HABIT.

My dear Friends:

If you wish to have power to say, in the words of the imperial slave of the beautiful Egyptian,

you must not wholly overlook the importance of Habit, while establishing your system of life.

Always indicative of character, habit may yet, to a certain extent, do us the greatest injustice, through mere inadvertency. Indeed, few young persons attach much importance to such matters, until compelled by necessity to unlearn, with a painful effort, what has been insensibly acquired.

Permit me, then, a few random suggestions, intended rather to awaken your attention to this branch of a polite education, than to furnish elaborate directions in relation to it.

Judging from the prevalent tone of social intercourse among our countrymen, both at home and abroad, one might naturally make the inference, that most of them regard Rudeness and Republicanism as synonymous terms. Depend upon it, that as a people, we are retrograding on this point. Our upper class—or what would fain be deemed such—in society, may more successfully imitate the fashionable follies and conventional peculiarities of the Old World, than their predecessors upon the stage of action did; but fashion is not good breeding, any more than arrogant assumption, or a defiant independence of the amenities of life, is true manliness. Breaking away from the ceremonious old school of habit and manner, we are rapidly running into the opposite extreme, and the masses who, with little time or inclination for personal reflection, on such subjects, naturally take their clue, to some extent, from the assumed exponents of the laws of the fickle goddess, exaggerating the value of the defective models they seek to imitate, into the grossest caricature of the whole, and, mistaking rudeness for ease, and impudence for independence, so defy all abstract propriety, as, if not to "make the angels weep," at least to mortify and disgust all observant, thinking men, whose love and pride of country sees in trifles even, indications more or less auspicious to national advancement.

All this defiance of social restraint, this professed contempt for the suavities and graces that should redeem existence from the complete engrossment of actualities, is bad enough at home; but its exhibition abroad is doubly humiliating to our national dignity. Every American who visits foreign countries, whether as the accredited official representative of his government, or simply in the character of a private citizen, owes a duty to his native land, as one of those by the observance of whom strangers are forming an estimate of the social and political advancement of the people who are making the great experiment of the world, and upon whom the eyes of all are fixed with a peculiar and scrutinizing interest.

It has been well said of us, in this regard, that "our worst slavery is the slavery to ourselves." Trammelled by the narrowest social prejudices at home, Americans, breaking loose from these restraints abroad, run riot, like ill-mannered school-boys, suddenly released from the discipline which, from its very severity, prompts them to indulge in the extreme of license. Thus, we lately had accounts of the humiliating conduct of some Americans, who, being guests one night at the Tuileries, actually so far forgot all decency as to intrude their drunken impertinence upon the personal observation of the Emperor! And, when informed, the next morning, that, at the instance of their insulted host, the police had followed them, when they left the palace, to ascertain whether they were not suspicious characters who had surreptitiously obtained admittance to the imperial fÊte, they are reported to have pronounced the intelligence "rich!" Shame on such exhibitions!—they disgrace us nationally.

If our countrymen would be content to learn from older peoples on these points, it would be well. In the Elegant and Ideal Arts, in Literature, in general Science, the superiority of our predecessors in the history of Progress, is cheerfully admitted. Can we, then, learn nothing from the matured civilization of the Old World in regard to the Art of Living? Shall we defy the race to which we belong, on this point alone? This secret is possessed in greatest perfection by those who have longest studied its details, and some long existent nations who display little practical wisdom in matters of political science, are greybeard sages here. So then, let us learn from them what they can easily save us the trouble of acquiring by difficult experiments for ourselves, and, concentrating our energies upon higher objects, give them back a full equivalent for their knowledge of the best mode of serving the Lares, the Muses, and the Graces, by a successful illustration of the truth, that as a people we are capable of self-government! We shall, then, no longer have the wife of an American minister ignorantly invading the Court Rules at Madrid, by sporting the colors sacred to royal attire there, and so giving occasion for national offense, as well as individual conflict, nor furnish Punch with material for the admonitory reflection that the bond of family union between John Bull and his cousin Jonathan must be somewhat uncertain "when so small a matter as the tie of a cravat can materially affect the price of stocks!" And, when vulgar bluster and braggadocio are no longer mistaken for the proper assertion of national and individual independence, we shall not have an American gentleman who, like our justly-distinguished countryman, George Peabody, constantly exhibits the most urbane courtesy, alike towards foreigners and towards the citizens of the native country to which his life has been one prolonged pÆan, accused of toadying, because he quietly conforms to the social usages of the people among whom he lives!

But pardon me these generalities. I have been unintentionally led into them, I believe, by my keen sense of mortification at some of the incidents to which I have alluded.

Coming then to details, let us, primarily, resolve to be slaves to nothing and to no one—neither to others nor to ourselves; and to endeavor to establish such habits as shall entitle each of us, in the estimation of discriminating observers, to the distinctive name of gentleman.

Constant association with well-bred and well-educated society, cannot be too highly estimated as an assistant in the acquisition of the attributes of which we propose to speak. A taste for such companionship may be so strengthened by habit as to form a strong barrier to the desired indulgence of grosser inclinations. "Show me your friends, and I'll tell you what you are," is a pithy Spanish proverb. Choose yours, I earnestly entreat, in early life, with a view to self-improvement and self-respect. And, while on this point, permit me to warn you against mistaking pretension, wealth, or position, for intrinsic merit; or the advantages of equality in elevated social rank, for an equivalent to mental cultivation, or moral dignity.

One of the collateral benefits resulting from proper social associations, will be an escape from eccentricities of manner, dress, language, etc.; erroneous habits in relation to which, when once established, often cling to a man through all the changes of time and circumstance.

But, as observation proves that this, though a safeguard, is by no means always a sufficient defense, it is well to resort to various precautions, additionally—as a prudent general not only carefully inspects the ramparts that guard his fortress, but stations sentinels, who shall be on the look-out for approaching foes.

So then, my dear boys, do not regard me as descending to puerilities unworthy of myself and you, when I call your attention to such matters as your attitude in standing and sitting, or any other little individualizing peculiarities.

Some men fall into a habit of walking and standing with their heads run out before them, as if doubtful of their right to keep themselves on a line with their fellow-creatures. Others, again, either elevate the shoulders unnaturally, or draw them forward so as to impede the full, healthful play of the lungs. This last is too much the peculiar habit of students, and contracted by stooping over their books, undoubtedly. Then again, you see persons swinging their arms, and see-sawing their bodies from side to side, so as to monopolize a good deal more than their rightful share of a crowded thoroughfare, steamer cabin, or drawing-room floor. Nothing is more uncomfortable than walking arm in arm with such a man. He pokes his elbows into your ribs, pushes you against passers-by, shakes you like a reed in the wind, and, perhaps, knocks your hat into the gutter with his umbrella—and all with the most good-humored unconsciousness of his annoying peculiarity. If you are so unfortunate as to be shut up in a carriage with him, his restless propensity relieves itself to the great disturbance of the reserved rights of ladies, and the frequent impalement upon his protruding elbows of fragments of fringe, lace, and small children! At table, if it be possible, his neighbors gently and gradually withdraw from his immediate vicinity, leaving a clearing to his undisputed possession. He usually may be observed to stoop forward, while eating, with his plate a good foot from the customary locality of that convenience, pushed before him towards the middle of the table, and his arms so adjusted that his elbows play out and in, like the sweep of a pair of oars.

A little seasonable attention to these things will effectually prevent a man of sense from falling into such peculiarities. Early acquire the habit of standing and walking with your chest thrown out—your head erect—your abdomen receding rather than protruding—not leaning back any more than forward—with your arms scientifically adjusted—your hat on the top (not on the back, or on one side) of your head—with a self-poised and firm, but elastic tread; not a tramp, like a war-horse; not a stride, like a fugitive bandit; not a mincing step, like a conjurer treading on eggs; but, with a compact, manly, homogeneous sort of bearing and movement.

Where there has been any discipline at least, if not always, inklings of character may be drawn from these tokens in the outer man. For instance—the light, quick, cat-like step of Aaron Burr, was as much a part of the man as the Pandemonium gleam that lurked in the depths of his dark, shadowed eyes. I remember the one characteristic as distinctly as the other, when I recall his small person and peculiar face. So with the free, firm pace by which the noble port of De Witt Clinton was accompanied—one recognized, at a glance, the high intellect, the lofty manhood, embodied there.

Crossing the legs, elevating the feet, lounging on one side, lolling back, etc., though quite excusable in the abandon of bachelor seclusion, should never be indulged in where ceremony is properly required. In the company of ladies, particularly, too much care cannot be exhibited in one's attitudes. It is then suitable to sit upright, with the feet on the floor, and the hands quietly adjusted before one, either holding the hat and stick (as when paying a morning visit), or the dress-hat carried in the evening, or, to give ease, on occasion, a book, roll of paper, or the like. Habits of refinement once established, a man feels at ease—he can trust himself, without watching, to be natural—and nothing conduces more to grace and elegance than this quiet consciousness. Let me add, that true comfort, real enjoyment are no better secured under any circumstances, by indulging in anything that is intrinsically unrefined, and that a certain habitual self-restraint is the best guarantee of ease, propriety and elegance, when a man would fain do entire justice to himself.

Habits connected with matters of the table, as indeed with all sensuous enjoyments, should always be such as not to suggest to others ideas of merely selfish animal gratification. Among minor characteristics, few are so indicative of genuine good-breeding as a man's mode of eating. Upon Poor Richard's principle, that "nothing is worth doing at all that is not worth doing well," one may very properly attach some consequence to the formation of correct habits in relation to occasions of such very frequent recurrence. It is well, therefore, to learn to sit uprightly at table, to keep one's individual "aids and appliances" compactly arranged; to avoid all noise and hurry in the use of these conveniences; neither to mince, nor fuss with one's food; nor yet to swallow it as a boa-constrictor does his,—rolled over in the mouth and bolted whole; or worse still, to open the mouth, to such an extent as to remind observers that alligators are half mouth. Eating with a knife, or with the fingers; soiling the lips; using the fork or the fingers as a tooth-pick; making audible the process of mastication, or of drinking; taking soup from the point of a spoon; lolling forward upon the table, or with the elbows upon the table; soiling the cloth with what should be kept upon the plate; putting one's private utensils into dishes of which others partake; in short, everything that is odd, or coarse, should nowhere be indulged in.

Cut your meat, or whatever requires the use of the knife, and, leaving that dangerous instrument conveniently on one side of your plate, eat with your fork, using a bit of bread to aid, when necessary, in taking up your food neatly.

When partaking of anything too nearly approaching a liquid to be eaten with a fork, as stewed tomato, or cranberry, sop it with small pieces of bread;—a spoon is not used while eating meats and their accompaniments. Never take up large bones in the fingers, nor bite Indian corn from a mammoth ear. (In the latter case, a long cob running out of a man's mouth on either side, is suggestive of the mode in which the snouts of dressed swine are adorned for market!) If you prefer not to cut the grain from the ear, break it into small pieces and cut the rows lengthwise, before commencing to eat this vegetable.

When you wish to send your plate for anything, retain your knife and fork, and either keep them together in your hand, or rest them upon your bread, so as not to soil the cloth.

Should you have occasion for a tooth-pick, hold your napkin, or your hand, before your mouth while applying it, and on no account resort to the perceptible assistance of the tongue in freeing the mouth or teeth from food.

Have sufficient self-control, when so unfortunate as to be disgusted with anything in your food, to refrain from every outward manifestation of annoyance, and if possible, to conceal from others all participation in your discovery.

Accustom yourself to addressing servants while at table, in a low, but intelligible tone, and to a good-natured endurance of their blunders.

Avoid the appearance of self-engrossment, or of abstraction while eating, and, for the sake of health of mind and body, acquire the practice of a cheerful interchange of both civilities and ideas with those who may be, even temporarily, your associates.

It is now becoming usual among fashionable people in this country to adopt the French mode of conducting ceremonious dinners, that of placing such portions of the dessert as will admit of it, upon the table, together with plateaux of flowers, and other ornaments, and having the previous courses served and carved upon side-tables, and offered to each guest by the attendants. But it will be long before this custom obtains generally, as a daily usage, even among the wealthier classes. It will, so far continue rather an exception than a rule, that the art of carving should be regarded as well worth acquiring, both as a matter of personal convenience, and as affording the means of obliging others. Like every other habit connected with matters of the table, exquisite neatness and discrimination should characterize the display of this gentlemanly accomplishment. Aim at dexterous and rapid manipulation, and shun the semblance of hurry, labor, or fatigue. Familiarity with the anatomy of poultry and game, will greatly facilitate ease and grace in carving.

Always help ladies with a remembrance of the moderation and fastidiousness of their appetites. If possible, give them the choice of selection in the cuts of meats, especially of birds and poultry.

Never pour gravy upon a plate, without permission. A little of the filling of fowls may be put with portions of them, because that is easily laid aside, without spoiling the meat, as gravy does, for many persons.

All meats served in mass, should be carved in thin slices, and each laid upon one side of the plate, carefully avoiding soiling the edge, or offending the delicacy of ladies, in particular, by too-ensanguined juices.

Different kinds of food should never be mixed on the plate. Keep each portion of the accompaniments of your meats neatly separated, and, where you pay for decency and comfort, take it as a matter of course that your plate, knife, and fork are to be changed as often as you partake of a different dish of meat.

Fish is eaten with bread and condiments only; and the various kinds of meat with vegetables appropriate to each. Game, when properly cooked and served, requires only a bit of bread with it.

By those who best understand the art of eating, butter is never taken with meats or vegetables. The latter, in their simple state, as potatoes, should be eaten with salt; most of them need no condiment, in addition to those with which they are dressed before coming to table. Salads, of course, are prepared according to individual taste; but the well-instructed take butter at dinner only after, or as a substitute for, the course of pastry, etc. with bread, if at all. The English make a regular course of bread, cheese, and butter, preceding the dessert proper—nuts, fruit, etc.; but they never eat both butter and cheese at the same time.

Skins of baked potatoes, rinds of fruit, etc., etc., should never be put upon the cloth; but bread, both at dinner and breakfast, is placed on the table, at the left side of the plate, except it be the small bit used to facilitate the use of the fork.

Never drum upon the table between the courses, fidget in your chair, or with your dress, or in any manner indicate impatience of due order and deliberation, or indifference to the conversation of those about you. A gentleman will take time to dine decorously and comfortably. Those whose subserviency to anything, or any one, prevents this, are not freemen!

Holding, as I do, that

"To enjoy is to obey,"

let me call your attention, in this connection, to the truth that the pleasures of the table consist not so much in the quantity eaten as in the mode of eating. A moderate amount of simple food, thoroughly and deliberately masticated, and partaken of with the agreeable accessories of quiet, neatness and social communion, will not only be more beneficial to the physical man, but afford more positive enjoyment, than a larger number of dishes, when hurriedly eaten in greater quantities.

I have frequently remarked among our young countrymen a peculiarity which a moment's reflection will convince you is exceedingly injurious to health—that of swallowing an enormous amount of fluid at every meal. Reflect that the human stomach is scarcely so large as one of the goblets which is repeatedly emptied at dinner, by most men, and that all liquids taken into that much-abused organ, must be absorbed before the assimilation of solid food commences, and you will see, at once, what a violation of the natural laws this practice involves. Here, again, is one of the evil effects of the fast-eating of fast Americans. Hurrying almost to feverishness, at table, and only half masticating their food, the assistance of ice-water is invoked to facilitate the process of swallowing, and to allay the more distressing symptoms produced by haste and fatigue!

Before we leave these little matters, let us return for an instant, to that of the position assumed while sitting. The "Yankee" peculiarity, so often ridiculed by foreigners, of tipping the chair back upon the two hind feet, is not yet obsolete, even in our "best society." Occasionally some uninstructed rustic finds his way into a fashionable drawing-room, where "modern antique furniture," as the manufacturers call it in their advertisements, elicits all the proverbial ingenuity of his native land, to enable him to indulge in his favorite attitude. "I thought I saw the ghost of my chair!" said a fair friend to me, as soon as a visitor had left us together, one morning, not long since. "I was really distressed by his efforts to tilt it back—these fashionable chairs are so frail, and he would have been intensely mortified had he broken it! Have you seen the last 'Harper,' Colonel?"

Do not permit yourself, through an indifference to trifles, to fall into any unrefined habits in the use of the handkerchief, etc., etc. Boring the ears with the fingers, chafing the limbs, sneezing with unnecessary sonorousness, and even a too fond and ceaseless caressing of the moustache, are in bad taste. Everything connected with personal discomfort, with the mere physique, should be as unobtrusively attended to as possible.

When associated with women of cultivation and refinement—and you should addict yourself to no other female society—you cannot attend too carefully to the niceties of personal habit. Sensitive, fastidious, and very observant of minutiÆ—indeed often judging of character by details—you will inevitably lose ground with these discriminating observers, if neglectful of the trifles that go far towards constituting the amenities of social life. An elegant modern writer is authority for the fact that the Gauls attributed to woman, "an additional sense—the divine sense." Perhaps the Creator may have bestowed this gift upon the defenseless sex, as a counterpoise to the superior strength and power of man, even as he has given to the more helpless of the lower creatures swiftness of motion, instead of capacity for resistance. But be that as it may, no man should permit himself any habit that will not bear the scrutiny of this divine sense—much less, one that will outrage all its fine perceptions.

Apropos of details—I will take leave to warn you against the swaggering manner that some young men, whose bearing is otherwise unexceptionable, fall into among strangers, apparently with the mistaken idea that they will thus best sustain their claims to an unequivocal position in society. So in the sitting-rooms at hotels, in the pump-rooms at watering-places, on the decks of steamers, etc., persons whose juvenility entitles them to be classed with those who have nursery authority for being "seen and not heard," are frequently the most conspicuous and noisy. Shallow, indeed, must be the discernment of observers who conceive a favorable impression of a young man from such an exhibition!

In company, do not stand, or walk about while others sit, nor sit while others stand—especially ladies. Acquire a light step, particularly for in-door use, and a quiet mode of conducting yourself, generally. Ladies and invalids will not then dread your presence as dangerous—like that of a rampant war-horse, ill-taught to

"Caper nimbly in a lady's chamber!"

If you are fond of playing at chess and other games, it will be worth your while to observe yourself until you have fixed habits of entire politeness, under such circumstances. All unnecessary movements, every manifestation of impatience or petulance, and all exultation when successful, should be repressed. Thus, while seeking amusement, you may acquire self-control.

Begin early to remember that health and good spirits are easily impaired, and that habit will materially assist us in the patient endurance of suffering we should manifest for the sake of those about us—attendants, friends, "the bosom-friend dearer than all," whom no philosophy can teach insensibility to the semblance of unkindness from one enthroned in her affections.

Don't fall into the habit, because you are a branch of the Lunettes family, of using glasses prematurely. Students are much in error here. Every young divinity-student, especially, seems emulous of this troublesome appendage. Depend on it, this is all wrong, either absurd affectation, or ignorance equally unfortunate.

Ladies, it is said, are the readers of America, but who ever sees the dear creatures donning spectacles in youth? Enter a female college and look for the glasses that, were the youthful devotees of learning there assembled of the other sex, would deform half the faces you observe. Much better were it to inform yourselves of the laws of optics, and use the organs now so generally abused by the young, judiciously, resting them, when giving indications of being overtaxed, rather than endeavoring to supply artificial aid to their natural strength. Students, especially, should always read and write with the back to the light, so seated that the light falls not upon the eyes, but upon the book or paper before them. That reminds me, too, how important it is that one should not stoop forward more constantly than is necessary, while engaged in sedentary pursuits, but lean back rather than forward, as much as possible, throwing out the chest at the same time. Many books admit of being raised in the hand, in aid of this practice, and the habit of rising occasionally, and expanding the chest, and straightening the limbs will be found to relieve the weariness of the sedentary.

But nothing so effectually prevents injury to health, from studious habits, as early rising. This gives time for the out-door exercise that is so requisite as well as for the use of the eyes by daylight. There is a great deal of nonsense mixed up with our literature, which seizes the fancy of the young, because embodied in poetry, or clothed with the charm of fiction. Of this nature is what we read about, "trimming the midnight lamp," to search for the Pierean spring. Obey the

"Breezy call of incense-breathing morn,"

and she will environ you with a joyous band of blooming Hours, and guide you gaily and lightly towards sparkling waters, whose properties are Knowledge and Health!

But if you would habitually rise early, you must not permit every trivial temptation to prevent your also retiring early. The laws of fashionable life are sorely at variance with those of Health, on this point, as well as upon many others; but, happily, they are not absolute, and those who have useful purposes to accomplish each day, must withstand the tyranny of this arbitrary despot. Time for the toilet, for exercise, for intellectual culture and mental relaxation, is thus best secured. By using the earlier hours of each day for our most imperative occupations, we are far less at the mercy of contingent circumstances than we can become by any other system of life. "Solitude," says Gibbon, "is the school of Genius," and the advantages of this tuition are most certainly secured before the idlers of existence are abroad!

Avoid the habit of regarding yourself as an invalid, and of taking nostrums. A knowledge and observance of the rules of Dietetics are often better than the concentered wisdom of a Dispensary, abstinence more effective than medical applications, and the recuperative power of Nature, when left to work out her own restoration, frequently superior to the most skillful aid of learned research. But when compelled to avail yourself of medical assistance, seek that which science and integrity render safest. No sensible man, one would think, will intrust the best boon of earth to the merciless experiments of unprincipled and ignorant charlatans, or credulously swallow quack medicines recommended by old women: and yet, while people employ the most accomplished hatter, tailor, and boot-maker, whose services they can secure, they will give up the inner man to the influence of such impositions upon the credulity of humanity!

Assuming, as an accepted truth, that it is your purpose, through life, to admit the rights of our fair tyrants

"In court or cottage, wheresoe'er their home,"

I will commend to you the early acquisition of habits appropriate to our relations to women as their protectors. In dancing, riding, driving, walking, boating, travelling, etc., etc.,—wherever the sexes are brought together in this regard (and where are they not, indeed, when commingled at all?)—observe the gentle courtesies, exhibit the watchful care, that go far towards constituting the settled charms of such intercourse. It is not to be forgotten, as I think I have before remarked, that women judge of character, often, from trifling details; thus, any well-bred woman will be able to tell you which of her acquaintances habitually removes his hat, or throws aside his cigar, when addressing her, and who, of all others, is most watchful for her comfort, when she is abroad under his escort. Be sure, too, that this same fair one could confess, if she would make a revelation on the subject, exactly what men she shuns because they break her fans, disarrange her bouquets, tear her flounces, touch her paintings and prints with moist fingers (instead of merely pointing to some part) handle delicate bijouterie with dark gloves, dance with uncovered hands, etc., etc. But even if you are her confidant, she will not tell you how often her quick sensibility is wounded by fancying herself the subject of the smirks, whispers, and knowing glances in which some men indulge when grouped with their kindred bipeds, in society!

At the risk of subjecting myself to the charge of repetition, I will endeavor, before concluding this letter, to enumerate such Habits as, in addition to those of which I have already spoken, I deem most entitled to the attention of those who are establishing a system of life.

Habits of reading and studying once thoroughly formed, are invaluable, not only as affording a ready resource against ennui, or idleness, everywhere and under all circumstances, but as necessarily involving the acquisition of knowledge, even when of the most desultory character. It is wonderful how much general information may be gleaned by this practice of reading something whenever one has a few spare grains of the "gold-dust of Time,"—minutes. I once found a remarkably well-informed woman of my acquaintance waiting to make breakfast for her husband and me, with a little old dictionary open in her hand. "For what word are you looking, so early?" I inquired, as I discovered the character of the volume she held. "For no one in particular," returned she, "but one can always add to one's stores from any book, were it only in the matter of spelling." But the true way, of course, to derive most advantage from this enjoyment is to systematize in relation to it, reading well-selected books with care and attention sufficient to enable us permanently to add the information they contain to our previous mental possessions.

You will only need to be reminded how much ease and elegance in Reading aloud depend upon habit.

Without the Habit of Industry, good resolutions, the most sincere desire for self-improvement, and the most desirable natural gifts, will be of comparatively little avail for the practical purposes of existence. This unpretending attribute, together with System and Regularity, has achieved more for the good of the race, than all the erratic efforts of genius combinedly.

"Don't run about," says a sensible writer, "and tell your acquaintances you have been unfortunate; people do not like to have unfortunate men for acquaintances. Add to a vigorous determination, a cheerful spirit; if reverses come, bear them like a philosopher, and get rid of them as soon as you can." Cheerfulness and Contentment, like every other mental quality, may be cultivated until they materially assist us in enduring

"The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,"

and early attention to the attainment of these mental habits is a matter of both personal and relative duty.

Cherish self-respect as, next to a firm religious faith, the best safeguard to respectability and peace of mind. Entirely consistent with—indeed, in a degree, productive of the most careful consideration of the rights of others, the legitimate development of this quality will tend to preserve you from unwise confidences, from injudicious intimacies, and from gross indulgences and unworthy pursuits. This will sustain you in the manly acknowledgment of poverty, if that shall chance to be your lot, when pride and principle contend for the mastery in practical matters, and enable you to realize fully, that

"To bear, is to conquer our fate!"

This will strengthen you to the endurance of that which nothing but absolute insignificance can escape—calumny. It will preserve you alike from an undue eagerness in defending yourself from unjust aspersion, and from a servile fear of "the world's dread laugh," from meriting and from resenting scandal, and convince you that its most effectual contradiction consists in a virtuous life. By listening to the dictates of this powerful coadjutor of conscience, you will believe with the poet, that

"Honor and Fame from no condition rise,"

and thus, with straightforward and unvarying purpose, illustrate your adoption of the motto,

"Act well your part, there all the honor lies!"

While I would earnestly counsel you to avoid that constant self-consciousness which is nearly allied to vanity and egotism, if not identical with them, you will find the habitual practice of self-examination greatly conducive to improvement. A calm, impartial analysis of words and actions, tracing each to their several motives, must tend to assist us to know ourselves, which an ancient philosopher, you may remember, pronounced the highest human attainment. Arraign yourself, without the advantage of special pleading, to borrow a legal phrase, at the bar of conscience, regarding this arbiter as the voice of Divinity enshrined within us, whenever assailed by doubts respecting any course of conduct you have adopted, or propose to adopt, and where you are thus taught to draw the line of demarcation between right and wrong,

"Let that aye be your border."

In this connection permit me to recommend the regular study of the Bible, and a systematic attendance upon public worship on the Sabbath. Do not read this most wonderful of books as a task, nor yet permit the trammels of early associations, hereditary prejudice, or blind superstition, to interfere with your search for the truths contained in its pages. Try to read the Scriptures as you would any other book, with the aid of such collateral information as you may be able to obtain respecting the origin of the several, and wholly, distinct productions of which it is composed, the authors of each, the purposes for which they were composed, and, in short, possess yourself of every available means of giving reality, simplicity, and truthfulness to your investigations. Study the Life of Christ, as written by the personal friends who were most constantly and intimately associated with him. Ponder upon his familiar sayings, remembered, and recorded in their simple memoranda, by the unlettered men who most frequently listened to them, compare the acts of Christ with his doctrines as a teacher, and judge for yourselves whether history, ancient or modern, has any parallel for the Perfection of the Model thus exhibited to the human race. Decide whether he was not the only earthly being who "never did an injury, never resented one done to him, never uttered an untruth, never practised a deception, and never lost an opportunity of doing good." Having determined this point in your own minds, adopt this glorious pattern for imitation, and adhere to it, until you find a truer and better model. We have nothing to do in judging of this matter with the imperfect illustrations afforded by the lives of professed imitators of Christ of the perfectibility to which his teachings tend. Why look to indifferent copies, when the great original is ever before us! Why seek in the frailty and fallibility of human nature a justification of personal distrust and indifference?

No gentleman—to come to practicalities again—will indulge in ridiculing what intelligent, enlightened persons receive as truth, on any point, much less upon this. Nor will a well-bred man permit himself the habit of being late at church—were it only that those who stand in a servile relation to others, are often deprived of time for suitable preliminaries of the toilet, etc., he will carefully avoid this vulgarity.

The tendency to materialism, so strongly characterizing the age in which we live, produces, among its pernicious collateral effects, a disposition to reduce "Heaven's last, best gift to man" to the same practical standard by which we judge of all matters of the outer life,—of each other especially. Well might Burke deplore the departure of the Age of Chivalry! But not even the prophetic eye of genius could discern the degeneracy that was to increase so rapidly, from the day in which he wrote, to this. As a mere matter of personal gratification, I would cherish the inclination to idealize in regard to the fairer part of creation! There is enough that is stern, hard, baldly utilitarian, in life; we have no need to rob this "one fair spirit" of every poetic attribute, by system! Few habits have so much the effect to elevate us above the clods we tread ploddingly over in the dreary highway of mortal existence, as that of investing woman with the purest, highest attributes of our common nature, and bearing ourselves towards her in accordance with these elevated sentiments. And when compelled, in individual instances, to set aside these cherished impressions, let nothing induce us to forget that passive, silent forbearance is our only resource. True manhood can never become the active antagonist of defencelessness.

I am almost ashamed to remind you of the gross impropriety of speaking loosely and loudly of ladies of your acquaintance in the hearing of strangers, of desecrating their names by mouthing them in bar-rooms and similar public places, scribbling them upon windows, recording them, without their permission, in the registers kept at places visited from curiosity, etc., etc. You have no moral right to take such liberties in this respect, as you would not tolerate in the relation of brother, son, or husband.

Think, then, and speak, ever, with due reverence of those guardian angels,

If you determine to conform yourselves, as far as in you lies, to the model presented for your imitation by Him who said—"Be ye, therefore, perfect, even as I am perfect," you will not disregard the cultivation of a ready sympathy with the sufferings and trials of your fellow beings. In place of adopting a system that will not only steel your heart, but infuse into your whole nature distrust and suspicion, you will, like Him who went about doing good, quickly discern suffering, in whatever form it presents itself, and minister, at least, the balm of a kind word, when naught else may be offered. You will thus learn not only to pity the erring, but, perchance, sometimes to ask yourselves in profound humility—"who hath made me to differ?"

Young men sometimes fall into the impression that a mocking insensibility to human woe is manly—something grand and distinguished. So they turn with lofty scorn from a starving child, make the embarrassment and distress of a poor mother with a wailing infant the subject of audible mirth in a rail-car, or stage-coach, ridicule the peevishness of illness, the tears of wounded sensibility, or the confessions of the penitent! Now, it seems to me, that all this is super-human in its sublime elevation! My small knowledge of the history of the greatly good, affords no parallels for the adoption of such a creed. I have read of a Howard who terminated a life devoted to the benefit of his race, in a noisome dungeon, where he sought to minister to human suffering; of a Fenelon, and a Cheverus whose Catholic spirit broke the thralling restrains of sectarianism, in favor of general humanity; of the graceful chivalry and large benevolence of Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Philip Sidney; of triumphant soldiers who bound up the wounds and preserved the lives of a fallen foe; of a Wilberforce, a Pease, and a Father Mathew; of Leigh Richmond, Reginald Heber, and Robert Hall; of the parable of the good Samaritan, and of its Divine Author—and I believe the mass of mankind agree with me in, at least, an abstract admiration for the characters of each! And though no great achievements in the cause of Philanthropy may be in our power, though no mighty deeds may embalm our memories amid the imperishable records of Time, let us not overlook those small acts of kindness, those trifling proofs of sympathy, which all have at command. A look, a word, a smile—what talismanic power do even these sometimes possess! Remember, then, that,

In close association with the wish to minister to the happiness of others, as far as in us lies, is that of avoiding every self-indulgence that may interfere with the comfort or the rights of others. Hence the cultivation of good-humor, and of habits of neatness, order, and regularity. Prompted by this rule, we will not smoke in the streets, in rail-cars, on the decks of steamers, at the entrance of concert and lecture rooms, or in parlors frequented by ladies. We will not even forget that neglect of matters of the toilet, in the nicest details, may render us unpleasant companions for those accustomed to fastidiousness upon these points.

To the importance of well-regulated habits of Exercise, Temperance, and Relaxation, I have already called your attention in a previous Letter.

Nothing tends more effectually to the production of genuine independence, than personal Economy. No habit will more fully enable you to be generous as well as just, and to gratify your better impulses and more refined tastes, than the exercise of this unostentatious art.

Remember that meanness is not economy, any more than it is integrity.

To be wisely economical requires the exercise of the reflective faculties united with practical experience, self-denial, and moral dignity. Rightly viewed, there is nothing in it degrading to the noblest nature.

Punctuality both in pleasure and in business engagements, is alike due to others, and essential to personal convenience. You will, perhaps, have observed that this was one of the distinguishing traits of Washington.

Somebody says—"Ceremony is the Paradise of Fools." The same may be said with equal truth, of system. To be truly free, one should not be the slave of any one rule, nor of many combined. System, like other agencies, if judiciously regulated, materially aids the establishment of good habits generally, and thus places us beyond the dominion of

"Circumstance, that unspiritual god."

Sir Joshua Reynolds used to remark that "Nothing is denied to well-directed effort." Let Perseverance then, be united with Excelsior in your practical creed.

I think I have made some allusion to the Art of Conversation. Let me "make assurance doubly sure," by the emphatic recommendation of practice in this elegant accomplishment. All mental acquisitions are the better secured by the habit of putting ideas into words. By this process, thought becomes clearer, more tangible, so to speak, and new ideas are actually engendered, while we are giving expression to those previously in our possession.

In addition to the individual advantage accruing from this excellent mode of training yourselves for easy and effective extemporaneous public speaking, it should not be overlooked, as affording the means of conferring both pleasure and benefit upon others. Taciturnity and self-engrossment, you may remark, are not the prominent characteristics of the favorites of society.

Nor does the practice of ready speaking necessarily interfere with habits of Reflection and Observation. On the contrary, the mental activity thus promoted, naturally leads to the accumulation of intellectual material by every available means. Discrimination in judging of character, and true knowledge of the world, without which all abstract knowledge is comparatively of little avail, can never be attained except through the persevering exercise of these powers.

Shall I venture to remind you, my dear young friends, that the manifestation of respect for misfortune, suffering, and age, may become one of your attributes by the force of habit strengthening good impulses.

Will you think me deficient in utilitarianism if I recommend to you a cultivation of the power to discern the Beautiful, as a perpetual source of pure and exalted enjoyment? Hard, grinding, soul-trammelling, is the dominion of real life; will we be less worthy of our immortal destinies, that we cherish an inner sense, by which we readily perceive moral beauty, shining as a ray from the very altar of Divinity, or the tokens of the presence of that Divinity afforded by the wonders of the natural world? Let us not be mere beasts of burden, so laden with the cares, the anxieties, or even the duties of life, as to have no eye for the unobtrusive, but often fragrant and lovely flowers, that bloom along the most neglected of our daily paths.

Speaking of the Beautiful, reminds me that ours is the only civilized land where the Æsthetical perceptions of the people are not a sufficient safeguard to the preservation of Works of Art, in their humblest as well as most magnificent exhibitions. Nothing short of the brutalizing influence of a Reign of Terror will tempt a Parisian populace to the desecration of these expressions of refinement, taste, and beauty; while among us, not even an ornamental paling, inclosing a private residence, or the colonnade of a public edifice, escapes staring tokens of the presence of this gothic barbarism in our midst.

You will scarcely need to be cautioned against confounding mere curiosity with a liberal and enlightened observation of life and manners. All those indications of undue curiosity respecting the private affairs of others, expressed by listening to conversation not intended for the general ear, watching the asides of society, glancing at letters addressed to another, or asking direct questions of a personal nature, are unmistakable proofs of ignorance of the rules of polished life, though they are not as reprehensible as evil-speaking, a love of scandal, or the practice of violating either the confidence of friends or the sacredness of private conversation.

Though a vast difference is created in this respect by difference of temperament, yet no man can hope to acquire the degree of self-possession that shall fit him for a successful encounter with the ever-varying emergencies demanding its illustration, without repeated and re-repeated struggles and discomfitures. But so invaluable is the treasure, so essential to the legitimate exercise of every faculty of our being, that defeat should only render more indomitable the "will to do, the soul to dare," in persevering endeavors to secure its permanent acquisition.

Let me impress upon you the truth that self-possession is the legitimate result of a well-disciplined mind, and that it is properly expressed by a quiet and modest bearing.

In conclusion, let me earnestly and affectionately assure you that the formation of right habits, though necessarily attended, for a time, by failures, difficulties, or discouragements, will eventually prove its own all-sufficient reward. Habitude of thought, language, appointment, and manner that shall entitle you to claim

"The good old name of Gentleman,"

once yours, and you will be armed, point of proof, against the exacting capriciousness of fashion, and forever exempted from the tortures often inflicted upon the sensitive, by the insidious invasions of self-distrust!

---

Strolling through the Crystal Palace at London, soon after it was opened, with a young fellow-countryman, he suddenly broke out with—"Will you just look at that fellow, colonel?" Turning and following the direction indicated by his eye (not his finger or walking-stick, he was too well-bred to point!) I discerned, in a different part of the building, Queen Victoria, accompanied by Prince Albert and two of the royal children, examining some articles in the American Department. Very near the stopping-place of this distinguished party, a representative of the "universal Yankee nation," had stationed himself—perhaps in a semi-official capacity—upon the apex of some elevation, with his hat on, and his long legs dangling down in front, nearly on a level with the heads of passers-by.

We could not hear the words of her Majesty, but it was apparent that she addressed some inquiry to him of the legs. First ejecting a torrent of tobacco-juice from his mouth, and rolling away the huge quid that obstructed his utterance, he deliberately proceeded to give the explanation desired, retaining not only his position, but his hat, the while!

Meantime, as soon as the Queen commenced addressing this person, her Royal Consort removed his hat, and remained uncovered until she again moved on. I shall not soon forget the face of my companion. Shame and indignation contended for the mastery on his burning cheek!

"Good G——, Colonel!" he exclaimed, "to think of such a mere brute as that being regarded as a fair specimen of the advance of civilization among us! 'Tis enough to make a decent man disclaim his birthright here! And yet, I have little enough to boast of myself! Only think of my taking some English gentlemen who were in New-York a month or two ago, to see our parks (heaven save the mark!) among other objects of interest in the city! Yesterday, Sir John ——, who was one of the party, drove about London with me, and took me also to Kensington Garden, St. James' and Regent's Parks! I don't know what would tempt me again to undergo the thing! I rather think I am effectually cured, henceforth and for ever, of any inclination to boast of anything whatever, personal or national!"

---

"As you are the only 'gentleman of elegant leisure' in the family, at present, Harry, suppose you take these girls to New York for a week or two. For my part, it's as much as I can do to provide money for the expedition," said your uncle William to me, one evening.

"Oh, do, dear uncle Hal!" exclaimed Ida, with great vivacity, sitting down on a low stool at my feet, and clasping her hands upon my knee, "we always love dearly to go with you anywhere, you are so good to us."

"Yes!" broke in William junior, "uncle Harry spoils you so completely by indulgence that I can do nothing with you. You're a most unruly set, at home and abroad."

A sudden twitch at the end of his cravat effectually demolished the elegant tie upon which the young gentleman prides himself, as little JulÉ, who was close beside him, pretending to get her French lesson, and had perpetrated the mischief, cried out—"What's the reason, then, that you always take us all along, when you go out in the woods, and off to the shore—hey, Mr.Willie?"

"Do be quiet, children," interrupted Ida, reprovingly; "now, uncle dear, won't you take us? I want some new traps badly."

"What kind of traps?—mouse traps?"

"Man traps, to be sure!"

"Well, that's honest, at least, Puss."

"My purposes are more murderous than Ida's," said Cornelia, laughing; "I want to buy a new mankiller, as Willie calls them."

"It's too late in the season for mantillas," remarked Ida, profoundly.

"A fashionable cloak will serve Cornelia's purpose equally well," returned her father, quietly.

"And, like the mantle of charity, it will hide a multitude of sins," chimed in her brother.

"Your running commentaries are highly edifying, my dear nephew," said I, and at the same moment a large red rose hit him full on the nose.

It was soon arranged that your fair cousins should accompany me to the Empire City in a few days, and I, accordingly, sat down at once, and wrote to the "Metropolitan" for rooms.

"What glorious times mother and I will have," I overheard William exclaim. "I shall take JulÉ under my especial protection, and hear her French lessons regularly."

"No you won't, either," returned that young lady, with great spirit; "and I wish you'd stop tying my curls together, and mind your own affairs. No doubt you'll make noise enough to kill ma and me, while CornÉ and Dade are gone, drumming on the piano, and spouting your Latin speech before the drawing-room glass. All I wish is, that uncle Hal wasn't going away—he never lets you torment me."

As we were entering the dining-room of our hotel, on the day of our arrival, our friend Governor S—— joined us, and, after shaking hands, in his usual cordial way, with us all, said, as he courteously took Cornelia's hand and folded it within his arm, "Will you allow me to attend you, MissLunettes? Colonel, by your leave. MissIda, will you let a lonely old fellow join your party? Where do you sit, Colonel?"

"We have but just arrived," I replied, "but our seats are, of course, reserved; let me secure a seat for you with us, if possible. Ida, remain here a moment with Cornelia and Governor S——;" and presently, finding the proper person, the steward, or whatever the man of dining-room affairs is called, I arranged with him to seat us together, without interfering with other parties.

While I was taking my soup, I became suddenly conscious that something was annoying your cousin Cornelia, who sat between me and S——. Glancing at her face, I saw there, in addition to a heightened color, an expression of mingled constraint and hauteur, quite inconsistent with her usual graceful self-possession and animation.

Making some general remark to her, and showing no signs of curiosity, I began quietly to cast about me for the cause of this unwonted disturbance. Turning my head towards Ida, I overheard her saying, playfully, though in an undertone, to the senator, with whom she was already embarked upon the tide of talk: "He reminds me of an exquisite couplet in an old valentine of mine:

I was not long in detecting the secret cause of Cornelia's averted face and Ida's sportive quotation.

"See here, John, get me some col' slaw and unions, will you—right off," shouted a young man seated a little below us, on the opposite side of the table.

I wish you could have seen the half-repressed wonder depicted in the countenance of the servant thus addressed, as he glanced at the piece of "Mackerel À la maÎtre d'HÔtel," as the bill of fare called the fish on his plate.Oh, for a Hogarth to do justice to the figure that had arrested my attention! The face was not bad, perhaps. A merry, dark eye, lit up with the very spirit of mischief and impudence; a tolerably high, but narrow forehead; thick, wild-looking black hair, parted on the top of the head, and bushy whiskers—add large, handsome teeth, displayed by full, red, ever-laughing lips, and you have the physiognomy. But the dress!

"Ye powers of every name and grace,"

aid my poor endeavors to describe his toilette! A high shirt-collar, flaring wide from the throat, by the pugnacious manifestations of the sturdy whiskers aforesaid; a flashy neckcloth, tied in very broad bows, and with the long ends laid off pretty well towards the tips of the shoulders; a velvet waistcoat, of large pattern and staring colors, crossed by a heavy gold chain, from which dangled a gold-mounted eye-glass, broad ruffles to his shirt, fastened with huge studs of three opposing, but equally brilliant colors! A shining Holland-linen dust-coat completed this unique costume.

Presently, some one at a distance suddenly attracted the roving eyes of our hero, and he began the most significant telegraphing with hands and head, designed, apparently, to persuade the other to come and sit by him. Turning, as if by accident, I saw a young man, near the entrance of the room, shaking his head very positively in the negative. But this was no quietus to our neighbor, who half rose from his seat.

"Not room for the gentleman here, sir," said a major domo, coming up.

"Yes there is, too, plenty of room! If you would just move a leetle, ma'am—so," pushing at the chair of an elderly woman, who seemed suddenly to grow more slender than ever, and at the same time hitching his own nearer to that of the person next him on the other side, "that will do, famously! Now, waiter, a plate! I hope I don't crowd you, sir [to the gentleman next him], we don't wear hoops you know! can keep tight without them!" The last, in a whisper, like a boatswain's whistle upon which the respectable female, who illustrated the mathematical definition of a point, bridled and reddened with virtuous indignation.

Luckily the table was not as closely filled as it often is, and in much less time than it takes me to describe the scene, the triumph of the youth was complete, and a well-dressed, gentlemanly-looking man came forward, seemingly with considerable reluctance.

"How are you, Fred, how are you? Right glad to see you, 'pon my soul—sit down! When'd you get in? Left all the folks well?"

There was no avoiding hearing this tide of questions, poured out in a loud, hilarious tone, that rose over the subdued murmur of ordinary conversation, like the notes of a bugle, sounding amid the twittering of the feathered tenants of a grove. Apparently quite unconscious that any one else in his vicinity possessed powers of hearing and seeing, and wholly unobservant of the elevated eye-brows of some of his neighbors, and the significant looks and ill-suppressed smiles of the servants, the young man ran on with details of his own private affairs, interrogations respecting those of his companion, interspersed with loud and multiplied directions to the attendants. From my soul I pitied his victim! Deeper and deeper grew the flush of shame and embarrassment in his handsome face, more and more laconic and low-voiced his replies, and more uneasy his restless movements and glances.

By and by two huge glasses of foaming strong-beer made their appearance. Beau Brummel's celebrated saying—"A gentleman may port; but he never malts," crossed my mind. With due deference to this high authority, for my part, I think a glass of London brown-stout, or Scotch ale, a pleasant accompaniment to a bit of cold meat and bread, when one is inclined to sup; but taking beer at dinner is quite another affair.

Well! there was a little lull for a time, only to be followed by a new sensation. One of the quick, galvanic movements of the nondescript overset a full bottle of wine, just as it was placed between himself and his friend, and he was in the act of saying, "If you don't drink beer, Fred, take some—by thunder that's too bad!"

The dark-colored liquor poured over the table-cloth, and, dividing into numerous little streamlets, diverged in every direction from the parent source. Servants hurried forward with napkins to stay the progress of the flood, the gentleman next our hero coolly dammed up the stream that most alarmingly threatened his safety, with a piece of bread, and the slender female, whose slight pretentions to breadth had been so unceremoniously ignored, fidgeted uneasily under the table, as though apprehensive that the penetrating powers of the invading foe might be working in ambush, to the detriment of her light-hued drapery. But the face of the young stranger! It was positively mottled! His very forehead, before smooth and fair, suddenly suggested the idea that he was just recovering from the smallpox!

Meantime, our little party were quietly pursuing the even tenor of their respective dinners. Suddenly I missed S——.

"What has become of the Governor?" said I to Cornelia, in an under-tone.

"A servant called him away," returned she, in the same unnoticeable manner. The next moment I again remarked the same peculiar movement towards me and the same expression of countenance, that had arrested my attention when we first sat down. A woman's quick instinct never deceives her! Apparently unheeding, I listened.

"Dev'lish handsome! like her air!—wouldn't object to taking the seat myself, by George!" caught my ear.

I think that young man understood the fixed look with which I regarded him for the space of about half a minute! I was quite sure his companion did.

By this time, the dessert was on the table.

"Where're you going, Fred? you ain't done?" shouted the Hoosier, or whatever he was.

"I have an engagement—I'll see you again," replied the gentleman thus addressed, springing up, and eluding the detaining grasp of his persecutor, quickly made good his escape.

No sooner were we seated in one of the parlors, than Ida's pent-up merriment burst forth.

"Did you hear what that poor young man said, when the other commenced reading the bill of fare, uncle," said she, "just before he darted out of the room?"

"What, in particular, do you refer to, my dear? I heard a great deal more than I wished."

"O, I mean when the speaking-trumpet, as Governor S—— called him, shouted out—'fricandeau de veau!—What's he, Fred? Do tell a fellow.' He was picking his teeth at the time, with a large goose-quill, with all the feathers on!"

"Well, what was the answer?"

"The poor martyr was, by that time, reduced to the calmness of despair," replied your cousin, laughing; "he answered, with a meaning air, I thought, 'A calf's head!—one of the entrÉes!' CornÉ, I hope you did not lose the full effect of the great green and orange-colored peaches sprinkled over the vest of your admirer. Love at first sight, my dear! Never saw a more unmistakable smitation! What a triumph! Your first conquest since your arrival in New York, I believe, MissLunettes!" lisping affectedly, and bowing with mock deference.

"Ida, you'll be overheard! I'm ashamed of you," returned the stately Cornelia, with an air of offended propriety.

"It will never do, Puss," said I; "CornÉ is right. But, CornÉ, what happened to the senator?"

"How courteous he is!" exclaimed the young lady, with sudden enthusiasm. "A servant came and whispered to him—'MissLunettes,' said he, turning to me, 'the only man in the world who could tempt me from your side—my best friend—asks for me on important business. Will you permit me to leave you, after requesting the honor of attending you?' Of course, I assented. 'Make my apologies to MissIda and Colonel Lunettes,' said he, as we shook hands, 'I am very unfortunate.'"

"How quietly he slipped away," said Ida; "I knew nothing of it, until he was gone."

"Well-bred people are always quiet," remarked the elder sister, significantly.

"Oh, dear me!" retorted Ida, coloring. "Well, it's too much to expect of any one, not to laugh at such a nondescript specimen of humanity as that young man."

The next morning, before I left my room, a card was brought to me, inscribed with the name of "Frederick H.Alloway," and inclosed with the following note:

A half-revived remembrance of a face once familiar, had haunted me at the dinner table the day before, whenever I chanced to catch the eye of the victimized youth I have alluded to. I was, therefore, not unprepared to find him identical with the author of this note.

A certain constraint was evinced by his manner, when the first complimentary phrases were over. At length his embarrassment found expression.

"I am not sure, Colonel Lunettes," said he, "that I should have ventured to intrude upon you this morning—much as I desired to make the acquaintance of a gentlemen of whom I have so frequently heard my father speak—had I not wished to make an apology, or at least an explanation"——

He hesitated, and the mottled color of the day before mantled over his ingenuous face. I hastened to say something polite.

"You are very good, sir—really—scandalously as that young fellow behaved—he is not without redeeming qualities. My acquaintance with him is slight, and entirely accidental. One of our successful Western speculators, and a very good-hearted fellow—but sadly in need of polish."

"So I perceived," returned I, gravely, "nor is that all. One can pardon ignorance much more readily than impudence."

"Very true, sir. I only hope that I was not so unfortunate as to incur your displeasure. I—permit me to express the hope that the ladies of your party did not regard me as in the most remote way implicated in an intention to annoy them," and his voice actually trembled with manly earnestness.

"By no means, my dear young friend; by no means. I assure you, on the contrary, that you had our sympathy in your distress—comic as it was."

The intense ludicrousness of the affair now seemed, for the first time, to take full possession of the perceptive faculties of my new acquaintance.

When our mutual merriment had in some degree subsided, I invited him to dine with us, unless he preferred to resume his seat of the day before.

"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed he, with great vivacity; "I should have left this house to-day, if that fellow had not—he is gone, I am rejoiced to say."

It was arranged that the "son of my old friend," as he indeed was, should meet me in the drawing-room a few moments before dinner, and be presented to your cousins. So we parted.

Almost the first person I saw as I was entering the public drawing-room, to join my nieces, before dinner, on that day, was young Alloway. He was evidently awaiting me, and, upon my recognizing him by a bow, at once advanced.

"You are punctual, I see, Mr.Alloway," said I, as we seated ourselves; "a very good trait, in a young man!"

"I fear, sir, there is little merit in being punctual with such a reward in anticipation," replied he, laughing pleasantly, and bowing to the ladies, as he spoke.

Our new acquaintance, very properly, offered his arm to the younger sister, and I, of course, preceded them with the elder, and though, when we were seated together, he was quite too well-bred to confine either his attentions or his conversation to Ida, I must say that I have not often seen two young people become more readily at ease in each other's society than my lively favorite, and the "son of my old friend." They seemed to find each other out by intuition, and talked together in the most animated manner permitted by their unvarying regard for decorum. Their nearest neighbors were not disturbed by their mirthfulness, nor could persons seated opposite them hear their conversation, and yet Alloway was evidently fast being remunerated for the chagrin and embarrassment of his previous dinner.

"Uncle Hal," said Cornelia, leaning towards me, as we sat together on a sofa, after leaving the table, glancing round to be sure that Ida heard her, "don't you think Minnesota gentlemen, generally, must be rather susceptible?"

Her sister, turning

"The trembling lustre of her dewy eyes"

upon the quizzical speaker, was interrupted in the spirited rejoinder she evidently meditated, by the return of Alloway, who had been up to his room for a pencil-sketch of the Falls of Minnehaha (between St. Paul's and the Falls of St. Anthony, you know) which he told us he had made on the spot, a few days before leaving his Western home.

"How beautiful it must be there!" exclaimed Ida, delightedly. "And you are taking this to your mother! It reminds me of a 'Panorama of the Western Wilds,' I think it was called, to which papa took us in New York, last spring. I don't know when I saw anything so lovely! I had no just conception before of the magnificence and variety of the scenery of the far-West."

"Why, my dear," said I quietly, just for my own amusement, and to watch the effect upon all parties, "you seem so charmed with these sketches of the West, that I think I must try and show you the originals by-and-by. How would you like to go with me to look after my Western investments next month?"

"Just like uncle Hal!" I hear more than one of you crying. "He always plays the mischief among the young folks!" So, to punish your impertinence, I shall say nothing in particular, of the sudden light that shone in the fine eyes of our new friend, nor of the enthusiasm with which Ida clapped her hands and bravoed my proposition. Still more, I am by no means sure that I shall feel justified in telling you what came of all this in the future.

After a while, some other young men came to speak to the girls, and Alloway, modestly withdrawing, lingered near me, as if wishing to address me. A lady was saying something to me at the moment. When she had finished speaking, I turned to my young friend.

"Colonel Lunettes," said he, in the most polite and respectful manner, "the ladies inform me that they are to go with you to see some pictures, in the morning. Will you permit me to attend them?"

Receiving my assent, he added, "My present mode of life affords few facilities for the inspection of works of Art; and I am so mere a tyro, too, that I shall be happy to have the benefit of your cultivated taste."

"I dare say Mr.Alloway could instruct us all," interposed Ida, "that is, sister and me. Uncle Lunettes has spent so many years abroad, that he is, of course, quite au fait in all such things."

"At what hour do you propose going, ladies?" inquired Alloway.

Twelve o'clock was fixed upon.

"I shall have great pleasure in again meeting you all at that time," said Alloway, and, as he shook hands with me, he added, with a significant smile, "I will endeavor to be quite punctual, Colonel!"

"Who is that fine-looking young man, Colonel Lunettes?" asked the lady with whom I had been conversing, as I reseated myself at her side. "His manners are remarkably easy and graceful for so young a person. What a contrast he is to young J——, there, who, with all the advantages of education, foreign travel, and good society, is, and always will be, a clown! Just look at him, now, talking to those girls! Sitting, of course, upon two legs of his chair, and picking his teeth with a pen-knife!"

"What would be the consequence," said I, "if he should lose his balance and fall backward, with his mouth open in that way, and his knife held by the tip end of the handle, poised upon his teeth?"

"It looks really dangerous, don't it," commented the same slender female, whose slight manifestations had interested me, at dinner, the day before—"but I suppose he is so used to it that"——

A sudden movement arrested further philosophical speculation, on the part of this profound observer of life and manners, and a young lady whose flounces had been sadly torn by the very chair upon the occupant of which she was commenting, passed hurriedly out of the room, with her disordered dress gathered up in both hands.

The next morning, some time before the hour appointed for our visit to the Dusseldorf Gallery, a servant brought me the following note:

"I am so sorry!" exclaimed Ida, when informed of this. "Uncle Hal is always beau enough, but the more the merrier, you know, dear uncle," added she, linking her arm in mine, and looking artlessly up into my face.

"You are quite right, my dear," said I. "I like your frankness, and I am sorry to lose Alloway myself."

As I was going out of the "Ladies' Entrance" with your cousins, I perceived my young friend supporting the steps of a pale, emaciated gentleman, who coughed violently, and walked with difficulty, even from the carriage to the door, though sustained on the other side also by an elderly lady. I drew the girls aside, that they might pass uninterruptedly.

"I hope you are well this morning, ladies," said Alloway, raising his hat, as he caught sight of us. "Good morning, Colonel Lunettes."

---

"Good morning, again, ladies!" said a cheerful, but subdued voice behind us, as the girls and I were seated together, examining the merry "Wine-tasters" of the Gallery, after having devoted some time to subjects of a more elevated moral tone.

We turned our heads simultaneously. "Good morning, sir," said Alloway, for it was he; "with your leave, I will join you now."

Your cousins made room for him between them. "I am so happy not wholly to lose this," said he, bowing to each of the ladies. "I feared I could not meet you here even as early as this."

"We would have waited for you," interposed Ida; "why didn't you tell us?"

"I did not think for a moment of taking such a liberty," returned the young man. "It would, perhaps, have interfered with your other engagements. Indeed, I scarcely hoped to find you here, but could not deny myself the pleasure of coming in search of you."

"Which is your favorite picture here, MissLunettes?" I heard Alloway ask presently.

"Come and see," returned she, and, rising, she added, "come, sister—uncle, we will return, do not disturb yourself."

Loitering along toward them, a while after, I remarked, as I approached, the expressive faces of the group, and their graceful attitudes, as they discussed Cornelia's "favorite," and reflected how much the poetry and beauty that environ youth, when refined by nature and polished by education, surpass the highest achievements of art.

"What innocence in that face! What dewy softness in the steadfast eyes!" exclaimed Cornelia. "The very shoes have an appropriate expression! dear little bird! one can't help loving her, and wanting to know all about her."

"If she were not deaf and dumb," said her cavalier, "I am sure she would rise and make a courtesy to such flattering admirers! I am getting dreadfully jealous of her!"

"You needn't be, as far as I am concerned," retorted Ida; "for my part, I don't like that brown stuff dress! She isn't fixed up a bit, as children always are, when they sit for their portraits." And she tripped away to take another look at her especial admiration—the "Peasants Returning from the Harvest-field," which is, indeed, a gem.

"What does MissIda mean?" inquired Alloway, smilingly, of her sister.

"I am sure I don't know," returned Cornelia, "she is full of sentiment, which she always endeavors to hide."

"With your permission I will go and ask her," said the admirer of the truant, and bowing politely to us both, he followed Ida.

I will just add, here, that I learned afterwards, accidentally, and not even remotely through him, that the persons with whom we met Alloway that morning, were the mother and brother of that scapegrace we first saw him with. They had come to New York with the understanding that he would meet them there, at an appointed time, and assist in the care required by his dying relative; but this promising youth had suddenly left the city, without leaving any clue to his proceedings, probably, in pursuit of some pretty face, which, like Cornelia's, happened to attract his attention. Luckily, the poor mother learned that Alloway, who was slightly known to her, was in the city, and appealed to him for assistance—with what success may be inferred from the little incident I have narrated.

---

It has always been a matter of marvel, with the learned in such matters, how Sir Walter Scott accomplished such Herculean literary labors in conjunction with the discharge of so many public and social duties. As he himself used to say, he long had a "troop of dragoons galloping through his head," to which, as their commanding officer, he devoted much attention; he was sheriff of the county—(in the discharge of the duties of this office, by the way, he used to march through the streets of the shire-town, during court term, arrayed in a gown and bag wig, at the head of his posse comitatus, greatly to his own amusement and that of his friends)—and remarkable for the most urbane and diffusive hospitality. After he ceased to be the Great Unknown, or rather, after he was identified with that celebrity, Abbotsford became the resort of innumerable visitors, attracted thither by curiosity, interest, or friendship. Not only his beautiful residence, but the numerous points of scenery and the superb ruins in the neighborhood of Abbotsford, which had been rendered classic by his magic pen, were to be inspected by these guests, and Scott always seemed to have time for a gallop among the hills, an excursion to Dryburgh and Melrose Abbey, a pilgrimage along the banks of the romantic river he has helped to immortalize, or a lively chat with the ladies after dinner. And he never had that air of pre-occupation that so often characterizes literary men, in general society. He took part in the most genial and hearty manner, in the conversation of the moment, bringing his full quota to the common stock of mirth, anecdote and jest. I can almost see him, as I write, sitting in the midst of a social circle, in his drawing-room, trotting the curly-pated little son of Mrs. Hemans, who was at Abbotsford on a visit, with her sister and this child, upon his strong knee, and singing,

"Charley my darling, my darling, Charley my darling,"

at intervals, for the amusement of the little fellow. I chanced, too, to accompany him, when he attended the poetess to her post-chaise, on the morning of her departure, and had occasion to remark his courteous hospitality to the last. "There are some persons," said he, with his cordial smile, as he offered his hand at parting, "whom one earnestly desires to meet again. You, madam, are one of those." But I am quite forgetting the object that induced my recurrence to these well-remembered scenes.

In answer to some leading remark of mine, regarding the wonderful versatility of his father-in-law, addressed to Mr.Lockhart, as we stood together contemplating the ivy-mantled walls of Dryburgh, he informed me of the secret of his extraordinary achievements with the pen: "When you meet him at breakfast," said Mr.Lockhart, "he has already, as he expresses it, 'broken the neck of the day's work'—he writes in the morning. Eschewing the indulgences of late rising and slippered ease (at the last he rails incontinently), he is up with the lark—by half past four or five, dresses as you see him at a later hour, in out-door costume, visits the stables, and then sets himself resolutely to work. By nine o'clock, when he joins us, he has accomplished the labors of a day, almost."

"His correspondence alone must occupy an immense deal of time," said I.

"And yet," returned my companion, "Sir Walter makes it a rule to answer every letter on the day of its reception. It must be an urgent cause that interferes with this habit. And I am often astonished at the length and careful composition of his replies to the queries of literary correspondents, as well as to his letters of friendship."

"One would suppose his health must be impaired by such severe mental labor," I answered.

"His cheerful temper, and his power to leave care behind him in his study, are a great assistance to him," replied Mr.Lockhart, moving towards our horses, as he spoke—"but here," he added, smilingly, laying his hand on his saddle, "here is his grand preservative. It must be foul weather, indeed, even for our Northern land of mists and clouds, that keeps him from his daily allowance of fresh air."

"Sir Walter is an accomplished horseman, I observe," said I, as we resumed our ride.

"You may well say that!" exclaimed his son-in-law, laughing. "I wish you could have seen him at the head of his troop of horse, charging an imaginary foe. Only the other day, his favorite steed broke the arm of a groom who attempted to mount him; and yet, in Sir Walter's hands, he is as docile as need be. There seems to be some secret understanding between him and his horses and dogs. This very horse, though he will never permit another man to mount him, seems to obey his master's behests with real pride as well as pleasure. I believe he would kneel to receive him on his back, were he bidden to do so."

---

Dipping into an instructive and pleasant, though no longer new book,[14] the other day, I came across the following passage: "Brougham has recorded that the peroration of his speech in the Queen's case"—his celebrated defence of Queen Caroline against her beastly husband—"was written no less than ten times before he thought it fit for so august an occasion. The same is probably true of similar passages in Webster's speeches; it is known to be so of Burke's." What do you think of such examples of industry and perseverance as these, young gentlemen?

---

"Step in, ma'am, step in, if you please," said our Jehu, opening the door of a stage-coach, in which I was making a journey through a region not then penetrated by modern improvements, "would you like the back seat?" Beside him stood a slightly-formed, delicate-looking girl, in a hesitating attitude.

"I cannot ride backwards without being ill," said she, timidly, "and I—I shall be sorry to disturb any one, but I would like to sit by a window."

A young man who was sitting on the middle seat with me immediately alighted, to make room for the more convenient entrance of the stranger, and, as he did so, the driver said decidedly—"Shall be obliged to ask the gentlemen on the back seat to accommodate the lady." A low-browed, surly-looking young fellow, who sat nearest the door of the vehicle, on the seat designated, doggedly kept his place, muttering something about having the first claim, "first come, first served," etc. Seeing how matters stood, a good-natured, farmer-like looking old man, who occupied the other end of the seat, called out cheerily, "The young woman is welcome to my place, if I can only get out of it!" and he began at once to suit the action to the word.

By this time the before pale face of the young girl was painfully flushed, and she said, in a low, deprecating tone, "I am very sorry to make so much trouble."

"No trouble at all, ma'am—none at all! Just reach me your hand and I'll help you up—that's it!"

"I am much obliged to you, sir—very much! I hope you will find a good seat for yourself," said the recipient of his kindness, gently.

"No doubt of it!" returned he of the cheery voice. "I ain't at all sorry to change a little—them back seat's plaguy cramped up! They say," added he, settling himself next the boot, "that the front seat's the easiest of all. One thing, there's more room [stretching his legs with an air of infinite relief between those of his opposite neighbors], a deuced sight!"

"Take your fare, gem'men," cried a bustling personage, at this moment.

"What is the fare from here to O——?" inquired the stationary biped in the corner behind me.

"Six shillings, York money," was the ready response.

"Six shillings!" growled the other; "seems to me there's great extortion all 'long this road. Yesterday I paid out three dollars, hard money—twelve shillin' for lodgin', supper, and breakfast, back here to G——!"

"Take your fare now, sir," interrupted the bustling little man at the door, stepping upon the wheel, in sublime indifference to the muttered anathemas, half addressed to him. "What name, sir?"—preparing to write on the "way-bill"—"always, sir! it is rulable—always put down the name."

The low voice of the lady, when she was reached, in due order, was almost lost in the grumbling kept up by the agreeable occupant of the corner seat. The most amusing commingling of opposite sounds reached my ears, somewhat like the soft tones of a distant flute, and the growling—not loud, but deep—of a hungry mastiff. "Julia Peters"—"takes off the silver, by thunder!"—"Is my band-box put on?" here a chinking, as of money counted, and then a hurried fumbling appeared to take place in the "deepest depths" of various pockets. "How soon will we be there," in silvery murmurs—"By George! I swear I b'lieve I lost two shillin'!"—"Before dark!" chimed in the flute-notes. "I am glad to hear it!" "I'll be hanged if any one shall come it over me!" surged over the musical ripple. "When you stop at my brother-in-law's," concluded the softer voice, in this unique duet.

Having been sometime on the wing, I fell into a doze, as we proceeded. As I roused myself, at length, the young man who had alighted to make room for the entrance of MissPeters, whispered, "That young lady seems very ill—what can we do for her relief?" A moment's attention convinced me that the poor thing was horribly stage-sick. When she appeared to rally a little, I turned round to her, and said, that I trusted she would allow me to render her any service in my power. Forcing a smile, she thanked me, and replied that she would soon be better she thought, adding, in a still lower tone, that the smell of tobacco always affected her very sensibly. This last remark was at the time unintelligible to me, but I afterwards learned that the animal on the same seat with her had regaled himself upon the vilest of cigars while I was napping, and that the only attempt at an apology he had offered was a mumbled remark that, "as the wind blew the smoke out of the stage, he s'posed no one hadn't no objections!"

Despite the hope expressed by my suffering neighbor, she did not get better, but continued to endure a most exhausting ordeal. Every decent man in the coach seemed to sympathize with her, the rather that she so evidently tried to make the best of it, and to avoid annoying others. Every one had a different remedy to suggest, but, unfortunately, none of them available, as there was no stopping place near. Though a somewhat experienced traveller, my ingenuity could, until we should stop, effect no more than disposing my large woollen shawl so as to aid in supporting the weary head of the poor child.

As soon as we reached the next place for changing horses, I sprang out, in common with the other passengers, and, inquiring for the nearest druggist, hastened to procure a little reliable brandy.

Having previously arranged a change of seats with the harmless stripling who had thus far occupied the middle back seat, I entered the stage, and quietly told the young lady that, as there was no one of her own sex aboard, I should claim the privilege of age, and prescribe for her, if she would permit me.

"This is not a pleasant dose, I must warn you," said I, offering her a single teaspoonful of clear brandy, "but I can safely promise you relief, if you will swallow it; this is a nice, clean glass, too," I added, smilingly, for I well knew how much that assurance would encourage my patient.

"I do not know how to thank you sufficiently, sir," said the young lady, striving to speak cheerfully, as she attempted to raise her head. Taking the tumbler, with a trembling hand, she bravely swallowed my prescription. I must own she gasped a little afterwards, but I could not allow her the relief of water, without nullifying the proper effect, so I assisted her in removing her bonnet (which the good-natured farmer, who had re-entered the coach with me, carefully pinned upon the lining of the vehicle, where it would safely swing), and in enveloping her head in her veil, adjusting her shawl comfortably about her, and wrapping my own about her feet.

"If I become your physician," said I, as I stooped to make the latter process more effectual, "you must allow me the right to do as I think best."

"I shall be only too much obliged by your kindness, sir," returned she. "All I fear is, that you will give yourself unnecessary trouble on my account."

"The gentleman don't seem to think it's no trouble," interposed the old farmer, "'taint never no trouble to good-hearted folks to help a fellow-cretur in distress! I wish my wife was here; she knows a great sight better than I do, how to take care o' sick folks."

"I am sure," replied the invalid, "if kindness could make people well, I should be restored. I feel myself greatly indebted to you, gentlemen."

The slight color called to her cheek by the genuine feeling with which she uttered these words, was by no means decreased, as she gracefully accepted the offerings of the youth who had first called my attention to her indisposition. Coming up to the side of the stage, near her, he expressed the hope that she was feeling better, and, saying that he had known sea-sickness relieved by lemon-juice, presented a fine, fresh lemon, and a superb carnation-pink, and quickly withdrew.

Mr.Benton—that I heard him tell the way-bill-man was his name—lost something in not hearing and seeing all I did of the pleasure he bestowed by his gifts; but he had his reward, as he re-seated himself near us.

"You did not give me an opportunity to thank you for your politeness, sir," the lady hastened to say, with a pretty, half-shrinking manner, "I am so much obliged to you for the flower! it is so spicy and refreshing, and so very beautiful."

"A very indifferent apology for a bouquet," returned the gentleman, "all I could find, however. I am very happy if it affords you the slightest gratification."

No sooner were we fairly on our way again, than I insisted upon supporting the head of my fair patient upon my shoulder, assuring her that ten minutes' sleep would complete the cure already begun in her case. She blushed, and hesitated a little, upon the plea that she would tire me.

"Allow me to be the judge of that," I answered, with some gravity, "and permit the freedom of an old man." With this, I placed my arm firmly about her slight form, and, without more ado, the languid head dropped upon my shoulder.

I very soon had the satisfaction to discover that "tired nature's sweet restorer" had come to my assistance, and to discern the return of some natural color to the pallid face of the poor sufferer; so gathering her shawl more closely about her, and disposing myself more effectually to support my light burden, I maintained my vigil until the sudden stopping of the vehicle aroused us all.

"The lady gets out here," cried the driver, opening the door, and, through the obscurity that had now gathered about us, I dimly discerned the outlines of the small dwelling in front of which we were at a stand. In another moment, the door was flung hurriedly open, and a gentleman hastened forward to receive my fair charge, who, notwithstanding the confusion of the moment, found time to acknowledge the insignificant attentions she had received from her travelling companions, much more warmly than they deserved. Our last glimpse of my interesting patient, revealed her folded closely in the arms of a lady, who appeared in the lighted passage, and embraced, simultaneously, by several curly-headed children, who clung to her dress, and hung upon her neck with manifest and noisy delight.

We lumbered along, across a dark, covered bridge, up hill and down, and then I reached my destination, for the nonce, the "New York Hotel," as the little tavern of the village of B—— was grand-eloquently styled.

"Well, I ain't sorry we're arrove!" exclaimed the elegant young man, with whose courtesy of nature my story opened. "George!"—stretching his ungainly limbs upon the porch of the house—"won't some tipple be fine? Hotel tipple's good enough for me!"

Before I could decide in my own mind whether this last declaration was intended as a fling at me, for not giving MissPeters a match for his disgusting tobacco-smoke, from the bar of the stage-house, when I came to the rescue in her service, he was scuffling with some ragged boys for his trunk, and, as he marched off with his prize, I heard a characteristic growl over the prospective tax upon his purse.

The next day was Sunday, and, of course, I was temporarily at a stand-still in my journey.

The sexton of the neat little church to which I found my way in the morning, put me into a pew next behind that I surmised to be the Rector's. A movement among its occupants arrested my attention, and I soon became really interested in remarking the healthful beauty of the children, who, disposed between the two ladies occupying the extreme ends of the seat, seemed to find some difficulty in keeping as quiet as decorum required.

"I want to sit by aunt Julia," I overheard, as a bright-eyed little fellow began to nestle uneasily in his seat. Upon this, the lady at the top of the pew turned her head, and, behold! the face of my young stage-coach friend! She was too much engaged, however, in aiding their mother, as I supposed her to be, in settling the children, before the service should commence, to observe me, and I almost doubted whether the happy, smiling face I saw, was identical with the worn and colorless one that had reposed so helplessly upon my breast on the previous evening; but there was no mistaking the soft, blue eyes, and the wavy hair, almost as sunny in hue as that of the little fellow who, at length, rested quietly, with his head pillowed on her arm.

Scarcely had we begun with the Psalter, before Miss Peters looked quickly round, with a startled glance. A half-smile of recognition lighted her sweet face, and then her gaze was as quickly withdrawn.

"Good morning, sir!" exclaimed my new acquaintance, advancing eagerly toward me, and offering her hand, as soon as we were in the vestibule of the church, at the conclusion of the service; "I did not anticipate this pleasure—sister, this is the gentleman to whom I was so much indebted yesterday."

"We are all much obliged by your kindness to MissPeters sir," her companion hastened to say, and both bowed most politely to my disclaimers of merit for so ordinary an act of humanity as that to which they referred, and to my inquiries for the health of my fair patient.

Then followed a cordial invitation to dinner, in which each vied with the other in frank hospitality. I attempted to compromise the matter by a promise to pay my respects to the ladies in the evening.

"We do not dine until five on Sunday, sir, and that is almost evening! Mr.Y—— will walk over and accompany you—you are at the Hotel? It will give us great pleasure if you will come, unceremoniously, and partake of a simple family dinner. Miss Peters claims you as a friend."

There was no withstanding this, especially as each phrase of courtesy was made doubly expressive, by the most ingenuously hospitable manner.

"Really, ladies," said I, as we reached the gate of the Rectory, "there is no resisting such fair tempters! I will be most happy to exchange the solitude of my dull room for the joys of your Eden."

And, insisting that I could not permit Mr.Y—— to add to his clerical duties the fatigue of calling for me, I renewed my expressions of gratification at the restoration of MissPeters, and took my leave.

I was still engaged in laying off my overcoat and shoes, after sending in my card, when Mr.Y—— came out to welcome me; and a most cordial welcome it was! Such a warm hand-shaking as he gave me, and such emphatic assurances of the pleasure it afforded him to make my acquaintance! And when I entered the tasteful little parlor, where I found the ladies, I was received with equally frank hospitality. The children united with their seniors in making me feel, at once, that I was among friends. One little circumstance, I remember, particularly touched me. I was scarcely seated, when a little tottering thing, with a toy in her hand, came and placed herself between my knees, and raising a pair of large, truthful, blue eyes to mine, lisped out, "I does 'ouv 'ou dearly!—'ou was 'o dood to aun' Dule!—I dive 'ou my pretty 'ittle birdie!" and the little cherub presented me the toy.—It was many a long day afterwards, believe me, my dear boys, before the warmth infused into the heart of an old campaigner, by the simple adventures of that quiet village Sabbath, ceased to glow cheerily in his heart!

After the unpretending, but pleasant, well-appointed dinner was concluded, MissPeters rose, and, with a slight apology to me, was leaving the room, when her sister arrested her. Some playful, whispered contest seemed to be going on between the two, of which I could not help overhearing, in the sweet, silvery tones that had charmed me in the stage-coach, "You know, dear, it's such a luxury to me!—you are always with them. I will have my own way when I am here!" and away she flew like a fawn.

Presently, the pattering of numerous tiny feet, and a commingling of joyous voices, and the music of childish laughter, reached my ears, from the stairs, and then all was for a moment hushed. Now there was distinctly heard from above, the swelling notes of a simple, child's hymn, sung by several voices, led by the musical one I had learned to distinguish, and then followed a low-murmured "Our Father," as I thought.

"Colonel Lunettes," said my hostess, drawing a chair to the sofa corner, where I had been snugly ensconced by two of the children, before they said good-night, "I will take advantage of sister's absence to express my personal obligations to you for your kind care of her yesterday"——

"My dear Madam," I interposed, "I regard my meeting your sister as a special Providence, for which I alone should be deeply grateful!"

"You are very polite, sir," answered the lady, "we, too, should be grateful. Julia should never travel alone. Mr.Y—— always goes over to O—— for her, when we expect her, and intended to do so this time, but she insisted upon it in her last letter, that she knew she wouldn't be ill, and that he would only distress her by coming, as she was sure he was necessarily very busy, preparing for the Bishop's visit, and, indeed, she expected to come over with an elder lady teacher in the Seminary."

"Then MissPeters is instructing, Mrs.Y——?"

"She is, sir. We are orphans [a slight quiver in the tones] and Julia prefers to make this effort for herself"——

"I am opposed to it," continued Mr.Y——, taking up the narrative, as his wife half-paused, "and much prefer that Julia should be with us,—she and Mrs.Y—— should not be separated. I am sure there is room enough in our hearts for all our children, and Julia is one of them!"

The grateful, loving smile, and dewy eyes of the wife, alone expressed her sense of pleasure at these words. For myself, I declare to you, I did not like to trust myself to reply. I was turning over some new pages of the history of human nature! Sometimes I think, as I did then, that the soul of man never reaches the full development of its earthly capacities, except when continually subjected to the blessed influences of nature! The city—the beaten thoroughfares of existence—curb, if they do not deaden, the better manifestations of the spirit, check forever, the most beautiful, individualizing specialities of manner even! But I did not mean to moralize.

When MissPeters rejoined us, her brother-in-law rose (as I also did, of course) and seated her between us, on the sofa.

"My dear young lady," said I, taking her hand respectfully in my own, "permit me to say, as Dr. Johnson did to Hannah More, upon meeting her for the first time, 'I understand that you are engaged in the useful and honorable occupation of instructing young ladies,'—if it were possible more thoroughly to forget the brevity of our acquaintance, than I have already done, this would have deepened my respect and interest for you! Pardon me, if I take too great a liberty. You have, from the commencement of our acquaintance, permitted me the privileges of an octogenarian"——

"And of a gentleman of the old school!" she added, with great vivacity, and with the most bewitching smile.

"Before I leave you, my dear MissPeters, will you allow me to make a prophecy?"

"If you are a prophet of good, sir"——

"Can you doubt it, when your future fate is the subject?"

"Indeed, sir, I shall have great faith in your auguries!" returned my fair neighbor, bestowing the twin of her first smile upon me.

"Well, then, my dear, it is my solemn conviction that you have not yet learned all you will one day know of the depth of the impression you have left upon the heart of Mr.Benton," I answered, with a gravity that I intended should tell.

"Mr.Benton! so that's his name?" laughed Mrs. Y——, gaily. "Julia pretended not to know his name! I thought it was a conquest! I have not yet had an opportunity of looking out the 'language' of a very large, full blown carnation pink!"

"No doubt," interrupted Mr.Y——, "it is precisely the opposite of lemon-juice!"

Between laughing and blushing, the fair subject of this badinage made but a faint show of resistance; but, at this juncture, she managed to say, as she turned to me, with a most courteous bow.

"I very much question whether the sentiments expressed by any flower can more readily touch the heart, than that I have known conveyed by a teaspoonful of brandy!"

"Bravo!" cried Mr.Y——.

"Well done, JulÉ!" echoed my hostess.

And I!—my feelings were too deep for words! I could only lay my hand upon my heart, and raise my eyes to the ceiling.

---

Perhaps there is no better test of the unexceptionableness of a habit, than to suppose it generally adopted, and infer the consequences. I remember some such reflection, in connection with a little circumstance that once fell under my observation:—Dining with a young Canadian, at his residence in Kingston, C.W., I met, among other persons, an English notability, of whom I had frequently heard and read. A slight pause in the conversation, made doubly audible a loud yawn proceeding from one corner of the dining-room, and, as a general look of surprise was visible, a huge Newfoundland dog approached us, stretching his limbs, and shaking from his shaggy coat anything but

Our host endeavored to say something polite, and the animal, advancing toward the celebrity, stationed himself, familiarly, at his master's side, somewhat to the annoyance, probably, of the lady next him.

With the utmost sang froid, the "privileged character" held his finger-bowl to his dog, and remarked, as he eagerly lapped the contents, that he had eaten highly-seasoned venison at lunch!

---

"Foreigners," says Madame de Stael, "are a kind of contemporaneous posterity." This truth apart, I had sufficient reason to blush for my country, on more than one occasion, lately, while travelling at the West, in company with a well-bred young European. His own manners were so pleasing as to render more striking the peculiarities of others, and his habits so refined, as, when united with his large observation and intelligence, to make him an exceedingly agreeable person to associate with.

One hot day, during a portion of our journey performed by steamer, I looked up from my book, and saw him coming toward me.

"I have found a cool place, sir," said he, "and have come to beg you to join me—we shall be undisturbed there."

I rose, and was about to take up my seat.

"Allow me, sir! I am the younger," said he; and he insisted upon carrying my seat, as well as the one he had previously secured for himself. And this was his habitual phrase, when there was any occasion to allude to the difference in our years. He never said—"You are older than I am," or insinuated that my lameness made me less active than he, when he offered his arm, in our numerous promenades. The idea he seemed ever studying to express was, that he had pleasure in the society of the old soldier, and thought him entitled to respect and precedence on all occasions. Aside from the personal gratification and comfort I derived from these graceful and unremitting attentions, it was a source of perpetual pleasure to me to observe his beautiful courtesy to all with whom he came in contact. He had with him a land surveyor, or agent of some sort; with this person he, apparently, found little in common, but, when he had occasion to converse with him, I always remarked his punctilious politeness. And so with his servant; he always requested, never ordered, him to do what he wished. Reserved and laconic, when giving him directions, there was yet a certain assuring kindliness in his voice, that seemed to act like a talisman upon his man, who, speaking our language very imperfectly, would have often suffered the consequences of embarrassing mistakes, but for the clear, simple, intelligible directions and explanations of his master. But to return.

Scarcely were we seated quietly in the retired spot so carefully selected by my friend, when a couple of young fellows came swaggering along, and stationing themselves near us, began smoking, spitting and talking so loudly, as to disturb and annoy us, exceedingly.

"What a pity that this fine air should be so poisoned!" exclaimed my companion, in French, glancing at the intruders. "For my part, pure air is good enough for me, without perfume!"

"Do you never smoke?" I asked, in the same tongue.

"Certainly! but I do not smoke always and everywhere! Neither do I think it decent to soil every place with tobacco-juice, as you do in this country!"

"It is infamous!" returned I. "Now just look at those fellows! See how near they are to that group of ladies, and then look at the condition of the deck all around them." As I spoke, the lady nearest the nuisance, apparently becoming suddenly aware of her dangerous proximity, hurriedly gathered her dress closely about her, and moved as far away as she could without separating herself from her party. Despite these indications, the shower continued to fall plentifully around, and the smoke to blow into the faces of those who were so unfortunate as to be seated in the neighborhood.

"Have you not regulations to prevent such annoyances," inquired the stranger.

"Every steamer professes to have them, I believe," returned I, "but if such vulgar men as these choose to violate them, no one even thinks of insisting upon their enforcement—every one submits, and every one is annoyed—that is, all decent people are!"

"Vive la LibertÉ et l'EgalitÉ!" exclaimed the European, laughing good-humoredly.As if echoing the mirth of my companion, a merry laugh from the group of ladies near us, arrested my attention at this moment. Without appearing to remark them, I soon ascertained that they were amusing themselves with the ridiculous figure presented by one of the smokers. His associate had left him "alone in his glory," and there he sat, fast asleep, with his mouth wide open, his hat over one eye, and his feet tucked across under the seat of his chair, which supported only on its hind legs, was tilted back against the side of the cabin. My description can give you but a poor idea of the ludicrousness of the thing. One of those laughing girls would have done it better! I overheard more than one of their droll comments.

"What if his chair should upset, when he 'catches fish!'" exclaimed a pretty little girl, looking roguishly from under her shadowing round straw hat.

"There is more danger that that wasp will fly down his throat," replied another of the gay bevy. "What a yawning cavern it is! That wasp is hovering over the 'crack of doom!'"

"He reminds me rather of Daniel in the lion's den," put in a third.

"Let's move our seats before he wakes up," cried one of the girls, as the nondescript made a slight demonstration upon a fly that had invaded his repose. "He is protected by the barricade he has surrounded himself with—like a upas-tree in the centre of its own vile atmosphere—but we, unwary travellers, are not equally safe!"

A day or two afterwards, these very young men were just opposite me at table, in a hotel in one of our large Western cities.

They were well dressed (with the exception of colored shirts) and well-looking enough, but, after what I had previously seen of them, I was not surprised to observe their habits of eating. One would throw up both arms, and clasp his hands over his head, while waiting for a re-supply of food; the other stop, now and then, to lay off his bushy moustache, so as to make more room for the shovelling process he kept up with his knife, for the more rapid disappearance of a large goblet of water at one swallowing, or for the introduction of a mammoth ear of corn, which he took both hands to hold, while he gobbled up row after row, with inconceivable rapidity. Then one would manipulate an enormous drum-stick, while he lolled comfortable back in his chair, grievously belaboring his voluminous beard, the while, and leaving upon it an all-sufficient substitute for maccassar, and the other, simultaneously make a loud demonstration with his pocket-handkerchief, or upon his head. Now one would stretch out his legs under the table, until he essentially invaded my reserved rights, and then the other insert his tongue first in one cheek, and then in the other, rolling it vigorously round, as a cannoneer would swab out a great gun with his sponge, before re-loading! Flushed, heated, steaming, the heaps of sweet-potato skins, bones, and bits of food profusely scattered over the soiled cloth, fully attested the might of their achievements!

Much of this, as I said, I was prepared for, but I was somewhat surprised by what followed.

I had sent for a quail, I think, or some other small game, and was preparing to discuss its merits, when one of these young men, reaching over, stuck his fork into the bird, and transferred it to his own plate!

I saw at a glance that no offense was intended to me—that the seeming rudeness was simply the result of vulgarity and ignorance; so I very quietly directed the servant to bring me another bird.

Scarcely was the second dish placed before me, when the other youth of this delectable pair exactly repeated the action of his companion, and I again found myself minus my game.

"Mon Dieu!" cried my young foreign friend, "if you can endure that, you are a hero, sir!"

An hour or two subsequent to this agreeable incident, I was again seated in the cars, and hearing a noise behind me, soon satisfied myself that my neighbors at dinner that day were to be my neighbors still, and that they were at present busily employed in disputing with the conductor respecting a seat next their own, which they wished to monopolize for the accommodation of their legs, and which, in consequence of the crowded state of the cars, the man insisted upon filling with other passengers. Presently there came in a pale, weary-looking woman, with a wailing infant in her arms and another young child clinging to her garments. She found a seat where she could, and sinking into it, disposed of a large basket she had also carried, and commenced trying to pacify the baby.

Here was a fit subject for the rude jests and jibes of the young fellows I have described. And full use did they make of their vulgar license of tongue. The poor mother grew more and more distressed as those unfeeling comments reached her ears from time to time, and at each outbreak from the infant strove more nervously to pacify it.

I observed that a good-humored looking, large, handsome man, who sat a little before this woman, frequently glanced round at the child, and sought to divert its attention by various little playful motions. At length, when the cars stopped for a few minutes, out he sallied, in all haste, and presently returned with his hands full of fruits and cakes. Offering a liberal share of these to the woman and her little girl, after distributing some to his party, he reserved a bright red apple, and said cheerily to the mother: "Let me take your little boy, ma'am, I think I can quiet him."

The little urchin set up a loud scream, as he found himself in the strong grasp of the stranger; but, a few moments' perseverance effected his benevolent purpose. Tossing the boy up, directing his attention to the apple, and then carrying him through the empty car a turn or two, sufficed to chase away the clouds and showers from what proved to be a bright, pretty face, and very soon the amiable gentleman returned to his seat, saying very quietly to the woman, as he passed her, "We will keep your little child awhile, and take good care of him." The baby was healthy-looking, and its clothes, though plain, were entirely clean—so the poor thing was by no means a disagreeable plaything for the young lady beside whom the gentleman was seated. For some little time they amused themselves in this humane manner, and then the young man gently snugged the weary creature down upon his broad chest, and there it lay asleep, like a flower on a rock, nestled under a shawl, and firmly supported by the enfolding arm that seemed unconscious of its light burden.

Meantime the pale, tired mother regaled herself with the refreshments so bountifully provided for her, watching the movements of the little group before her with evident satisfaction; and at length settled herself for a nap in the corner of her seat, with the other child asleep in her lap.

The noisy comments of the "fast" young men in the rear of the car became less audible and offensive, I noticed, after the stranger came to the rescue, and when I passed their seat, afterwards, I could not be surprised at their comparative silence, upon beholding the enormous quantity of pea-nut shells and fruit skins with which the floor was strewn, and noticing the industry with which they were squirting tobacco juice over the whole.

By-and-by the cars made another pause. The mother of the little boy roused herself and looked hastily round for her treasures. Upon this the young lady who occupied the seat with her new friend came to her and seemed reassuring her. As soon as the thronging crowd had passed out, I heard her saying, as I caught a peep at the sweetest face, bent smilingly towards the woman—"I made a nice little bed for him, as soon as the next seat was empty, and he is still fast asleep. Does he like milk? Mr. Grant will get some when he wakes—it is so unpleasant for a lady to get out of the cars." (Here the woman seemed to make some explanation, and a shadow of sympathy passed over the smiling face I was admiring, as one sees a passing cloud move above a sunny landscape.) "Well, we will be glad to be of use to you, as far as we go on," pursued the fair girl; "I will find out all about it, and tell you before we leave the cars. Now, just rest all you can—let me put this shawl up a little higher—there! It is such a relief to get off one's bonnet! I'll put it up for you. The little girl had better come with me.—Oh, no, she will not, I am sure! What's your name, dear? Mary! that's the prettiest name in the world! everybody loves Mary! I have such a pretty book to show you"—and having tucked up the object of her gentle care in quite a cosy manner, while she was saying this, the good girl gave a pretty, encouraging little nod to the woman, and went back, taking the other juvenile with her, to her own place. When her companion joined her, she looked up in his face with a beaming, triumphant sort of a smile, and, receiving a response in the same expressive language, all seemed quite understood between them.

"What an angel!" exclaimed the young European, in his favorite tongue, as he re-entered the car, and caught part of this little by-scene. "Do you know what she said to that poor woman?"

I gave him all the explanation in my power. His fine eyes kindled. "She is as good as she is beautiful! Have you remarked the magnificent head of the gentleman with her? What a superb profile he has—so classic! And his broad chest—there's a model for a bust! I happened to be in the studio of your celebrated countryman, Powers, at Florence, with my father, who was sitting to him, when the great Thorwaldsen came to visit him. Boy, as I was, at that time, I remember his words, as he stood before the bust of your Webster: 'I cannot make such busts!' But was it not, sir, because he had no such models as your country affords?" These were courteous words; but I do them poor justice in the record; I cannot express the voice and manner from which they received their charm.

Well, at the risk of tiring you, I hasten to conclude my little sketch. I amused myself by quietly watching the thing through, and noticed, towards evening, that the amiable strangers went together to the woman they had befriended, after the gentleman had been into the hotel, before which we were standing, seemingly to make some inquiry for her. Both talked for a few minutes, apparently very kindly, to her and to the children, and seemed to encourage her by some assurance as they parted. As they were turning away, the grateful mother rose, and, snatching the hand first of one, and then of the other, burst out, with a "God bless you both!" so fervent as to be audible where I sat.

"Don't speak of such a trifle!" returned the youth, in a clear, distinct voice, raising his noble form to its full height, and flashing forth the light of his falcon eye; "for my part, I am very glad to be able to do a little good as I go along in the world!"

In a few moments the handsome stranger was seen carefully placing his fair travelling companion in an elegant carriage, where a lady was awaiting them, and upon which several trunks were already strapped. While cordial greetings were still in progress between the trio, a well-dressed servant gave the reins to a superb pair of dark bays, and in another instant they were flying along in the direction of a stately-looking mansion of which I caught sight in the distance.

"Who the d—— is that fellow?" shouted one of the pair in the rear. "I say, porter," stretching his body far out of the car window, and beckoning to a man on the steps of the neighboring building, "What's the name of those folks in that carriage? dev'lish pretty girl, I swear!"

"Sir-r-r?" answered Paddy, coming to the side of the car, and pulling his dirty cap on one side of his head with one hand, while he operated upon his carroty hair with the fingers of the other; "what's yer honor's plaizure?"

"I say, what's the name of that gentleman who has just gone off in that carriage there?"

"Oh! sure that's young Gineral Grant; him that owns the fine house beyant—I hear tell he's the new Congressman, sir!"

"Bien!" whispered my foreign friend, laughing heartily, "this is a great country! you do things upon so large a scale here, that one must not wonder when extremes meet!"

---

"What, coz, still sitting with your things on, waiting? Haven't you been impatient?"

"Oh, no, not at all, I've been reading."

"Well, but, do you know it's twelve o'clock? We were to start at half-past ten. What did you think of me for delaying so long?"

"I was afraid some accident had happened; but I could see nothing from the window, and I did not like to go out on the portico alone."

"Then you did not think me careless, and were not vexed?"

"Not I, indeed! I was sure you would come if you could, and was only anxious about you, as you were to try that new horse. I did not take off my bonnet, because I kept expecting you every moment."

"And I kept expecting to come every moment—that devilish animal! I tried to send you word, but I could not get sight of a servant—confound the fellows! they are always out of the way when one wants them."

"But, Charley, dear, what about the horse? Has he really troubled you? I am sorry you bought him."

"Oh, I've conquered him! it wouldn't have taken me so long before I had that devilish fever! But, come, cozzy dear, will you go now, or is your patience all gone?"

"I would like the drive—but, Charley, had we not better put it off until to-morrow morning? You must be tired out, and, perhaps, the horse will continue to trouble you."

"No, no—come, come along, if you are willing to go."

Now, Charley and his cousin were together at a little rural watering-place, in search of change of air and scene. Charley had been recently ill, and, as he chanced to be separated from his family at the time, was particularly fortunate in having had the gentle ministrations of Belle, as he usually called her, at command, during his convalescence.

Belle was an orphan, without brothers, and she clung to Charley with the tenacity of a loving heart, deprived of its natural resources. Temporarily relieved from her duties as a teacher, her cousin invited her to accompany him in this little tour, in pity for the languor that was betrayed by her drooping eyes, and lagging step; and his kindly nurse, flattering herself that her "occupation" was not yet quite "gone," was only too happy to escape from her city prison, under such safe and agreeable protection. Yielding and quiet, as she ordinarily was, Belle had very strict notions of propriety on some points. So, when she and her cousin were making their final arrangements, before commencing their journey, she laid upon the table before him, a bank-note of considerable amount, with the request that he would appropriate it to the payment of her travelling expenses.

"Time enough for that, by-and-by, coz."

"No, if you please, Charley. It is enough that you will be burdened by the care of me, without having your purse taxed, too. Just be so good as to keep a little account of what you pay for me—remembering porterage, carriage-hire, and such matters—ladies always have the most luggage." And a little hand playfully smoothed the doubled paper upon the cuff of Charley's coat-sleeve, and left it lying there.

Her cousin very well knew that this bank-note comprised a large portion of Belle's quarterly salary, though she made no allusion to the matter; and, though his own resources were moderate, men so much more easily acquire money than women—well, never mind! people differ in their ideas of luxury.

Charley had some new experiences in this little tour of his and Belle's. He had an idea, previously, that "women are always a bother, in travelling," and he found himself sorely puzzled to make out, exactly, what trouble it was to have his cousin always ready to read to him, when they sat together on the deck of a steamer, or while he lay on the sofa at a hotel, to claim the comfortable seat at her side in a rail-car, to have her keep his cane and book, while he went out to chat with an acquaintance, watch when he grew drowsy, and softly gather his shawl about his neck, and make a pillow of her own for him, or to see the tear that sometimes gathered in her meek eyes, when she acknowledged any little courtesy on his part. Then, when, after they were settled in their snug quarters, at the watering-place, Belle, half-timidly, sat a moment on his knee, and, looking proudly round upon the order she had brought out of chaos, among his toilet articles, books, and clothes, said—"Oh, what a happy week I have to thank you for, dear cousin Charley! You have done so many, many kind things for me, all the way! I have had to travel alone almost always since pa's—since"—he was really quite at a loss to know what "kind things" she referred to, and said so.

"Why, Charley!" returned she, making a vigorous effort to get over the choking feeling that had suddenly assailed her, upon alluding to her deceased father, "don't you know—no, you don't know, what a happiness it is to a poor, lonely thing, like me, to have some one to take care of her luggage, and pay her fare, and all those things? I know, in this country, women can travel alone, safely—quite so; but it isn't pleasant, for all that, to go into crowds of rough men, without any one. The other evening, at New Haven, for instance, it was quite dark, when we landed, and those hackmen made such a noise, and crowded so—but I felt just as safe, and comfortable, while sitting waiting for you in the carriage, all the while you were gone back about our trunks! Oh, you can't realize it, Charley, dear!" and the fair speaker shook her head, with a mournful earnestness, that expressed almost as much sober truthfulness, as appealing femininity.

But about this morning drive.

With the trusting confidence for which her sex have such an infinite capacity, Belle yielded at once to the implied wish of her temporary protector, and they were soon rolling along, in a light, open carriage, through deeply-shadowing woods and across little brooklets which were merrily disporting themselves under the trees.

The poor wild-wood bird, so long caged, yet ever longing to be free, carolled and mused by turns, or permitted her joyous nature to gush out in exclamations of delight.

"What delicious air!" she exclaimed. "Really it exhilarates one, like a cordial. Oh, Charley, dear, look at those flowers! May I get out for them? Do let me! I won't be gone a minute. Just you sit still, and hold your war-steed. Don't be so ceremonious as to alight; I need no assistance." And with a bound the happy creature was on her feet, and in an instant dancing along, to the music of her own glad voice, over the soft grass.

Too considerate to encroach upon his patience unduly, Belle soon reseated herself beside Charley, with a lap full of floral treasures.

"Here are enough for bouquets for both our rooms," said she; "how fresh and fragrant they are!

Bless God for flowers—and friends!"

As the artless girl fervently uttered the last words, she turned a pair of sweet blue eyes, into which tears of gratitude and pleasure had suddenly started, upon the face of her companion. What a painful revulsion of feeling was produced by that glance! She scarcely recognized the face of her cousin, so completely had gloom and discontent usurped the place of his usual hilarious expression. What could be the matter? Had she offended him!

Repressing, with quick tact, all manifestations of surprise, though her frame thrilled, as if from a heavy blow, Belle was silent for a while, and then said in a subdued tone that contrasted strangely with her former bird-like glee—"Your horse goes nicely now, Charley, doesn't he? You seem to have effectually conquered him; but I am sure you must be tired, now, dear cousin, you have been out so long. Had we not better return?"

"Why, you have had no ride at all yet, Isabella," returned the young man, in a voice that was as startling to his sensitive auditor as his altered countenance had been.

"Oh, yes, I have," she quickly answered, endeavoring to speak as cheerfully as possible, "I have enjoyed myself so much that I ought to be quite contented to go back, and I really think we'd better do so."

Charley's only response was turning his horse's head homeward. For a while they drove on in silence, Belle's employment of arranging her flowers now wholly mechanical, so engrossing was the tumult in her heart.

Just as they came in sight of their hotel, the unruly animal that had already occasioned his new owner so much trouble, stopped, and stood like a wooden effigy in the middle of the road.

In vain did word and whip appeal to his locomotive powers. At length the pent-up wrath that had apparently been gathering fury for the last hour burst forth.

"Devilish brute! I never was so shamefully imposed upon! I wish to G—— I never had set foot in this infernal hole! There's no company here fit for a decent fellow to associate with. I shall die of stupidity in a week—particularly if I have to drive such a confounded concern as this!" Here followed a volley of mingled blows and curses.

The terrified witness of this scene sat tremblingly silent, for a time, clinging to the side of the carriage, as if to keep herself quiet. Presently she said:

"Perhaps I'd better jump out and run to the house, and send some one out to assist you."

"You may get out, if you choose," answered her cousin, gruffly, "but I want no assistance about the horse. I'll break every bone in his body, but I'll conquer his devilish temper!"

After another pause, Belle said, "Well, Charley, if you please, I will walk on. I am sorry you are so annoyed," she added, timidly, carefully averting her pale face from him; "but perhaps this is only a phase, and he may never do so again."

Her companion broke into a loud, mocking laugh. "What in thunder do you know about horses, Isabella?"

"Nothing, Charley—nothing in the world," returned his cousin, quickly, in the gentlest voice, "I only"——

"Ye-es!" drawled the angry youth, "I know—some women think their 'ready wit' will enable them to talk upon any subject! Get up, now, you rascal, will you?"

Belle knew her weakness too well to trust herself to speak, so, drawing her veil closely about her face, and gathering up her shawl and her flowers, she stepped from the low carriage with assumed composure, and bowing slightly, walked towards the house.

Meeting a servant, at the foot of the stairs, she said, very quietly, "Mr.Cunningham will be here in a few minutes with his horse; I hope some one will be ready to take him," and passed on. This was all she dared to do, in aid of the exasperated youth.

Once in her own room, it seemed but the work of a moment for the agitated girl to throw off her shawl and bonnet, and transport some light refreshments she had previously prepared, across the passage to her cousin's room, to draw up his lounging chair to the table, and with a few skillful touches to give that air of comfort to the simply-furnished apartment which it had been her daily pleasure to impart to it.

This self-imposed task achieved, she flew, like a guilty intruder, to her own little asylum, and locking the door, flung herself upon the bed, burying her face in the pillows.

But though her quick, convulsive sobs were stifled, they shook her slight, sensitive form till it quivered in every nerve, like a delicate exotic suddenly exposed to the blasts of a northern winter.

By-and-by a sound roused her from this agony of tears.

"There is the first dinner-gong," said she, to herself, starting up, "what shall I do? Perhaps Charley won't like it if I don't go to dinner. My head aches dreadfully. I don't mind that so much, but (looking in the glass) my face is so flushed. I wouldn't for the world vex Charley, I'm sure." With this she began some hasty toilet preparations; but her hands trembled so violently as to force her to desist.

Wrapping her shivering form in her shawl, she sat down on a low chair, and again gave way to emotions which gradually shaped themselves thus:

"I am so sorry I came with Charley. He was never anything but kind till we came here. And then I should have, at least, had nothing but pleasant things to remember. But now—I am afraid Charley is ashamed of me; he looked at my dress so scrutinizingly this morning, when he came to my door. I know I'm not the least fashionable; but Mrs.Tillou is, and she complimented me on this nÉgligÉ—it is soiled now, and my pretty slippers, too, walking back through the mud! 'Isabella!' How cold and strange it sounded! I am so used to 'cozzy dear,' and have learned to love it so. My poor heart!" pressing both hands upon her side as if to still a severe pang. Then she rose, and creeping slowly along the floor, swallowed some water, and seating herself at the table, drew writing materials towards her. Steadying her hand with great effort, and every moment pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, she achieved the following note:

Designing to accompany this with some of the flowers she now remembered, for the first time since her return from her ill-starred morning excursion, Belle hastily re-arranged the prettiest of them in a little bouquet. As she removed an already withered wild-rose from among its companions, a solitary tear fell upon its shrivelled petals. "Perhaps," she murmured mournfully, with a heavy sigh, "I should have made another idol,—perhaps I should soon have learned to love Charley too well, if this chastening had not come upon me—could he have thought so?" As she breathed this query, the small head was suddenly thrown back, like that of a startled gazelle, and a blush so vivid and burning as to pale the previous flush of agitation, flashed over cheek and brow.

Quickly ringing the bell, and carefully concealing herself from observation, behind the door, when she half-opened it, the servant who answered her summons was requested to hand the note and flowers to Mr.Cunningham, if he was in his room, and if not, to place them where he would "be sure to see them when he came up."

"When will I ever learn," said Belle, in a tone of bitter self-reproach, as she re-locked the door, "not to cling and trust,—not

——"to make idols, and to find them clay!"

"I have not seen you looking so well since you came here, MissCunningham," said a gentleman to Belle, joining her as she was entering the public parlor that evening. "Do allow me to felicitate you! What a brilliant color!—You were driving this morning, were you not? No doubt you are indebted to your cousin for the bright roses in your cheeks!"

---

And now, my dear young friends, let me only add, in concluding this lengthened letter, that, had I early acquired the habit of writing, you would, doubtless, have less occasion to criticise these effusions—attempted, for your benefit, at too late a period of life to enable me to render them what I could wish. Use them as beacons, since they cannot serve as models!

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