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sighs as she thinks of the tasteful nothings of little expense, that poetize the dwelling of Rose. She dares not propose the purchase of such effeminating luxuries, so she plies her needle busily to make, from old duds, drapery, toilet and table-covers, mats, pincushions, and various gewgaws (puzzlers to the most practical utilitarian), to decorate Rose's room. She has embroidered for her, as a Christmas gift, an exquisite scentbag, which is to pop out from a powderbox, on coiled wire, and amaze Rose exceedingly. The boys have admired it one by one. Mr. Brooks, too, says it is pretty, while holding it awkwardly as he would a young baby, but adds that perfumes are trifling things, being generally used to hide nastiness, beside having for their base detestable alcohol, that scourge of mankind.

Ellen loved perfumes with her whole soul; her books were full of dried, odorous flowers; her drawers, of lavender, rose leaves, and lemon verbena; her toilette-boxes, of bottles of perfume. The latter were artificial compounds, to be sure, which Mr. Brooks, doubtless, thought a departure from nature-that boundary line which every body quarrels about, imagining, as the whole upper world might at noon-day, that the sun was directly over its head, and consequently could not be directly over the head of another. Somebody says savages are the primitive original race, a speaking manifestation from God what life men were intended to lead; somebody else says savages are the fag end of an ancient race dwindled down to the lowest state of degradation. However it might be, artificial compounds were dear to Ellen. Her memory was like a garden where each odor was a recollection of some spiritual flower that had bloomed in her being. Heliotrope-she stood in the crowd a blushing Mayqueen, and the scent from the handkerchief her mother had perfumed for her stole out and mingled vaguely with the scene, making it richer in love and beauty. Violet-she felt Phil's first kiss, and again the odor slid down through his curls, and she gazed up the winding celestial ladder, thinking she saw ascending humble, blue-eyed angels -spirits of the departed flowers. These perfumed dates of a delicious and poetic past were as precious to Ellen as the

history of glory and happiness can be to a nation.

As Ellen sadly carried the scent-bag -the halo of its beauty now shorn offto its place of destination, she wished she knew what nature was; she had a secret terror of it as something cold, hard and bare, but very salutary; and as she pined to be morally and spiritually better, she determined to examine into the warp of her being and pick out the artificial threads a wrong education had woven there. She would be brave, if it did hurt and bleed.

XI.

That evening they sat round the blazing fire that crackled and sent forth sheets of flame and sparks from the great chimney place. Jim, who was of rather a studious turn, was poring over an elementary German book; Sam, poor child! whose slow comprehension and thick blood had been made slower and thicker by the absence of all lively amusements, snored lustily on the sofa. Mr. Brooks's feet looked as if they were glued to the mantel-piece, and a strong smell of scorched woolen hinted that he was enjoying a roast and nap at the same time. His faithful companion, the newspaper, that had been placed over his head to shield it, had slipped down, and left his ample baldness in full glow.

Aunt Tabby was economically twining into padding and blue-bags fragments of prodigal shirts, that in the late wash had absolutely ejected whole the last patch. Aunt Tabby does not ask ask whether the stitches will hold this time, or not. She is doing her duty, and would not sleep quietly in her bed or grave, if the pieces were not turned into something. Ellen worked on a pair of slippers for Mr. Brooks, and had ingeniously arranged books and work

baskets to overshadow them from the observing eye of that gentleman. She looked happy; for her thoughts were full of the pleasant surprises she was to give, and of the coming of the dear friend for whom her soul thirsted.

"Phil," she said, as he at last laid down his pen and closed the ponderous book of his farm journal, "we must write to Rose to-morrow, and repeat the invitation formally-not that she is formal, you know; but I think she

De Maistre-Soirées de St. Petersbourg.

would feel pleasanter to see that you join heartily in the desire to welcome her."

"Reach me the portfolio. I guess I'll do it now," said Phil.

The paper rattled and tumbled from Mr. Brooks's lap. He rubbed his halfblistered parts as if the stinging felt good, yawned, stretched, got up, and said to Phil," Did I not hear something about an invitation ?"

"Yes," answered Phil, "I am going to write to Rose Lea to pass the holidays with us."

Hum! I think you might have made a better choice," said Mr. Brooks contemptuously. "Mr. Lea is a winebibber and a time-server and worshipper of Mammon; his wife is a pert minx and a pleasure-seeker. I prefer you would not invite them, as I do not wish the boys to be influenced by such trash. Besides, I have received a letter telling me that Adams and Brown, two staunch reformers, will be here in a day or two; and as I desire much that you should become acquainted with them, I have invited them to visit us."

Phil said nothing. Ellen sat stunned and rigid as if struck by lightning. The force of the decree dawned on her slowly, and she felt, if she staid there, she should shriek or rave. She left the room hurriedly and threw herself on the bed, to writhe and moan as she plucked away at the artificial thread of an unworthy friendship; but like the main thread of a ribbon, the more she pulled, the more it shortened and curled up her past being-bringing memories of childhood, school-days, girlhood, and womanhood shared with Rose, so near and startling that she quivered like an aspen leaf, and stuffed the pillow in her mouth to choke back the convulsive sobs.

Phil staid some time down stairs, though he was dying to go up; but it might seem silly to be sympathetic or solicitous; so he trampled on his epicurean desires and read like a stoic three long columns of "a most able speech." When he went up, he found Ellen pale, cold, and silent. He had left her alone in her grief. If she could have wept at first on his bosom, the pang would have been softened, and the encircling arms of love might have given her peace and hope. Phil felt it now, and was so sorry and penitent, that Ellen recognized that he really loved her as well as he could, and passed the night wish

ing they lived on a desert island, that Phil might be always alone with her; only Rose should come often, and with her warm sympathy and genuine nature teach Phil that pressing manifestations of love are nobler than neglect, even when the eye of the whole world is on

us.

XII.

The next morning Ellen was ill; and the Brookses, who abused the whole race of physicians when well, but always sent for them when sick, had the doctor soon at Ellen's bedside. He pronounced her complaint a nervous fever, ordered tonics, quiet, riding, and change of scene. Ellen recovered rapidly on receiving a letter from her mother, saying she should leave the girls to take charge of the Christmas tree, and start directly for Owlcopsethe name of the Brooks estate; whether suggested by the nightly screeching of that sage bird, or the fact of the Brookses sitting wisely on the tree of knowledge during society's fancied daylight, and seeing perfectly clear when that deluded body groped in darkness, is not known to this day.

Mrs. Grey came; and, energetic creature that she was, proposed taking Ellen out to drive the first day. Now the Brookses were always very busy ; they would necessarily be exceedingly busy for years to come, as the farm when they took it was an old one, in the most dilapidated and forlorn condition. The neighborhood was not thickly settled; and though they had nine or ten men always employed, they were generally short of hands. The boys worked like day-laborers. They were up early in the morning, swallowed their meals hastily, and often protracted their out-door stay late into the evening. Phil,particularly, loved dearly a farmer's life; it suited his active, somewhat domineering temperament; and his taste and ambition to excel, which, if left unbiassed, would have shown itself in handsome horses, equipages, and pictures, now found a vent in planning and executing a model farm. Mr. Brooks alone led an easy existence, pottering about just enough in the morning to carry out his dietetic principles, and sitting all the rest of the day (it was a mystery how much heat his thin legs could bear) plump up against the chimney, reading and dozing. There was an especial stuffed rocking-chair which

was respected as his. Lest the reader should wonder how he reconciled this comfortable do-nothingness with his principles of equal labor, we must inform him that Mr. Brooks had an intense resp ect for old age; and though he wa green and well preserved, he had reached the period when he considered himself exempt. To be sure, he had never worked but in the quiet, gentlemanly way of "boss" in a flourishing commercial establishment; but we give Mr. Brooks's own excuse when referring to any inconsistency of his past life"want of light."

Mrs. Grey inspected the whole farm with the fidelity of a reconnoitering soldier; and, on finding six horses in the stable, and a carriage and buggy under the shed, went to hunt up Phil. She found him in his shirt sleeves though the day was frosty, with a long rail on his shoulder, aiding and superintending the construction of a new fence.

"Phil, isn't there anybody who can drive Nelly and me this afternoon? It's a clear, bright day, and I think the air will do the poor child good."

"The horses will all be busy, I guess," answered Phil; “we've got to send four of them now in the wagon for a load of rails, and the other two in the cart to the mill. We've a great deal to do this week and can't spare the horses very well."

Mrs. Grey had learned by questioning Ellen that she had never been to drive except on Sunday, when the Brookses, for their own pleasure, passed the whole live-long day at a neighboring relative's. To go for the delight of driving, for the voluptuous luxury of quiet and motion combined, for the exhilaration caught from the breezy air, for the spiritual happiness floating in the shifting landscape, were sentiments with which the useful, well principled Brookses could not sympathize.

Mrs. Grey looked disappointed. Phil saw it, and remembering the doctor's injunction said: "We might put only two horses in the wagon, and leave the other two for the carriage, if you could get any one to drive you. I can't leave the men."

Mrs. Grey said she was not afraid to drive, she had done it often; but Phil observed that the carriage horses were skittish, and he hadn't any confidence in a woman's driving anyhow, they always went like the devil and ruined

the best broken horses. "Ask father, perhaps he will take you," added Phil.

Mr. Brooks was reading. Mrs. Grey did not like to interrupt him; so she sat down to wait till he had finished; but meantime he went into a gentle slumber, and left the little woman glancing at him uneasily and revolving in her mind how she should frame her request. It would not do to ask right out such an awe-inspiring, respectable person; she would hint at it and give him the chance of offering. Mr. Brooks was almost always reading or sleeping in the parlor, the only room where there was a constant fire, besides the kitchen, so that the other occupants of the parlor, out of good breeding, politeness, or respect, were either silent or carried on a subdued, ghastly conversation as if a corpse were in the room.

Ellen and Mrs. Grey were now engaged in one of those pantomimic colloquies; but the latter, being naturally strong-voiced and lively, grew so red in the face and whispered so hoarsely, that Mr. Brooks wriggled for some time as if he were being grated, and finally awoke to ask what time of day it was.

Mrs. Grey-Two o'clock, Sir; it's a most charming day overhead; cool, but bracing and clear as a bell. Nelly, dear, you ought really to pay more attention to what the doctor says, and keep out of doors as much as possible. Don't you think so, Mr. Brooks?

Mr. Brooks:-Certainly, ma'am. There's nothing like in-door work and out-door exercise to keep the body healthy. I suspect you've realized that, ma'am.

-This was said with a glance at Mrs. Grey's buxom figure.

Mrs. Grey:-Oh! yes; yet I was never weakly as Nelly is, but one month in my life; and that, when I was thrown from a horse, and hurt my spine. I remember it took all the spirit out of me; and if it hadn't been for riding in the fresh air every day, I believe nothing on earth would have pulled me off my back. By the by, Mr. Brooks, don't you think riding would benefit Nelly? The doctor recommends it.

Mr. Brooks:-Riding is good, but walking is better. Legs were given to us before horses; and I presume the Creator intended thereby that we should use our own legs, whenever we could,

and not enslave poor dumb brutes to carry our lazy weight.

Mrs. Grey, going to the window:The sun has thawed the frost, and the paths look very muddy. Phil says the carriage and horses are at our disposal, if we can find any one to drive us.

Mr. Brooks:-Mud is a very innocent, inoffensive dirt. It was intended we should walk in it, I suppose, or it would not have been put there. The multitude can't ride. The masses are obliged to walk. Without doubt there are now thousands of human beings delving in the mud. We should encourage no pleasure that they cannot share, particularly useless aristocratic

ones.

-Hereupon Mr. Brooks again glued his feet on the mantel-piece, and outwitted the slippery newspaper by pinning it together on both sides of his head.

XIII.

Mrs. Grey and Ellen equipped themselves for a walk. The road through the farm was a new dirt one; the paths around the house had had a sprinkling of gravel, which had been washed away by the late heavy rains. Ellen was depressed, from the recent conversation, from the fresh conviction that she was expected to combat savagely against dear old ties, suffering, and ill-health. The soaked stubble-fields looked to her like her own soul, shorn of their summer glories; the still, dark, naked trees, like the grim, wintry spirits that bound up her life-sap. She was soon recalled to realities by the weight of her shoes, which she found, on looking down, were surrounded by a large circle of clayey mud, that seemed to increase in thickness at each step. Mrs. Grey had got a stick, and was punching at hers vigorously, declaring if another layer stuck on, she shouldn't be able to lift one foot

before the other.

Pretty soon they came to a boggy place, cut up by horses' hoofs; and Ellen's buskin was clenched by the heel, and torn quickly off her foot. She stood on one leg while her mother fished it out and cleaned it; and, in hopping to a log to put it on, left her other shoe also in the mire. Her feet had grown thin with her body, and her shoes were a little too large.

Mrs. Grey, what with fatness, carrying several pounds of mud, holding up her clothes, and jumping to reach lumpy

places, was so distressed and out of breath that they turned back.

66

Mother dear, you can imagine my winter walks here," said Ellen; "except that I havn't you with me to make them somewhat bearable. I took just such a one, alone, six weeks ago, and since then I have not had the desire or courage to repeat it. Mud may be innocent, but I dislike it very much; and it's so heavy to carry that walking becomes a fatigue instead of a recreation. I often think of the long streets so quickly dried, the crowds of people, the many human things to interest one, and the loved faces of friends beaming on me every few steps. I'm afraid I don't love the country. I've been disappointed in myself; for surely it would be pleasant if I had enough rustic appreciation in me.”

Mrs. Grey suggested that nature was gloomy and bare now; perhaps in the summer she would find plenty to interest her.

Ellen smiled sadly, and said she trusted to find more to reconcile her in the little child that would soon be given to her. She should be so glad to be in the country on its account, that, perhaps, she should learn to love it for the benefit and enjoyment it would give her child. "I should like to have it much in the open air, and never-oh! never-go into a close, hot school-room." Ellen spoke with so much fervor, that she changed the subject quickly, fearful of having brought an implied reproach upon her mother.

Mrs. Grey was so occupied with the question that had tormented her since she first came- -whether Ellen was happy-that she did not notice it, but said, abruptly:

"Nelly, child, it seems to me you're changed. You never were gay and noisy, like the other children; but, at least, you were always ready to play and laugh in your own quiet way. Now there's a strange expression about you; you smile with a kind of sadness, as if you thought you ought to. Tell your mother, Nell, pet, if you're happy?" And the poor woman threw herself on Ellen's neck, and sobbed.

Ellen cried, too, but asserted that she was happy. Every one had some cross to bear, and she supposed hers was light in comparison to many.

"But what is the cross, Nelly, dear? aren't they kind to you?" persisted Mrs. Grey.

"Oh, yes!" replied Ellen, quickly; "they're always polite and courteous. The boys are amiable, and would do anything I asked them; but I—I—the fact is, I would like to live alone with Phil." "And so you should," said Mrs. Grey, energetically. "I would not ask you to live with me even, for I know young folks are happiest alone. Have you talked to Phil about it?"

"No, no," said Ellen, shaking her head alarmingly. "Phil has not a cent of his own, has been brought up to no trade but farming, and has heard such anathemas against the town, that he fancies he'd die there of some dreadful disease after a month or so. Besides, his father wouldn't like it."

"And what if he wouldn't?" said Mrs. Grey, bluntly.

Ellen looked so astonished at the idea of revolt against Mr. Brooks, that Mrs. Grey laughed, and said, in her stout little way, she would talk to him if he were as dignified and lofty as the great Mogul. "Why, Nelly," pursued she, "all he wants is to be talked to plainly. I'm so vexed to think I hadn't more courage than just to hint! If I had said squarely Mr. Brooks, will you take Nelly and me to ride?"

:

"Well, he might have answered squarely: No; and how mortified we should have felt!" suggested Ellen.

He

"More fools we, then, Nelly. would have been the one to be mortified, upon reflection, instead of dozing snugly now behind the principles he set up as precautionary barriers. I tell you," said the shrewd little woman, whose plain good sense and lively independence made her less afraid of Mr. Brooks than others were, "if people are selfish and disobliging, they ought to have the mask pulled off their faces, and not impose upon us, poor sinners! with the superior airs of principles, duty, Christianity, and so on. I don't want to be a turkey, to be driven about by any red rag, shaken before my eyes like a holy banner! But, heavens! Nelly, how pale and fagged you look! I'm glad we're near the house. It has been an awful walk. I'll leave my shoes outside," said Mrs. Grey, looking at them in dismay, "and go right up stairs and change my dress. I thought I had held it up; but I must always get to gesticulating," continued the good lady, indignantly, "and down it goes. Nelly, you had better rest a while in the parlor."

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"Now, it's strange he seems to love Nelly, and to be really distressed at what I said about her, and yet he talked all the time about his own health, dread of town life, attachment to farming, and having no other resources. He's an energetic, likely fellow, and Mr. Grey could easily find him something to do; but I do believe he had rather hang on in expectation of his father's wealth. I'm afraid he'll be gray first; for I've always noticed that your thin, cautious people, who hoard up health, take life easy, have money, and are considered incumbrances, outlive the gloomiest calculation. Phil half confessed he thought the old gentleman a bore, and said, with unction, he wished Jim would get married. He thinks Ellen will become used to the country, and, when she has a baby, won't be lonely. I trust so. I must make it a blanket."

And Mrs. Grey lost herself in reflections, whether it should be scalloped or fringed, worked in crewel or floss.

Meantime, Ellen was congratulating herself that she had had the courage not to tell her mother all. "Dear mother," she thought, "she can do nothing for me, and it would have made her so unhappy! I should be too mortified to have her know what was said of Rose and kind Mr. Lea." And again a flush of indignation, a thousand times daily repeated, reddened her pale cheek, and made her heart thump like a hammer. "I know he drinks wine for dinner, but he never abused it in his life; as for his being a worshiper of Mam

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