl in my life."
" And yet, for all that, she looks better than any
girl in our meeting-house," said Medad.
Beulah returned home sad and thoughtful.
IHei mild hazel eyes, usually so clear, were red
with weeping.
" Why, what ails my darling?" said the Squire.
Beulah replied at once, " Mrs. Fanshaw has for.
bidden Zephina to come here any more."
" That, indeed! " said he. " Well, we can do
much better without her than she can without us.
She will look leaner and paler than ever now:
Did she give any reason for this?"




THE PUZZLING WORD.            15
"She did, but I had rather not rimention it," said
tulah, almost weeping. That word "vulgar"
applied to her dear parents; how could any one be
so cruel! Yet she did not understand it.
"This is very strange, child," said Mrs Morris.
"You must not look so sorrowful. Mrs. WVhately has been waiting for you a long time, to show
her your beloved flowers."
"Come, Beulah," said Mrs. Whately, " the sun
will soon rob your favorites of their'freshness;"
and, taking Beulah by the hand, they went out together.
"I am going to ask you a question, Mrs.Whately," said Beulah, after they had been some time
in the garden. "And yet I do not know that it
would be quite right.'
" Ask any question that you please of me," kindly replied Mrs. AWhately.
Thus encouraged, Beulah commenced, " Zephi.
na's mother will not allow her to come to our
house because she thinks we are vulgar; will you
please to tell me what that ugly word means? "
Mrs. Whately hesitated a moment, and her young
companion whispered, "Is it because our family
drink spirits? I saw you did not approve of that,
and I have thought for some time that it was not
right."




16          THE PUZZLING WORD.
"' That practice is, in these days, considered vulgar by many, and I hope your family will soon
give it up," was the reply.
"I will try to persuade them to do it," quickly
replied the amiable girl.
Mrs. Whately did not think it right to let the
matter pass thus, and added, "There are many
ways in which the word is used, but incorrectly;
nothing is really vulgar excepting what is mean,
improper, or wicked.  Some mistaken persons
apply it to those who do not live in an elegant
and stylish manner. Zephina's mother probably
used itin this sense. You have felt, my dear
Beulah, that there is a glory and a beauty in the
works of creation, -that many things are not
alone useful, - that this world, with its glorious
sky, and its green hills and valleys, its woods
and its beautiful flowers, was not made thus,
merely for a place to eat, drink, work, and
sleep in, but that the beings for whom it was
made so excellent might admire and enjoy it,
and lift up grateful hearts to the beneficent Creator; and, as in the natural world there is this
beauty, so in human character, in the heart it.
self, there may be such goodness and such refinement as to give a bloom and beauty to the actions."




THE PUZZLING WORD.            17
Although Beulah Morris did not perfectly understand Mrs. Whately, yet there was something
in her very soul that responded to the sentiments
of her new friend. She was silent and thoughtful for a while, then her large, soft eyes looked
earnestly in Mrs. Whately's face as she said;
" The kindness of my father and mother is beau.
tiful to me."




CHIAPTER  III
ZEPHINA'S MIAMMA.
AT a rattling old piano sat the disconsolate
Zephina, laboring over a piece of music. Her
mother's patience, never very remarkable, was
now quite exhausted.
" You are the most stupid girl in the world,
Zephina," she exclaimed; "you will never be fit
for fashionable society."
" From all I know of fashionable society, stupidity would fit me better for it than any thing
else," pettishly replied Zephina.
"This all comes from your being so much
of late with those Homespuns in that horrid red
house. Did you tell them I could not permit you
to come there again? " inquired her mother.
"I did," replied Zephina.  "I had a nice
breakfast first, and then how mean, how cruel, it




ZEPHINA' S MAMMA.           19
was to tell Beulah that I could not come to see
her again because country folks are vulgar. She
is much more genteel now than I am, or ever
shall be. She looks sweetly in her snow-white
aprons and homespun frocks. I prophesy that
she will one day make as elegant a woman as
her father's cousin, Mrs. Whately."
"And who is she? "
"A  very lovely woman whom I saw  there
this morning, dressed so neatly, - so - I do n't
know what to call it, for I hate the word genteelly.
And then her carriage, that dark green coach,
with the rich hammer-cloth, and the coal-black
horses, - all plain, yet so very elegant."
" And you say this was the Homespuns' cousin? " eagerly inquired Mrs. Fanshaw.
" Squire Morris's cousin, I said, mamma, and
she had none of the fixed-up look that I do so
abominate. Please give me something to wear
besides this old trumpery, - these old silk dresses
and Madge Wildfire bonnets."
" I wish I had known before that there was such
a lady visiting at the farm-house," said Mrs. Fanshaw, without taking any notice of her daughter's
request. "Cannot you make some excuse to
call again and find out something more about
her?"            3




20.ZEPHINA'S MA1IMA
"No, mamma; I cannot degrade myself by
such meanness; — they are kind-hearted excel3ent
people; - the nice old Squire; I love him dearly.
I did not say the fine woman that I saw there
was a lady; - you know I never call people that
I like ladies."
" 0 Zephina, you have such shockingly low
tastes," in a piteous tone whined Mrs. Fanshaw.
" I do not know what will become of you; I think
I shall call on the lady myself."
"You, mamma! why should you?"
"Why, if her equipage is so splendid as you
say it is, she must be somebody." was the reply.
" If it is the carriage and horses that you respect so much, you can call upon them at the tavern, for there is where I saw them," said Zephina.
" You are a very provoking girl, Zephina, and
I can never make you understand these things."
" 0 mamma, excuse my impertinence; I itnow
it is wrong, but indeed I do see too plainly into the
ways of the world; — I am old before my time."
Mrs. Fanshaw made no reply, but went to ar-.ay herself to call on the stranger.
ThI, style of Mrs. Fanshaw's dress somewhat
resem )led that of Zephina, though the materials




ZEPHINA'S MAMMA.            21
were not of such undeniable antiquity. The satin shoes, with which she saw fit to make her way
among the stones, had to suffer; and her long
veil, floating far behind her, caught repeatedly
upon the briers by the road-side. From her sallow complexion, and the expression of discontent
and affectation upon her countenance, one would
have judged that the pure sources of health and
happiness were lost to her; - that face it was
painful to behold.
When she arrived at the farm-house, she had
entirely forgotten the lady's name, and was
obliged to inquire for Mrs. Moriis. Beulah, who
came to the door, said that her mother was not at
home; she had gone to see a sick neighbour.
"Is the lady at home who is visiting here?
Mrs. - what is her name? "
" Mrs. Whately? " said Beulah; " she is here.
W\ill you walk in?"
Mrs. Fanshaw did so; and, handing her card
to Beulah, said; " That is a card, with my name
on it, girl; give it to the lady." Then, as she
took a seat in the little parlour, and glanced at the
home-made carpet and plain furniture, the marked
smile of contempt that distorted her mouth called
up a rosy blush to the face of Beulah Morris.




22           ZEPHINA'S MIAMMA.
As soon as Mrs. Whately had read the name, —
"Mrs. Zephaniah Fanshaw," - she quietly laid
the card upon the table, saying, "Beulah, dear,
please say to the lady, that, as I stay so short a
time in Baxter, I receive no ceremonious visits."
Beulah gave the message very politely, and
Mrs. Fanshaw stalked out of the house with an
air of offended pride, much more ridiculous than
sublime.
"H Eow did you like Mrs. Whately? " inquired
Zephina.
" She was engaged, I presume; but the farmer's girl, not understanding etiquette, gave me a
very singular excuse. It was not genteel in the
person - not genteel at all - to send an apology;
and I dare say the carriage is only a hired hack,
after all."
This singular mcde of reasoning amused Ze.
phina exceedingly; but she made no reply. She
went to her room and wrote a letter, which, early
the next morning, was conveyed to the post-office,
under the old oak-tree.




CHAPTER IV.
GIRLISH CORRESPONDENCE
ZEPI-INA'S LETTER.
"DEAR, sweet little Beulah, —rose-bud of all
rose-buds for me. - Was n't it the funniest thing
for mamma to call at your house? I laughed and
laughed till the tears ran out of my eyes, to think
how you would stare to see her coming up the
yard. What a funny, funny world this is! I,
poor I, am nothing but every-day stuff, just fit for
every-day wear; and yet am to be made a lady,
bon gre, mal gre, that is, whether I will or no;
and you, dearest Beulah, who are of such nice,
delicate stuff, that you are fit for Sundays and
holydays, may live always in the country, and
care not a fig what any body thinks of you, excepting those you love.
"Tell me all about that good woman, Mrs.




24        GIRLISH CORRESPONDENCE.
Whately. She has such a sweet voice, and sucE
simple, natural manners, that I want to see her
again very much. You know I have always
lived in a large city till a short time since, and, of
course, have seen a great many people. If there
were more of them like Mrs. Whately, it would
not be such a comical world as it is.
" Give my compliments to the green carriage
and the black horses; they ought, after, or before,
the owner, to command my respect. But somehow I do find it difficult to think any more of a
person merely because tl hvy ridco in a carriage,
than if they went on foot.
" Tell the Squire that I did not love him for
the nice things he gave me, but because he is
such a dear, kind soul. Yet I confess to a love
of' the goodies' too. Now write as you promised, and put it in the post-office for your own
" ZEPHINA.
"P. S. Tell me, Beulah, did Mrs. Whately
laugh at my forlorn old bonnet, with those old
flowers, gone to seed ages ago? "
The next morning Zephina flew to the old oak,
and there upon the stone was a basket of cakes,
and under the basket the following note.




GIRLISH CORRESPONDENCE.         25
"DEAR ZEPHINA: -
"Mrs. Whately did not laugh at your bor net.
I do not believe she would make fun of any body,
let them wear what they would. I should like to
tell you a great many sweet, pretty things that she
says of you, but I have not time, for that good
woman, as you call her, goes home to-morrow,
and I want to see her as much as I can. I must
tell you, though, she says we must still be good
friends, and that I must let her know all about out
post-office, and every thing we do, after she is at
home again. Only think, Zephina, I have got to
write to her, and you see what a poor hand I am
at letter-writing. In a great hurry. From yours,,
always,                            BEULAH.
"P. S. Leave the little basket with your next,
letter, that I may fill it again."
Beulah had fortunately had a good master at'
the district-school that she attended every winter;
she wrote a pretty, neat hand, and her partial
friend was even more delighted with the note than
with the seedcakes.
Mrs. Whately's visit had given great pleasure
to all the Morris family. Medad said, she had




26        GIRLISH CORRESPONDENCE.
such a kind way of persuading him into it, that
he could not help giving up spirits and cider.
The Squire thought he should come round in
time, and even Azariah said there was no holding
out against such a woman's good advice.
Beulah felt very lonely after her departure, and
daily went to the old oak-tree for a letter from
her young friend. To her great joy, on the third
morning the empty basket was there and a full
letter.
ZEPHINA'S SECOND LETTER.
"DEAREST AND SWEETEST: -
"There is no end of funny things. Mamma
has now got her hands full. An old acquaintance
of hers -a man who has some way or other made
considerable property in the country, and has
lately moved toNew York -has sent his daughter
to be taught good manners. Actually sent her
for two months to be taught'good breeding, good
manners, and all that sort of thing,' as he expresses it.
"Now I always thought that good breeding
meant the way in which a person was brought up,
all the way along; but I do n't know but Harriet
Ann Gunn (for that's her name) can take it




GIRLISH CORRESPONDENCE.         27
suddenly, just as one does the measles or whooping-cough. I wish you could see this Harriet
Ann make a courtesy. Out slides the right foot
about a yard, then up jerks the other behind it,
then down, down, slowly goes the little lady till
you do n't know where she will stop; then she
comes up with a sudden flying out of both hands
to help her rise. 0, dear! It is enough to kill
a body to see this performance. But I have n't
told you how she looks: — Hair, w h;te and
straight as candlles; eyes, blue as glass beads,
staring right at you; neck, long and thin; nose,
just enoughl of it to be called a nose; mouth,
good enough for every purpose; ears, large and
white.
"There, now, you have Harriet Ann.  She
looks in the glass forty times a day to practise
that amazing courtesy, and tumbles over on her
face almost as often, trying to stand with her toes
turned straight out. She has just left off pantalettes, and feels very consequential in long dresses;
but does not know yet how to manage them.
However, she thinks long dresses make her at
once a young lady. 0 Beulah! but you ought
to hear her say' beaucheful,' and'I keant,' and'garding,' and' kitching,' and ever so many such




28        GIRLISH CORRESPONDENCE.
words. You must see her; I declare you must.
To-morrow morning I will walk by just after
breakfast with her, and if Mr. Medad could only
be at home, it would be capital fun to see that
courtesy that can't be described.
" I could n't write before because of the coming of this Harriet Ann. Do n't trouble yourself
to fill the basket. I am afraid you think I am a
greedy little thing for a girl of thirteen.
"Rerember, to-morrow  morning by seven
o'cloce, be on the look out. Your loving
" ZEPHINA."




CHAPTER V.
AIRS AND GRACES.
"SURE enough, there they come!" said Medad the next morning, as Beulah and himself were
at the window.
The tall, thin girl, with China-blue eyes, was
dressed in a bright pink merino, and her winter
bonnet, with red feathers, though it was June, -
because the country folks would not know but
that was the city fashion.
As soon as Zephina saw Medad and Beulah,
she said, "There are some acquaintances of
mine; make your courtesy, Harriet Ann."
And accordingly out went the foot for a mng
slide, and all the rest just as Zephina described it
and down went the long, pink merino into the
dust, leaving a dark border around it. Beulah
could not refrain from smiling, and Medad's




30            AIRS AND GRACES.
" Haw, haw, haw," might have been heard half a
mile. But Miss Harriet Ann, quite delighted
with herself, had not a suspicion of the cause,
and stretching her long neck to its greatest extent,
strutted off like a young turkey.
"What a pretty garding!" she exclaimed.
"Was that a young gent'man at the window?
I was n't quite certing, but I thought I saw
one? "
"Poor girl! it's too bad to laugh at her," said
Beulah; " she did her very best."
" No doubt of that; and't was worth a dollar
to see this," replied Medad, giving a faithful imitation of the courtesy as he left the room.
Zephina and her companion had not gone far,
before they met a number of cows going leisurely
to pasture.
1" See those horrid crichures!" exclaimed Harriet Ann; " I'm scared to death. What shall I
do?"
"Jump over the fence," said Zephina.
"I can't, to save my life," said the girl, wringing her hands, screaming, and running back.
The boy who was driving the cows had the
mischievous spirit too often found in boys, and
commenced driving them faster. Harriet Ann




AIRS AND GRACES.           31
ran through mud and mire as fast as she could.
First she lost one shoe, then the other; at length,
a dog came towards her, barking, - the cows in
full chase behind, the dog in front. What could
she do? She tried to climb the fence, but her
dress caught, when she had got one foot over, and
there she sat, screaming and screeching,'" This
nasty country! I wish I was home again. 0,
dear! O, dear!"
Her bonnet now blew off; the dog snatched it
up and shook it at a fearful rate. Forgetful of
her alarm, she scrambled down and seized hold
of it; but the dog kept his teeth tightly shut upon
it, and Harriet Ann and he were having a fierce
contest, each pulling with all their might, when
Medad, whose dog it was, came up, and calling
"' Rover, Rover, at them!" the dog went after
the cows, and they were soon out of sight.
The velvet bonnet was torn and bent into the
most comical form, its bright red feathers broken,
and draggled in the mire. She however stuck it
upon the top of her head, for it was too much
bent for the head to gain admittance; and then.
she went off into that courtesy, saying, " You:ve
saved my life," -bonnet, she ought to have said.,
-" and I am unaffectedly obliged to you."




32            AIRS AND GRACES.
Z phina had now come up with them; she
leaned against the fence, fcr she laughed so im
moderately that she could not stand up, while
Medad coughed violently, holding his handkerchief to his mouth. But the cough would end in
a " Haw, haw," in spite of him.
"Suppose we go and fish for the lost shoes,"
seid Zephina, as soon as she could stop laughing;
pointing at the stocking-feet, all covered with
mud.
"I'11 help you," said Medad.
After poking around for some time, the shoes
were found full of mud; but it was impossible
for Harriet Ann to put them on. The stones
hurt her feet, so that at length she began to
cry; "0, dear! 0, dear! I never can walk so
far."
"Poor girl! " exclaimed Zephina, who began
really to pity her; "we'11 make a lady-chair
and carry you. Come, Mr. Medad, you know
how."
So they placed their hands together and made
the lady-chair, and Harriet Ann was carried safely;to Mrs. Fanshaw's door.
No sooner had Medad left, than she said,' That's a very polite gent'man.  Does he go in,the fust society in Baxter? "




AIRS AND GRACES.            33
"Certingly," s.id Zephina.
The exclamations of Mrs. Fanshaw, on seeing
the shocking plight in which Miss Harriet Ann
returned, frightened her more than either cows or
dog had done. "How disgusting! how unladylike! how awkward! how careless!"  A perfect
volley was poured forth upon the tattered and
mud-bespattered damsel.
"' I thought it was lady-like to be timid," said
Zephina, partly out of good nature, hoping to divert the torrent of rebuke from Harriet Ann.
"Those terrific crichures, the cows, how could
they fail to frighten a girl half out of her wits,
who has lived in the city two whole years? "
"It is better to have a little delicate timidity,
than to be utterly fearless, as you are, Zephina,"
replied her mother. " Harriet Ann has a nervous
sensibility that may render her quite interesting as
a young lady."
Thus encouraged, Harriet Ann had a thousand
little "Ahs," and " Ohs," and "' Dear mes," and
shrill shrieks, at the sight of such harmless things
as bees and butterflies, and a caterpillar or a toad
would throw her almost into convulsions. These
ridi:ulous fears were a perpetual annoyance to




34            AIRS AND GRACES.
Zephina, who was fond of looking at innocent and
often beautiful insects, which Harriet Ann, with
" delicate timidity," called "nasty and disgusting
things."




CHAPTER VI.
FRIENDLY SUGGESTIONS.
SOON after Mrs. Whately returned home she
wrote Beulah the following letter.
" MY DEAR BEULAH:
"I have thought very often of you since we
parted. I had a pleasant journey home. Yet I
think that my home seems more solitary than
ever since my return.
" I remember you asked me the day before I
left you, if I disliked the name lady; saying
that your young friend disliked it very much. I
did not answer you then; I will do so now.
" I do not dislike it, Beulah, yet I should not
wish to be called afine lady; afine woman would
be a much more complimentary term. Yet every
one would desire to be called 7ady-iike; tha
4




36         FRIENDLY SUGGESTIONS.
would be understood to mean something refined
and dignified. It is a high compliment, too, to say
of a woman that she is a perfect lady, though the
term has been often misused. A perfect lady has
delicacy of sentiment and delicacy of taste. She
would do nothing mean, nor disgusting, nor undignified; nothing, in short, that would produce selfcontempt.  She wishes not only to appear to
others delicate and refined, but to be so, for her
own sake. She would pay great attention to the
feelings of others, that she might not wound them
In any way. This, and much more, springs from
delicacy of sentiment. In her dress, manners,
and every thing belonging to her condition as a
woman, she would manifest a certain propriety,
that we call delicacy of taste.
"We should perform  our duty to God, my
dear Beulah, not that we may be called good or
pious, but simply because it is our duty, and because we love Him who has a right to our obedience.
" In the same manner, we should perform our
whole duty to ourselves, because it exalts us as
rational beings, and makes us more happy. We
should be kind and polite to others, not to gain
the name of a lady, but because we love our
rellow-beings. and wish to do them good.




FRIENDLY SUGGESTIONS.           3 
"All these things I hope you will understand in
time. Confide to me any difficulties you may
encounter, and I will try to solve them. There is
nothing so lovely in a woman as an amiable disposition. A very distinguished author said,' Of
all external objects a graceful person is the most
agreeable; in vain will a person attempt to be
graceful who is deficient in amiable qualities.' I
am afraid your young friend Zephina, from her
dislike of fine ladies, has fallen into an opposite
extreme, and is in danger of being rude and hoydenish. This her good sense will, I trust, in time,
correct; for Pope says,' Good manners are the
blossoms of good sense.'
" I send you, dear Beulah, a dressing-case. It
is for every-day use. Combs, hair-brush, toothbrush, and nail-brush; - may they do you excellent service. Exquisite neatness will make even
a plain girl look charmingly in my eyes.
"There are some trifles, too, marked with the
names of the friends for whom they are designed,
which I beg you, dear, to present in the name of
your sincere friend,      LAURA ~WIIATELY."
"Why can't I be a lady?" thought Beulah
Morrig




CHAPTER VII.
FREE AND EASY.
BiULAII was gathering strawberries, —"red,
ripe strawberries." Zephina and Harriet Ann
were taking a morning walk. Beulah was stooping down, and so busily occupied that she did not
observe the girls approach.
Harriet Ann stepped up to her and said, " Little
girl, give me some of your strawberries, will
you? "
Beulah handed her the basket, which was half
full, and she commenced eating them voraciously.
Zephina stood off at a little distance to enjoy
the interview. Beulah seated herself upon a large
stone, while Harriet Ann continued to devour the
berries.
"What horribly thick shoes you wear, girl!




FREE AND EASY.             39
Have n't you got any better ones?" inquired
Harriet Ann.
" They answer my purpose very well," replied
Beulah.
" Certingly, they are just right for one who has
to go about picking berries among all these nasty
stones and briers, but how queer they would look
in Broadway. And what a strange dress you
have on; I mean how queer it is made. You
do n't have the costumes here very often I suppose. Who is your dress-maker?"
"My mother," replied Beulah.
"Is she a dress-maker by trade? I never heard
there was such a thing in this vulgar place. Does
she go out by the day, or take in work?"
" She has no reason for going out, since she
makes only her own dresses and mine," replied
Beulah.
" That is so queer, now; I suppose she is too
poor to hire a dress-maker. Was you'ever in
any place but this horrid Baxter?"
"This place is very pleasant to me, since I
have seen no other excepting the neighbouring
town of Perkinsville," answered Beulah, with perfect coolness.
The strawberries were nearly all eaten.




40             FREE AND EASY.
"Where can Zephina be all this time," said
Harriet Ann, handing back the basket, and about
to offer Beulah one cent!
At the name of her friend she sprang up, and,
Zephina jumping out from behind a large sweetbrier bush, they were soon in each other's arms.
" Come," said Zephina, after almost smothering
Beulah with kisses, " come, dearest, let us go to
work and fill your basket again. I'11 help you
make up what that city lady has devoured.
Was n't it fun alive to hear that dialogue? " and
she began picking with all her might.
" Do n't trouble yourself, Zephina, for it is your
own loss. I happened to see some uncommonly
fine strawberries just here this morning, and
thought I would gather some for you."
" So, then, Miss Harriet Ann Gunn, I do n't
thank you at all for cramming down my fruit. I
wish you could see yourself, with your face
stained from ear to ear."
The girl's eyes opened wider than ever with
astonishment to think this was Zephina's friend
Beulah, of whom she had heard her talk so much;
L-ut she stood speechless, trying to recollect what
she had said while eating the berries.
-' Well, Beulah, do n't mind about the loss to




FREE AND EASY.             41
me; we must go home now. Good by, little
girl; does your mother go out, or take in work at
home? " imitating exactly Harriet Ann's voice
and manner.
"Is this the world of which I want a sight?
Are these the beings who are called polite?"
Beulah might have said as she wended her way
homeward, for such were her thoughts.
She was no sooner out of hearing than Harriet
Ann began, —" You do n't say, Zephina, that such
an unbecomingly dressed crichure as that belongs to the fust society. It can't be. I thought
she was some poor body picking berries for a
living."
"And so you thought you would help her, by
eating them all up? " said Zephina.
" Why, I was just going to offer her a cent, as
she jumped up at the sound of your name."
" Merciful me!" exclaimed Zephina; " one
cent, for what was worth a shilling, if she had
been picking them for her living. One cent! I
wonder what the generous Squire would have
said to that. It's too good a joke, and yet I'm
glad Beulah did not see it."
" If folks are any thing or any body, I say they




42            EFREE AND EASY.
ought to dress so that other folks who are some.
body may know it," said Harriet Ann.
" A very neatly worded sentence! About as
clear as your notions of gentility."
"Do n't be angry, Zephina; I am sorry I ate
up your strawberries," said Harriet Ann.
"Do you think I care for the loss of a few
strawberries? " replied Zephina, almost fiercely.
" No, not a bit. It is because you insulted my
dearest friend. I endured your impertinence as
long as I could; but if I had seen the grand
flourish at the enLd of it, I v-c-r lv believe I should
have forgotten myself, and boxed your ears
soundly."
" I hope I shall never see the girl again,"
whimpered out Harriet Ann.
" I hope in all conscience you never will," was
the reply.
But this was not the only annoyance inflicted
by I-Iarriet Ann during the two months of her
visitation. Zephina could not write to Beulah,
without being surprised at seeing a long braid of
light hair hanging over her own shoulder, and,
upon looking up, there were those great blue eyes
staring right down upon the paper. When told
that it was very bad manners to look over a per



FREE AND EASY.             43
son who was writing, Harriet Ann would say;
"I think I have a right to look over you, for I
know you are going to say sometlhing about me."
If Zephina, when very much interested in a book,
chanced to lay it down for a moment, up it was
snatched by the impertinent visiter, and detained
to rest her elbow upon it, as long as she saw fit,
in spite of the longing looks of the impatient
reader.
Mrs. Fanshaw kept but one domestic, and as
that was the name universally given to those who
went out to service in Baxter, Lucy, a good, honest Yankee girl, chose to be called a domestic;
but Harriet Ann, in opposition to the request of
Mrs. Fanshaw, always called her a servant.' Will you order your servant to do this or that?"
was repeated twenty times a day in Lucy's presence. At one time she would treat this girl with
the greatest contempt, and give out her orders in
the most imperious manner; then she would be
on terms of the greatest familiarity and even in.
timacy, borrowing from her articles of wearing
apparel, such as collars and pocket-handkerchiefs.
Lucy, too, was made the confidant of all her
grievances. She never saw such a mean woman
as Mrs. Fanshaw; they did n't have any thing
5




44             FREE AND EASY.
good to eat; they must be dreadfully poor; she
wondered how Lucy could ever expect to have
her wages paid; they were not genteel people
at all.
At the dinner-table she would look at every
dish with a dissatisfied, contemptuous expression,
which made her upper lip almost touch her nose;
and, when offered any thing, would perhaps consent to take a little meat and a little rice, saying,
however, she never ate such things at home.
" She takes what she at first professed to loath,
And in due time feeds heartily on both;
Yet, still o'erclouded with a constant frown,
She does not swallow, but she gulps it down."
She called all animal food meat, or fowls, or
fish; and when Mrs. Fanshaw told her she should
always name the kind of meat, -as beef, mutton,
&c., -or of birds, - as turkey, duck, chicken -
or of fish, -- as salmon, haddock, &c., - Harriet
Ann was quite offended, and said she did not know
one from the other; and if she did, she should be
mistaken in New York for a butcher's daughter.
She knew they never did so in the city, or if they
used to when Mrs. Fanshaw  lived there, they
did n't now. This was her unfafling, and, in her
opinion, unanswerable argument  "They do n't
do so in the city," or " They do so in the city."




FREE AND EASY.             45
She never troubled herself to wipe her feet on
the mat at the door, and would come in with them
covered with mud, and, drawing one of them
under, would settle herself upon Mrs. Fanshaw's
ottoman without the least hesitation.  This, her
habitual mode of sitting, with one foot under
her, was vastly inconvenient; for, when obliged
to rise in haste, she was in danger of pitching
head first upon the floor, and finding herself with
a flattened nose.
Heartily glad were Mrs. Fanshaw and her
daughter when the day of Harriet Ann's departure
arrived. The two months had expired. A short
time indeed to teach good manners to one habitually ill-bred, and so conceited withal, as to suppose herself the very personification of gentility!
Years of teaching, both by precept and example,
would have had but little effect upon Harriet Ann
Gunn.
She dressed herself for the journey in that self.
same soiled pink merino in which she had first
appeared, with all her gaudy trinkets about her
person, - ear-rings, bracelets, and all. When the
stagecoach drove up to the door, she handed Luc:y
an old faded hair-ribbon, that she had done wearing herself, for a present.  And when Lucy




46            FREE AND EASY.
looked at it with surprise, she said, "WYhy do n't
you make a courtesy, girl, and say'Thank you,
MIa'am'?  Ha' n't you got no manners?  There,
take my trunk and carry out, -quick."  The
gentleman who was to take the charge of her on
the journey home handed her into the stagecoach.
She had not so much as thanked Mrs. Fanshaw
and Zephina for their kindness and attention, but,
as the coach was about to drive off, she gave
them a sort of supercilious, condescending bow.,
as much as to say, " I have done you great honor
by staying a couple of months with you, in your
humble cottage."
" O, would some power the giflie gie us,
To see oursel's as others see us,
It would from many a folly free us,
And foolish notion."
LETTER FROM HARRIET ANN TO ZEPHINA.
Soon after Harriet Ann left Baxter, she ad,
dressed the following letter to Zephina, which, as
it was never answered, was the only one with
which she was afflicted.
"' New York, August 28th.
"DEER ZEPHINA:"I told you I would let you know how I got




FREE AND EASY.             47
home, so I write to let you know I got home safe,
but very mutchfatuged.
"I found pa was n't very well; but between
you and I and the post, I do n't think he is sick, —
only cross and low-spirited. I teezed him till he
let me go to dancing-school, which I begun last
Teusday. I am going to learn to gallophard and
to waits, and after a while to learn the Mlazoorker.
You know I can dance Spanish dances and cotilyons very well now; but, as I am deturmined to
be a complete lady, you know I must learn all
these things purfectly.
"0, do you know I have got the sweetest
Parris bonnet! It is a purfect little love, and
cost fifteen dollars. Pa scolded and scolded
about it, because he said it was ecstravvagunt for
a thin summer bonnet; but it is the most beremeing thing you ever see, and no body that is any
body wears an American bonnet now-a-days.
" Can't think how you content yourself in the
country with those common folks, the Morrises.
For my part, I was delighted to get back to the
citty, though a great many folks are so silly that
they are now in the country. I have got to go
and practice, so I can't write any more at present
From your afecsionatefreind,
" HARRIETTA ANNA."




48             FREE AND EASY.
Bad spelling is so common among young girls,
that they scarcely consider it vulgar; yet nothing
more completely stamps an ill-educated person.
A letter, however fine the composition and writing
may be, is vulgar if misspelt. Ungrammatical
expressions, too, like thlose of Harriet Ann, are
quite too frequently heard. And, besides these,
that thick, inarticulate enunciation, and what is
called clipping of words, is often spoken of as
a marked peculiarity in Americans who style
themselves ladies. There is a French proverb,
"' You know a lady when she opens her mouth ";
and it is as true here as in France. It is very
easy to discover a well-bred girl by her good
grammatical English, well pronounced and dis
t;nctly enunciated.




CHAPTER VIII.
THE BOWER.
BY the old oak-tree, Beulah, with the aid of
Medad, built a rustic bower. To be sure it was
only made of long hoop-poles, bent into a circular form and fastened into the ground; but flowering-beans, morning-glories, and honeysuckles,
planted there by Beulah, soon covered it with a
graceful drapery of leaves and flowers.
Medad placed a rude bench within the bower,
upon which the girls often sat for an hour in the
morning, in social chat, and, lest it should be damp
for their feet, he had paved it with white pebbles.
In one corner was a box marked "P. O.,' in
which frequent letters were deposited; and often,
too, the little basket was there filled with delicacies, which Zephina carried home and shared with
her mother.




50               THE BOWER.
Not far from the bower, a sweet little silvery
brook merrily danced along over the smoc jh peb.
bles, from whose green margin the speckled trout
darted forth and then retreated. Arm in arm, the
girls often followed its meandering course, to the
place where it fell over the rocks, in a sparkling
little cascade, and then returned through a beautiful grove near by.
Every day some new beauty was added to the
beloved bower. Beulah brought the most precious flowers from her garden and placed them
there, and Zephina transplanted wild flowers from
the woods, which bloomed sweetly beside theit
foreign companions. She printed in large capitals, "SACRED TO FRIENDSHIP," and placed it directly in front, and it lasted till - the first heavy
rain!
It was one of the loveliest days in September,
and Mrs. Fanshaw had given Zephina the privilege of passing the whole afternoon in the bower.
Beulah had brought out a little table and teaapparatus, and they were to take tea there, and
talk over their past lives, - for up to this time Zephina had never mentioned her former place of
residence. They had gathered wild flowers and
evergreens, to tie into wreaths to hang up in fes




THE BOWER.               51
toons about the bower, and while thus employed
Zephina began her story.
"Once there was a girl who lived in New
York. Is n't that the way that all children begin
a story? Can you believe it, Beulah, I never
went out of the bounds of the city, till I was
twelve years old; all beyond it was in the Mliz."
"Where is that? " asked Beulah.
"You know in the fourth commandment it
says,' in heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in
them is.' When I was a mere child I understood
it,'and all that's in the Miz'; and, 0, how
many conjectures I made about that queer place.
All the dwarfs, giants, and fairies that I read
about, and all the odd creations of my own imagination, the funniest things, all lived in the Miz.
Now when I think of it, I do believe that all
that was not New York was to me in the Miz.
In the nursery the first trouble that I remember
was an eating-apron."
"What do you mean by ar- eating-apron, dear;
one that was only worn to eat in? " asked Beulah.
" Exactly so; a tier, pinafore, or whatever you
choose to call it, that I was obliged to get for my.
self and put on, before I could eat any thing.




52               THE BOWER.
Then I might spill and daub as much as I pleased,
if my dress was only safe. I exclaimed then,' An eating-apron is the plague of my life!' and
I have often thought so since, for I never learned
to eat carefully and neatly; to this day, as you
may have noticed, my dresses are covered with
spots. If it had n't been for those plagues of
eating-aprons, I should have learned to carry my
food safely to my mouth, without poking my
head clear over nay plate."'I think you might, Zephina," said Beulah,
" for I have worn white aprons ever since I can,remember, and my mother never let me have on:more than three a week. If I soiled them, I was
obliged to wear them for a punishment. Only
see, I wear them now, at thirteen, just as I did
when I was a very little girl; but I can keep one
clean a whole week -- unless I tie wreaths," said
she, smiling to see how she had already soiled
the snow-white apron.
" Well, I must have been a real torment in the
nursery," continued Zephina; " for I took no care
at all of my clothes; and when they were off,
either left them scattered about for the nurse to
pick up, or kicked them into a heap, which habit,
I am sorry to say, I have but just left off. An



THE BOW~ER.              53
other naughty trick that I learned in the nursery
was, to eat as fast as I could, and all that was
sent to me. Even now, I never look out for
any body but myself at table.
"You would have laughed, Beulah, to see me
eat up the soft milk-toast provided for an invalid
gentleman where we were visiting. I did not observe that it was made on purpose for him, and
placed in a little covered dish by the side of his
plate. WVhen he lifted the cover, I looked so
lovingly at the toast, that the kind old gentleman
offered me a piece. I took it, and finding it very
nice, helped myself till the dish was entirely
empty, and the poor sick man, who had eaten but
half a slice, looked at me with a grim kind of a
smile and remarked, that I' really had an uncommonly fine appetite.'
" Another time I went with mamma to take tea
with a very rich old lady who did not attend parties, but only invited a friend now and then, as a
great favor.  She was a particular sort of a lady.
Mamma had often told me that she was one of the
most complete ladies of the old school. I used to.
wonder, by the way, whose school that was.
i" At the tea-table, which was furnished with thee
richest silver and the most beautiful china that L




54               THE BOWER.
had ever seen, I found the biscuits quite to my
liking, though they were so small that I always
called them stingy biscuits; so, every time they
were handed round I took one, till at length
mamma, quite mortified, said,'Zephina, dear,
you seem very fond of Mrs. Foote's delicious
biscuits.''Why, mamma,' said I,'they are
very small, and I've only eaten seven.'
"The look the lady gave me ought to have
frightened me; but somehow it was so droll, that
I was just ready to laugh; but, hoping the laugh
would go down with some tea, I took a large
swallow of it, but the laugh would come. I held
my hand over my mouth, but the tea spattered
between my fingers all over the table, while I
coughed and strangled, dropped my cup, and
broke both cup and saucer.
" I, who was to be educated for a lady from
my very cradle, with such vulgar manners!
Mamma's well-bred friend looked absolutely hor.
ror-struck. But do you know, Beulah, I never
felt the importance of refined manners till since I
have seen such an example of the want of then
in Harriet Ann. Now I have resolved to break,myself of those disgusting nursery habits.
"Another of my trials was to be dressed for




THE BOWER.               55
eompany. They put my hair into papers, for it
was no more inclined to curl than a bunch of
jack-straws; and, 0, they did pull and hurt me
unmercifully to get them out and in order, at a
moment's warning, when I was called for in the
drawing-room. I remember once being thus
dressed, just like a miniature fine lady, and carried down to be shown to visiters. Some one
proposed that I should be set upon a marble centre-table, and recite a piece of poetry. With the
reward of a whole pound of candy which was
promised me in a whisper, I undertook to recite
Wordsworth's' AWe are Seven,'
" No doubt I murdered that beautiful little
piece. At any rate, there must have been a
striking contrast between poor over-dressed me,
and the'simple child' with'a rustic woodland
air.' I do not know whether I thought of any
such thing, then, or whether the sweet sentiment
of the little girl who would insist they still were
seven had touched my young heart. But, when
the flatterers praised me to the skies, calling me
the best little lady in the world, I burst into passionate crying, and said,'I am not a good little
lady. I'm the naughtiest little girl that ever
was.' Then I was dismissed in disgrace to the




56              THE BOWER.
nursery, and the pound of candy that I had fairly earned was unjustly refused to my entreaty.
But poor mamma must be excused, for she was
a very fashionable lady, and meant that I, her
only daughter, should become very accomplished. Do n't you pity me, Beulah, for all
these troubles? "
"I do, indeed; but yet I think, Zephina, you
ought to have been more anxious to please your
mother."
" I was anxious to please her, but then I never
took the right way. I believe I was born for the
country, for I have a natural love of it, and
I never cared for the balls, concerts, theatres,
and parties, to which mamma always took me.
Then I hated flattery, because I had a genuine love of truth. I do not remember ever to have
told but one falsehood in my life, and of that I
am even at this time so much ashamed, I can't
bear to think of it. When I was about ten years
old, the gentlemen who visited at our house talked
to me a great deal, and I answered them with
simple truth, in such a way, often, as to give of.
fence; and mamma scolded me, telling me I was
dreadfully impolite.
"I remember once, in particular, a gentleman




THE BOWER.                57
praised my beautiful natural curls, as he called
them, and, soon after, asked me if I did not
like him.'No, Sir, I do not like you,' I answered.'Why not?' he asked, in the most
coaxing tone.'Because, Sir, you do not tell
the truth.''That is a great accusation for a
little lady to make.  What have I said that
wvas untrue?' he inquired. I told him he knew
vrery well that my curls were not natural, for
they had just been taken out of papers, and were
as stiff as wires. I-Ie laughed heartily, telling
me that I would never do for a fashionable lady, -
I was altogether too honest.
"Sitting up late at night made me pale and
sickly, and I do not believe I should have lived
till this time, if it had not been for this dear
Baxter, and the comfort I have taken here."
"But, Zephina, did you never have any playthings? " said Beulah. "When I was a child,
I can't remember that I ever did any thing but
play. Medad and I used to build cob-houses in
the garret, and slide down on the hay in the barn,
and I had rag-babies, that I dressed and undressed, made their clothes, and washed and
ironed them.   We used to build bridges over
the brooks, and, in  intcer, make grleat snow



58              THE BOWER.
tball h,, Ses, and go coasting down the hills, and
sliding on the ice. And I have always had my
garden and my flowers."
"0, delightful!" exclaimed Zephina, "how
you must have enjoyed yourself! But I never
was a child, — never. You need not smile, Beulah; you think I am childish enough now;- but I
mean, I never had any such joyous childhood as
you describe.
" I had two great wax-dolls, beautifully dressed;
but I was not allowed to play with them. O,
no; one was to walk out with in Broadway.
She was dressed in the height of the fashion
by the mantuamaker, and always had a new
bonnet every time I had one, exactly like mine;
I called her Miss Prim. The other was in full
dress, blue satin with a lace over-dress. I had to
carry her into the drawing-room, and was taught
to hold her very gracefully. She was Miss Prue.
I almost hated both of them, and used to cry be.
cause Miss Prim was so heavy that it really tired
my arm to carry her, while nurse dragged me
along by the other. So, one day when I was
alone, I smashed in Prim's nose, picked out
Prue's eyes, and cut off every silken curl from
their doll-ships' heads, and there was an end of




rHE BOWER                59
dolls for me. I was n't allowed to use a needle
much, for fear it would spoil my fingers; no
wonder it invented all kinds of mischief.
" But, Beulah, dear, I did have one darling pet,
the sweetest little lapdog, with a blue ribbon
round his neck; I loved him dearly, but he sometimes would soil his little feet, and then he would
jump upon me, and spoil my dresses, or I would
take him up when a big dog was coming along
and carry him, and mamma was obliged to give
him away, and I cried for weeks, and I can't think
of him now - the little darling -- without being
just ready to cry.
"But see, Beulah, what a long wreath I've
made, and yours is longer yet. Let us fasten
them up, and then you must tell your story.
There, now, they look beautifully, it really is like
a fairy palace. We must make one more wreath
just to go round our motto. Come, Beulah, go on
w;th your history."
"'I have very little to tell. You know I have
always lived in the country, and have never been
to any place larger than Perkinsville, ten miles
off. Of course I love the country and my own
plain, kind family. One of the first things that I
remember distinctly is my great love for sister
6C




60               THE BOWER.
Eunice. She was the oldest of the family, and
so good and so beautiful that she seemed to me
different entirely from  all other human beings.
Is n't it strange?  She has been gone ever since
I was six years old, and yet I remember her
perfectly, and her sweet smile often comes before me when I am asleep and when I am awake."
"And where has she gone? " asked Zephina,
with surprise.
" To heaven," solemnly replied Beulah. " She
died; and they told me she was going to heaven
to be an angel. I went into the room where she
was laid out, so pure and white, with her long
hair loose, and still in its natural ringlets. I put
my hand upon her icy forehead; I think I feel
the chill now it was so dreadful. Then I sat
down by her side and waited, for I expected to
see her go away with angel's wings, as I had
seen them in the great Bible. There I sang the
little hymns she had taught me, for in my childishness I thought it would comfort her, and one
of the hymns happened to be the one beginning'Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O, quit this mortal frame.'
I was singing this, when my mother found me




THE BOWER.               61
there, and she called my father to listen, and
never shall I forget how they cried and sobbed,
as if their hearts were breaking. I told them
what I was waiting for, and they drew me away,
telling me that my sister's spirit would go to
heaven, but that her beautiful corpse must be
laid in the cold grave. It was the first time that
I had heard of the grave, and it made me very
sorrowful for a long time that my sweet sister
should be covered up in that dark place.
"The way in which I was finally comforted
may seem to you strange, Zephina. One evening I had stayed longer than usual in the frontyard. I had always been to bed at or before
sundown. That evening I discovered something
very wonderful in the clear western sky, and
asked,' What is that? What is that bright thing
far away there, over the tops of the trees?'' Why,
child, it is a star; did you never see a star before?''No, mother; I never heard of such a thing.
Did you ever see it before?' She told me that
was the evening star, but that the whole sky was
brilliant with stars every clear night.'And
do they never come down to the ground?' No;
they always stay in the same place in the heavens.'




62               fl IE BOWERI.
"' I went to bed, but not to sleep. As soon as it
was dark, I got up and opened the window-shutter, and looked out, and there were those beautiful stars shining in the sky, - and there my sister
has gone, I thought; — there she still lives, —
somewhere far off among those bright stars,and in some mysterious way she has passed
through the dark grave to reach them, - and 1
was comforted. And, Zephina, ever since, I love
the stars with a solemn kind of joy that I can't
describe. And when I told my mother, she said,' We know that the dead shall rise again to immortal life, because our blessed Saviour rose
from the grave, and ascended to heaven.' And
she read me all about the Saviour in the great
Bible, and I have loved that holy book ever
since,-and read it more than any other."
There was a pause of a few moments; - then
Zephina, with eyes full of tears, said, " Well, you
ara a dear, good little soul, as pure as those white
l7 es."
" O, no Zephina, I am not; you do n't know
how hard I find it to be good. There is scarcely
a day passes that I do n't commit some fault for
which I am sorry."
"Well, nobody sees them but yourself," replied her partial friend.




THE BOWER.               63;You forget, dear Zephina, there is one who
sees all evil things in our hearts."
"I have forgotten this too long," was the
sincere reply; "but I am sorry, and shall try tc
be a better girl, especially to my mother."
They suspended the wreath around the motto,
and then they put the tea-kettle on a little furnace,
that Medad had built near the bower; and some
short sticks of wood were there, and some coals
nicely covered over with ashes. Soon they had a
bright fire. And they spread their table with a
white napkin, and placed upon it cake, biscuits,
and sweetmeats. And, when the tea was ready,
they made a signal for Medad by clapping their
hands;- and he came, but there was no seat
for him, and he was so tall that his head touched
the top'of the bower, and Zephina told him he
must kneel, for that was the way that knights
errant of olden time did in the presence of ladies. Never was a repast more enjoyed than
that in the bower " Sacred to Friendship."




CHAPTER IX.
PARTING TOKENS.
TIIE pure enjoyments of that rude bower and its
post-office, -what in after life could equal them'
But as all earthly things, however sweet and
beautiful, must fade and die, a frost, " a killing
frost," came early in the autumn, and the shrivelled leaves could no longer conceal the rude
framework. Medad, fruitful in expedients, cut
down branches of evergreen, with which he
covered it, but soon the snow came and blocked
it up and the poor bower was deserted. But then
there were winter amusements.  There was a
large pond frozen over, and Medad was a fine
skater. And his sled was arranged so that the
two girls could sit upon it. Warmly wrapped
in their cloaks, he drew them swiftly over the
smooth surface. And, when summer fruits were




PARTING TOKENS.            65
gone, there were still plenty of nuts and apples
for Zephina.
After the visit of Mrs. Whately, Mrs. Fanshaw was quite reconciled to Zephina's intimacy
with Beulah, and gave her every facility for cultivating it, though she never repealed the law that
forbade her daughter to go into the farm-house.
She was herself occupied continually with her
worsted-work, and silk patchwork. Day after
day she bent over the embroidery-frame, bringing
out, by slow degrees, "Sir Walter Scott and his
Family," as a mate to "The Interior of a Dutch
Inn," for a pair of ottomans.
Winter passed rapidly away, and spring once
more smiled upon the reviving earth. The bower
had been nicely cleared out and put in order,
and warning given to Zephina that the postoffice was again opened.  Zephina appeared
there soon after, at a very early hour in the
morning. She sat down upon the rude bench,
and, leaning an elbow on her knees covered her
face with one hand; in the other was the little
basket that had so often been filled with gifts
from her beloved friend.
The large tears trickled through her fingers
and fell upon it. After a short time spent thus




66             PARTING TOKENS.
she rose, and, placing it upon the bench, said,
" Dear little basket! shall I never see you again?
Would that I could fill you with gold, —but that
would be a poor return for my sweet Beulah's
kindness." Then, giving one more longing, lingering look at the bower, and at the dear old oak,
she walked rapidly away.
Beulah soon arrived there, and, seeing Zephina in the distance, called her, but she was beyond
the reach of her voice. She took up the basket; it
was full. A  letter was upon the top of it; it
was as follows:-'"I cannot but hope that I shall meet my dearest friend to-morrow morning, - yet I may not;
and then, — how shall I write it?- and then,
we may never meet again.
" Mamma has decided to go immediately to the
city, to'finish my education.' Poor, dear mamma, she is not very well, and I have not said a
word in opposition to it, though I am sure it is
not in my nature to be such a lady as she wishes
me to be.'I go for comfort,' as the dear, dear
Squire says. In the basket you will find a worsted
comforter that I have knitted for him; when he
wears it, next winter, may it remind him of the




PARTING TOKENS.            67
little girl to whom he was so kind. The workbag is for your mother; give it to her, with my
sincere regards. The pen-wiper is for Mr. Azariah; I am not certain, however, that he writes
much. The watch-case is for Mr. Medad. The
flower upon it is a forget-me-not; — do not tell
him, however, for I do n't believe he would know
but what it is a turnip-blossom, for I embroidered
it without any pattern. For you, my sweet Beulah, I have nothing but a heart full of love, and
that poor little book-mark, done with my own
hair; if you could see to the bottom of that
heart,.you would find'Gratitude' as plainly
there as it is upon the mark. Put it in your
Bible, that very Bible I have so often seen you
carry to Sunday School, that you may be in the
most solemn manner re ninded of the enduring
affection of
" ZEPHINA."
7




CHAPTER X.
A GENTLE REPROOF.
BEULAH was sad and lonely for some time after
the departure of her friend. But she was a busy
little body, and constant occupation soon brought
back her cheerfulness. She received a box of
books and a new bonnet and dress from Mrs.
Whately, which the Squire said he was mightily
afraid would turn her head. But she kept it as
steadily when at church as ever, and every
Sunday went for a poor blind woman, as usual,
whom she led carefully to her seat near the pulpit, and, as soon as church was over led her
home again. She soon wrote to her kind fr end
the following letter.'MY DEAR MRS. WHATELY:
"' I thank you a thousand times for your kind




A GENTLE REPROOF.           69
letter and acceptable presents. The books I am
reading with pleasure. I like Miss Edgeworth's
stories very much indeed. The last that I read
was Mademoiselle Panache. I suppose Lady Caroline was of the kind of fine ladies that my dear
Zephina dislikes so much. They have gone from
Baxter,- Mrs. Fanshaw and her daughter, - and
I do not even know where they are now living.
I suppose it was forbidden to Zephina to tell me
the place of their residence.  Instead of her
pleasant society I am sometimes troubled with
the visits of a young man who is studying medicine in our village. He is known by every person here as' the Doctor's young man.'
" Now this Dr. Weasenby has taken it into his
head to pay us a weekly visit. He is queer
looking, -very. His hair is light and long, and
in front it stands up straight and stiff; - he must
use quantities of pomatum.  His large, lightgrey eyes seem to stare at you, and yet he never
looks directly in the face of any one. Then he
holds his head so stiffly on his long neck, wnich
collars and cravats can't cover. But, to crown
the whole, this awkward gawky thinks himself
so handsome and so polite, - he is such a conceited fellow, - that I am troubled to know how to




70           A GENTLE REPROOF.
treat him ciiilly. What shall I do, my dear Mrs.
Whately?  He comes every Thursday night,
when mother has gone to the sewing-circle, and
father has just received the Weekly Advertiser.
Medad goes to wait upon some of the girls home,
and I have my suspicions that Azariah goes a
courting.
"Dr. Weasenby says,'Miss Morris,' (for lie
seems to take me for a young lady, instead of a
little girl only fourteen,) Miss Morris, did you
ever read the Life of Benjamin Franklin?''Yes, Sir, I have read a Life of Dr. Franklin.''Well, it's a fine book, now, is n't it? Did you
ever read Lord Byron?'Never.''Well, now,
it's a pity; — Lord Byron's a pretty book;
there's some nice females in it that I should
like to talk to you about. In the Corsair and the
Bride of'Bydos, them must have been uncommon handsome females.
" Then comes a long pause, -Father keeps on
reading his paper, — the Doctor smooths up his
hair in front and down behind,- I am very much
engaged with my knitting. And thus he comes,
week after week. The only change in his conversation of any consequence is,'Did you ever read
the Life of Washington?' or,' Did you ever read




A GENTLE iEPROOF.             71
Josephus? It would be a grand book if it was n't
so dreadful long that no man alive ever did get
through it.'
"How shall I treat him? How can I be polite
to such an awkward, stupid man? Please tell
me, my dear friend, and much oblige your grateful and attached
" BEULAH."
The following reply was soon received.
" MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND:
"I fear in your last letter you indulged yourself a little in drawing a caricature. The poor,
awkward young man seems quite harmless and
inoffensive. Be kindly considerate towards him,
if he is only homely and awkward. Think how
much better this is, than if he were immoral or
vicious. To be sure, it is sometimes difficult to
refrain from laughter when things are really
ridiculous, but as long asthey are only ludicrous,
in the manner you have mentioned, arising doubtless from the want of education and association
with well-bred people, we ought to endure them
with perfect good-nature.
"Be civil to the young man, Beulah, because
your own self-respect demands it; be civil to




Q72          A GENTLE REPROOF.
every one, even to the lowest person whom you
meet. Besides, you might yourself fall into the
society of people accustomed to elegant manners,
who would see some things in you, that, if so
disposed, they might ridicule. I have often seen
clusters of young ladies in a party, making sport
of every body. No person, however good or
dignified, could escape. Any little peculiarity
of dress, gait, or expression, they would seize
upon, and show it up in the most ludicrous manner. I have sometimes said, in passing such a
lively group,'Well, gih.s, who now  are you
dissecting?  I fear I shall be your next victim.'
" I know, my dear Beulah, the kindness of your
heart, and do not believe you would ever thus
amuse yourself in society. Those who are guilty
would say it is only thoughtlessness, - but I
think there is some maliciousness in it, too.
"Another habit that girls fall into is that of
giggling continually. They cannot speak without a titter or a giggle. This not only looks very
silly, but it destroys the quiet self-possession that
becomes a young lady.
"Some girls, too, bite their handkerchiefs or
gloves, or worse yet their nails; this last is
an odious habit. They ought to learn to keep




A GENTLE REPROOF.           73
their hands laid gently and easily together when
they are sitting; in this way they will in time
acquire a lady.like repose, essential to female
dignity.
"Do not grow weary, my Beulah, with your
friend, because she thus tells you freely how to
cultivate good manners. I know that you have
the requisite foundation, and all in good time the
superstructure will be reared. You will, in short,
become all that my most sanguine wishes could
desire. God bless you, dearest.
" Your true friend,' LAURA WIIATELY.




CHAPTER XI.
AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION.
BEULAH had grown in beauty and in graceful.
ness from year to year. The native sweetness
of her disposition had not been embittered by
unkindness; neither had her self-respect been
decreased by comparing herself with those above
her in rank and fortune. W~as not Squire Morris
a justice of the peace, a substantial farmer, a
man of consequence in the town of Baxter?
She had never experienced an emotion of selfdegradation, nor wished to degrade others. Why
should she?
At fourteen, her slender figure alarmed her
mother, lest she should have a feeble constitution,
yet the fine air of the country and active exercise gave her complexion a rosy hue, without
injuring its delicacy, and the vigor and elasticity




AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION.        75
of her movements proved that she was in pei
fect health.
In the autumn, the Squire received a long letter from Mrs. Whately, mentioning various reasons why she wished Beulah to come and pass
a year with her. These reasons did not transpire, for the careful man, having the old-fashioned
notion, that a woman cannot keep a secret, did
not read the letter even to Mrs. Morris.
It was exceedingly trying to the whole family
to part with the lamb of the flock. Beulah herself was at first unwilling to leave home. Where
else could she be so happy? And how could:
mother do without her?
But then Mrs. Whately was so kind, - so very
kind, - and she was lonely, too, and a comfort she
might be to her, - and there were a great many
things in the world that she would like to see
and hear,- and, with the hopefulness and vivacity
of youth, she looked forward to the time when she
should return and tell so many things to the loved
ones at home.
Three whole days were spent by Mrs. Morris
and Beulah in preparations for the city, and her
simple wardrobe was considered in complete
order.




76       AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION.
How it would have amused a girl of her age,
accustomed to think of dress as the most important
thing in the world, to see the simple attire with
which Beulah Morris felt perfectly satisfied.
Beulah took an affectionate leave of every
body in the village, for she knew every man,
woman, and child, and was a favorite with all.
She lingered long at the beloved bower, which
with girlish fondness she still kept in order for
the sake of Zephina.
"Medad," said the Squire, "you must go
with Beulah, and take good care of her, and you
may spend two or three days in Boston and see
what's to be seen."
"I am delighted, perfectly delighted, with the
chance," said Medad, -and he whispered something in the ear of Beulah. "But shall we go in
our waggon?'" continued he
"No, no; take to stages and railroads, and
start to-morrow," replied Squire Morris. "And,
Beulah, although cousin Whately is very kind
to you, I do n't want you to feel at all dependent upon her, for I'm too thankful to say
that I am well to do in the world and need n't
ask favors of any one. You go to do her a;favor by staying and keeping her company in




AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION.       77
her lonely house. And here is one hundred
dollars for your spending money.  That will
keep you as well dressed for the year as a
farmer's daughter ought to be; for I do n't want
to have you get any grand notions in your head,
and come home to despise your father and mother, because they do n't care for show and only
go for comfort. Be friendly with every one, but
by no means too familiar. Remember the old
proverb, - Familiarity breeds contempt."
The tears were in Beulah's mild eyes.
" O, do n't cry my child, I know you'11 be a
good, sensible Yankee girl, and not be carried
away by all the novelties you chance to meet.
Your grandmother was a good woman, not to say
any thing of your mother, because praise to the
face is open disgrace; at any rate, you come of a
good stock, and you must keep up its character."




1HAPTER  XII.
THE JOURNEY.
EARLY in the morning, the stagecoach, with its
nine inside passengers and three outsides, was
on the route to Boston. For several miles Beulah did not lower her handkerchief from her
eyes, excepting once, and that was to catch a
glimpse of their own dear village from the last
high hill. Home! home! and the kind warm
hearts there, what in the wide world could atone
for their loss.
" Come, cheer up, Beulah," said Medad; "our
folks, though they did feel sadly, will be chirk
again soon. And there are a great many pleasant:things to be seen on the way."
Medad's kind intentions towards his sister
were aided by a sudden jolt, which sent a gentle.,man's hat directly into her face.




THE JOURNEY.             79
"I beg your pardon, Miss," said the owner of
the hat, a young gentleman who sat directly op.
posite to Beulah.
"Not at all, Sir," the words were, of course.
but the tone of voice made the stranger desire
to hear it again. But there was something in
the air and manner of the simply dressed country-girl before him, that prevented him from
addressing her. Several times he was upon the
point of doing so, but he could not. At length
he turned to Medad, and said, "A  very fine
country this. It is better, however, for grazing
than for grain, I should think."
" Perfectly correct, Sir," replied Medad; "it's
a fine grass country; they say it's much better
land, though, in that famous valley of the Connecticut."
"The valley of the Connecticut is very beautiful;- its banks are quite a contrast to the bold
banks of the Hudson. Have you ever been up
the Hudson? "
"Never, Sir,"  said  Medad; "never was
twenty miles from Baxter in my life."
The stranger looked a little surprised at this
frank avowal, but Medad was utterly unconscious
of having said any thing remarkable. He did




80             THE JOURNEY.
not consider it in the slightest degree disgraceful not to have travelled. Why should he?
Next to Beulah, on the middle seat, was a
coarse-looking woman, who seemed disposed to
be incommoded, for the slightest cause was made
a matter of petulant complaint. The back-strap
wanted fixing, - somebody's feet were in her way,
- at last she began to be sick with riding. Beulah
politely offered her the seat by the window, which
she accepted. Then she opened her travellingwallet, and handed the woman a bottle of camphor, and some peppermint lozenges, with which
her careful mother had provided her. The woman accepted them, without a word of thanks.
They had not gone more than twenty miles,
before a disaster occurred. They were about
passing a small bridge. The horses went safely over, but the heavily-laden coach was upon
the bridge when one side of it gave away, and
the coach was upset.  Fortunately the bridge
was low, and over a shallow stream. The cult.
side passengers were precipitated into the water.
The driver sprang from his seat to the ground,
and kept hold of the reins.
Inside were dire confusion and intense alarm.
The petulant woman screamed, and struggled,




THE JOURNEY.              81
and kicked, endangering the life and limbs of
her neighbours more than the fall had done. As
soon as possible, the driver cut the traces, and,
securing the horses by the road-side, came
to the assistance of the passengers. The outsides by this time had discovered that they
were still alive and not much injured, and aided
the driver in relieving the other passengers from
the "durance vile" in which they were still
kept within the coach.
Medad was the first to make his way out.
The young gentleman followed. "Now help
Beulah," said the former.
"No," said her sweet voice within; " help this
poor woman, who has been very much injured.
Let me assist you to rise."
By this time all were out excepting these two,
- and it seemed impossible to do any thing with
the woman, who had entirely lost all command
of herself. "0, my arm! 0, my arm!  The
weight of the whole load came right on me,"
she screamed.
With the aid of Beulah within, and the passengers without, she was at length dragged out
4'S the coach and placed upon terra-firma.
Beulah could have escaped uninjured only




,82            THE JOURNEY.
by being on the middle seat; she was thus thrown
upon her unfortunate neighbour. The poor womnan was shivering with cold from her wet clothing. Beulah took off her own shawl and wrapped
it about her, for her arm was dreadfully bruised
and broken. No sooner had she done so, than a
short broadcloth cloak was thrown around her
own shoulders by the young gentleman.
"Where do you belong, my good woman?"
said Medad.
"About five miles from  here," she replied;
"but I shall never live to get there."
" 0, yes, you will, for the driver has sent a
man on horseback for another coach, and it's
only a mile. Is n't it lucky that we were only
one mile from the place where they change horses? - and they have an extra stage there. And
soon you'11 be home, and the doctor will set your
arm in less than no time. It will be as strong
as ever it was in a month."
" O, I never shall have the use of it again,"
she said; " I am always worse off than any body
in the world."
The young gentleman had succeeded in getting
into the coach, and had brought out some cwshions and Beulah's wallet.  She tank eft  the




THE JOURNEY. -           83
poor woman's bonnet, wiped off the w ater, bent
it into shape, and put it again upon her head,
quite forgetful of her own, until Medad said,
"You look funny enough, Beulah, with your
own bonnet knocked into a cocked hat, and that
military cloak to correspond."
All the passengers who were not disabled went to
work to place the luggage upon the shore, ready
for the coach: They had just got it all there
when it arrived, and soon they were surprised to
find themselves again on their way with so little
injury.  Bruises and scratches there were in
abundance, but no limbs broken but the woman's
arm. They all agreed to go on immediately to the
place where she belonged, instead of stopping
at the next inn to make themselves more comfortable, for she seemed in great pain and distress. Beulah wished to support her head upon
her shoulder, but the young gentleman insisted
upon relieving her from the burden.
In less than an hour the coach stopped at the
inn. Medad and the stranger, finding that it was
a quarter of a mile from the main road to the woman's home, took a waggon and carried her there.
So much delay had been occasioned, that they
all concluded that it was best to remain there
for the night.




84             THE JOURNEY.
The shawl was safely returned to Beulah by
the young gentleman, who, with some hesitation,
delivered the message. As, however, it showed
some gratitude, though expressed in her own
coarse manner, he thought it his duty to do so.
" She said to me,' Tell that girl who lent me
the shawl that she deserves the best husband in
the world, and I hope when she's old enough
she'11 find him.' "
Beulah blushed, and said, in a very low tone, "I
am much obliged to her."
The next day's journey was without accident.
And then, by railroad, they came to their place
of destination.
" Look out, Beulah,- there is Bunker Hill Monument," said Medad; " so our friend says. Does
n't it make one's blood start through the veins to
see it. And old Boston, too. the Cradle of American Liberty."




CHAPTER XIII.
CITY ACQUAINTANCES.
MRS. WMHATELY was expecting her young friends
and received them with the greatest cordiality.
Her house was large, and situated in one of the
finest streets in Boston. Medad looked at the
various articles of rich furniture with wondering
eyes. The first opportunity that Beulah had to
see him alone was after dinner. She begged him
not to gaze about quite so much, and by no
means to ask any questions.
1" That is too good, Beulah, advising me just as
if you had always lived in the city," said Medad,
laughing. " And I should have thought really
you had, by the way you dipped your fingers
into those colored glasses and wiped them on the
napkin; for my part, I could n't think what they
were for, and should just as likely have taken a




S6          CITY ACQUAINTANCES.
drink, if I had n't see you go through with the
operation. And then, that fork with four prongs
bothered me, — but you handled it as if you
never had used any thing but a silver fork in
your life."
" It only needs a little observation to be able
to change in these small things from what we
have been accustomed to at home," said Beulah.'What beautiful pictures these are."
"Yes; they are, and this is a fine house, but
our folks could buy house and all, if they wanted
it," replied Medad, walking to and fro in the
splendid apartment, without the least consciousness of inferiority, because he had not always
trodden upon a Wilton carpet. Medad was one
who
" Would shake hands with a king upon his throne,
And think it kindness to his Majesty."
The next day, Mrs. Whately, not being well,
was unable to go out with Medad and Beulah.
She gave them very particular directions that
they need not loose their way amid the intricacies of Boston, a perfect labyrinth to strangers,
and they started for a stroll in Washington Street.
Medad, entirely satisfied with his suit of butter.
nut-brown, made by the country tailor, walked




CITY ACQUAINTANCES.         87
leisurely along, looking in at the shop windows.
At length he stopped before one, saying, " What
beautiful trinkets, and splendid watches! Come,
Beulah, let us go in here."
" If you wish to make a purchase, I will go in
with you, but not otherwise," replied Beulah.
But Medad, without replying, was already within.
He inquired the price of their watches, and the
man carelessly answered, "Some are two hundred and some three hundred."
"' Well, Sir, but have n't you any for less than
that.  I want a good time-piece, — a plain,
good one, suitable for a farmer," said Medad.
"There's one, now, what's the price of that? "
" Fifty dollars."
Medad looked at it awhile, and then whispered to his sister, " Do you think that would fit
the watch-case?"
"I should think it would, exactly," she answered.
" Then that's the watch for me. I'11 take it,
Sir, if you'11 put a key to it." And he handed
out fifty dollars. He had been laying it by for
some time, to be able to fill the beloved watch
case.
They then sauntered along, Medad making his




88         CITY ACQUAINTANCES.
remarks upon all whom they met in an under
tone to Beulah.
" There, now, what do you call that walk, - that
girl coming towards us with the yellow bonnet
and red feather flying off half a yard, and all
those curls. I should call it the diddlecurm-twiddle.
Did you ever see such a jerking and twitching to
make progress forward? "
Beulah looked at the girl with the long, light
curls hanging down each side to her waist, and
as she did so they were quite near her. Medad
began bowing and smiling. The girl raised her
eye-glass, and, looking at him through it, said
to her companion, in the most affected tone,
"What microscopic insect is that? I am  cer
tain I never saw it before."' "Miss Harriet Ann Gunn, I believe," said
Medad, perfectly undaunted. "' Can you tell me
what has become of Miss Zephina Fanshaw? "
"I do not know any such person," said the
girl, hurrying on with all her might.
"You  must be mistaken,"  said  Beulah.
"That could not be Harriet Ann."
" Mistaken! I should know her among ten
thousand. How provoking that she should tell
such a falsehood! Fine feathers, it seems, do n't




CITY ACQUAINTANCES.         89
always make fine birds. Keep a look out, - we
may meet Zephina. Do you suppose she, too,
would n't know us  "
" I do n't know, indeed, for I am told that
people here often forget those they have known
in the country, — but I do not believe Zephina
would ever forget old friends."
When Beulah related this little adventure
to Mrs. Whately, the good lady was quite
amused to find that her young friends had never
heard of " cutting an acquaintance." She told
them it was a vulgar practice that some persons had who must be very doubtful of their own
respectability, since it depended entirely upon that
of their acquaintances.
" You may rely upon it," said she, " that no
one cuts an acquaintance, who is perfectly con.
tented with her position in the world. She has,
no reason to do so, for if the person she chances
to meet is above her, she bows with respect, and
without envy; if below, still with politeness, and
without a condescending, patronizing air. It is
therefore more than probable that this girl would
not be a suitable acquaintance for us."
After passing a few days in Boston, and seeing
much that was worthy of a stranger's notice, Me



90          CITY ACQUAINTANCES.
dad was anxious to know how the watch would
fit the case, and, telling Beulah, "' Our folks wilt
be anxious to hear from us by this time," he bade
her an affectionate farewell, charging her to keep
a bright look-out for Zephina.




CHAPTER XIV.
SHOPPING.
MRS. WHATELY took Beulah out to make some
needful purchases. No sooner did they enter
a shop than the clerks were all politeness and
attention.  It was not altogether because that
lady came in her own carriage, but because there
was in her mode of shopping something so agreeable that every one was pleased to wait upon her.
She knew before she left home just what she
wanted, and about what would be a reasonable
price, and therefore never stood cheapening for
hours the articles she intended to purchase.
She consulted Beulah's taste, for, like most girls,
she had a taste of her own, and found that she
invariably preferred the least glaring colors and
the most simple style. As this entirely agreed
with her own taste, it was not difficult to make a
9




92               SHOPPING.
select-on. After their return home, Mrs. Whately
handed Beulah a little memorandum-book, saying,
" It will be well for you to keep an account of
your expenditures while absent from home. I
have arranged it for you. You will find, among
other things, a place to put down the pieces thal
you give to the chamber-maid for the washerwoman.  Although I believe all my domestics
to be honest, it is right that 5 ou should know certainly that every piece is returned. Habits of
order and economy are important to every woman,
rich or poor. In our country, especially, she who
is rich to-day may be poor to-morrow; -and,
besides, wealth should be expended conscientious
ly and with good taste."
"But," said Beulah, "I think those young
ladies we met shopping to-day could not be very
economical, for they wanted to purchase the
greatest quantities of things, - lace, shawls, silks,
velvets, every thing. The counters were heaped
up with the various articles. And yet," said she,
"' they did try to be economical, for they asked
again and again if that was the lowest price they
could possibly take."
"They were probably only shopping for amusement. Many of them went home without purchasing a single article," said Mrs. Whately.




SHOPPING.               93
"' How provoking it must be to the merchants,"
said Beulah.  "I can't imagine what pleasure
the young ladiss take in such a strange amusement."
"I hope you never will know  from  experience," was the reply.
Beulah wrote in her little memorandum-book,
with the greatest possible neatness, as follows: —
Recelved from my father, Oct. 15th, $100.00.
Expended: —
Cloak......   $ 18.00
Bonnet.                 6.00
Gaiter-Boots and Shoes.... 3.50
Mousseline de Laine....    6.50
Cravat......   50
Gloves......    1.50
Handkerchiefs..... 3.00
Muff......    6.00
" Forty-five dollars already! " exclaimed Beulah to herself, when she had added up her expenses; "I am afraid, at his rate, my hundred will
not last through the year."




CHAPTER XV
A SURPRISE.
AFTER Beulah had been in Boston about a
month, she went one morning with' Mrs. Whately
to a milliner's in - Street.
While Mrs. Whately was engaged making some
purchases for herself, Beulah's attention was arrested by a familiar voice that she heard on the
other side of the shop. She turned and looked.
It was the voice of one of the young girls of the
shop, waiting upon a customer. She looked again,
and, approaching the girl, exclaimed, " Zephina! "
"Beulah Morris!" was the reply, and a warm
embrace followed.
Mrs. Whately came towards them looking inquiringly. "It is Zephina, my own dear friend,"
said Beulah. "Mrs. Whately, Zephina."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Mrs. Whately




A SURPRISE.              95
shaking hands most cordially. " I congratulate
you both on this unexpected meeting." But as
this was not a suitable place for explanation, she
asked Zephina to come and see Beulah very soon,
and gave her address.
"I have but little time," she replied, looking
very sorrowfully, " but I will endeavour to come
as soon as possible."
Mrs. Whately and Beulah then left, and, all the
way home, they were forming conjectures how
Zephina had happened to take up the employment in which they found her engaged.
As they stepped out of the shop and into the
carriage, Harriet Ann happened to be passing,
and saw them.
"' I declare, that is the sister of the horrid wretch
that spoke to me the other day in Washington
Street, and she is with Mrs. Whately, one of the
very fust ladies in Boston."
The person to whom she spoke was the same
who was with her on the former occasion. " It's the very young lady who was with him;
what a very pretty girl she is," she replied.
" How can you think so? She has n't a
bit of an air, — and so plainly dressed, too,
— not even a feather, when every body that




96              A SURPRISE.
can raises one of some kind or other. She's
a real country-girl. I can't think how she happens to be with Mrs. Whately. Seems to me
I remember she got her living in the country by
picking berries, or some such thing, but I am
uncerting. I am going down this way, and must
bid you good morning."
She walked a little way down the street, and
then, turning, hastened back to the milliner's shop.
For many months, Harriet Ann had not found
it convenient to recognize Zephina, and whenever she passed her in thi: sK:eet, it was amusing
to see the various expedients that she adopted
for turning her head the other way. Now she
ran up to her, saying, in a condescending manner, "How d' ye do, Zephina. What have
you got altogether allamode and recherchy (Harriet Ann had got a smattering of French, which
she pronounced horridly, and a passion for large
words).
" I do not understand you, Miss Gunn," replied
Zephina.
"O, I forgot, your present occupation is an
insuperable preventative to your studying French.
By the way, I thought I saw this morning, that
very country-girl that I once or twice met,




A SURPRISE               9
when I spent a couple of months at that horrid
outlandish place in the country. Her name is
Betsey or Patty Morris, I believe?"
"Beulah Morris. She is passing the winter with
her cousin, Mrs. Whately," coolly replied Zephina.
" Then that countrified fellow must have been
her brother, who had the impudence to address me
in the street, and inquire after you."
"Was it the older or the younger brother? "
asked Zephina, slightly blushing.
" I am sure I do n't know; it was a tall, awkward crichure, and I was scared to death for
fear some one would see him speak to me in the
street."
A lady now came and asked Zephina to step
aside, - slhe wished to ask her a question.  Mrs.
Markham - that was the lady's name - was geting up a set of tableaux, and wanted some one for
a Rowena. She was struck with the long flaxen
curls and fair complexion of Harriet Ann, as
a fine contrast for her dark-haired, dark-eyed
friend, who was to personate Rebecca the Jewess.
Zephina told her that Harriet Ann was a young
lady of independent fortune, niece to Mr. Prium,
the baker.
" A very respectable, honest man, I've known




98              A SURPRISE.
him these twenty years," the lady said, and asked
for an introduction to her.
Harriet Ann was delighted beyond expression
at this invitation.
As the tableaux were to be the next evening,
Mrs. Markham offered to procure a dress for
Miss Gunn. But no, Miss Gunn chose to provide
her own dress, if the lady would tell her what
it should be, as she had not the least idea who or
what Rowena was. Mrs. Markham explained it,
recommending that she should leave it to the
good taste of Miss Fanshaw.




CHAPTER XVI.
A FRIENDLY VISIT.
THE next morning Beulah was agreeably surprised by a visit from Zephina. The greeting
was equally cordial on both sides.
Zephina told Beulah, that, when they were in,
Baxter, her mother had retired into the country
for economy's sake. They had formerly lived
in New York. Her mother had been a widow
since she herself was an infant. Their fortune,
which had once been considerable, had been reduced, yet Mrs. Fanshaw determined to bring
out Zephina as an accomplished lady.
On her return to New York, she lost nearly
all that remained of her fortune by the failure of
a bank. Zephina immediately determined to offer,
herself for some kind of employment, but her
mother insisted that it should not be in New
York, the scene of her former display. She,




100          A FRIENDLY VISIT.
therefore, through their milliner, procured a place.n Boston, where she had now been for more than
a year. Not long after their arrrival, Mrs. Fanshaw was seized with a spine complaint, which had
confined her for some months entirely to her bed.'Poor mamma! she did every thing in her power for me, yet I was often very refractory," said
Zephina. " She is now so kind and so patient, that
it grieves me to think of it. I am obliged to leave
her alone a great deal. I hope, Beulah, you will
come and see her sometimes. MTe live in a
room - yes, one room - in a house No. 19Street."
"I will come very soon," said Beulah; " bu
rill she know me? "
"Yes, for I shall tell her you are coming, and
wle have no acquaintances here. But do n't tell
her if you please where you are staying. Are
you taking music lessons, Beulah? "
She was; -her cousin had kindly offerced to:nstruct her. "You were my first teacher in mu.
sic," said Beulah. " Do you remember the bower
-lhere you taught me so many songs?"
" O, those were the happiest days of my life,"
replied Zephina sorrowfully.
But the hour that she had begged was past,
and she must take leave.




A FRIENDLY VISIT.         101
"Come often and see me," said Beulah.
" No, dearest, I cannot come. It would not do
at all. You will move in such a different sphere,
that it would only be a mortification to you to
own me for an intimate friend, and it would pain
me to be received in any other way."
"That is the first unkind thing that you ever
said to me, Zephina. It makes no difference
what spheres we move in; nothing can divide our
hearts."
" The same simple, kind-hearted Beulah! " exclaimed her friend, throwing her arms around her
neck. "' I must have one more kiss, and I will love
you as well as ever, but I really have, no time for
paying visits, - not a moment to spare from my
employment and from poor mamma."
Harriet Ann was anxiously waiting for Zephina. Her splendid dress of white satin, with a
transparent gauze over-dress, must be finished,
and she was in agony for fear it would not be
done. Then she needed a magnificent white veil.
This she asked Zephina to lend her from the
shop, which was promptly refused.
" Then I must run in debt for one," said Harriet.
Ann, " for I have n't a dollar left of my quarterly:
income."




CHAPTER XVII.
LES TABLEAUX VIVANTS.
"IT is not my intention, Beulah, to take you often
into society," said Mrs. Whately; "you are quite
too young; moreover, it would withdraw your attention from your studies, but as you have never
seen any tableaux, I am  going to take you to
Mrs. Markham's this evening."
" Tableaux, - do n't laugh at my ignorance, - I
am entirely at a loss to guess what they are."
"I never laugh at ignorance of any kind,
and this - with regard to an amusement - is a
mere trifle.  Tableaux vivants are living pictures; - but I shall tell you no more, lest it
should impair your enjoyment of the evening.
You will find your dress already prepared, and'laid in your room."
Beulah flew to her room, and there lay a simple




LES TABLEAUX VIVANTS.        103
white-muslin dress, with a blue sash. She took
her purse, went down to Mrs. Whately, and, putting it into her hand, begged to her to pay for it.
She refused at once, having designed it for a
present.
" I am very much obliged to you," said Beulah, "but my father forbade me to accept presents."
" Did he? — that was so like his sturdy independence; -then I must deny myself the pleasure, and take out of your purse the ten dollars
that the dress cost. I should have consulted you,
my dear, only I wished to give you an agreeable
surprise. I am sorry that I must submit to so unpleasant a necessity."
As Beulah looked in the glass, arrayed for the
evening, did she not feel a consciousness of her
own loveliness?  That fact never transpired.
Faces have blushed at beholding their own beauty,
and it is possible that hers did; but she had never
been told that she had any personal charms.
She was not vain, and it is just possible that she
had never made the discovery.
Mrs. Markham's rooms were filled with as
many as could see the pictures, and a few
more who tried very hard. Expectation was
on tiptoe. The curtain at length arose.




104        LES TABLEAUX VIVANTS
The frame for the tableaux was gorgeously
gilded, the vista and lights well arranged for
effect. The first tableaux was magnificent. It was
a scene from Kenilworth. Elizabeth, when she
discovers Amy Robsart in the grotto, att'xred as
a nymph.
The next was Rebecca the Jewess, and
Rowena. The scene was the one in which Rebecca presents the casket, and asks to see the
face that had won Ivanhoe. No one could have
been more completely Saxon than the Rowena,
and the dress, and the lights, and the contrast
with the dark Jewess, made her look very prettily; - but the moment that the curtain was
lifted, Harriet Ann burst into a silly, girlish
giggle, and entirely spoiled the picture.  The
passionate Rebecca was so angry that she would
not attempt the scene again, and Mrs. Markham with difficulty concealed her displeasure.
"That must have been Harriet Ann Gunn,"
said Beulah to Mrs. Whately.:" Very probably it was, from her behaviour,"
was the reply.
Several other tableaux followed, and were
completely successful, — delighting the young
country -girl, whose love for the beautiful was




LES TABLEAUX VIVANTS.        105
so deep and true, that few persons present could
have received more enjoyment.
Extempore tableaux followed. Mrs. Markham
came to Beulah, and requested her to sit for IHope
Leslie. She frankly confessed that she knewv
nothing of the character, and therefore could not
express it. Others were suggested, but Beulah
said she should act entirely out of character as
any thing but a spectator, and begged to be excused.
At this moment a young gentleman came up,
and asked an introduction.  "My son, Hugh
Markham, Miss Morris," said the lady.
It was her travelling companion on the way
from Baxter.
Harriet Ann had just taken a seat by Beulah,
determined to claim  acquaintance.  " This is
quite a novelty to you, Miss Morris," said she,
pertly,-" quite a novelty. You do n't get up
such beautiful things in Baxter."
" They are quite new to me," replied Beulah,
" and very pleasing."
"Then I am not mistaken; I should have
known that voice among ten thousand," said
Markham.
"It is mellifluous and significant, certingly,"
abruptly exclaimed Harriet Ann.




106        LES TABLEAUX VIVANTS.
Markham, though annoyed by this strange
speech, was amused at its absurdity. He made
another attempt, however, to converse with Beulah.
"Do you pass the winter in Boston, Miss
Morris? "
"I do; I am making quite a long visit to Mrs.
Whately," she replied.
" Are you, indeed!" exclaimed Harriet Ann.
"I am infinitely glad of it, for I have an imperious
desire to become acquainted with her. Do me
the satisfaction to introduce me, will you, Beulah?
I must call you so, for it seems so like old times.
But is n't yours a very queer name? Do you
like it? "
" It was my grandmother's name," was the
brief reply.
"Well, I do n't think any body ought, by good
rights, to be named after their grandmother, for
names do get so old-fashioned.  I hope now
we've met, that I shall see you often in company
this winter."
" I am too young to go into society; my studies will occupy most of my time " said Beulah.
"What difference does that make. I go to
school, and yet I shall_ go into company a great




LES TABLEAUX VIVANTS.        10?
deal. I am studying Music, Drawing, French,
Italian, History, Chemistry, Geometry, Painting,
Dancing, Composition, and Moral Philosophy.
What are you studying, Beulah? and where do
you go to school? I go to the fust school in
Boston. I wonder you do n't go there."
" Mrs Whately is so kind as to instruct me at
home."
"Well, now, that is very odd; I should n't
think she'd find time. But now you will remember to call me Harriet Ann, won't you."
c" Excuse me, miss," said Markham, " but
what is your surname."
" Gunn. It's a horrible name to pun upon; 1
could tell you fifty capital ones that have been
made upon it."
Markham could think of but one, he wished
earnestly that it would go off.
" Are you trying to think of one?" inquired
Miss Gunn. "I've heard you were excruciat.
ingly witty. If you can't make it out, our young
country friend might help you, for I believe she
is what Yankees her way call smart."
"I never made a pun in my life," said Beulah.
"Well, it is strange how little of bagatelle people up country do know," said Miss Gunn.
10




108        LES TABLEAUX VIVANTS.
Beulah's quiet smile was unperceived by Har
riet Ann, but did not escape the notice of Markham.
"How do you like my costume?" inquired
Harriet Ann. "I left it entirely to my milliner.
one Fanshaw, who has a great deal of taste. I
never trouble myself about what I shall wear, I
just give my orders and pay down the money,
when they are done to my liking."
Beulah's eyes flashed, and her heightened color
betrayed momentary feeling, instantly repressed.
"Mr. Markham," said she, "have you seen
Mrs. Whately; I have missed her for some time."
"' Yes, I saw her in the other parlour; will you
take my arm, and we will find her."
Beulah gladly accepted the offer, and soon
found Mrs. Whately.
" Where did you pick up that piece of vulgarity for a Rowena??" inquired Markham of his
mother; " she has been grievously annoying that
sweet young girl, Beulah Morris.
But that sweet girl, as you call her, must be a
match for her in awkwardness. She is green
from an out-of-the-world village," said Mrs
Markham.
" She is perfectly lady-like in sentiment and




LES TABLEAUX VIVANTS.       109
manners. [ met her when she first started for
Boston, and was with her all the way, and yet I
could not summon resolution to address her without an introduction, this evening," remarked the
son.
"Miss Gunn has quite a pretty fortune, I am
told, and I wish you to be polite to her, and there
are a great many other girls that you ought to
notice before that Beulah Morris," said his mother.
But, notwithstanding the suggestion, Harriet Ann
was destined to enact wall-flower the remainder
of the evening, nobody taking the least notice
of her.
She had given express orders to the waiter, that
he should announce aloud when her carriage
arrived. Accordingly, " Miss Gunn's carriage"
sounded through the apartments, and every eye
was directed towards her. She arose, and, instead of going to Mrs. Markham to take leave,
she walked nearly to the door of the parlour,
then, turning round, said in a loud voice, " Good
evening, gentlemen and ladies," and then followed that courtesy, that astonishing courtesy, and
Miss Gunn disappeared, — every one acknowledging that to have been the most amusing per
formance of the evening.




CHAPTER XVIII.
A FATHER'S LETTER.
Two weeks after the tableaux, Beulah received a letter from her father. We will not
vouch for the authenticity of the orthography,
but, in other respects, the following is a true copy.
" DEAR BEULAH:"Yours of the 18th duly received. We are
all comfortable. Your mother and I have missed you unaccountably, but we are much less
lonesome now Azariah has got married and
fetched his wife home; a nice, industrious young
woman your new sister is, just fit for a farmer's
wife; — none of your hoity-toity high-flyers.
" What queer things the live pictures that you
describe must be. I am glad our little Beulah
did not show herself off to the city folks in one




A FATHER'S LETTER.        111
of them. It is never worth while to play a game
with folks who know how to play it a great deal
better than we do. Medad was mightily tickled
to think Harriet Ann came off no better.  He
says, he believes now that the proud girl is so
puffed up with pride, because she has got a little
money, that was the reason she did not wish to
know-him.
" Our Medad has of late taken a great fancy for
learning. He goes to school this winter, and
reads and studies every night till ten or eleven.
"Now, Beulah, I must give you a little good
advice. Do n't, because you are learning to play
on the piano, and other fine accomplishments,
do n't go for to forget that you will have one of
these days to be a useful woman, and be a comfort to me and to your mother. We go for comfort, and do n't feel as if we could bear to have
you come back to us spoiled, and lose all those
pretty, winning ways that you used to have.
"You always was a good girl, Beulah, and if
you should go far away for to change into one of
them silly things, such as Medad describes, with
the diddle-cum-twiddle walk, (the fellow really
has some humor,) it would almost break our
hearts.




112         A FATHER'S LETTER.
"People who live in great brick houses often
have very little souls, -just as you have seen
a very small pea in a very large pod. And because a great many people live together where
the streets and houses are so blocked up that
it's a wonder that each gets his due allowance of
air to breathe, — because these people are thus
jammed together in a city, it's no reason they
should think so much more of themselves, and
despise country-people who have always breathed
the free air of heaven, without so much as saying,' By your leave,' to any human being.
" But, Beulah, your mother and I begin to grow
somewhat oldish. We've been a hard-working
couple, and after tugging and toiling so many
years we've got together some thousands for our
children. And as you won't have to begin where
we did, it's very well that you should have a
better education than we did. Knowledge is a
good thing if used rightly. And as to behaviour
you can't have a better example than cousin
Whately.  Our grandmother always said, that
Laura was more likely to make a peT feet lady than
any grandchild she had.
"But your mother and I, as I was saying, have
got somewhat on the downhill of life, and we




A FATHER S LETTER.         113
can't always jog on together. We've got to
part, and, whichever goes first, the one that's left
will need kindness from the children. Their loving hearts I hope will be the stay of our old age.
"Ever since I left off the bitters and toddy, I've
been a more sober-minded man. I thank you, dear
child, for persuading me to it, and I read my
Bible more, and latterly think more about dying,
and being fit to die, by living well; and when you
come home, Beulah, I shall want you to sit in the
chimney-corner, and read the good book loud to
us, and sing us sacred hymns with the sweet
voice that was given you to praise your Maker.
"Give our respects to cousin Whately. I'in
glad she has proven such a good friend; — but
you did right not to accept presents.
-" Azariah and his wife send lots of love, in which
Medad desires to join. Your mother's heart is always full to the brim of love for you, and so is
that of your father,
" JOAB MORRIS.
"P. S. I am sorry to hear of the mishaps
that have befallen poor Mrs. Fanshaw. Riches
have wings. Tell Zephina I should be right glad
to see her at our house; I hope she has n't lost




114         A FATHER'S LETTER.
her appetite. it's very great nobleness in her
to support and be so kind to her mother, - poor,
wordly woman that she was.  Medad's watch
proves an uncommon good one, and your mother
and I were pleased that he made the purchase.
He is a shrewd one, or he would have got taken
in. There now, I promised to leave a place for
him to write a postcript, and I've most filled up
the paper."
MIEDAD'S P. S. "Do n't tell any body for
the world what I am going to tell you. The
other day I was reading in a book of poetry and
flowers, and there was a little bluish flower with
four leaves, called a forget-me-not. Then I ex.
amined my watchll-case, and lo and behold, it
was a forget-me-not! What do you think of that,
Beulah? Ask- you know who - if she knew
the name of it when she worked it for me, and
tell her, if she did, I will obey the command till
death."
Beulah wiped away the tears that flowed
abundantly during the perusal of this letter, and
resolved to go immediately to see Mrs. Fanshaw




CHAPTER XIX.
AN INVALID.
MRS. WHATELY took Beulah to No. 19 —
Street, and left her at a plain but respectable
looking house. Beulah knocked gently at the
door of a front room in the second story, and a
feeble voice bade her come in. She entered.
Mrs. Fanshaw was supported by pillows in
bed, so that she was nearly in a sitting posture.
She looked at Beulah without recognizing her,
and said, in a gentle voice, "Come nearer, if
you please, Miss, that I may see who it is."
Beulah, coming near and extending her hand, replied, "It is Beulah Morris, your daughter's
friend."
"Indeed! " exclaimed the invalid. "H How tall
you have grown!" and she was going to add,
" and how very pretty," but changed it to the
11




116             AN INVALID.
simple request, "Will you take a seat? I am
very glad to see you."
The room was in perfect order. The counterpane on the bed was as white as snow, and the
little table that stood by the bedside was covered
with a clean napkin, under which were medicines,
grapes, and oranges. Every thing, in short, showed
the most delicate attention to the comfort of the
invalid. By her side lay a Bible and one or
two devotional books, which she seemed to have
been reading.
Mrs. Fanshaw was extremely pale. Instead of
the contemptuous, dissatisfied expression that had
formerly disfigured her countenance, there was
a look of quiet resignation that went directly to
Beulah's heart. She expressed regret at finding
her so ill.
" Thank you," replied Mrs. Fanshaw; " I ought
to be grateful for relief from extreme suffering.
I am sorry Zephina is not here to see you. But
she has no time to spare from her daily occupation and from her poor, feeble mother. We employ a woman to prepare our meals and take
care of our (apartments, she was going to say,
but immediately corrected herself, and said, with
an effort) one room."




AN INVALID.             117
" I saw Zephina a short time since, and she
appeared quite cheerful," said Beulah.
" My noble girl is the greatest possible blessing
to me," continued Mrs. Fanshaw. " You remember, Beulah, - for I must call you by the name that
Zephina so dearly loves, - you remember, that I
wished Zephina to become an accomplished lady.
Poor, misguided woman that I was. I thought,
then, only of external accomplishments. Sickness and sorrow have been the appointed messengers of good to me, and the world has so far re.
ceded that I can see it in its true light. Zephina
always loved the true and the useful, and understood the real value of accomplishments better
than I did. When I see her performing her
arduous duties so faithfully and so cheerfully, I
am ready to exclaim,'There is a beauty in her daily life
That makes my own look ugly.'"
There was a momentary pause, and then Beuiah mentioned her father's letter, and his kind
remembrance of Zephina, and his desire to have
her make a visit at Baxter.
" What generous kindness!" exclaimed the
invalid; "and do you know, Beulah, that, in my
foolish and wicked heart, I despised country peo.
Die, and called them vulgar? "




118             AN INVALID.
"You did not become acquainted with them,
and therefore could not judge with regard to their
character or manners," kindly replied Beulah.
1" How seldom do we meet with such disinterested kindness as you have shown to Zephina! 
continued Mrs. Fanshaw. " Harriet Ann Gunn
has become quite rich, and now she never comes
to see us. She passes Zephina in the street, and
cuts her deliberately."
"' If it would afford you any pleasure," said
Beulah, "I should like to come and read to you
quite often. Zephina says it fatigues you to read."
"I should be exceedingly obliged to you, for of
late my eyes are weak; I am so much alone that
i have relied upon these for my companions,"
said the invalid, laying her hand upon the Bible
and her other books.
Beulah then rose to go,- leaving her best
iove for Zephina, and a little note, which she laid
upon the table. It was Medad's postscript, in an
e.velope, with a few lines from Beulah herself.




CHAPTER XX.
HARRIET ANN AT HOME.
MR. PRIUM was, as Mrs. Markham  had said
a very respectable man, and his wife an excelleit
woman.
Mr. Gunn died insolvent, soon after Harriet
Ann returned from Baxter, and left her penniless.
Mrs. Prium, his sister, received his orphan into her
family, and her husband freely gave her a home.
She had been with this kind family about a
year when a brother much older than herself,
who had been absent many years, died, and left
her a pretty fortune, -she thought it immense.
Feeling the added consequence that this unex.
pected good fortune gave her, she began to despise her kind benefactors. She went to school,
and there made herself ridiculous by her pretension. Whenever any new acquaintances walked




120        H ARRIET ANN AT HOME.
towards home with her, she would go half a mile
out of the way rather than to have them see her
enter her uncle's house.
One day, as she was coming from school with
two of her schoolmates, a sudden shower came
up. and one of the girls proposed that they should
lak, an omnibus.' An omnibus!" exclaimed Harriet Ann. "I
am horrified! I should be ashamed to be seen in
an omnibus, they are so shocking vulgar. What
would folks think of us! "
$" I do n't care what they thi::k," said the girl
wlho had made the proposal. " Here comes one.
Let's jump in." And they were soon in the coach,
Harriet Ann not being willing to be left alone in
the rain.
The coach was somewhat crowded. "Can't
you move, woman?" said Harriet Ann to a most
respectable looking person.' Perhaps I could, if you were to request it
more politely," she replied.
c" Who expects politeness in an omnibus! " dermanded Harrriet Ann, in an exceedingly impertinent manner.
"' Every lady," was the laconic reply.
When they were not far from Mr. Prium's




HARRIET ANN AT HOME.         121
door, Harriet Ann said to her companions, "I
have got to get out on an errand at a house just
above, and there I can borrow an umbrella to go
home. Boy, stop at Mr. Prium's."
"Mr. Prium, the baker?" said the boy.
"Yes; I believe he is a baker, or some such
sort of a thing," she muttered.
The coach stopped, and out came Mr. Prium
with an umbrella. " Harriet Ann," said the good
man, as he stepped to the coach to help her out,
" I was just going for thee, I am glad thee has got
home without a wetting."
" Is n't that too bad!" exclaimed one of her
companions. "That was her uncle. How kindly
he spoke to her, and what a fine-looking man he
is. How can she despise him!"
" He is one of the most benevolent men in the
world, and universally respected," said the lady
to whom Harriet Ann had so rudely spoken; " and
that I suppose is the orphan whom he received
into his house out of charity. Mistaken girl!
She may disgrace her uncle, but his relationship 
would be an honor to any one."
Thus the foolish stratagem and the wicked
falsehood were perfectly understood, and met
with the contempt that they merited.




122        HARRIET ANN AT HOMIE.
Mr. Prium's mother lived in his family, a venerable woman of eighty, to whom  the whole
household, with one exception, paid the most
deferential respect. "Come, get up, granny, you
are on my work," said Harriet Ann, who had
taken the large chair especially appropriated to
the aged grandmother, and had left her own work
in it when the good old lady happened to be out
of the room. "Come, get up quick, I wish you
would not always be poking yourself in every
body's way."
"My eyesight is failing, child, and I did not
see your work," replied she, mildly.
"' Well, people that are so old are always in the
way. They might at least stay in their own
room," said the rude girl.
Those aged eyes, from which no tears had
fallen:for many a year, now filled, and the large
drops rolled over the withered cheeks. "Merciful
God! I thank thee, that thou hast given thy servant good and dutiful children," fervently ejaculated the venerable woman.
Mr. Prium had just entered the door and heard
this conversation. " Harriet Ann Gunn," said he,
"how durst thee speak thus to my respected
mother! Thee calls thyself a lady; is this the




HARRIET ANIN AT HOMIE.        123
proof? Gray hairs are a crown of glory when
found, like my blessed mother's, in the way of
righteousness. Contempt for the aged is a meanness as well as a sin."
" I forgive her, and so must thee, Thomas; in
giddy girlhood there is much thoughtlessness,"
said the saintlike woman.
"Yet youth, my good mother, is the season for
gentleness and affection," replied Mr. Prium,
"and she who lacks these amiable qualities in
the spring-time of life, will be cold hearted before
its summer, and frozen into very ice long before
its autumn."
"That is quite a poetical speech for a QuaKer," said the incorrigible girl, upon whom it:
seemed impossible to make one favorable im,
pression.
"' Thy heart is already ice, Harriet Ann," he
replied, with more severity than he was ever
known to use in his whole life before; "and the
mistaken man, who should take thee to his bosom for a wife, would find thee a viper there."




CHAPTER XXI.
4
AN AWKWARD ACQUAINTANCE.
As Mrs. Whately and her young friend were
going to church one Sunday, the latter suddenly
exclaimed, "There comes Dr. Weasenby! Shall
I try the Boston fashion of cutting an acquaintance? "
": By no means, Beulah; I am sure you would
not do such a foolish thing," replied Mrs
WThately.
"Not unless you wish it, I certainly should
not," was the reply.
Sure enough, there was "the doctor's young
man," more starched and stiff-necked than ever,
dressed in a complete suit of glossy black. He
bowed in the most formal manner, and then came
to a full stand, extending his hand to Beulah in a
new yellow glove, so unpliable that he could not
bend his fingers.




AN AWKWARD ACQUAINTANCE.        125
There was the slightest possible degree cf condescension in Beulah's manner as she touched the
tips of those awkward fingers, and politely returned
the bow. Dr. Weasenby saw nothing but the
greatest cordiality in her manner, and inquired
where she was going to church,
"I am going with Mrs. Whately to church."
The Doctor, taking this for an introduction to the
lady, raised his hat straight up a quarter of a yard
above his head without inclining it an inch, and
then settled it so carefully as not to disturb a single hair. "W Vell, I will wait upon you, ladies,"
said he, just as Mrs. Whately was going to invite him.
" How  long is it since you were in Baxter,
Sir? " asked Beulah.
" Three weeks, precisely. I asked the Squlre
to write to you, but just then it was a special
busy time, and he could n't. He's nicely, and so
is the old woman," replied the Doctor.'And my brothers, they are well, I suppose,.
or I should have heard of it," said Beulah.
"They are both smart. Baxter is an amazing.
healthy place, and I have come to settle in Boston,,
where it's more sickly."
No sooner were they seated in church, thanr




126     AN A.V1VKWARD ACQUAINTANCE.
Dr. Weasenby smoothed up his hair in front, and
down behind, in his own peculiar manner. A
loud whispering and half-suppressed tittering was
heard in the pew behind them. It was Harriet
Ann and her constant companion, Miss Stiltaker.
They were vastly amused with the specimen of a
country beau before them, and kept their heads
together, whispering under each other's bonnets,
during the whole time they were in church, to
the great annoyance of those who were near
them.
Dr. Weasenby, on the contrary, was reverential in his manner, and Mrs. Whately was not in
the least troubled because the stranger with her
happened not to be quite as elegant in his appearance as her acquaintances generally were.
As soon as service was over, and Beulah had
stepped out of the pew, she was seized rudely by
[Harriet Ann, who whispered in her ear, loud
enough to startle those in their neighbourhood,
" Why, Beulah Morris, who have you got with
you? That poke-a-moonshine, I mean." Beulah
was quite too much surprised to answer immediately, and the rude girl continued, "' He is indu.
bitably a Baxter man, I know him by the cut of,his hair."




AN AWKWARD ACQUAINTANCE.       127
Beulah whispered, very low, " I am afraid he
will hear you. He is a young physician, who has
just established himself in Boston."
"Is it possible!" exclaimed Harriet Ann,
whose opinion seemed to undergo a very sudden
change. " I had n't an idea that he was a professional man."
By this time they were at the door, and, their
way homeward being in different directions, they
parted. Dr. Weasenby accompanied Mrs. Whately and Beulah, and when they reached home,
Mrs. Whately very politely asked him to walk in.
" Not now," said the Doctor, " but I shall try
to call very soon."
" That is rather an awkward young man," remarked Mrs. Whately, when they had entered the
house, " but by no means so vulgar as those silly
girls who sat giggling at him in church. I have
often noticed them at concerts and lectures. Instead of listening themselves, they prevent others
from hearing by their continual whispering; and
now and then comes a derisive laugh from them,
which proves they are amusing themselves by
ridiculing every one. In the street, too, their rude
impertinence is almost insulting. I have repeatedly heard the inquiry made,' Who is that very




128     AN AWKWARD ACQUAINTANCE.
vulgar girl with the long light curls?' Beulah,
dear, you must be civil to her, but she is so encroaching and obtrusive, that it is necessary to
treat her with great coolness."
There was nothing in the circumstances or
appearance of Harriet Ann Gunn that prevented
her from becoming a lady. Every one must acknowledge that it was entirely her own fault
that she could not be received into the societv
which she sought with bold pertinacity.




CHAPTER XXII.
A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.
THE next time that Beulah visited Mrs. Fanshaw, she purchased on the way a beautiful bouquet to place upon her little table.
The invalid received the attention gratefully.
"I love flowers, now," said she, "better than I
ever did before in my life; they are indeed the'poetry of earth,' as the stars are' the poetry of
heaven.' Every thing that speaks to me of the
wisdom and goodness of the Creator now gives
me unspeakable pleasure. My young friend, do
you know how indifferent I was to all these things
when I was in the country? "
" I know you went out very little," replied
Beulah.
" Uncover those ottomans, if you please," said
she, pointing to two large seats covered with




130           FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.
brown linen. " There was my bane. I labored
over those, and several other pieces of embroidery, until I ruined my health. I loved all artificial
things better than the true and natural, - artificial
manners, artificial enjoyments, and even artificial
flowers, better than natural ones. I could not but
apply to myself some lines that I read the other
day, from  one of the English poets.  Here they
are; will you read this stanza for me?"
Beulah read the following lines, from Beattie's
" Minstrel ":
" 0, how canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields?
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The pomp of groves, the garniture of fields;
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even,
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of Heaven;
0, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?"
" How much I might have enjoyed had I loved
the country as Zephina did.  Her sweetest recollections are of those beautiful scenes about your
native village," remarked Mrs. Fanshaw.
" Could you not go into the country for a while,"
said Beulah; "it would be beneficial to both of
you.1"




A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.       131
"c No, my dear young lady, I never shall behold again in life groves and green fields," solemnly replied the invalid.
"But my father and mother, I am sure, would
do every thing in their power to make it pleasant
to you, if you and Zephina would pay them a
visit," replied Beulah, not understanding the allusion.
" Your kindness makes me ashamed of myself.
Too well do I remember the pride and wickedness of my heart, the only time that I ever entered
their hospitable dwelling. There was a lady
from a distance then visiting you. Do you remember who it was, and where she lives?"
" Her name was Mrs. Whately, and she lives in
Boston," replied Beulah.
"Ahi, I see it all; you are with her now.
Zepnina did not tell me, I suspect, for fear it
would revive painful remembrances. And your
cousin knows of your coming to my humble
room, and does not disapprove of it?"
" She would be most happy to come herself,
and testify the interest she feels for you and for
Zephina," replied Beulah.
" She is very kind; she can do nothing for me,
but she may do much to befriend my desolate
12




132       A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.
child when I am gone." The invalid's voice
faltered, and she changed the subject.
"You kindly promised to read to me, Beulah,
and will you do me the favor to turn to the parable of the Prodigal Son? There is no part of the
Bible so touching, and at the same time so consoling, as the teachings of our blessed Saviour."
Beulah found the parable, and read it in that
sweet, soothing tone, so grateful to an ear rendered sensitive by long illness, and a heart
bowed down with many sorrows.
When the reading was ended, Mrs. Fanshaw
said, "Thus have I wandered  from  my Father's house, and, as the shadows of life's close
gather around me, I look back upon the enjoyments that I once sought with such avidity as
indeed dry husks.  Would that I had sooner
learned the true value of this probationary exis.
tence."
Beulah now took leave, promising to call again
very soon. " My dear Beulah, you have early
learned the pleasure of doing good; God bless
you," was the invalid's parting benediction.
Only a few days after this visit, a messenger
was sent in great haste for Beulah, saying that
Mrs. Fanshaw was dangerously ill. Beulah was




A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.         13
just dressing for a concert, to which she was going
with Mrs. Whately. Immediately she resumed
her plain dress, and, the carriage being at the
door, went instantly to her afflicted friend.
Mrs. Fanshaw had been seized with paralysis,
and the physician who had been summoned pronounced the case a hopeless one. Her face was
terribly distorted, so that it was fearful to look
upon. Zephina was bathing her forehead, and
attempting every possible means of relief. Beulah
resolved to remain with her, and despatched the
coachman to beg permission of Mrs. Whately.
She readily granted it, and sent her own woman
to assist in any way that might be needful.
After a few hours, the distorted features re-,axed, a calm expression stole over them, and all
suffering seemed to have passed away.  And, in
that silent chamber,
" They watcned her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of.ife
Kept heaving to and fro.
"And when the morn rose dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,
Her quiet eyelids closed; - she had
Another morn than theirs."




CHAPTER XXIIL
ZEPHINA'S GRIEF.
AND there sat Zephina alone watching the
dead. Beulah had taken her home with her, for
a few hours, on that sad morning. When she returned, the room was in the neatest possible order, and the corpse, in the habiliments of the
grave, lay upon the bedstead. No entreaties on
the part of Mrs. Whately could induce the de.
voted girl to leave the lifeless form of her mother.
There she remained in the chamber of death, in
the absorbed quietness of deep grief. She had
been the heart's idol of that mother, and, whatever
had been the errors or the foibles of the departed,
they were all forgotten. Zephina remembered
only her love and kindness. And what earthly
love is so pure, or so disinterested? Who, that
has known the deep tenderness of a mother's




ZEPHINA'S GRIEF.          135
love, is not ready to answer, from a full heart,
"Such was the love of my own dear mother."
Without any care on the part of Zephina, every
thing was arranged for the funeral on the followmg day. Even all her mourning clothes were
sent to her in perfect order. Her only remaining
relations were distant ones, who lived in a remote part of the country.
When the hour for the funeral arrived, Mrs.
Whately and Beulah came with the clergyman,
and four of Mrs. Whately's friends as pall-bearers.
The solemn services were performed.  Mrs.
Whately's carriage contained all the mourners,
for that kind lady and Beulah sympathized so
truly with the desolate Zephina, that the mourning garb they wore was neither a mere form, nor
a solemn mockery. As they wound through one
of those beautiful paths at Mount Auburn, so calm
was Zephina that one not acquainted with grief
would have said that she did not feel deeply, -
but what agony is like that which finds no outward expression? The only dry eyes at that
grave were those of the chief mourner, when the
earth fell upon that coffin, and she was a friend.
less orphan.  No, not friendless; for when the
carriage stopped, it was at Mrs. Whately's door




136           ZEPHINA'S GRIEF.
and when Zephina hesitated a moment, at Beulah's tone of gentle entreaty, "Dear Zephina,"
she allowed herself to be conducted into the
house.
Zephina passed a week with Mrs. Whately, and
then, although urged to remain longer, she went
back to her lonely and desolate room, and to her
daily employment. Her character was so truly
noble, that it could not fail to make a strong impression.
"How  lovely Zephina looks in her deep
mourning suit," said Mrs. Whately. " She never
seemed so sweet and amiable before. It would
be difficult to find any one more lady-like. From
a refined delicacy of feeling towards her departed
mother, she now takes special care to cultivate
all the exterior marks of a well-bred woman. I
admire, too, her self-respect. No employment,even though considered far below the respectable
one in which she is engaged, - no honorable employment could degrade such an elevated and
truly dignified character."
Such praise bestowed upon her friend, and
coming, too, from those ever-truthful lips, made
Beulah's warm heart throb, and tears come gushing into her eyes; — for, ever, when




ZEPHINA'S GRIEF.           137
" She heard the praise of those she loved,
The mantling blood, in ready play,
Rivalled the blush of early day."
Zephina's employment kept her so constantly
engaged, that for a time she saw very little of
Beulah. This sadly grieved them both. Mrs.
Whately, although she did not receive company
on Sunday, invited Zephina to pass that day with
them, and they would not consider her a visiter.
It should be her Sabbath home. And so indeed
it became, for Zephina would not resist such
kindness. All through the week, she pursued,
contentedly, her employment, inspiring every one
who met her with respect, living entirely alone,
yet cheered with the pleasant anticipation of the
blessed day of rest, the soothing sympathy and
kindness of Beulah, and the wise counsel of Mrs.
Whately.




CHAPTER XXIV.
HOME.
BEULAH'S visit, at the earnest entreaty of her
friend, had been prolonged;fom time to time until the Squire's patience was quite exhausted, and
Mrs. Morris said she could not spare her another
month. Mrs. Whately was compelled to yield to
their urgency, and, hearing of a lady who was
going directly through Baxter, she placed Beulah
under her care, and she arrived in due time, without accident, at home.
And was Beulah unfitted for home by her long
absence, and a different mode of living?  No;
she entered with new interest into all the affairs
of the family. She aided her mother in household concerns, and soon, without adding materially
to their expenses, gave an air of taste and refinement to the interior arrangements of the farm
house.




HOME.                139
"How did you make out with your hundred a
year, Beulah, among so many fine folks," inquired Squire Morris, after Beulah had been home
a few weeks.
" O, very well, father, as you will see by my
account-book. I was obliged to be more economical than I at first expected, but, as I did not wish
to dress extravagantly, I had every thing that so
young a girl needed.
"And you accepted no presents from cousin
Whately? " continued he.
"' Certainly not, after your request, father."
The Squire looked over the account, praised
its neatness, and run over the figures to see that
they had been summed up correctly.
" Keep that, my child, it's a credit to you,"
said he, returning the account-book. "You will
make a smart, orderly woman, just like your
namesake. It's the best praise I can bestow upon
you to say, that you deserve the name of my
mother; - excepting always present company,"
added the Squire, shutting one eye, and looking
with the other at Lis wife. "Mary is a pretty
good name."
One of the first visits that Beulah made after
her return was to the poor blind woman.
13




140               HOBME.
" How do you do, Nancy? " said Beulah.
The woman started up, and, extending her hand,
said, " That sweet voice can come only from little Beulah Morris. And yet it is softer and gentler than ever. They have not spoiled you."
Little did poor Nancy imagine, that the little
Beulah was a tall, graceful girl, almost seventeen
years old.
"And who has led you to church during my
absence," asked Beulah.
"Your kind brother, Medad. At first I felt
awkwardly to be led by such a tall boy, but I got
used to it, and liked it in time, for he has a strong
arm to lean on, and a strong heart, too, Beulah.
Very few boys would have done such a kind.
ness."
All the other neighbours were visited in turn,
and it was pleasant to hear them say, "Why,
Beulah Morris has n't grown a bit proud and
ceremonious; she is just the same girl, only a
great deal more warm-hearted."
Medad, whose intelligence had been increasing, and who had seen several other places besides Baxter, proposed that the farm-house should
be painted white, and a porch added to the
front-door. Moreover, his taste was not quite




HOME.                141
satisfied till green blinds were added, and a new
fence, with a neat gateway. When these im.
provements were completed, and the garden and
front-yard put in nice order, every body said,
there was not so fine a looking house in all
Baxter.
Azariah and his wife were comfortably established in a pretty cottage not far distant from
the farm-house, and soon after Beulah's return
they invited the young people of the neighbourhood to come and spend the afternoon, and take
tea. Beulah was much pleased to find Azariah's wife a sensible, discerning woman, with
much more cultivation of mind than she had expected.
Azariah very naturally inquired, " Well, wife,
how do you like our Beulah? "
"I think I shall love her very much," she replied; " one can see at the first glance that she is
amiable. Then I like her manners, better, I
think, than any young girl's that I ever saw. Did
you ever notice that she never interrupts -any
body in conversation, not even  a domestic 
When she is talking with old Cato, she waits as
patient as a lamb till he gets through one of his
tedious speeches, and seems as much interested




142                HOME.
as if he really was talking very much to the purpose."
"It's nothing new; she always had just those
pretty ways. Have you heard her play on the
piano; — they say she was asked to play everywhere in Boston," said Azariah, looking quite
proudly.
"I have not, excepting some psalm-tunes last
Sunday evening," replied the wife.
"' Well, you could n't hear her then, for father
and Medad sang Old Hundred, and Mear, and
their other old tunes, so loud, that you could n't
hardly have heard a bass-drum, if there had been
one there," said Azariah.
"I noticed Beulah particularly the other evening when we had company," said Mrs. Azariah
Morris. "She sat in a corner where there was
tattling and gossiping and scandal going on, and
she was perfectly quiet, but I could see she looked
a little sad, as if it gave her pain. She never
contradicts you, Azariah, and when you make a
mistake never corrects you. I thought she would
be for instructing us in a great many new ways,
but she seems to think we are doing very well,
and never makes any comparisons about our
house or furniture, and never boasts of having




HIOME.              143
seen any thing more expensive. For my part, I
should be quite willing to be told any thing from
her that would improve our country ways."
"0, I guess we shall jog along, wife, pretty
well after the old ways; — but I'm  glad you
really like our Beulah"




CHAPTER XXV.
AN INTENDED MARRIAGE.
ZEPHINA had in one of her letters mentioned.hat she was not very well. One evening she
had just returned home, lighted her lamp, and
seated herself in her lonely room, when she
was startled by a loud rap at the door. Alarmed,
she opened it with a trembling hand, and there
stood Squire Morris.'" Finey, my dear child, is it you? " said he;
" you are so altered I hardly knew you."
"My kind Squire Morris!" exclaimed she;
"you have n't altered- in the least. Come in, Sir;
will you?"
The Squire took a seat, and looked around the
room, - then he seemed troubled with a sudden
cold, - or at least he wiped his eyes as he said,'Finey, you live here all alone. That is n't




AN INTENDED MARRIAGE.        145
right. I've come for you to take you to Baxter,
for my Beulah has pined for you ever since she
got home."
"You have come all this distance to take me to
Baxter! " exclaimed Zephina. " What kindness! "
" O, no very great kindness on my part," said
the Squire; " the kindness will all be on your side
if'you will consent to go. Can you be ready by
day after to-morrow? "
Zephina was silent for some moments.
"O, I forgot," said the kind-hearted man; —
"here is a little billet from Beulah that will persuade you better than I can."
Zephina's tears fell fast upon the paper as she
read the note, — but they were tears of joy.
" I did not need this to persuade me," said she,
folding it up, and kissing it. " It is enough that
you have taken all this trouble for me. I will go."
"Thank you, thank you," said the Squire.
"And can I help you any way about getting
ready?"
" O, no; what little arrangements I have to
make will soon be completed." And Zephina
looked sorrowfully around her room, as she said,
" I shall leave every thing here as it is, till my
return."'




146        AN INTENDED MIARRIAGE.
"Well, then, good night; I stop with Cousin
Whately, and shall not see you again till day after
to-morrow morning, bright and early. You look
pale, dear. Miss Morris says country air always
suited you, and she knows now it will be the
best medicine in the world for you."
"' There is no medicine like kindness for the
sick heart," said Zephina.
All needful arrangements were made on the
following day, and Zephina was ready at the appointed hour. Yet it was sad to leave that place,
enchained as it was to so many touching remembrances. Amid much sorrow and loneliness, she
had passed there many hours of peace and contentment.
And Baxter was at last in sight, first the steeple,
then the village.
"But where is the dear farm-house? " eagerly
inquired Zephina.
"Here we are home again," said the Squire.
as they stopped before the gate,
" What, this white house with green blinds?"
exclaimed Zephina, with a momentary feeling
of disappointment that it was not the same old
red house. And then she added, " It is! it is! for




AN INTENDED MARRIAGE.       147
there comes Beulah through that pretty porch."
And another was there who was not named, and
a more cordial welcome could not have been
given to the heiress of millions.
And after the greetings were over, there were
many improvements to be shown to Zephlna. The
bower had been enlarged, or rather built anew
with more durable materials, and it was completely covered with sweet-briers and honeysuckles.
And there, not many weeks after, a conversation took place, which decided the future life of
Zephina, -a conversation in which Medad was
the other party, and the principal speaker.
The Squire insisted, that there was no use in
putting off what was to be done, and what every
body allowed was the best thing that could have
happened. He wanted the young folks to be
married right away; for he took all the credit
to himself of having brought it about,- though
he did allow that Medad hinted pretty hard about,
his going after Zephlna.
"But," said the good man confidentially to
Mrs. Morris, "when I saw how handsome Finey
had grown, and how sort of stately and graceful
she was, like a tall, young elm-tree, my heart:




148       AN INTENDED MARRIAGE.
went pit-a-pat for the boy, just as it did when
I popped the question to you, wife; and I think
he is a lucky fellow to get such a prize; but he
is a first-rate farmer, and he deserves her, —
though he is our son."
Zephina consented to name an early day, and
in bright and beautiful June, when the rose-season
offered its sweetest gifts, they were married.
Soon after the marriage, they went to Boston,
not for the sake of a fashionable bridal-tour, but
because the bride had made no arrangements,
when she left the city, with reference to the event:that had taken place.
The very day that they arrived in Boston, by;one of those singular coincidences that do now
and then happen, Harriet Ann Gunn's name was
ringing louder than it ever had done before. She
did not appear at breakfast one morning. Caleb
Prium required that every one should be punctual
in his family, and sent a servant-girl to call her.
The girl came down, saying that she had knocked
at her door, and called, but that no one hac answered, and she believed the door was fastened.
Mrs. Prium went.and found that it was so, and,
alarmed lest her niece should be ill or dead,
called her husband, and he immediately burst the
door open, - but no Harriet Ann was there




AN INTENDED MARRIAGE.        149
The bureau drawers were opened, and every
thing of value taken out of them,-her trunks
and bandboxes all gone. They at first thought of
a robbery, -but then what had become of Harriet Ann herself? So great was their alarm, that
the girl who had been sent to call her at length
confessed that she had helped her to pack her
trunks, and to remove all her luggage in the night
to the front door, and that very early in the morning a carriage had come, and, as she expressed it,
"'Had taken the bandboxes, and baskets, and
trunks, and Miss Harriet Ann, all away."
" And who came in the carriage? "
She did not know; - she did n't go to the door.
Just then the opposite neighbour, who kept a
grocery store, came over, and asked if Caleb
Prium knew who his niece had gone away with?
No; certainly he did not.
Well, then, he could tell him; for he was.
opening his shop very early, and he saw a carriage drive very slowly up to the door, and, said
he, " )ut jumped that rascal who calls himself'
Mr. Percy, from South Carolina."
"And who is he? " demanded Mr. Prium.
"As great a scamp as ever lived. lie owes,
me ten or twelve dollars for cigars and wine. t




150       AN INTENDED MARRIAGE.
just discovered yesterday that his true name is
Mark Timberley, and that he has been in the
Philadelphia Penitentiary. But do n't let us stop
to say any more about him, for I heard him tell
the driver to take them to the Providence Railroad, and the cars have n't gone out yet. You
may find them before they get off."
Mr. Prium waited for nothing but to put on his
broad-brimmed beaver, and reached the dep6t
just as the cars were starting. He jumped on,
however, and went to Providence. There, the
first persons whom he saw come from the cars
were Mr. Percy and Miss Gunn.
Caleb Prium immediately stepped up to them,
and, addressing Mr. Percy in a low tone, said,
" Thee need n't trouble thyself to conduct my
niece any farther, Mark Timberley. I will do
that myself. Harriet Ann, take my arm, if thee
does not wish to be led to the Philadelphia Penitentiary."
Harriet Ann dropped the arm upon which she
had been leaning, and Mr. Percy, alias Mark
Timberley, walked off, very, very fast, indeed.
Caleb Prium attended to the luggage, and, taking
the next train back to Boston, without a word of
explanation, conducted Harriet Ann quietly back




AN INTENDED MARRIAGE.        151
to his own house. He handed her out of the
carriage, led her into the front parlour, and
closed the door.
" Harriet Ann, where was thee going?" said
he.
" Going to be married to Mr. Percy," was the
reply.
"He was a villain. Where is thee going
now? " continued Caleb Prium.
"Going!"  exclaimed  the astonished girl;
" where should I go?"
" The carriage waits for thee to decide. I cannot have thee stay under my roof till thee learns
to respect thyself," said the Quaker decidedly.
" Forgive me, 0, forgive me, for mercy's sake,
Uncle Prium, and I will listen to your advice and
try to be all that you wish," said Harriet Ann,
with streaming eyes and clasped hands.
"And can thee give up thy foolish, mistaken
notions of being a lady, and try to become a good
and useful woman?" asked he.
" I will, I will indeed, for I know I am nothing
now but a silly girl, who'has been led away by
wrong notions."
"There, now, thee is coming to thy senses.
God grant that thy penitential tears may have




152        AN INTENDED MARRIAGE.
their well-spring in thy heart." And Caleb Prium
ordered the coachman to bring in the luggage.
Mrs. Prium's curiosity led her to make further
inquiries of Harriet Ann. She learned that Percy, alias Timberley, had attracted her attention
first in the street, by a pair of large, dark eyes,
black, curling hair, whiskers and mustaches, and
by his splendid and fashionable dress; that he had
found an opportunity to be introduced to her, and
had often met her at her friend, Miss Stiltaker's.
He pretended to be a rich Southern planter, and
had induced Harriet Ann to elope with him on
the plea that he knew positively that her uncle
would never consent to her marriage with a
Southerner, — a plea utterly false, for Caleb
Prium was not a narrow-minded, prejudiced man.
Harriet Ann's head was filled with silly, romantic notions, and she thought it would be a very
brilliant affair to elope with Mr. Percy,- one that
would make a great noise in the fashionable
world, and be announced in the newspapers
through the length and breadth of the land.
In the cars he had taken her purse and watch
for safe keeping, and that may account, in part,
for his going off upon a full trot when Caleb
Prium met him at Providence.




CHAPTER XXV.
A NEW FRIEND.
IT was a glorious sunset, after a lovely day in
June. The evening star was just showing its silvery light in the soft, blue western sky. The
Morris family were seated in the porch. Thoughts
sweet and pensive, thoughts of early childhood,
were gliding through the mind of Beulah Morris.
They were interrupted by the stopping of a car
riage at the gate.
" It is Mrs. Whately's carriage," exclaimed site,
almost flying down the front-yard.
The coach-door was opened, and out stepped a
tall, fine-looking young man, who handed out Mrs.
Whately. Beulah was in her arms in a moment, and, after the cordial embrace, Mrs. Whately turned to her companion and introduced him
as her son, Winthrop Whately.




154           A NEW FRIEND.
By this time the Squire had joined them. " WVelcome, welcome to Baxter, Cousin WVhately," was
his hearty salutation. " Happy to see you, and
your son too, for I suppose this is Winthrop.
Why, I have n't seen you since you were six
years old, and yet I should have known you the
world over; you've got the real Morris nose.
Come in, come in. Coachman," he continued,
" drive into that big gate yonder, and put your
horses in that new barn; this time, Cousin Whately, I shan't allow you to send them to the tavern."
And kind Mrs. Morris came forward with her
welcome, and there was wondering how Mrs.
Whately could have spared her only son five
years, and warm congratulations upon his return,
- and then it was proposed that they should enjoy the balmy evening in the porch.
"But supper, supper," said the Squire.
"But that will do two or three hours hence,"
Mrs. Whately said, taking a seat in the porch.' How tastefully you have arranged your garden and grounds, and fitted up the house. And,
Beulah, you love roses as well as ever, I see, by
that sweet bud in your hair."
Beulah's blush at this allusion rivalled the
damask bud that she had carelessly placed in her
dark hair.




A NEW FRIEND.            155
" Yes," replied the Squire; " young folks will
have their notions; Medad and Beulah have made
all these improvements."
" The rose-bushes have grown almost as much
as yourself, Beulah, since I was here five years
since. By the way, where is Zephina? You
wrote me that she was still paying you a visit, a
short time since."'" Married and gone to Boston," replied Squire
Morris.
"Married!" exclaimed Mrs. Whately; "and
to whom? "
"' To our Medad, to be sure; the boy had set
his heart upon her ever since he was seventeen
years old. We managed it nicely," said the
Squire, rubbing his hands with delight, " and he
has gone to Boston with the prettiest bride in all
New England. They will settle down here in
Baxter, - good comfortable farmers, - for though
I've allowed them to slick up the old place, I
go for comfort as much as ever."
Mrs. Whately expressed great pleasure at this
event, saying that she regretted not being able to
see the happy couple in either place, and praising
Zephina so warmly as to satisfy even the Squire's
partial fondness for his daughter-in-law.
14




156            A NEW FRIEND.
The bountiful supper was soon upon the table,
and presented no such glaring incongruities as
formerly.
Winthrop Whately had left home much out of
nealth, five years before, and travelled in Europe
for two years with an excellent tutor. Having
thus regained his health, he remained three years
at the University of Gottingen, and had returned
home about a month previous to this visit.
It would be difficult to describe Winthrop
Whately, for his face was one of those intellectual and expressive ones, in which you seem not
to discern clearly a single feature. You see it as
a whole, full of life and soul, demonstrating the
character; yet no one would have called it a very
handsome face. His person, too, was fine, but it
was a noble carriage and graceful movements
that gave it its manly beauty. Mrs. Whately
looked at him with a mother's affection, and perhaps a little of a mother's pride, for he had been
left from his infancy entirely to her care and
management, and had ever yielded to her control
with affectionate docility.
Very early the next morning, Beulah was going with a pitcher of soup to Nancy, the poor
blind woman. She had not proceeded far from




A NEW FRIEND.            157
home, when Rover came running after her, delighted to see her, and jumped with his great
paws upon her shoulder, causing the soup to be
spilled. "Go away, Rover, you trouble me,"
said she, in a beseeching tone, but the playful dog
continued to jump and gambol around her, the
soup all the while pouring over the top of the
pitcher and down its sides, and upon her apron.
While in this awkward predicament, who should
appear but Winthrop Whately, coming towards
her. Beulah wore a large sun-bonnet, which concealed her face, and her simple morning-dress
was so entirely different from the one she had
worn the evening before, that Winthrop did not
recognize her. He drove away the dog, saying,
"If you will go on, Miss, I will wait and see that
he does not trouble you again."' Thank you, Mr. Whately," replied Beulah.
" Rover is quite lonely in the absence of his
master, and glad to see a friend. He does not
Know how much mischief he has done."
" Miss Morris! is it possible! " exclaimed Winthrop. " I did not expect to meet you so early in
the morning; allow me to relieve you from the
pitcher, which you appear to have ha:l much
trouble in carrying."




158           A NEW FRIEND.
"If you please," said she, " at least till I have
taken off my soiled apron. I surely did not think
of your being an early riser."
"I love the morning," continued he, holding
the pitcher, while Beulah took off the soiled apron,
and, folding it, wrapped it around the dripping
vessel. "Early rising," added he, "is not so
much a duty with me as a pleasure; I owe my
restoration to health in part to this habit, and being once fixed, it is a very easy one to continue."
" There, now, I can do very well; I am obliged
to you," said Beulah, offering to retake the
pitcher. "Poor Nancy will have but a small
breakfast this morning."
" No; please let me carry it for you, and tell
me who it is for whose breakfast you are so
anxious."
" A poor blind woman, who lives quite alone not
far distant. The neighbours take care of her, and
I should have sent the soup this morning, but,
bearing last evening that she was ill, I thought I
would take it to her myself, and maKe some inquiries about the poor, lonely creature."
They were soon at the door of a small, brown
house, where Beulah knocked, but no one bade
her enter. She knocked again, and a feeble
voice said, "Come in."




A NEW FRIEND.            159
"I fear. Nancy is very ill," said Beulah, as
she took the pitcher from Winthrop; " if I should
not be home in time to join the family at breakfast, have the kindness to make my apology."
" Allow me to wait without a while," said he' should she be quite ill, she may need other assistance than yours, and I can go for some kind
neighbour."
" Thank you, I will see how she is," and Beulah entered. The poor woman lay almost lifeless and deathly pale.
" My good Nancy, are you very ill? " tenderly
asked Beulah.
"Is it you, Beulah?" faintly articulated the
woman.
"Yes; I have brought you some soup, can
you take a little?"
" No; water, fresh, cool water," was the reply.
Beulah went to the door and handed a cup
to Winthrop, requesting him to draw deep
from  the old well a cup of cold water. He
did so; while Beulah threw aside her sun-bonnet, arranged neatly the covering of the bed,
and opened the windows to admit the fresh air
of the morning. When she attempted to give the
water to Nancy, she found that the poor crea



160           A NEW FRIEND.
ture could not swallow without being raised up,
and it was impossible for her to do it, and at the
same time give her the water. Nancy's eagerness for it was intense. "Water, cold water,"
she repeated.
Beulah, without further hesitation, called in
W\inthrop to her assistance, for she feared the
poor woman was dying. He came and raised
her tenderly, while Beulah held the water to her
lips. She drank it with avidity and was somewhat revived.
"Beulah, my child," said she, "I am almost
gone; send for some one to be with me."
" I will, Nancy. I have a friend here who will
go for any one you will name. Can you lie down
now? "
"I will try; it is a strong  arm  and a
strange one that supports me, I thank him, whoever it is."
And Winthrop, placing the blind woman's head
gently upon her pillow, withdrew his arm, much
wondering at this quickness of perception.
"Beulah, my sweet child, how kind you have
always been to me. May God reward you, but
I am too sick now for your youthful experience.
Send for Nurse White," said Nancy. "I shall
not need any one long."




A NEW FRIEND.            161I
Beulah now stepped to the door with WVinthrop,
and pointed out to him the house of Nurse
White, saying she would wait until she came,
Winthrop went, reflecting with surprise on the
readiness with which that delicate young girl remained alone with the dying blind woman.
Beulah sat down by the bedside. Nancy was
for a while silent, excepting a low, indistinct
moaning, at intervals. At length she said, "'L
cannot collect my thoughts, and I wish to pray.
Will you pray with me, Beulah? "
Beulah knelt by the bedside, clasped her hands,
and, lifting her eyes to heaven, uttered a short
and fervent petition in behalf of the dying woman.
As Winthrop returned to say that the nurse
would soon be there, he passed by the low, open
window, and the touching scene within met his
eye. He saw that youthful countenance uplifted
while the heart was in communion with the
Father of spirits, and the scriptural expression,
" the beauty of holiness," was for the first time
revealed to him, in all its fulness of meaning.
Towards evening of the same day, Beulah
glided out unobserved, and went to inquire after
Nancy. When she reached the door, Nurse
White met her, and informed her that the poor




162           A NEW FRIEND.
woman had died a few hours after she left in the
morning.
Beulah asked why they had not sent to her
father's for any assistance that might have been
needed.
" O," said the nurse, " the good young gentle
man that came for me this morning left his purse
with me, begging me to see that poor Nancy
wanted for nothing. But that is not all; he was
here when she died, and no one else was with
her but me, and he was so kind and gentle, and
gave such sweet consolatt'ln to itle dying woman,
— equal to any minister. And poor Nancy had
her reason to the last, and blessed the stranger
with her dying breath. I told him the neighbours,
would have taken care of her, and paid the expenses of her funeral, for they had always been
kind to her; but he only said, if they had enjoyed the privilege of doing good so long, he
ought to have the opportunity now. And he
was very urgent, that I should not tell all this
to any one, but I thought I might just mention
it to you, because you always took such an interest in the poor soul who is now at rest."
Beulah walked thoughtfully homeward, and on
her way she was joined by Winthrop, but their




A NEW FRIEND.            163
walk was almost a silent one; they were too
much inclined to serious meditation, at that soft,
twilight hour, after the solemn events of the day,
to be communicative. Yet they had in that single day become better acquainted with each other's true character than they would have done
in the ordinary intercoure of society, in months,
or perhaps years.
15




CHIPTER  XXVII.
THE FUTURE MOTHER-IN-LAW.
W' ELL, Cousin Winthrop," said Squire Morris,
three or four days after the arrival of the Whatelys, "well, Cousin Winthrop, what did you see
in foreign countries equal to these United States?"
"Not any thing that I love half as well,"
he replied.
" Now I like that," continued the Squire;
"you have n't come home, then, as some
youngsters do, puffed up with pride, despising
Yankees. I am right glad that you have brought
back a good, sound, healthy heart, true to your
own kith and kin."
"Perfectly so," replied Winthrop; " I never
loved them half as well before."
" And what are you going to do for the good
of your own country, now you have travelled
and got knowledge at a foreign University?




THE FUTURE BlOTHER-IN-LAW.     165
"I am thinking of being a lawyer; partly be.
cause it was the profession of my father and
my grandfather, and because I think I am perhaps
better fitted for it than for any other. What do
you think of the profession, Miss Morris? "
"I have always thought, that if it had been for
me to choose a profession, I should have preferred the legal one to the clerical, that I might
have done good to my country in many ways
which are only open to the lawyer or the states
man," replied Beulah.
And Winthrop Whately's decision was fixed.
for the law.
After a week delightfully spent at Baxter, Mrs.
Whately and her son took leave of the kind and
hospitable family at the farm-house, and were on
their journey homeward.
Not a word had been spoken for several miles.
At length Mrs. Whately remarked, "Winthrop,
you are a dull companion this morning."
"Ma'am! What is it?  Did you speak to
me?" said he, startled from his reverie.
"I merely said that you were very dull this
morning."
"I am at your service; what shall we talk
about?"




166     THE FUTURE MIOTHER-IN-LAW.
"Beulah Morris," was the direct reply. " What
do you think of her?"
"That chimes in very well with my own
thoughts, for it was of her I was thinking. She
is the most lady-like girl that I ever saw in
America."
" And I think you are quite cured of your partiality for foreign manners by remaining so long
abroad."
"I like American manners when they are not
spoiled by affectation, and an attempt to imitate
foreigners. I wish our people would be more
independent in that respect. They ought not to
despise themselves because, forsooth, every Englishman who darts through the country sees fit to
ridicule their manners for differing from his own.
Just so they have always ridiculed French, Italian,
and Dutch manners. John Bull, after all his pretensions, is not the standard for the world, in
this respect."
" I am glad you like the manners of my young
friend. They are simple American manners, yet I
never saw her do a rude or uncivil thing, nor
heard her speak an impolite word while she was
with me. Her gracefulness, too, was remarked
by every one who saw her; she alone was unconscious of i."




THE FUTURE MOTHER-IN-LAWM.      167
"Why did you not tell me more about Beulah,
mother, mine? I thought she was a girl of thir.
teen or fourteen by the way you spoke of her
before we left home."
"I think it injudicious to praise an absent friend
too highly;. I never do it. I seldom spoke of
you while you were absent, " said Mrs. Whately.
"1 am glad you did not, for when Beulah Morris is a little older, I may want to speak to her
for myself in a cause that will involve deeper
interest to me than any with which my future
clients will ever intrust me."
" You have my best wishes for your success,
Winthrop," said his mother. " Many have I seen
as polished and refined as that lovely girl, some
more beautiful, and others more intellectual, but
never one who acted out so clearly the all-pervading principle of her life,' Do unto others as
you would that others should do unto you.''Whatsoever things in her are pure, lovely, or
of good report,' flow from this divine principle,
and render her the true Christian lady."
THE END.