because at that hour Mary is busy. She always says "good-morning." When it is rainy, I take her waterproof and rubbers and she thanks me. One day I was sitting in the parlor reading while I waited for her to come down, so as to open the door for her, and she asked me what I was reading, and when I told her she seemed a little surprised that I shonld read such a book, and since then she has talked to me about books and authors, and we have got quite well acquainted. Miss Anna tells me this about her, that she is a very remarkable woman, a self-made woman. She used to earn her living by her needle, but her taste was for books and study. By great exertion she read and studied and so perfected herself in the languages and other branches that she is now able to give private lessons, and to hear a number of classes in various studies at her room. She is acquainted with a great many celebrated people, and is herself a person of considerable note in literary circles. Perhaps you will be pleased to know that through Miss Grey, which is the German teacher's name, I have had a chance to wear my silk dress and all my very best things. She asked me to go with her to visit a friend who has a house full of rare things brought from Europe, and we were invited to dinner. Now this friend of Miss Grey's is very wealthy, living indeed close by our house, so when she asked me I rather hesitated and asked if Mrs. Warren, which is the lady's name, knew who I was?

"Why, she knows you are my friend, and that you would enjoy seeing the pretty things in her house, and that is enough, isn't it?"

"I don't know," said I, "some mightn't think it enough. I don't move in her circle

at all."

"O, I see," said Miss Grey, "but my friend is independent, she has no circle nor set, and it is the most natural thing in the world for her to ask a poor German teacher and her friend to dinner."

So we went, and I wore my best things and Miss Grey did the same, and really we looked very nice and not at all out of place in the lady's house nor at her dinner table, for when people are dressed in their best,

there isn't so much difference in them as you might think. Such a nice time as we had! The pictures and engravings were lovely, but I think I enjoyed most the conversation between Miss Grey and Mrs. Warren. It was better and more instructive than reading a book. It was concerning pictures and art and literature. And Mrs. Warren told many pleasant incidents connected with her travels, and it was a day to be long remembered. Their conversation made me more earnest to know about these things, and I must in some way find time to study so that I can be familiar with them. Time, time! how can I get the most of it? I think the matter all over and come to the conclusion that I have as much here as I should have in any other situation I can think of, for I often have hours at my disposal, and no questions asked if I read or study half the night, and more, I have free access to books of all kinds. These are the tools I must work with, and to get acquainted with a few cultivated people will be such a help, for you know above all things I believe in people, so I look upon Miss Grey and Mrs. Warren as great acquisitions. Meanwhile I keep very busy. Housework and sewing and copying, but not overdriven with either, so that I have much time for my other employments; and so I remain your ever busy and loving sister, MARGARET.

HANNAH TO MARGARET.

Dear Meg:- How you are Bostonized! Books, art, culture, and visiting with the literati! If a short residence in Boston has such an effect upon you, you needn't look out for that peanut stand for me, for I don't think trade is my vocation, and it wont do for both of us to turn blue. One must preserve the original color of the good old stock, so I will remain where I am, especially as since last Thursday, I have come to the conclusion that the disciplining of youth is my forte. I have conquered Peter Wilkins, and unlike Alexander I don't sit down and weep that there are no more boys to conquer. I will tell you about it. That boy grew worse day by day, till open rebellion took place. I suppose you would have nipped the in

subordination in the bud, but I chose to ignore it for awhile, treating him in the meanwhile with all kindness, for I said, "who knows but he may turn from the error of his ways?' But he didn't turn, but' kept right on from bad to worse. Perhaps it was innate depravity, and the boy could not conquer it. I finally became convinced that he could not do it alone, and determined to give him a helping hand. The measures I took did not meet with his approbation; he cast my help aside in scorn, and with bitter words rushed out of school slamming the door behind him. I looked after him more in sorrow than in anger. The school was astonished, I told them to go on with their studies, there was no cause for alarm; they subsided, and quiet reigned once more. School was dismissed. I sat at my desk making up my report, when the door was opened and a man walked in and came striding up to the desk. This man didn't look exceedingly amiable, on the contrary, decidedly antagonistic. He waited for no introduction.

"My son Peter says that you turned him out of school. Now I say, miss, you had no right to do that, it belongs to the committee."

"Mr. Wilkins, I presume," said I, coming out of the desk. "I am glad to see you. I wish to talk with you. Will you be seated?" and I placed him a chair, but he did not choose to sit, so we remained standing.

"My son Peter-" he began again. "Yes, Mr. Wilkins, your son Peter has disobeyed me repeatedly, and to-day I saw fit to punish him, and he walked out of school, after speaking to me in a very disrespectful manner."

"Well," said the man, sullenly, "he never did have any respect for a woman." "Then his education has been sadly neglected. Does he not respect his mother?" "He has no mother," said the man, softening just the least bit in his tone. "Doesn't he respect his father?" "That, miss, is no business of yours." "If he comes back to school it is my business, Mr. Wilkins. If a boy doesn't respect a woman he is hardly likely to respect a man. He may fear one, but fear is

not respect nor love. You and I wish Peter to be a good boy. I wish him both to respect and love me, and you wish him to do the same by you. Now we mustn't work at cross purposes. Send him back to school, I never turned him out, sir, and I will do what I can for him, but I must be obeyed. I could not teach school without having my scholars obedient. Peter has tried my patience very much, but I am willing to have my patience tried still more if I can make him a good boy. There is good material in him,-together we may make him what we wish, but unless you work with me, if you undo out of school all I do in school, I cannot answer for the result. Let us help each other, Mr. Wilkins," and I held out my hand to him. He took it, in no very gushing manner to be sure, but he saw the situation and accepted it.

The next morning Peter walked into school without a word and took his seat. The scholars stared at him, he looked boldly all around, he was not to be cowed by them. He came out with his class, and said his lesson. The forenoon passed, school was dismissed, the children all gone out, when Peter came back and walked up to the desk bravely and stoutly. "Miss Wheeler," said he. "Well, Peter," said I.

"I am sorry I run out of school yesterday."

"So am I, Peter."

"I don't think I'll do so again. I am going to try and be a good boy."

"That is right, and I will help you try. Shake hands, Peter."

And he held out the grimy hand which I thought was less grimy than usual, and we were good friends and walked home together holding profitable conversation by the way.

I don't believe in immediate conversion, and don't suppose Peter will be a perfect boy from this time, but I have got a hold of him, which is one thing needful between teacher and pupil.

So much for Peter. Now I want to tell you something about Aunt Judith, such a chance as there is here for your “unutterable sympathies." You know it is my theory that everybody has their romance,

and I have found out Aunt Judith's. You know that old brown house down by the Broad, all overgrown with woodbine and scarlet runners and all sorts of creeping things, so pretty and so romantic outside, but O, so unmentionably dirty inside, when the two "White brothers" live. The less said about the domestic arrangement of that house the better, but what could you expect when two old bachelors live together, no woman with her cleansing and purifying influences to keep the floors clean and the dishes washed. Don't you remember the strawberry bed and the luscious fruit, so sweet when gathered from the vines, but so impossible to be eaten in the house with their cream and their spoons? What a couple! Charlie love-cracked, in the expressive language of the country, making poetry and hoeing potatoes; John taciturn and odd; both niggardly to the last degree.

One day last week John walked into our kitchen. "Miss Wheeler," said he, speaking to mother, "Charles is sick, and I don't know what ails him. Won't you come over and see?" I was just putting on my hat to go to school, I saw mother look at Aunt Judith, and Aunt Judith at mother, and didn't you ever see in a face something which told you what you had never before dreamed, and all without a word said? I saw that in Aunt Judith's face then. John stood at the door like a post, and waited. He didn't seem a bit moved and affected in any way, if he had come in and said, "Charles is dead," I've no doubt he wonld have said it in just the same tone as he would have said, "here's your box of strawberries!" "I'll be right along, John," said mother, and then he went out.

And mother went over, and when I came home at noon she had not returned, nor yet at night, but we heard that he was worse, and father went over to stay over night. The sickness was unto death, for the next morning mother came home and said he was dead. Do you remember that corner in his garden where he took us once to see the grave of his favorite cat over which there was "a wooden tombstone" on which was marked the cat's name and these

"The spirit

words, "Caught in a snare." of the beast goeth downward."? He left a will, and in that will a request that he be buried in that corner of his garden.

I asked mother when I had a chance, if he didn't say anything about Aunt Judith? Mother looked surprised.

"No, he never came to himself at all, but died repeating scraps of poetry and talking about his fruit and his garden."

"What was it between him and Aunt Judith?" I asked.

"When Charles White was a young man," said mother, "he was handsome and considered very smart, though always a little sentimental, and given to making verses and playing on the flute. He and Judith both sat in the choir, and they got to be very fond of each other, and I think they were engaged. But there came into the neighborhood a pretty, bewitching girl, full of life and fun, who just turned his head. She listened to his poetry, and thinking it a good joke used to encourage him in many ways, so that he forgot Judith and his work and everything for her. She didn't care anything for him, but he wouldn't believe it till she married some one else; then his poor, silly brain was turned, and he was good for nothing, took to his garden and making money and verses."

"How did Aunt Judith take it?"

"See couldn't endure seeing him in this condition, so she left the place and went to the city."

Think

So this is Aunt Judith's romance. of her going off and living down her sorrow that way! how the women of the past generation accepted life! I don't think I could have done it. I said something like this to mother.

"Why, Judith hasn't been unhappy. She got interested in the people with whom she lived, their pleasures and their sorrows were hers, there was a family to rear, and the household joys and sorrows she made her own. She was not a mere hireling, she was one of the family. It was her home, and she was happy in it. The Charles White she loved died in her youth; that poor body we have just got ready for the grave was not the man she loved, and his

death brought to her somewhat the same feeling that one has in seeing the cast-off garments worn once by a loved one, gone." Indeed, I could not see that his death had much effect upon her, for I watched her pretty closely for a while. It is indeed so that our friends are often dead to us long before their bodies have a burial.

I read your letter to Aunt Judith, and she gave me this little note to put in with my letter, she says it is not worth a separate envelope. I must close now, for our society is getting up some kind of a fair, the Spicers are at the head of it, and it will be something grand. I'm on some committee, I don't know what, but must go and find out. Don't get sick in your thirst for knowledge, and don't get too learned for your sister HANNAH.

AUNT JUDITH TO MARGARET. My Dear Margaret:- Having heard your letter to Hannah, I feel that I wish to say a few words to you about going to church. There are so many places of worship in a city it is hard to choose a place of regular attendance, even if your belief in special doctrines be perfectly sound. There are the temptations of music and eloquence to draw you to this place and that, so that many people in a city do their worshipping, as they call it, at many shrines, or they get their religious nutriment in a foraging sort of way. Now I think this is not for the soul's good. Religion does not consist in hearing preaching or in listening to music. We are social beings in our religious as well as in our emotional natures. It is pleasant and good to go to the house of worship with those we love, and there are many organizations in a religious society for individual and general good which those who go hither and thither for their soul's food wholly miss. So I say to you, after you have a little satisfied your curiosity by looking in at this place and that; hearing

this celebrated preacher and that famous organist and choir; select a place of worship of your own faith, give all you can give of your strength and endeavors to that, identify yourself with it as a member willing to do any good work. My place of worship while I was in the city, was in an old-fashioned church standing back from the street with a pleasant yard in front. For years I attended church there. I went to the city an unhappy, restless being, and the peace that I finally gained I owe, under God, to the teachings of the good man who has preached there for many years, and whose eye is not yet dim, nor his intellectual powers weakened. Though one of the most talented of his order, he never drew a crowd, but he met the wants of my soul, as I doubt not he has those of his flock. There may be others whom you would like better, for "my preacher" as I call him, does not please everybody; so I will not direct your choice, only, have some religious home, and let your Christian work be in some particular direction.

The church, or the gathering of which you speak, I know nothing about; it must be something new, it may be for good or it may not; if for good, it is vain opposing it, and if not good, it will fall of itselt. So I say nothing about it, only, till convinced that it is a truly Christian leading, I would work and walk in the established ways. A woman may have the gift of prophecy, but I think she is an exceptional woman; I know "my preacher" would not hinder her, so broad and free is he in all Christian work.

I think, my dear, this is all I have to say. I am glad that you continue to find yourself happy and contented where you are. A true soul will find means of growth even in an uncongenial soil. That your surrounding may be favorable to growth in all grace and good works, is the wish of your loving aunt JUDITH. N. T. Munroe.

H

IGH in the blue spring sky, above the little lake, a dark point had hung long and motionless. The blue water swarmed with fish; these waters lay there so lonely and defenceless, neither could the old gigantic trees mirroring themselves there give any assistance, when the gray feathered rcbber, darting straight down through the air, made havoc to his heart's content, of the silver-scaled life in the lake. Today, however, he did not dare to trust himself below; for people were there, great and small, and the little ones screamed and shouted so boisterously, and in their childish audacity flung their bright balls at him; tethered horses neighed and stamped on the sandy shore, and through the branches clouds of smoke curled, stretching quivering arms up towards him. Human noises and smoke-these suit not these cruel plunderers, these sailors of the crystal ether; disppointed, the bird withdrew upward in ever-widening circles and at last amid the shrill hurrahs of the children, disappeared as traceless as if his body had been blown away or shattered into atoms. On the left shore of the lake, stood a small fishing hamlet - eight scattered houses, shaded by century-old lindens, and so low that their straw roofs peeped forth among the lower branches. With various kinds of nets suspended on the outer walls, narrow wooden benches beside the doors, and white-thorn and hedge-roses flanking their southern sides, they rose prettily from the white shores. Of course, one must not look here for the sturdy forms of EastFriesland fishermen ; it was good too, that the immense park, with its forest-like reaches, completely hid the capital, the ducal residence behind it-one could believe in rural life and rural sports, untilone of the humble house-doors opened.

Had the German prince known that the harmless Klein-Trianon of the brilliant queen of France,* would finally cost her her head, this fishing hamlet would surely never have been built; but he was not a prophetic spirit; and so the graceful fac*Queen Marie Antoinette.

simile had stood since nearly a century by the park lake the most primitive idyl outside and inside, gratifying the taste of the most fastidious mortals. The foot to which the shoe-sands still cling, trod directly on swelling carpets; rich damasks glistened on the upholstered furniture and draped the walls here and there, disappearing in broad mirrors. Although outwardly with successful deception, poverty and simplicity might be coquetted with, yet one could not eat off white-scoured tables, still less repose from charming sports, on hard wooden benches.

The princely house, to one of whose descendants the fishing hamlet owed its existence, had, through many generations, observed the custom of having the heir to the ducal coronet plant here a linden tree on his eighth birth-day. The meadow ground on the left shore of the lake, called the 66 May-festival" had thus become an historic memorial, a kind of ancestral tablet. Seldom did one of the "princely" trees perish-the "May-festival" had splendid specimens to show; ancient giants in iron-gray armor, they held up their mighty green shields storming the very heavens, and protected the later growths, or the feebler trees-for such were also there, notwithstanding the consecration received nature lets no heraldic escutcheons sway her.

And now on this day in the month of May, the time had come for the young heir, Frederic, to perform the important act. Of course the court and the loyal capital celebrated the day in the manner prescribed by the old rules of the House. All the children of those presentable at court were invited; but also the less fortunate who had no five or seven-rayed coronet at their disposal, rode out here with their parents, in order to see how a real Prince handled the spade. Behind this array of carriages came little companies of persons on foot by by-roades and lanes; the ruder boys perched themselves in the trees, indisputably the most advantageous posts for observation.