“Look, my dearest Anna, yonder is our pleasant little village!” exclaimed Rupert, pointing as he spoke to a cluster of pretty houses, nestling far down in the green valley below, now for the first time visible as the carriage gained the summit of a hill, while here and there the eye caught bright glimpses of a lovely stream winding along the luxuriant landscape.

“What an enchanting spot!” cried Anna, pressing the hand of her husband to her lips—“how romantic!”

“It is indeed lovely, Anna—but remember ‘’tis distance lends enchantment;’ a nearer view may destroy some of its present beauty,” said Rupert.

“Yet it will be lovely still, dear Rupert, for our home is there!” exclaimed Anna.

No wonder the heart of the happy husband bounded with delight at such words from such beautiful lips!

“Now you can discern the church through those venerable elms, which were planted by hands long since mouldering in the dust,” said Rupert. “And see, dear Anna, as we draw nearer, how one by one the cottages look out from their leafy screens, as if to welcome you.”

“O it is all perfectly charming, Rupert! Now which of these pretty dwellings is to be our abode?” inquired Anna.

“Just where the river bends around yonder beautiful green promontory; do you see two large trees whose interlacing branches form as it were an arbor for the little cottage reposing in the centre? There, my beloved Anna, there is your future home!”

“O it is a perfect beauty spot—how happy, how very happy we shall be!” exclaimed Anna with enthusiasm.

“May your bright anticipations, my dear one, be realized,” said Rupert. “Sure I am that if the tenderness and devotion of a fond heart can secure you happiness, it will be yours—yet as on the sunniest skies clouds will sometimes gather, even so may it be with us, and our brilliant horizon be darkened.”

“No, no, talk not so gravely, Rupert,” cried Anna, “depend upon it, no clouds but the most rosy shall flit o’er our horizon! But do order the coachman to drive faster—I am impatient to assume the command of yonder little paradise.”

The carriage soon drew up within the shadow of those beautiful trees which Rupert had already pointed out to his fair young bride, and in a few moments Anna found herself within the walls of her new home, and clasped to the heart of her happy husband, as he fondly impressed upon her brow the kiss of welcome.

Like a bird, from room to room flitted the gay young wife, so happy that tears of tenderness and joy trembled on her beautiful eyelids. True, here were no costly mirrors to throw back the form of beauty—no rich couches of velvet inviting repose—the foot pressed no luxurious carpet, nor did hangings of silken damask enshroud the windows; yet the cool India matting, the little sofa covered with snowy dimity, the light pretty chairs, and thin muslin curtains looped gracefully over windows looking out upon a charming shrubbery, were all infinitely more agreeable to Anna. No doubt, accustomed as she had ever been to all the elegancies of life, the very novelty of simplicity exerted a pleasing influence—still affection must claim its due share in her gratification. When at length every nook and corner had felt her light footstep, and echoed with her cheerful tones, they returned to the little sitting-room, and while the soft evening wind stole through the honeysuckles, and twilight deepened into darkness, the happy pair traced many golden-hued visions, stretching far into the dim future.

Professional duties summoned Rupert from home early the following morning, and Anna was left to her own disposition of time. While the dew-drops yet quivered on the fresh, green grass, she had tripped through the orchard, the meadow, and garden, inhaling the pure morning air, and listening with unspeakable delight to the music of the birds. To her uninitiated view the scene was perfectly Arcadian, where all her visions of rural felicity were to be more than realized. Anna was, perhaps, “born to love pigs and chickens,” for each in turn received a share of attention worthy even the heroine of Willis, and neither did the faithful dog, or more wheedling grimalkin escape her notice.

Somewhat tired at length with her rambles, she returned to the house, and now, for the first time, faint shadows of reality rested upon love’s romance. She was surprised to find the rooms in the same disorder she had left them—her trunks were yet unpacked, and the chamber strewed with all the litter of traveling. She wondered if the maid would never come to arrange things—it was certainly very shocking to have no place to sit down, properly in order. She looked for a bell—she might as well have looked for a fairy wand to summon the delinquent housemaid. That she could do any thing toward a more agreeable at-home-ness was a fact which did not occur to her; so she threw herself upon the sofa, resolving to wait patiently the appearance of the servant. In the pages of a new novel she had already lost her chagrin, when the door was suddenly thrown wide open, and a tall, strapping girl—how unlike the Hebe of her imagination!—putting her head into the room, exclaimed,—

“Well, aint you coming to get up dinner, I should like to know; the pot biles, and he’ll be here in a minute, for it’s e’en a’most noon!”

“Who are you speaking to?” said Anna.

“You must be smart, Miss Forbes, to ask that! Why, I guess, I’m speaking to you; I don’t see nobody else. Maybe you don’t know it’s washing-day; and I aint used to cooking and doing every thing on such days, I can tell you!”

Anna had good sense enough to know that the girl did not mean to be impertinent, so she answered mildly, “Very well, I will come.” And putting down her book, she followed her into the kitchen.

Kitty immediately resumed her station at the wash-tub, leaving her young mistress to solve alone the mysteries of that glowing fire-place, and heedless of her presence, struck up a song, pitching her voice to its highest key, and in the energy of her independence, splashing and swashing the glittering suds far above her head.

Poor Anna looked around despairingly. What was she to do—what could she do! There was the pot boiling, fast enough, to be sure; so fast that the brown heads of the potatoes came bobbing up spitefully against the lid, as if determined to break through every obstacle in the way of their rising ambition. There, too, was a piece of meat, raw and unseemly, stretched out upon a certain machine, ycleped a gridiron, by old housekeepers, yet of whose use or properties Anna was sadly at fault. To extricate herself from her embarrassment she knew she must first crave light, so feeling as if about to address some pythoness of those mysterious realms, she humbly demanded,—

“Well, Kitty, what can I do?”

“Do—I guess you’d better lift off that pot pretty quick, Miss Forbes, or the ’taters will be all biled to smash!”

Lift off that pot—that great, heavy iron pot! She! Anna! whose delicate hands had never scarcely felt a feather’s weight! Anna was confounded.

“I wish you would do it for me,” she said.

“Well, I guess I aint going to crock my hands when I’m starching the doctor’s shirts!” quoth Kitty, with a toss of her head.

After many awkward attempts, poor Anna at length succeeded in tilting the huge pot from off the hook which held it suspended over the crackling flames, though not without imminent danger of scalding her pretty feet.

“Sakes alive, what a fuss!” muttered the girl, “and a nice grease spot, too, for me to scour up!”

The mildness and patience of Anna, however, at length overcame the stubbornness of Kitty—so true it is that the most obstinate natures will yield to kindness and gentleness. Wiping her sinewy arms upon her apron, which she then took off and threw into a corner, she came forward, evidently rather ashamed of herself, to the assistance of the perplexed young housekeeper.

“I guess, Miss Forbes, if you’ll just set the table in there, before he comes, I’ll do the steak, and peel the ’taters; maybe you aint so much used to this sort of work.”

Anna, gladly yielding up her place, proceeded to prepare the little dining table, which she managed with more tact, yet keeping a watchful, inquiring eye upon the movements of Kitty, that she might be more au fait to business another time. Still the high-bred beauty, as she continued her employment, missed many things which she had always considered indispensable—inquired for silver forks—napkins—and even puzzled poor Kitty’s brain by demanding where the finger-glasses were kept.

“Silver forks!” cried Kitty, “I never heard of such a thing. Do tell, now, if city folks be so proud! Napkins! I guess you mean towels. Why he always wipes on that are roller in the back pizaz. Finger-glasses! Sakes alive!—what does the woman mean? Finger-glasses! Well, that beats all creation, and more too!” and with a hearty laugh, she slapped the steak upon the platter just as the gig of Rupert stopped at the gate.

The happy wife, now forgetting all annoyances, flew to meet her beloved husband, and while partaking of their simple dinner, greatly amused him by her artless details of that morning’s experience.

But Rupert was obliged to go out again immediately, leaving Anna once more solitary. She had, however, learned a lesson; and knowing it would be vain to look for Kitty’s assistance, she herself unpacked her beautiful dresses, feeling sadly at a loss for commodious bureaus and extensive wardrobes to contain her splendid paraphernalia. To hang up those rich silks and satins on wooden pegs against a white-washed wall, seemed desecration; so these she refolded, and placed once more in her trunk, determining in her own mind that Rupert must at once supply those essential articles, which she was very sure it would be impossible to do without. Countless bareges, cashmeres, and mousselines, however, cast their variegated tints through the chamber, and the one bureau, and the little dressing-table were loaded with finery.

After arranging every thing in the best manner she could, Anna exchanged her white morning negligÉe for a light silk, and drawing on a pair of gloves, went below to await the return of Rupert.

Hardly had she sat down, when she perceived several ladies coming up the walk, while a loud knocking at the street-door almost immediately, as certainly announced them to be visiters. Supposing, of course, Kitty would obey the summons, she remained quietly turning over a book of engravings. The knocking was several times repeated, and Anna beginning to feel uneasy at the delay, when—

“Miss Forbes!” screamed Kitty, from the kitchen, “why on arth don’t you let them folks in! I guess I aint a going to leave my mopping, and my old gown all torn to slits!”

For a moment indignation at the insolence of her servant crimsoned Anna’s brow. This was, indeed, an episode in the life of a city belle—to be ordered by a menial to attend the door—to appear before strangers in the capacity of a waiter.

Happily, the unceremonious entrance of the ladies relieved her perplexity. She received her visiters with that ease and grace of manner so peculiarly her own, at once placing the whole party upon the footing of old acquaintances, and almost disarming even the most prejudiced, by her affability and sweetness. To have wholly done so would have been a miracle indeed, so much were many of her new neighbors for doubting that any good or usefulness could pertain to one brought up amid the frivolities of the city.

——