near me, and hallow with the benediction of her presence this old house that she loved so well, when it has been disgraced by such Tom, I will not speak the words that rise to my lips, lest they should seem too harsh to you-to -to her-whom I have promised to respect and to love-but-I am grieved, Tom, I am sorely grieved.

I had been prepared for a little amazement on the part of my uncle, and had thought how I could rally him upon having had no such good thing in his younger days; but the simple dignity of his manner quite destroyed my purposed batteries, and threw me wholly upon the defensive.

"My dear sir," said I, "you consider this matter far too seriously. It is only because the dance is new to you that you are so unfavorably impressed. Believe me, you, like all the rest of the world, would soon get over this squeamishness. Do you not see the three Miss Drachmas, daughters of the Rev. Doctor Drachma, whose sermon against the licentious rites of the Mormons you admired so much-why, they are the crack dancers of Bearbrook, and Miss Fanny has been pouting all the evening because Horripitts didn't ask her to lead.

"If this German had been invented twenty years ago," observed Mr. Barnard, "it would have spared me one sleepless night. I have not forgotten the evening when, after years of silent devotion-of anxious endeavor to render myself less unworthy the affection of a noble and modest woman-I was allowed the privilege accorded to none before --to none after-of holding a trembling hand in mine, of clasping a delicate waist, that seemed to shrink even from him whom the heart beneath had chosen. Oh! I well remember the night of happy, grateful wakefulness which I passed;—but I don't think the thrill would have lasted quite so long, if I had seen the same familiarity permitted to every idle dissipated fellow who kept up such small modicum of worldly respectability as is necessary to gain admittance to a fashionable ball. No, no, sir, such a public rehearsal would have removed all feeling of especial favor from a more private performance."

"You are very unreasonable, sir," I exclaimed (I could talk to Barnard in a way that I should not have been willing to do to my uncle), "you are both unreasonable and unjust, to condemn those

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very young ladies who, coming on to the stage, find this established outlet for the exuberant desire for life and motion that belongs to youth. For nature that would "cadence her joy of strength" no more graceful manifestation is at present appointed. To repress all such impulse cannot be expected. Believe me, we shall do better than in searching after a moral alchemy to turn rose-buds and lilies into wall-flowers before their time." "I condemn no one," replied Mr. Barnard, somewhat warmly, but perhaps you will allow me to respect those ladies (of whom there are more than you seem to think) who are willing to give up the prestige of fashionable position, rather than submit to familiarities which nothing but an abominable custom can for a moment sanctify. I do not urge that it is against a young lady that she suffers herself to be whirled about in this Ge"man night after night; but this I do d clare, that (in view of all that is give up) it is something very strongly in any woman's favor that she does not."

“I agree with my friend Barnard,” observed my uncle, "in being unwilling to speak harshly of young people who thoughtlessly fall into improprieties that are countenanced by those who should know better. But my charity is not sufficiently elastic to cover Doctor and Mrs. Drachma and the dozen fathers and mothers who lead our society in Bearbrook, whose word could at once put a stop to this indecorous exhibition, and introduce in its stead some of the old and unexceptionable dances in which all could join without sacrifice of self-respect.

"You are quite right, major,," said Mr. B., "there are, in every society, some dozen or twenty matrons, at whose command the waves of any fashionable frivolity could at once be stayed. And these -by refusing to allow their daughters to join in what offends the taste and judgment of many people whose feelings deserve respect-could effectually banish this degrading exhibition to places where it properly belongs."

What more was said on this disputed topic I did not hear, for Bessie Wacklestead (just at this point) ran up to take me out. So out I went, and was soon rebaptized into the fellowship of the German;-yet I confess with an abatement of my former spirit. There was a something that grated against my feelings when I saw Kate again embraced by Horripitts-who, although he can lead

a German, is a man whose morals and habits are notoriously bad. And although I did not so much object to tenderly pilot the fair Bessie about the room-yet when I was obliged to resign my place to Ned Hurcus, something like an expostulation rose to my lips.

Well, a German does not last for ever (although the worthy papas, who are obliged to sit it out, might not agree with this proposition)-and ours was pleasantly interrupted by the arrival of the huge bowl of cranberry punch that was always brewed in honor of the occasion, and which gave an agreeable diversion to the thoughts and conversation of the party.

For, if any human weakness clung to gentlemen of such violent virtue as Mr. Barnard and my uncle, I believe it lay in the direction of punch. And this fascinating monosyllable, as defined by the authorities of Bearbrook, meant no weak mixture, two-sixths sherry, sugar, and lemon, and four-sixths water-but a compound of which good honest rum -and enough of it, too-was the basis; from which arose satisfactory layers of port, cordial, and Bordeaux-with just a touch of gin to give it a flavor, and a few cranberries, floating upon the top, to give it a name.

The major and Mr. Barnard were provided with two soup-ladles, by means of which instruments they dispensed the refreshing beverage to the company. The continual demand, however, that was made upon their attention, left little opportunity for a personal indulgenceuntil Barnard (who was something of a scholar) providentially recollected that the class of men existing in classical times, known as dispensatores vini adusti saccharo aqua et limoniis-whose duties seem to have been very similar to those of the punch-helpers of our own day-were solemnly commanded to drink with every individual who required their services. This excellent and laudable custom the major and his friend declared should not become obsolete through the culpable neglect of the modern representatives of so honorable a body; and I am bound to say that the ghost of the most rigid "dispensator could have tipped out no censure to his scrupulous successors.

After we all had drank enough to experience that pleasant glow that cranberries, taken in this peculiar form, never fail to impart to the human system-some one proposed a moonlight

walk in the long avenue before the house. The suggestion was considered most happy; and the ladies ran off to get their bonnets and shawls, and the gentlemen groped under the great sofas in the entry in search of their coats and hats-and soon everybody was ready to set forth.

Everybody, except the distinguished individuals who had so ably discharged the honors of the punch, for, just as all were about to start, the question suddenly occurred to the classic brain of Mr. Barnard, whether the ancient dispensatores were not required to drink up such portions of the vinum adustum as was unconsumed by the company. My uncle at once decided that, if there was any doubt on the point, it would be highly improper to peril the perfect observance of the ritual, by an omission so serious. Accordingly, the two gentlemen resumed their places at the table -charged their glasses heavily from the great bowl between them-and thus we left them behind us.

And, now, my account of this little party is over. It was far brighter and heartier in reality than I have the skill to make it upon paper-and perhaps far brighter to me, than it would have been to the reader. For my own days of merriment are very few, and on that account this simple country. meeting (although it takes place in October) seems a very carnival. And I take quito as much pleasure in it, as you find at your great dinners in the Fifth Avenue, or at the wax-lighted japonica-hung chambers of your costly festivities.

How fairly shone the glorious moon that night on the rich dress of autumn! The curled leaves cracked beneath our feet, as Kate and I left the main party, and walked beneath the mighty pines which skirt the river's side. And now, I feel what an innovation I countenance in hinting that a nephew could presume to advise his aunt. But, if you had had an aunt of the years, and in the position, of Kate Wherrey, I believe you would have done as I did.

And what I did do was to remind the impulsive young creature who hung upon my arm, of the respect she owed to the opinions, and even to the prejudices, of the man whom she had taken for better and for worse. Then, I told her how shocked my uncle had been with her favorite German-and what Mr. Barnard had said about it—and how my own sense of propriety forced me to

agree with them, almost against my will.

"My dear Tom," replied my aunt, and her fair, dark eyes were moistened as she spoke, "I believe I have been very thoughtless-that my conduct is attributable to nothing worse, I am sure you will not doubt. I have been left too much to myself, and have thought less than I should of the pleasure and convenience of others. While I am mistress at Bearbrook, the major and his really excellent friend shall never be shocked by a repetition of the frolic of to-night; and, Tom, will not you, who are the only friend of my own age to whose judgment I can appeal-will you not tell me when you think me wrong? and believe that I wish, and try, to do what is right."

Those who saw the cheerful and pretty ways with which my aunt presided at the dinner-table, or the lightness and seductive grace with which she swept through the waltz, must have admired her-but, if any one had stood beside us that night, and had heard all

the real feeling and womanly tenderness that poured from a heart ordinarily absorbed in the trivialities of the passing hour, he would have loved her as I did, and do.

It was some time before we returned to the house; and, finally, as we passed along the plank walk, that passed over the marshes where the cranberries grew -not a word was spoken. The moon not only clad familiar objects with unearthly garments, but sent fantastic shadows to wander in the solemn chambers of the mind.

"I know not why we have been silent so long," said Kate, as we entered the porch, "but I have been dreaming over impossibilities-strange and wild ones too-I know it is very foolish; but it is a way of mine, and I cannot help it."

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Nay, nay, we may be visions; for I that those who truly lived."

dear Kate," I replied, all the better for such have a strong suspicion never dream, have never

IN

CHAPTER L

the northeast corner of the hilly county of Windham, in the steady old State of Connecticut, there lies a quiet valley of some three or four miles in length, with a breadth varying from a furlong to a mile. The Niptuck river, of yore a noisy, brawling brook, abounding in rapids and cascades-but which of late has been tamed, and set busily at work, spinning and weaving like a thrifty old-time housewife-no sooner overleaps the last mill-dam that obstructs its course, and hurries swiftly through the narrow gorge in which the northern end of the valley terminates, than it suddenly subsides into quiet, and becomes one of the most peaceful and well-behaved streams in the whole world; thenceforth, flowing smoothly along, over a bed of white sand and pebbles, through level, green meadows, and between low, sloping banks, fringed with drooping wil

lows, with a current so gentle as to be hardly perceptible. For a space, upon the widening surface of the shallow tide, float bubbles and foam-flakes from the rapids above, but as the stream expands, and its current grows more languid, these relics of precedent agitation disappear, and in still, hot midsummer noons, when the faint breezes that fan the hill-tops are unfelt in the valleys between, the Niptuck sleeps in its quiet, shady bed, without a ripple upon its placid bosom, as though it were a-weary with its toils among the water-wheels and mill-dams further up the stream.

The range of hills that form the western limits of the valley presents a bold front of precipitous cliffs, hidden for half the year by the plumy blossoms, and dark green foliage of the chestnut woods, that grow among the ledges; but the acclivity of the eastern hills is a gentle slope of fertile land, divided by intersecting walls and fences, into fields and mead

ows, and thickly dotted with white farmhouses, orchards, and clumps of walnuts and shade-trees.

A broad highway runs through the valley, near the foot of this slope, which, for nearly its whole extent, is bordered by long rows of umbrageous maples, while here and there, by the road-side, a stately elm towers aloft into the air, sheltering a snug farm-house and its shady, green, front door-yard, beneath its spreading branches.

About midway, on a gentle swell of land, a spur of the eastern hills, round which the loitering river makes a sweeping bend, the trees are more thickly planted, and at a little distance the place resembles a grove of elms and buttonwoods. But glimpses of white dwellings peeping out from among the dense foliage, and a slim spire, surmounted by a gilded ball and vane, rising over all, reveals the spot where the village of Walbury stands, almost hidden among the trees.

Now, although Walbury was settled in the year 1671, and has ever since been inhabited by Yankees-for I dare say that even at this day there are not in the whole town a dozen persons who were born outside the limits of the State of Connecticut-it is, nevertheless, one of the most quiet and least enterprising places in Christendom. The people, instead of partaking of the restless, uneasy disposition, which is the general characteristic of the Yankee race, are for the most part averse to bustle and change, and witness from afar the march of improvement, and the rapid progress of the age, with apprehension and extreme disfavor, The old, square, sharp-gabled meeting-house, in the middle of the broad street, has stood its ground these fourscore years. It has scarcely changed in aspect since the sunny Sabbath afternoon, when the pious congregation then assembled within its walls, were amazed by the profane sound of horses' hoofs clattering in hot haste along the highway, and suddenly halting at the sanctuary door, and the thrilling shout of the dusty courier, that bore from town to town the startling tidings of the battles at Lexington and Concord. The tavern on the corner of the cross street leading towards the river, was a well-known and popular hostelry with the commissary's teamsters in the Revolutionary War. The memory of man runneth not back to the time when the graven image of a chubby Bacchus, seated astride upon a

wine-cask, was hoisted into its perch in the main fork of the venerable elm that grows before the door. The sign over the wide, low-browed portal, of the onestory gable-roofed store near by, has served to indicate the place of business of three generations of Deacon Joab Sweenys. Layard himself would find it a most difficult matter to decipher the inscription upon its faded weather-worn surface. The patriarch of the village well remembers being soundly flogged in the humble school-house at the end of the street. There are but few dwellings in the village of less than fifty years of age, and even the barns have an air of antiquity about them that makes them the most venerable of their class. inhabitants are remarkable for a staid and placid demeanor, and a gravity, and, indeed, even a solemnity of deportment, by which they are easily distinguished when they venture abroad; and it is not wonderful that even their horses and cattle are more noted for good condition than for speed and activity.

The

The

All the customs and manners of the Niptuck valley are of the olden time. Saturday night is there kept sacred as the commencement of the holy Sabbath. Only of Sunday evenings do the Walbury swains venture to go a-courting. Some of the aged men in the village still wear breeches and shoe-buckles. Sunday coats of the farmers are made of home-spun cloth; and even these they are accustomed in hot weather to take off in meeting, and sit dozing in their shirt-sleeves during the lengthy sermon time. Quiltings and apple-paring bees, are the most notable social gatherings, at which the young folks of different sexes meet each other, and in the moonshiny October nights, the oldfashioned husking frolics are as frequent as of yore. Great flocks of sheep are wont to graze upon the hill-side pastures; and numerous descendants of the geese that flourished in a former century, are suffered to crop the short grass growing with the mulleins and May-weed upon the margins of the road, as their ancestors did a hundred years ago, to stalk about the green in single file, with threepronged yokes upon their necks, or, at other times, to run wildly along the street, with wings outstretched, cackling and screaming shrill warnings of an approaching storm.

Indeed, this secluded little nook, lying in the midst of busy New England, resembles the interior of some ancient

church in the heart of a great, bustling, and prosperous city, which, though surrounded on every side by the rush and turmoil of trade and business, and within hearing of the footsteps of the jostling multitudes in the streets, is, nevertheless, pervaded all the week with the spirit of stillness and repose.

On the eastern side of the way, at the upper end of the village street, nearly half a mile from Walbury meeting-house, stands a mansion, of which, as it appeared some thirty odd years ago, I wish the reader to get a notion. The space between the house and the highway formed a narrow yard, completely canopied by the spreading branches of a gigantic elm. Between this inclosure and the garden-from which, on either hand it was fenced by white picket-palingsa short lane or carriage-drive led from the street, up the gentle slope, and so by the southern end of the house to the barns and out-houses in the rear. The house itself was a large, old-fashioned, two-story dwelling, painted white, with a shingled roof slanting steeply downwards from a high peak, surmounted by a huge turret of a chimney, the birthplace of many generations of swallows. There was a low, one-story wing or Lpart at the rear of the main building, fronted by a broad, deep porch, that would have been too sunny except for the vines, that, climbing up the slender posts, overran the roof and hung in festoons from the eaves. Here, in the autumn, could be seen, pendent from the posts to which they were fastened at either end, weighty strings of quartered aples, sweet corn boiled on the cob for winter succotash, and gaudy red peppers, drying in the sun. Here used to stand a mighty cheese-press, and upon a narrow shelf outside, were wont to be displayed rows of resplendent milk-pans, freshly scalded, shining and glittering like shields of burnished silver.

Across the lane from this porch, just within the limits of the garden, grew a stately pear-tree, sheltering the house from the noon-day glare and heat. It was famous throughout the valley for its great size and productiveness, as well as for the unrivalled excellence of the seven different kinds of fruit which it bore. There was also a row of English cherrytrees bordering the lane, and soores of plum, peach, and apricot trees, in the garden; besides, currant, gooseberry, and raspberry bushes growing peaceably together in a row next to the street

fence, thrusting their fruit-laden twigs and branches between the pickets, thereby inciting and tempting little boys loitering on their way to school, to trespasses and petty larcenies.

Beneath the windows of the house, in the front yard, flourished a little jungle of lilac-bushes, and a bird-rose bush clambered up a trellis and over the architrave of the front doorway, which, in the month of June, was a perfect wilderness of roses, filling the air all about out-doors and in-doors, with damask perfumes.

Behind the house was a spacious backyard, and a deep well in the middle of it, with a crotch and lofty sweep, which resembled, at a distance, the stout, stumpy mast, and long, graceful lateen yard of a Maltese felucca. Upon one side was the wood-shed and chip-yard, and on the other a cider-mill, open at the front, and used for nearly all the year as a tool-house and shelter for carts and wagons. The rearward limit of the space was formed by a great yellow barn, with an arch, and a blank, sombrelooking fanlight, painted in dead, dull black over the great doors, and a long row of pigeon-holes cut through the boards, just beneath the eaves. Between the cider-mill and barn was the mouth of a lane, closed by a gate, and leading out upon the farm, away up the hill-side, to its very summit.

Here dwelt, a good many years ago, a worthy gentleman, who, as his grandfather and father had been before him, was esteemed by the whole neighborhood and township to be a man of no small mark and consideration. He was the most wealthy inhabitant of the Niptuck valley, a distinction that will of itself account for the high regard in which he was held by his townsmen. the lowly station of private in the Walbury "flood woods," he had risen, by regular and successive promotions, to the rank of Colonel of the XXIXth Regiment of Connecticut State Militia.

From

Moreover, he was in the habit of going to the General Assembly, as one of the representatives of the ancient town of Walbury, as often as he pleased, which was, in fact, pretty nearly every spring. But what he himself chiefly gloried in was, that for many years in succession he had been regularly appointed by the legislature, one of the justices of the peace, within and for the county of Windham. Once, even, for a single year, during the trial of an experiment