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Thy fields, in summer's glow that smile,
Reflect their beauty in my verses;
But fame of other Fields, the while,
'Tis fit my song rehearses.

The tongue and pen by turn they wield,
And stir the land to quiet wonder;
While one has made himself a Field-
Across the seas and under!

Once a weird spell on thy pure air

Wrought error's madness in thy prophet, And drove the world to fright and prayer, Till time made nothing of it!

One nameless here-that men may guess,
Not once to man or God a traitor,
In wisdom great, nor judgment less,
But in pure goodness greater.

Fair Stockbridge, for the Sedgwick race,
'Mid all her storied charms is prouder,
And, with their name and dwelling-place,
Her happy fame rings louder.

There the great Edwards leaves his name
Carven in Scotia's sunny granite;
His stronger books project his fame
For a world's gaze to scan it.

Forbear the serious task, my song,

The roll of Berkshire's worthies calling;

Thy silence cannot do them wrong

In reverence on them falling.

Fit service this for happier pen,

Dipped in the fount of praise perennial,
To fire the hearts of Berkshire men,
At Berkshire's bi-centennial!

I thank the Naiads of thy lakes,
Whose spells have wrought my verse so
pliant,

The sweet occasion here it takes

To breathe the name of Bryant.

Thy step-son-all the world will say

Born but a step thy boundaries over;
Let Hampshire claim him as she may,
He's thine by writ of trover.

Great master of all Nature's songs,
Forgive my trespass at thy fountains;
Only to thee my theme belongs,

Laureate of vales and mountains.

So little of my rhymes I boast,

THE LITTLE JOANNA.*

BY

A NOVEL.

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THE CONSEQUENCE OF CARVING A NAME.

"A COMFORT and a consolation to 'Mela: " this Joanna had firmly resolved to be. But, unfortunately for the success of this praiseworthy intention, favorable conditions were wanting. Miss Basil had grown suspicious, and would not now be followed about as of old. When Joanna, bent upon being a comfort and a consolation, pleaded hard for the privilege of sitting with her at work, of fan

Thy heart of grace will grant them pardon; ning her, of threading her needles, the dis

For I have blindly culled, at most,

A few weeds from thy garden.

Here pause, my song, lest, by excess,
Thou and the bard are both defeated;
I pray thy end be welcomed less
Than Hoosac's bore, completed!

Dear land of mountains, vales, and streams,
Dear home for ten delicious summers,
Who leave thee, wake from happy dreams,
And dream of heaven-new-comers!

Where'er I roam from thee apart,

Be thou of my devotion fearless,
My cynosure of eye and heart,—
Preeminent and fearless.

WILLIAM C. RICHARDS.

trustful woman complained bitterly that the child grew more troublesome every day.

So Joanna fell back upon her own resources again. A week went by, and the long, uneventful summer days came and passed, one day like another, just as she had foreseen when she bade young Hendall goodby at the gate. She could not help sighing a little for his return, and she sighed more than a little, when, one morning she happened to overhear his aunt say, in reply to some question Miss Basil had asked about his room, that he would not return for a

*ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by D. APPLETON & Co., in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

month. Miss Basil, finding her a few moments afterward sitting listlessly by the hallwindow up-stairs, told her, sharply, to go take some exercise. She always spoke sharply now to Joanna, by way of forestalling inopportune remarks.

"May I go with you, 'Mela?" asked she, plaintively, seeing Miss Basil tie on her hat.

"No, child, no," answered Miss Basil, quickly. "I'm only going to the Griswolds. They're down, as usual, with chills, and you can do no good. Go run about the garden."

But, in the days of June, one begins to tire a little of a garden. Joanna walked languidly to her favorite alcove, and there sat down, opposite the mimosa-tree. It comforted her a little to sit and gaze at her name, carved in the bark. It was one of her silly fancies that the tree always had a message for her; and it said now:

"Be of good cheer, Joanna; Pamela is cross and secret; the days are dull and long; but time, that goes so slowly now, will go swiftly enough one day; everybody is not cross, everybody is not secret!"

Now Mrs. Basil, in compliance with Dr. Garnet's advice, had adopted the habit of walking in the garden for the good of her health; and passing by the alcove late this morning, she was moved by some gracious impulse to stop and speak to the forlorn little dreamer sitting there. Instead of passing Joanna by with a nod and a smile, as was her ordinary habit, she asked pleasantly, what charm so retired a spot could have for a young girl?

But Joanna, unaccustomed to such notice from the grandmamma, was not ready with a reply; and while she hesitated shyly, Mrs. Basil's wandering eyes were arrested by the name on the mimosa-tree.

"Ah! I comprehend perfectly," said she, nodding her head with an effort at playfulness. "At your age, Joanna, it is natural that such trifles should give pleasure; but, indeed, I should never have believed Mr. Basil Redmond capable of so much romance. It certainly is a very pretty piece of romance to carve your name on the tree his own hands planted when a boy.

I

Trust me, shall keep his secret." And Mrs. Basil, well pleased with a discovery that seemed to flatter her hopes, was about to pass on, when Joanna, whose sturdy truthfulness would not permit her to keep silence, exclaimed, with a sudden rush of telltale color:

"But it was Mr. Hendall!"

Mrs. Basil uttered an involuntary cry, as though she had received a blow; but she was both too well-bred and too politic to express her vexation in words. With one keen, quick glance at Joanna, hanging her head in confusion, she deliberately adjusted the glasses upon her near-sighted eyes, and calmly scrutinized the now obnoxious carving for a few seconds, during which she was deciding upon the course to be pursued. This done, she remarked, quietly, but not without a certain irrepressible scorn, as she removed her glasses:

"It is neatly done; my nephew has quite a pretty talent for such fancy-work," and walked away with her head exalted.

Joanna, utterly incapable though she was

ation of grease and alkali and call it-food? For my part, I think it impious to say grace over such a meal; it is tempting Providence, to eat it."

of defining the confusion that overwhelmed, | ple, when we sit down to such a conglomer understood Mrs. Basil intuitively. Not all the wisdom that poor Miss Basil had been preaching for years could enable her to perceive her own folly in dreaming over the idle work of young Hendall's knife; but her feminine instinct revealed to her, on the instant, the grandmamina's antagonism.

"Everybody is against me!" she cried, passionately, when Mrs. Basil had passed out of sight; "and I am not-I am not to blame!"

But Mrs. Basil, who prided herself upon being a thoroughly reasonable woman, perceived clearly enough that Joanna was not to blame. It was no part of her policy to treat the child with harshness. She began now to manifest a great solicitude about the health and well-being of her husband's granddaughter; but none the less was she determined to put a peremptory end to her nephew's incipient folly; and to do it so that her motives should not be suspected.

Not that Mrs. Basil was ashamed of her motives, however. She persuaded herself, now as heretofore, that she was influenced at least as much by a consideration for Joanna's welfare as by solicitude for Arthur's future; and she began to reproach herself for having neglected to answer Miss Hawkesby's letter. She had found Basil Redmond so utterly impracticable that she saw plainly she must give up any hope of counteracting Arthur's folly through his agency; but something might be done by working upon old Miss Hawkesby if by any means Joanna could be quietly and properly sent out of the way during Arthur's absence! Mrs. Basil resolved to try what could be done to bring this about. Accordingly, she called on Mrs. Stargold, a step that could not excite suspicion, for she went there every day or two; and she contrived very adroitly to turn the conversation upon Miss Hawkesby, without mentioning her name. She wished to arrive at the old lady's address without asking for it; and here Mrs. Ruffner came to her aidMrs. Ruffner that always told every thing she knew. From her Mrs. Basil learned that Miss Hawkesby had gone to pass the summer in a little place called Rockville, a very quiet little town, with no attraction but its climate. "Just the place for her to take Joanna to," thought Mrs. Basil, complacently; and when she went home she wrote old Miss Hawkesby a really touching letter about her little grandniece, giving the old lady to understand that the child's health would be benefited by a change.

When old Miss Hawkesby received this letter, she was suffering from a fit of indigestion, brought on by eating biscuits made of soda and lard, slightly flavored with flour. "Not that I like the things," she said, to a fellow boarder, and fellow - sufferer, "but they give you no other bread. If I were a millionaire, which I am not, more's the pity for the country, I'd found an institution of cookery. Hear our landlady's daughter now tinkling breathless jigs on a tuneless piano! Mightn't she learn the fair proportions of a Southern biscuit at a far less cost and a far greater profit? How can we esteem ourselves a respectable people, a civilized peo

Miss Hawkesby, by way of economy, sometimes betook herself to little obscure places, that, boasting of good water and fine air, allured the unwary by cheap board, and betrayed them by bad fare. "I like to know what places to avoid in my course through life," Miss Hawkesby would say, and be at a retreat. Now, Rockville was one of those places she never wished to see again; and it was just in this mood that Mrs. Basil's letter found her. "The little Joanna again," she said, as she read. "She needs a change, does she? Ho! ho! Why, so do I! No, no; I'll not bring my little grandniece to this place. When I wish to poison my nearest relations, I'll choose a more refined instrument than a Rockville biscuit. If I stay here much longer, Anita will grow to look like a hag. One can't live on air alone, and as to climate, any place is endurable until September, provided one can get something to eat; so I'll pick Miss Anita up, and go to Middleborough for a little while. I don't wish to neglect my other niece utterly; and I'd like to see for myself whether it is she or Mrs. Basil that needs a change."

So Miss Hawkesby sent off a letter forthwith to Mrs. Basil, and the next day but one she packed her trunks, and Rockville knew her no more.

Mrs. Basil was more surprised than pleased at this proceeding. She had not desired a visit from Miss Hawkesby, who, of course, would be accompanied by Anita; and, if there was danger in Joanna, would there not be double danger in that prettier and more accomplished sister? But, fortunately, Arthur was absent; Miss Hawkesby might go, taking Joanna with her, before he returned, if only a little diplomacy could be brought to bear effectively upon her: and since, in any event, the visit was not to be avoided, Mrs. Basil wisely determined to make the best of it.

Of course the expected arrival must be announced without delay to Miss Basil, for it would be necessary to engage another servant; Miss Hawkesby would naturally expect to be waited upon like a lady. But Mrs. Basil did not think it necessary to impart to Miss Basil the particulars of her correspondence with Joanna's aunt; she wished the visit, since it was inevitable, should bear the appearance of a voluntary compliment to the child. Miss Basil, however, was more inclined to look upon it as foreboding an unjustifiable interference with her own rights over Joanna, and she took on a most doleful spirit.

Not so the little Joanna: she was full of a restless delight at the prospect. She could remember her sister but indistinctly, and her old aunt not at all. They seemed to her almost like myths, so little part had they taken in her life; and the prospect of meeting them, to which she had always unconsciously looked forward as one of the vague possibilities of the future, was now like the realization of one of her glorious dreams.

"You do well to make the best of it,

child," said Miss Basil, shaking her head dolefully; "but I should fail in my duty if I did not warn you that life is full of disappointments. What do you know of Anita and old Miss Hawkesby?"

"That's Pamela's doleful way," thought Joanna, impatiently. "She sees a canker in every bud. I shall just have to keep my joy to myself."

But this was more than Joanna could do when any chance of sympathy offered.

his aunt a visit until it happened to be the most convenient thing he could do.

"Now," continued Joanna, "my aunt, Miss Hawkesby-"

"Hawkesby? Then your sister is AnitaMiss Anita Hawkesby?" exclaimed Arthur, with a start. "I never would have thought it. But then-how should I, when your name is Basil?"

My name is Hawkesby," said Joanna. "Not know my name?"

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Joanna, forgive me!" cried Arthur, im

The color rose swiftly in Joanna's face, called up less by the words, indeed, than by the tone in which they were uttered. She forgave him on the instant, in one eloquent glance, his ignorance of her name. anxious to escape the half-painful, half-pleasing embarrassment she felt, she asked:

Then,

The day before her aunt and sister were expected, greatly to her surprise and gratifi-pulsively seizing her hands. "Was it not cation, Arthur Hendall unexpectedly returned. enough for me to know that you are Joanna, The great Westport and Brookville Road, un- and that you let me call you so?" dertaken with so large promise of success, was in trouble; lack of funds had brought the work to a sudden stand-still, and this young civil engineer was under the necessity of taking his leisure at Basilwood. His aunt welcomed him with a sigh. Being a woman, she was privileged to indulge inconsistent regrets. "Ah! if he were planting, he would not thus be subject to the caprice of Fortune," she sadly thought, forgetful of the caterpillar and the boll-worm that had so often blighted her prospects. The truth was, however, that she felt she could have managed old Miss Hawkesby much better in his absence. But the little Joanna, burdened with no plots and counterplots, was unaffectedly glad to see him. He came by the early morning train, and, as she was going into town to make some necessary purchases, she met him walking along the shady road.

"O Mr. Hendall!" she cried, stretching out her hands. "I thought you were to be away a whole month longer, and here you are!"

"And are you glad to see me, Joanna?" said Arthur, taking her two hands in his. "You have not forgotten me?"

"I haven't so many to remember that I should forget you," said Joanna. "And, indeed, I am glad to see you, for something memorable is about to happen."

"Ah!" said Arthur, pretending to look fierce. "Has it any thing to do with my rival and enemy?"

Joanna started.

"I mean Mr. Redmond."

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"And you know Anita, my sister, then?" "Undoubtedly, and old Miss Hawkesby, too," replied Arthur, instantly assuming a calmer manner. He began to wish that he had not allowed himself so much empressement in his interviews with Joanna. It was a way he had of making himself agreeable, and girls in society understood it; but Joanna was not a girl in society.

"Tell me about her," entreated Joanna. "About old Miss Hawkesby?" asked Arthur, with a forced laugh.

"Old Miss Hawkesby, my aunt," said Joanna, leniently, "is elderly, and, I suppose, has ways of her own-"

"Unquestionably," interpolated Arthur. "But Anita-I wish you would tell me about Anita. Tell me the most interesting thing you know about her."

"The most interesting thing I know about her, I think, concerns a lover."

"How do you know she has a lover?" asked Joanna, with a quick look.

"Haven't all girls lovers?"

"I don't know; yes, I suppose so. Is he tender and true?"

"Good Heavens, Joanna!" cried Arthur, laughing. "What should you know about the characteristics of lovers ? "

"Nothing," Joanna answered, coloring. "I-but I have my ideas, all the same. So, go on, please—that is, if you think Anita would not mind?" she added, hesitatingly, restrained by an innate sense of delicacy.

"I don't think she would mind," said Arthur, with a short laugh. "I never knew a girl yet that had the least objection to publishing her conquests-or, rather, to having them published by others."

"Well?" said Joanna, impatiently.

"As to ber having one lover, it is no secret that she has two."

"Oh, I dare say, and more besides," answered Joanna. "It was to be expected, Anita is so very lovely. But I'll not stay to hear about any of them. You take up all my time."

Arthur, leaning against a tree in careless ease, and fanning himself with his hat, thought that he had never seen any girl look so pretty as Joanna did just then. Little did he care for wasting the morning; he was con

tent to enjoy life while he could. He intended that Joanna should stay and amuse him while she looked so spirited and so pretty. He was not making love to her, and where was the harm?

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Stay, Joanna!" he cried, "and I'll tell you about both of them: there is the younger one to begin with, a boy, old Miss Hawkesby calls him; he is no favorite of hers; she declares that be is no match at all;' that's Miss Hawkesby's formula for anathema maran-atha."

"I dare say Miss Hawkesby's judgment is-correct; she knows the world," remarked Joanna, briefly.

"Don't you grow worldly, Joanna, I beg!?? said Arthur, with a short, uneasy laugh. "I don't wish you to uphold that other lover, who is no favorite of mine."

"What does my aunt, Miss Hawkesby, think of him?"

"Your aunt, Miss Hawkesby, thinks very well of him. He is past his youth, and his hair is scant; but he is said to have great expectations, and he suits old Miss Hawkesby."

"I dare say my aunt knows best," said Joanna, sedately; "I hope my sister will nev er throw herself away upon any trifling young What is his name? I mean that oth

man.

er one?"

"Ah, there you must excuse me," replied Arthur, with an amused smile. "To name names, in such a case, would be treason."

"It is getting late, and you have had no breakfast," said Joanna, abruptly. If she had been a little older, and a little more ex. perienced, she would have known that no hungry man would voluntarily delay his breakfast to talk about any girl's lovers.

CHAPTER XX.

ANITA, BELLE D'INDOLENCE.

ALL that day Joanna labored under a sense of uneasiness that she knew well enough was to be referred to the revelations Arthur had made; yet, like any other weak mortal, she shrank from self-knowledge, and refused to understand why her prophetic soul was alarmed by the mention of the young man whom her aunt, Miss Hawkesby, did not like; but was it not an idle young man that had cut her name on the mimosa-tree?

A good night's rest, however, restored the equilibrium of her spirits, and, with the buoyancy natural to her age, Joanna, the next morning, made herself ready to welcome Miss Hawkesby and Anita.

Mrs. Basil also had risen betimes, certainly a very great effort for her, and was attired with some care, in order to do honor to her expected guests; but Arthur and Miss Basil were invisible. Arthur was indulging in the latest possible nap; and Miss Basil, though rather defiant of Miss Hawkesby, was anxious the breakfast should be a success.

The little Joanna was anxious about nothing but her toilet. The grandmamma herself had hinted a wish that her husband's granddaughter should make a good impression, and Joanna certainly spared no pains

sil."

"Will you go to your room first?" asked Mrs. Basil. "Joanna shall show you the

way."

So Joanna went with Miss Hawkesby into the room prepared for her, saw that she had every thing she needed, and then ushered Anita into her own little sanctum, which they were to occupy together, and which she had adorned with flowers, in honor of the occasion.

to look well. The cars were late that morn- | shall do justice to your breakfast, Mrs. Ba-
ing, and there was ample time to study the
effect of her various little adornments. Did
her skirts puff out properly at the back?
Was her hair arranged in good style? Should
she wear a sash or an apron ? Alas! there
was no one to decide this last momentous
question; and Joanna tried the effect of each
repeatedly, dividing the time of waiting be-
tween the mirror and the piazza-steps, and
was at last surprised in both sash and apron
when the carriage appeared at the gate; for
Joanna was not so absorbed in the question
of dress but that she could forget it utterly |
in the joy of welcoming the nearest relation
she had in the world. Oblivious, therefore,
of the sash that was in the way of the apron,
and of the apron that half obscured the glo-
ries of the sash, she rushed forward the mo-
ment the carriage stopped, to clasp in her
eager embrace a figure so enveloped in duster
and veils that it was difficult to divine what
manner of creature she was.

"Oh, spare me!" exclaimed a soft voice. "My dearest, you are as bad as a railroad accident! Don't demolish me altogether, I beg!" And then the speaker kissed Joanna twice through her veil, and, turning to Mrs. Basil, said, as she shook hands: "I'll not venture to show my face yet; I'm not fit to be seen, I know!"

Mrs. Basil smiled, and said, rather absently, that she should do as she pleased. Miss Hawkesby was to her a much more important personage than Anita, and her whole attention was taken up in waiting upon that lady's deliberate descent from the carriage.

"Is the step safe? I say, Anita, is the step safe?" asked Miss Hawkesby, hoarsely. "I've no notion of breaking my bones, I do assure you."

Not a word, not a thought, not a glance, for any one had she, until she was safe upon the ground.

"My dear Miss Hawkesby," said Mrs. Basil, with unction, and extending both hands, "I am charmed to welcome you to Basilwood. I trust that you feel no ill effects from your journey?"

"Thank you," said Miss Hawkesby, with first a steady look at Mrs. Basil, and then a sweeping glance all around her, that failed, however, to take in the little Joanna. "So this is Basilwood? Bears evidence of having been a fine old place. However, that may be said of most places in the South now. We describe ourselves in the past tense, which is highly respectable at least. Oh! and this is Joanna, my niece?" she asked, with sudden recognition, as Joanna timidly advanced."How do you do, child? You may give me a kiss. A regular Basil, you are; I always said so, though you were but a baby when your father brought you to see me. I hope to Heaven you are not sickly!"

"No, madam," Joanna answered, rather to Mrs. Basil's confusion; "I am always well."

"Oh! Pamela tells me," Mrs. Basil bastened to say, "that she has a very poor appe

tite."

"Well, well, we shall see about that," said Miss Hawkesby. "As for me, a long fast has given me an admirable appetite. I

"What a funny little den!" cried Anita, running up to the muslin-draped toilet-table. "And, oh, horror! what a distorting little glass! I'm a fright to behold!”

Joanna had not yet seen her sister's face, and, before Anita turned round from the contemplation of its distorted reflection, Miss Hawkesby called, hoarsely:

"Joanna! Joanna, child! I say, come here!" and Joanna hastened to obey.

"Are you good at waiting on people?” asked Miss Hawkesby, with a searching look that made Joanna shrink, and stammer that she did not know; she would do her best.

"We shall see," said Miss Hawkesby. "If you've any talent that way, it's more than your sister has. Help me off with my things. Thank you, you are quite handy. It's a pity you are such a regular Basil."

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Poor Joanna did not know it, but to be a regular Basil" was extremely reprehensible in Miss Hawkesby's estimation. She had never forgiven her nephew's second marriage.

"Just unpack my satchel, will you?" continued Miss Hawkesby. "That'll do; and now run down-stairs and bring me word how soon I may expect breakfast."

Away went Joanna, and presently re-
turned with the welcome tidings that break-
fast would be ready in about ten minutes.

"Oh, thank you," said Miss Hawkesby.
"I'm glad to hear it, for I'm starving."
"May I go now?" asked Joanna, tim-
idly.

She was very anxious to see Anita; but
she stood in great awe of Miss Hawkesby.

"Oh, yes; you may go," answered Miss Hawkesby. "You'll find that Anita likes being waited on quite as much as I do."

Anita had bathed her face, and given a touch to her hair, and, divested now of her veils and wraps, she was a creature to challenge admiration. There was just sufficient likeness between the little Joanna and herself to make the difference between them the more marked. Each had the same dark, deep eyes, the same mobile mouth and dimpled chin, the same white, slightly-irregular teeth, the same willing grace; but there all likeness ended, for Anita was dazzlingly fair, with a delicate peach-blow color, and a profusion of pale, blond hair, "in most admired disorder."

Joanna, seeing her now for the first time unobscured by wraps and veils, stopped short in unaffected admiration.

"O Anita !" she exclaimed, "how lovely you are! You look just like a fashion-plate. I am so glad you are my sister."

Anita was accustomed to homage, and she never refused it, no matter how it was

offered. She laughed-and a rippling laugh, like music, had she-clapped her hands softly, and said:

"A genuine compliment! But compliments are always more acceptable put in a more graceful form, remember. There's a hint, my novice, that may serve as a lesson in savoir faire for you."

"Oh, yes; thank you, Anita," said Joanna, with a palpitating heart. "I will remember; and you'll find me attentive and willing to improve. I've had no one to teach me the -the convenances, you know" (Joanna could use French, too), "and all that. 'Mela is very, very good; but she is what is called a -recluse, you see!"

"Who is 'Mela?" asked Anita, with a lazy, rising inflection.

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Why, what is it, child?" asked Anita, half laughing.

"Indeed, I don't know; would you mind telling me, Anita ?" said poor Joanna, drawing nearer. Though she had resolved not to annoy Miss Basil with further questions, she saw no reason why Anita should not tell her all she knew about this painful subject.

"I've a wretched memory for such things," said Anita, indifferently, and sup pressing a yawn. "There was something about Miss Basil having a romantic history in a letter my aunt had from Mrs. Ruffner, and she had it, what there was of it, from Mrs. Carl Tomkins. Do you know Mrs. Carl Tomkins?" she asked, with reviving inter

est.

"Yes, oh yes," answered unsophisticated Joanna. "I dined with her the other day." Her mind was sensibly relieved by her sister's placid indifference to Miss Basil's romantic history. It surely couldn't be so great a matter, after all, she hoped.

"Oh, indeed, you dined with Mrs. Carl Tomkins?" said Anita, rousing herself with increased interest.

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She dined here, that is," explained Joanna, with rising color; "and by the grandmamma's desire I was present."

"Oh, that's different, you know," said Anita. "A pleasant woman, she is; so good at charade-parties, and that sort of thing."

"Is she? O Anita! do you suppose she will have a charade-party while you are here?" (eagerly).

Possibly she may, if I ask her to. How intense you are, child! that's not good style. And what a regular little guy you have made of yourself with sash and apron both. What possessed you?"

"Indeed, I did not know that I had on both," answered Joanna, coloring furiously, and snatching at the apron so that the pins. flew out hither and thither. "Of course, I

knew better."

"Don't you be offended," said Anita, câ-ressingly. "You know, Joanna, I take a

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66

'Yes, certainly," Joanna assented leniently; "but then I should think that you would remember Mr. Arthur Hendall," and she sighed, unconsciously.

"Don't be a goose, my dear little sister. I foresee that I must take you under my wing in a great many ways."

"O Anita!" said Joanna, with feeling; "I have missed you so many years!"

Thereupon a silence followed, which Anita was too much of an artist in her way to interrupt. She liked to enjoy the effect of ail she said and did. She meant to be very fond of Joanna, and she meant that Joanna should adore her; of course it would be very pleasant to be adored by her "dear little sister," and it would look so well!

And Joanna? She was quite ready to adore Anita, no doubt; and also to profit largely by the example and instructions of one who could reveal the delicate arts and mysteries pertaining to young ladyhood. It would be unjust to say that more of selfishness mingled with Anita's sisterly sentiments than with Joanna's; for each was influenced by her own individuality.

But old Miss Hawkesby presently appeared at the door, and interrupted the silence that had been filled on Joanna's part at least, it is safe to say, with thoughts too big for utterance.

Anita, what does this mean? Not going down to breakfast?" said the old lady, with a show of displeasure that took all the bravery out of Joanna at the first word.

But Anita was not so easily overawed. “Dear aunt, I am so tired," said she, in a plaintive, coaxing way. She was as good at defying authority as Joanna; but her way of doing it was altogether different, and, as she herself would have said, "more becoming."

"Not more tired than I am, surely!" said old Miss Hawkesby, hoarsely. However, have your own way, as you always do."

And with this she sailed magnificently down-stairs.

make you do my bidding in spite of your conscience."

Joanna listened with the air of one receiving valuable instruction from a celebrated professor in human nature. If it bad been any other than Anita uttering this last dictum, she might have doubted; but she was ready to surrender a blind belief to all Anita did and said.

"Now, Joanna, you see how exhausted I am; could I not have my breakfast here?"

"Yes, surely," Joanna answered promptly; she herself had eaten nothing-excitement had destroyed her appetite; but Anita was by no means incapable of enjoying the meal she brought up to her, in defiance of Miss Basil's wrath.

But Anita had hardly appeased her hunger when Miss Hawkesby came back, to all appearances more formidable than ever. "Anita, I thought you told me young Hendall was at Brookville?"

"Isn't he at Brookville, ma'am?" said Anita, opening her eyes, with innocent wonderment.

"He is in this very house!" said Miss Hawkesby, severely.

"It must be so, if you've seen him," said Anita, with an air of conviction; "but, really, ma'am, I couldn't believe it when Joanna told it me."

Miss Hawkesby turned suddenly to Joanna. "And what do you know about him, you simpleton?" said she.

"It is the biscuit, I tell you, Joanna," said Anita, when her aunt had gone. "Aunt is not a great eater-not a gourmande, you understand; but she has a tendency to dyspepsia. It is useful to know people's weaknesses, mental, moral, and physical. Now, Joanna, if you will take care that I am not disturbed, I will take a sleep, in order to be fresh for the evening.

"Dinner is at half-past five," said Joanna, with a feeling that, if Anita wished dinner brought up to her, it would be all right, except for 'Mela's wrath. On 'Mela's account she did hope Anita would go down to dinner. 'Mela had such a triumphant way of seeing a fault in Anita-hadn't she shown it about the breakfast?"

"Call me in time to dress, then," said Anita, drowsily. "Oh!" rousing herself suddenly, “and meantime, child, as I dare say you have little enough to do, you may amuse yourself by unpacking for me!" Anita made it a principle never to do any thing for herself that she could charm any one else into doing, and thus she contrived to live a remarkably easy life.

REUBEN LEIR.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "PATTY."

I.

"N-nothing," stammered Joanna, quail-A ROAD winds beside green hills, and is ing under her aunt's eyes. "He is the grandmamma's nephew."

"I'm not going to bite, child," laughed old Miss Hawkesby, who rather enjoyed the terror she inspired. "I'm not half so dangerous to a little fool like you as he is. I hope he doesn't amuse himself at your expense."

"I-I don't know," stammered Joanna.

"I had a mind," said Miss Hawkesby, slowly, with a look of disapproval at Anita"I had a mind to pick you up and leave forthwith; but I sha'n't do it-I shall stay."

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They do make such excellent biscuits here," said Anita, with artful simplicity.

"It is impossible, Anita," said Miss Hawkesby, with an air of great profundity"it is impossible for you, you butterfly, to divine the depths of my mind."

"Dear aunt, I was thinking of your digestion!" Anita said this, leaning back on the lounge with her hands clasped behind her head, and her eyes half closed. "I wish we might take Joanna with us!"

"I'm not going away, I told you," said Miss Hawkesby in her deepest tones.

"Is it the biscuits you are staying for?" asked Anita, drowsily.

"Anita, you are impertinent !" said her aunt, and walked away. She thought she had discovered the source of Mrs. Basil's "Just like aunt!" cried Anita, with a solicitude about Joanna-as if Joanna, her laugh. "Don't look so scared, child; she's niece, was not good enough for young Hennot half so formidable as she seems. Your dall! Miss Hawkesby thought she would rigid, strenuous-looking people never are. stay and look into that little game, and pay Nothing so easy as to demolish their out- Mrs. Basil in her own coin, and Anita should works, if you only know how. Soft, yielding- never suppose she, Olivia Hawkesby, couldn't looking little things like me are your true cope with young Hendall. And so Miss Irresistibles. I'll engage, Joanna, that I'll | Hawkesby composed herself for a nap.

carried terrace-like across a valley leading to the sea. A village is scattered along this road in unsociable fashion, two or three cottages at a time, with a space between the groups, as if the inhabitants of the little cob-walled, thatched dwellings were too quarrelsome for nearer neighborhood.

Not quite a mile below the road the sea shows in a large, opal triangle against the pale sky, and on each side high cliffs, wooded and grass-grown, guard the shingled entrance to Mercombe Mouth. Three valleys from among the green hills unite to form this one, which leads to the sea, and through this a river winds in and out, bordered by ash-trees, and gleams from among them like a silver thread.

The village smithy is on the side of the road next the hills. The cottage belonging to it is larger than most of the others, with a quaint, tall, stone chimney rising from the ground, on which, carved in the stone, is the date 1573. The cottage stands at right angles to the road, with a garden in front and an orchard with flower-laden apple-trees behind. For the last fortnight the whole village of Mercombe has been like an exquisite pink-and-white nosegay.

Mrs. Leir, standing at the back-door of the ancient cottage, looks complacently at the garlands of exquisite blossom, relieved by the yellow-green grass beneath, and predicts a good cider year for the county. For a few minutes the mental prediction has brought smiles to the firm, wrinkled mouth, but this fades, and heavy care contracts her clear, brown forehead, and makes her eyes look sad. She is always too anxious in expression, but to-day she looks miserable. Though

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