The Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 12, No. 72, October, 1863

f all that female feet the soonest seek. In Maiden Lane and on Broadway it was easy to find all that a Weston fancy painted in t

the queer Dutch signs over the shops and the swine in the streets. Now I only remember the oddity of Miss Post's poverty in the water-line; and that she had to buy fresh water by the gallon and rain-water by the bar

uld have 'em whipped every day of their lives. It's what they

ed all directions. I used to follow them with my eyes at the table with amused astonishment. It was very grand, and, as the Marchioness says, "If you made believe a good deal," reminded one of barbaric splendor, and Tippoo Saib. But poor M

ere the first day. All the people were childless and desolate-looking, though much bedecked with braids and curls, which ladies wore at that time without stint. Nobody l

that; and I inquired minutely enough to satisfy myself either that Mrs. Lewis was very peculiar, or that a boarding-house was not a favorable atmosphere for character. My husband, to

Lewis's child!" said I, after fa

I always thought so. But Le

d nothing for him, nor for her other childre

ubtless," said

than insinuating that she likes too well to be at the Oaks,-that is his

gone too, as you and I c

sh I had thought

n a boarding-ho

noble and generous, too, even supposing he lo

elty. Only think of a lady, a young lady, not sixteen, and the darling and id

happened to be in M

ke to tell you how much these ladies have hinted about her, but enough to make me feel as if I were reading t

credulity. I have seen women do that, just for sport, and to se

legance, so far as the composition was concerned. It was sealed with a dove flying, and expressed her thanks for m

a manner that would have disgraced the youngest member of a town-school in Weston. She had "gr

tulips were at their best, and the ladies expecting to see us,-adding, with an informality which I had not associa

glorious things I ever saw, and still remain the pattern of exceeding beauty, though I have since seen wealth of floral splendor, but none that came up to the Royal Adelaide,-nothing so queenly and so noble as the large white cup, fit for Hebe to bear and the gods to drink out

h of these

mong them. Fifteen

r arrayed like one of these. And fifteen hundred! each gorgeous enough for a king's ransom! It took my b

my tulips, Mrs. Prince," said Mr. Remington, gleefully, "an

st two hundred years old, instead of two. But Downing's advent had already wrought miracles here and there in our land; and a little while before Mr. Remington had been bitten with an architectural mania. So under the transplanted trees, and beneath trailing vines of Virginia creeper and Boursault roses, there peeped the brown gables of a cottage, which arose an

ie and make no sign," she sat, bowing and smiling, and amounting to nothing, one way or another,-giving no opinion, if asked, and asking no question. She was passively polite, but so very near nothing that I was rejoiced when Mr. Remington entered with my husband, and proposed that we should go into the dining-room. He carelessly introduced Mrs. Remington, but f