way. Wind-ship and steam-vessel there on the ocean, mail-coach and steam-car here on the land, are ever busy carrying many things to and fro; and lo, here in this meanlooking, one-horse wagon comes much: among other things all the public gossip of England; and also, one may hope, something better were it only by accident. Poor Lady Flora, Maid of Honor to Queen Victoria, has become world-famous for Day and hour. Every girl in Pebblebrook, having any pretension to refinement, has speculated on Lady Flora's case, and is probably not much the wiser for it, unless it have led her to some thoughts on the blessing of her own humble lot. Some men, boasting of wisdom, have much to say in the way of censure of the gossip of women over their tea: I declare I believe the whole world is fast forming itself into one great Tea Party; what will come of it no one can know. Every thing under Heaven is published now-a-days: no man can go into the country to see his friends, but straightway he thinks the World ought to know all about it, and, in the kindness of his heart, he publishes a book telling how he, contemptible little fellow as he is, went about and about, and what he saw and heard and said. Would that one could say: this is the worst of it: but unfortunately one cannot say so. I would bet that one little man (or more) is at this very moment sitting in a fidgetty way at home and trying, with might and main, to

imagine that he is not at home, but travelling abroad in very interesting situations: or else contriving how to get some imaginary Tom and Dick, and Sally and Polly, within sight of each other; how they, in a becoming way, can be made to fall in love; and finally, after innumerable heart-rending trials and perplexities, be got comfortably married, or uncomfortably married, or not married at all,

all, just as he, contemptible little man, may imagine will be most original. This business, however, is explicable enough: the little man wants Fame and Money, and not being able to do anything deserving of such high reward, he must imagine that he can do something, or that he can make it extremely probable that somebody has done something. But another business, whereon this explicable business rests, is beyond comprehension: this, namely; that a portion of society, calling itself the Reading Public, actually buys the imaginary adventures of imaginary Tom and Dick, and Sally and Polly, pays real money for the cobweb-stuff, and actually reads it. Moreover, said enlightened Reading Public finds the stuff very interesting; and comes near weeping because the contemptible little man imagined that Sally had a heart almost broken: Poor Sally! I say all this is astonishing; for if you analyze that same Reading Public, you shall find it made up of individuals, men women and children, each having a flesh-and-blood body with four limbs and five senses, perhaps more; and a mind, as is often said, of boundless capabilities, and what is called an Immortal Soul: listen well and you shall hear very many of them speak out the word Eternity.

CHAPTER XX.

HOME WARD BOUND.

I ROSE with the sun and had an early breakfast. I like to kiss young women, and had, while at table, been considering, whether it would be quite proper to make that the last act with my cousins. My horse appeared at the door, and all was ready for my departure. I rose from table, took my Aunt's hand, and put my lips to hers. I turned to Harriet who stood nearest : she took my proffered hand and I hesitated. "Never fear man," cried Uncle John, "tis only a short way of telling a long story; there are sins enough in this world; don't add to the number: kiss her and think no more of the matter." was done. Amelia came next, and I was glad that she came last, for she is sweetest. I love Amelia with a cousin's love, which is of an indescribable kind. - I cannot admire the old Puritan manners: the men to whom many outward acts are sinful, have little of the innocence of childhood. In the Garden of Eden only one Tree was forbidden it was, however, most prolific of all: else how came this present Garden of Life to be accounted a foul jungle? Some philosophers say, that each man's outward world is only a reflex of his inward one: howso

It

ever that may be, I feel quite sure that the light of each man's moral world is reflected from his own soul, and by that colored. He who makes a dark lantern of this last is probably one bound on no good errand, much afraid of being himself seen. Let all such make haste to the Devil — or, turn short about.

"Frank," said Uncle John, "What a world this would be, if all faces were bearded! Here is my hand, it is I suppose, all you want of me."

"That too is very good," I replied, "when the heart goes with it."

The

I rode away on the same road by which I had entered Pebblebrook. On the hill-side I turned about and looked down on the scene. It was the same that I had looked on some few months before; and yet not the same. young seed-field, sprouting then, had, in the interval, changed itself to a yellow harvest-field ready for the sickle. All around, autumn-decay began to peep through summer-greenness, and forecast winter-desolation. No need to weep in view of that. The vegetable year ends in a sleep, as many other things do. It shall wake again in new vesture Here: its "little life is rounded by a sleep."

Over the hill on the other side, the lookout is a wide one far away, over forest and field, rose up the blue sky, and arched itself overhead. Here and there quiet lakelets received silver streams, and sent them out again to ramble fantastically along low places. A long line of road lay stretched out before me; a yellowish path-way dotted on either side by farm-houses; and I went joyous onward. Ride who will, through a beautiful country in close-carriage or steam-car; give me health, strength, a good saddle horse, and an open eye.

:

Toward noon, my horse pricked up his ears, and neighed at sight of a tavern-sign, for he knows where provender can be got, and is no fool. Some baggage-wagons stood around, and an old man with a harp by his side, and mug of beer in his hand, sat on the door-step. He was plainly a foreigner who had partly steered himself, partly drifted, hither to this utilitarian land. I asked him; could he sing? He put down his mug and took up his harp after a little preluding, he touched the strings with a strong hand and sang, in mixed French, a ditty, of which I could understand only few of the words, and got the sense of it chiefly through tune and tone: it seemed to be the Soothing of Sorrow. His voice, though rude and somewhat broken, had yet a strange music in it, like that of night-wind among leafless trees. I gave him a piece of money he drained his mug, and departed on his way, which will lead him Heaven knows whither.

After some hours of rest I got under way again, and rode about sunset into a manufacturing town; the aspect of which struck me unpleasantly. It had a raw, uncomfortable look, and every living thing seemed to be hurrying on some life-errand. I had acquaintance here, and determined to spend a day among them: being weary, however, I went early to bed this night at a public house.

Next day, I made some calls on old friends, and dined with a young clergyman who had lately settled here. His wife, a pleasant, sociable woman, seems quite at home in this world; and her easy manners placed me at once on the footing of an old acquaintance, though I had never seen her before. The clergyman's brother, resident in another town, who dined with us this day, did little to promote a pleasant hour. The conversation turned on trade; and he, with some vehemence asserted, that all