in the quietest way—as if paying an ordinary master credit. But Nancy Hine was always considered a "bright" girl. call-for "Mrs. Lemuel Rochdale." him. Lord!" The man seemed really affected, as though both "master" and "mistress" were served with truer than lip-service. Awkward she was still-large and gauche and "Mistress is gone to lie down, ma'am. Master was worse, and she was up all night with under-bred-wanting in that simple self-possesBut he is better again to-day, thank the sion which needs no advantages of dress or formality of manner to confirm the obvious fact of innate "ladyhood." But there was nothing coarse or repulsive about her-nothing that would strike one as springing from that internal and ineradicable "vulgarity," which, being in the nature as much as in the bringing-up, no education or external refinement of manner can ever wholly conceal. "I will wait to see Mrs. Lemuel," said Mrs. Rochdale, walking right into the library. The man followed, asking respectfully what name he should say. "Merely a lady." I have seen more than one "lady," of unde We waited about a quarter of an hour. Then niable birth and rearing, who was a great deal Mrs. Lemuel appeared-somewhat fluttered-more "vulgar" than Mrs. Lemuel Rochdale. looking, in spite of her handsome dress, a great We were sitting by the dining-room fire. deal shyer and more modest than the girl Nancy Servants came, doing the day's mechanical servHine. ice, and brought in the tray. "I beg pardon, ma'am, for keeping you waiting; I was with my husband. Perhaps you're a stranger, and don't know how ill he has been. I beg your pardon." Mrs. Rochdale put back her vail, and Mrs. Lemuel seemed as if, in common phrase, she could have "dropped through the floor." 66 "I dare say you are surprised to see me here," the elder lady began; still, you will well imagine, a mother-" She broke down. It was some moments before she could command herself to say, in broken accents, "I want to seemy son." "That you shall, with pleasure, Mrs, Rochdale," said Nancy, earnestly. "I thought once of sending for you; but-" The other made some gesture to indicate that she was not equal to conversation, and hastily moved up stairs, Nancy following. At the chamber door, however, Nancy interrupted her: Mrs. Lemuel began to fidget about. "Do you think, Miss Martha, she will stay and take some supper? Would she like to remain the night here? Ought I not to order a room to be got ready?" But I could not answer for any of Mrs. Rochdale's movements. In process of time she came down, looking calm and happy-oh, inconceivably happy!— scarcely happier, I doubt, even when, twentyseven years ago, she had received her new-born son into her bosom-her son, now born again to her in reconciliation and love. She even said, with a gentle smile, to her son's wife, "I think he wants you. Suppose you were to go up stairs?" Nancy fled like lightning. "He says," murmured Mrs. Rochdale, looking at the fire, "that she has been a good wife to him." "She is much improved in many ways." "Stop one minute, please. He has been so very ill; do let me tell him first, just to pre-of that," returned Mrs. Rochdale, with a certain pare-" "He is my son-my own son. You need not be afraid," said Mrs. Rochdale, in tones of which I know not whether bitterness or keen anguish was uppermost. She pushed by the wife, and went in. air that forbade all further criticism on Nancy. She evidently was to be viewed entirely as "my son's wife." Mrs. Lemuel returned. She looked as if she had been crying. Her manner toward her mother-in-law was a mixture of gratitude and We heard a faint cry, "Oh, mother-my dear pleasure, mother!" and a loud sob-that was all. Mrs. Lemuel shut the door, and sat down on the floor outside, in tears. I forgot she had been Nancy Hine, and wept with her. "My husband says, since you will not stay the night, he hopes you will take supper here, and return in the carriage." "Thank you; certainly." And Mrs. RochIt was a long time before Mrs. Rochdale came dale sat down-unwittingly, perhaps in her out of her son's room. No one interrupted them, own familiar chair, by the bright hearth. Sevnot even the wife. Mrs. Lemuel kept restlessly cral times she sighed; but the happy look nevmoving about the house-sometimes sitting er altered. And now, wholly and forever, passed down to talk familiarly with me, then recollect-away that sorrowful look of seeking for someing herself and resuming her dignity. She was thing never found. It was found. much improved. Her manners and her mode I think a mother, entirely and eternally sure of speaking had become more refined. It was of her son's perfect reverence and love, need not evident, too, that her mind had been a good be jealous of any other love, not even for a wife. deal cultivated, and that report had not lied There is, in every good man's heart, a sublime when it avouched, sarcastically, that the squire strength and purity of attachment which he nevhad left off educating his dogs, and taken to ed-er does feel, never can feel, for any woman on ucating his wife. If so, she certainly did her earth except his mother. VOL. XIV.-No. 80.-P Supper was served; Mrs. Lemuel half-advanced to her usual place, then drew back, with a deprecating glance. But Mrs. Rochdale quietly seated herself in the guest's seat at the side, leaving her son's wife to take the position of mistress and hostess at the head of the board. Perhaps it was I only who felt a choking pang of regret and humiliation at seeing my dear, nay, noble Mrs. Rochdale, sitting at the same table with Nancy Hine. and his wife, in her most objectionable and tasteless bonnet, sitting opposite. Second, that the two ladies, elder and younger, were several times seen driving out together-only they two, alone! Thorpe could scarcely believe this, even on the evidence of its own eyes. Thirdly, that on Christmas-day Mrs. Rochdale was observed in her old place in the manor-house pew; and when her son and his wife came in, she actually smiled! After that every body gave up the relenting mother-in-law as a lost woman! After that Sunday the mother went every day to see her son. This event was the talk Three months slipped away. It was the seaof the whole village: some worthy souls were son when most of our county families were in glad; but I think the generality were rather town. When they gradually returned, the asshocked at the reconciliation. They "always tounding truth was revealed concerning Mrs. thought Mrs. Rochdale had more spirit;" "won- Rochdale and her son. Some were greatly scandered she could have let herself down." "But, dalized, some pitied the weakness of mothers, of course, it was only on account of his illness." | but thought that as she was now growing old, "She might choose to be 'on terms' with her forgiveness was excusable. son, but it was quite impossible she could ever take up with Nancy Hine." In that last sentiment I agreed. But then the gossips did not know that there was a great and a daily-increasing difference between Mrs. Lemuel Rochdale and "Nancy Hine." I have stated my creed, as it was Mrs. Rochdale's, that lowness of birth does not necessarily constitute a low marriage. Also, that popular opinion was rather unjust to the baker's daughter. Doubtless she was a clever, ambitious girl, anxious to raise herself, and glad enough to do so by marrying the squire. But I believe that she was a virtuous, and not unscrupulous girl, and I firmly believe she loved him. Once married, she tried to raise herself so as to be worthy of her station; to keep and to deserve her husband's affection. That which would have made a woman of a meaner nature insufferably proud, only made Nancy humble. Not that she abated one jot of her self-respect for she was a highspirited creature-but she had sense enough to see that the truest self-respect lies, not in exacting honor which is undeserved, but in striving to attain that worth which receives honor and observance as its rightful due. From this quality in her probably grew the undoubted fact of her great influence over her husband. Also because, to tell the truth—(I would not for worlds Mrs. Rochdale should read this page)-Nancy was of a stronger nature than he. Mild-tempered, lazy, and kind, it was easier to him to be ruled than to rule, provided he knew nothing about it. This was why the gentle Celandine could not retain the love which Daniel Hine's energetic daughter won and was never likely to lose. Mrs. Rochdale said to me, when for some weeks she had observed narrowly the ways of her son's household, "I think he is not unhappy. It might have been worse." Thenceforward the gentry around Thorpe were shocked and "really quite amazed" every week of their lives. First, that poor Mr. Rochdale, looking very ill, but thoroughly content, was seen driving out with his mother by his side, "But, of course, she can never expect us to visit Mrs. Lemuel ?" "I am afraid not," was the rector's wife's mild remark. "Mrs. Rochdale is unlike most ladies; she is not only a gentlewoman, but a Christian." Yet it was observable that the tide of feeling against the squire's "low" wife ebbed day by day. First, some kindly stranger noticed publicly that she was "extremely good-looking;” to confirm which, by some lucky chance, poor Nancy grew much thinner, probably with the daily walks to and from Mrs. Rochdale's residence. Wild reports flew abroad that the squire's mother, without doubt one of the most accomplished and well-read women of her generation, was actually engaged in "improving the mind" of her daughter-in-law ! That some strong influence was at work became evident in the daily change creeping over Mrs. Lemuel. Her manners grew quieter, gentler; her voice took a softer tone; even her attire, down, or rather up, to the much-abused bonnets, was subdued to colors suitable for her large and showy person. One day a second stranger actually asked "Who was that distinguelooking woman ?" and was coughed down. But the effect of the comment remained. Gradually the point at issue slightly changed; and the question became, "I wonder whether Mrs. Rochdale expects us to visit Mrs. Lemuel?" But Mrs. Rochdale, though, of course, she knew all about it-for every body knew every thing in our village-never vouchsafed the slightest hint one way or the other as to her expectations. Nevertheless the difficulty increased daily, especially as the squire's mother had been long the object of universal respect and attention from her neighbors. The question, "To visit or not to visit?" was mooted and canvassed far and wide. Mrs. Rochdale's example was strong; yet the "county people" had the prejudices of their class, and most of them had warmly regarded poor Celandine Childe. I have hitherto not said a word of Miss Childe. | at the head of her table-Mrs. Rochdale had abShe was still abroad. But though Mrs. Roch-stained from any thing of the kind. Now, dale rarely alluded to her, I often noticed how would her son really take his rightful place at her eyes would brighten at sight of letters in the the entertainment? and if so, what was to be delicate handwriting I knew so well. The strong done with his wife? Could our "best" famattachment between these two nothing had pow-ilies, much as they esteemed Mrs. Rochdale, er to break. ever, under any possible circumstances, be ex One day she sat poring long over one of Cel-pected to meet the former Nancy Hine? andine's letters, and many times took off her I need not say how the whole question served glasses-alas! as I said, Mrs. Rochdale was an for a week's wonder; and how every body knew old lady now-to wipe the dews from them. At every other body's thoughts and intentions a length she called, in a clear voice, "Martha !" great deal better than "other bodies" themand I found her standing by the mirror smiling. selves. Half the village was out at door or win"Martha, I am going to a wedding!" dow, when on this memorable afternoon the sev"Indeed! Whose, madam?" eral carriages were seen driving up to Mrs. Roch"Miss Childe's. She is to be married next dale's house. week." "To whom?" I cried, in unfeigned astonish ment. "Do you remember Mr. Sinclair ?" Within, we were quiet enough. She had few preparations-she always lived in simple elegance. Even on this grand occasion she only gave what cheer her means could afford, nothing more. Show was needless, for every guest was I did. He was the rector of Ashen Dale. One of the many suitors whom, years ago, pop-not a mere acquaintance, but a friend. ular report had given to Miss Childe. "Was that really the case, Mrs. Rochdale ?" "Yes. Afterward he became, and has been ever since, her truest, tenderest, most faithful friend. Now” Mrs. Rochdale sat down, still smiling, but sighing also. I too felt a certain pang, for which I blamed myself the moment after, to think that love can ever die and be buried. Yet surely the Maker of the human heart knows it best. One thing I know, and perhaps it would account for a great deal, that the Lemuel of Celandine's love was not, never had been, the real Lemuel Rochdale. Still Something in my looks betrayed me; for Mrs. Rochdale, turning round, said decisively, "Martha, I am very glad of this marriage, deeply and entirely glad. She will be happymy poor Celandine!" Dressed richly, and with special care-how well I remembered, that is, if I had dared to remember, another similar toilet !—Mrs. Rochdale sat in her chamber. Not until the visitors were all assembled did she descend to the drawing-room. Entering there she did not enter alone; on her arm was a lady, about thirty; large and handsome in figure; plainly, but most becomingly attired-a lady, to whose manners or appearance none could have taken the slightest exception, and on whom any stranger's most likely comment would have been, "What a finelooking woman! but so quiet." This lady Mrs. Rochdale at once presented to the guests, with a simple, unimpressive quietness, which was the most impressive effect she could have made: "My daughter, Mrs. Lemuel Rochdale." And happy she always has been, I believe. After Mrs. Rochdale's return from the wed-house. ding, she one day sent for me. "Martha"-and an amused smile about her mouth reminded me of our lady of the manor in her young days-"I am going to astonish the village. I intend giving a dinner-party. Will you write the invitations ?" They were, without exception, to the "best" families of our neighborhood. Literally the best -the worthiest; people, like Mrs. Rochdale herself, to whom "position" was a mere clothing, used or not used, never concealing or meant to conceal the honest form beneath, the common humanity that we all owe alike to father Adam and mother Eve. People who had no need to stickle for the rank that was their birth-right, the honor that was their due; whose blood was so thoroughly "gentle," that it inclined them to gentle manners and gentle deeds. Of such and there are not a few throughout our English land-of such are the true aristocracy. All Thorpe was on the qui vive respecting this wonderful dinner-party, for hitherto-gossip said because she could, of course, have no gentleman * Perhaps I ought to end this history by describing the elder and younger Mrs. Rochdale as henceforward united in the closest sympathy and tenderest affection. It was not so: it would have been unnatural-nay, impossible. The difference of education, habits, character, was too great ever to be wholly removed. But the mother and daughter-in-law maintain a sociable intercourse, even a certain amount of kindly regard, based on one safe point of union, where the strongest attachment of both converges and mingles. Perhaps, as those blest with superabundance of faithful love often end by deserving it, Mr. Rochdale may grow worthy, not only of his wife, but of his mother, in time. Mrs. Rochdale is quite an old lady now. You rarely meet her beyond the lane where her small house stands; which she occupies still, and obstinately refuses to leave. But, meeting her, you could not help turning back for another glance at her slow, stately walk, and her ineffably-beautiful smile-a smile which, to a certain she always leans, and whose horse is seen daily at her gate, with a persistency equal to that of a young man going a-courting. For people say in our village that the squire, with all his known affection for his good wife, is as attentive as any lover to his beloved old mother, who has been such a devoted mother to him. ty, would rest on the gentleman upon whose arm ping! That Charley! how he bobbed in and bobbed out-stopping now at this window-then in the middle of the pavement to admire "a noble span of horses"-then to be jostled, pushed here, then there, while they laughed till they cried at a monkey which an organ-grinder was carrying about! And I, as bad as they, was equally amused at the cunning creature till, on looking up, I saw two gentlemen apparently enjoying our verdancy as much as we did the wonderful tricks of the monkey. At last we tore ourselves away. Poor rustics, we do not see a monkey every day! One want exists at the manor-house-there are no children. For some things this is as well; and yet I know not. However, so it is; and since it is, it must be right to be. When this generation dies out, probably the next will altogether have forgotten the fact, that the last Mr. Rochdale made what society ignominiously terms a low marriage." I AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF A FROM THE DIARY OF A LADY. AUG. 7, 183-: PAST 10, P.M. AM very weary, but I must write out the incidents of this day while fresh upon my memory. What a pleasant one, what a memorable day it has been to me! The boys deserved it well; how beautifully they acquitted themselves at the examination of the Grammar School, and how admirably they spoke in the evening. Fred so calm, self-possessed, and gentlemanly; Charley so bright and buoyant-so full of fun; how his eyes sparkled and told the humor in his speech long before he pronounced the words! But let me begin at the beginning. We rose at the break of day. Honney and I washed and dressed them nicely. Every thing, even to the little linen gloves that Charley hates so much, was complete. Then we sent them to breakfast while I made my toilet. I had just finished my cup of coffee when the .omnibus came for us, and we left the cottage as quiet as if no one had risen; for every member of the household would slumber long after we came away except Honney. She, I believe, never sleeps: always ready, always promptbless you, Honney! We reached the cars in ample time; quite sufficient to enable Charley to get the genealogy of a fine brown pup a pleasant-looking farmer was taking along with him. The man was so pleased with the little fellow that they chatted away the whole distance to Newark, and it was quite pathetic to see the farewell between them. We soon found ourselves at the ever-pleasant, much-beloved Astor. There we found cousin Jamie, Mr. J-, and Judge B. They welcomed me to the city once more; admired my boys greatly. Wasn't I happy? But, poor rustic that I am, I could not enjoy their conversation, the noise was so great, the confusion so intolerable. Who would believe one could become so truly uncitified in eighteen short Who should I see coming out of a store but Mrs. W—, as usual charmingly dressed. She looked me full in the face and her eyes fell, while I was on the point of rushing up to her with open arms. Simpleton that I am, to forget we have lost so much money in these commercial bouleversements as to be obliged to retire to the country to economize. Besides, how could she speak to me at that time of day in Broadway?-me, little rustic, in my black silk dress, plain straw bonnet, and simple black scarf, To be sure, I had neat gloves and boots on: more than she had, with all her finery. She never was complete in the fullest dress; always something wanting. Fool that I was, to feel such a heartache because I was not remembered by a fashionable woman. How could I expect her to remember that my house had been open to her at all hours; how she had walked in and out, drinking and eating, and using my carriage as if it had been her own. To be sure she wrote me a long note after we went to the country to ask how large a house we had; what sort of company, rides, walks, and all that. But when I answered that our house was a cottage, pleasant and roomy, but with no spare bedrooms; that I had too much to do at home to be able to judge of the society about me; that I was busy preparing my henery, I never heard from her again. Heigh-ho, it is sad to be forgotten thus! One's vanity is not gratified at finding we were valued for our money and clothes. Thus I moralized as we went up Broadway. We were going to a toy-shop. Who should be there but Mrs. C———. She was busy selecting some fancy article. I had just received one lesson, and I am a very apt scholar. So she looked at me as if she had never seen me before in all her life; and I looked as calmly at her. Could she have forgotten that dreary night when her savage drunken husband turned her into the street, and she took refuge with me; and how I wept for her mortification, and took her down to the boat at early dawn, loaning her money to get her off to her friends at Philadelphia before the Uppertendom could get hold of the circumstance? As we anticipated, we mystified them all until a peace was patched up. Well, perhaps she does right not to remember I absolutely trembled when I found myself such disagreeable contretemps; but I could nevonce more in Broadway, but I soon got into the or have overlooked such acts of kindness. Hapvortex, and whirled on like the rest. Such shop-py those who can wipe off their memories as a months? school-boy does his slate! I wonder if their con- from their softened shadows in the calm blue sciences are as tractable! waters. She was looking at a box of games-the very Long we walked, and looked, and took in the thing we had come after, and the last one in the beautiful scene for memory to paint; at least store. However, I said nothing, while Charley for me, for many a day when probably I may be selected his marbles-those many-colored al- making bread or feeding chickens. Well! supleys; Fred took a top, and his share of "these pose it does intrude-what then? It would be beauties;" and I chose a light carriage-whip more beautiful from the contrast to the employwhich I shall want for use when we drive into ment. What a fool I am to think so repiningtown. Charley "could carry it finely," he said.ly of matters and things! When I lived in the Then we must get a small china tea set for Dol-city I thought it vulgar to be seen on the Batly's "tea fights," the commission from he little girls. All this while Mrs. Clingered over the box, but in truth watching me. At last she said-in her deprecating tone of voice "Oh, Mr. Bonfanti, you ask too much for this box. I positively can not take it;" and she pushed the box away. "I'll take it, if you please, Mr. Bonfanti," said I, laying the full price down. He wrapped it up, and as we left the store, Fred whispered, “Oh, mamma, how very angry that lady looked!" tery; and now, because my eyes are open to the exquisite charms of nature, I hate to confess to myself that I am wiser and happier for it. Heigh-ho! we are strangely made. We walked down leisurely to the boat for Jersey City. What a number of bundles we had, to be sure! I never could have believed it till they were collected; but by filling my pocket, the boys' pockets and their hats, and dividing the parcels between us, we got along nicely. I really would have pardoned any of the upper ten for not acknowledging me as we went down to the boat. I looked very like "a hewer of wood and a drawer of water" with my arms full-but they were all paid for: that was something! It seemed that I was doomed to be "cut" on all sides this day. Rose Y- passed by just as we left the store; but her vail required fixing when she saw me. I don't wonder at that, for her father caused my husband to lose ten thou- Early as it was, the boat was nearly full. sand dollars. He failed; so did we. He still However, we got seats. At the end of the bench lives in great style in his up-town house, and nearest to Charley sat a very fine-looking-realwe in a cottage in the country, having given up ly very handsome-gentleman, reading a newsevery thing to pay our debts. I wonder how paper. I thought I had time to take a peep at she would act if I reminded her that she never Jane's letter. If I had had it on the Battery, repaid me the advance I made to enable her to what a nice place it would have been to have settle her bill at Newport summer before last. read about the Tuileries and Paris; but I reI'll write to her to-morrow just for the fun of ceived it after our return to the Astor. I the thing. Goldsmith says, "If you can con- thought, "Now I'll just take a peep." It was fess your poverty the severity of the sting is five minutes to the starting-time. I had reachpartly removed." I'll try the prescription. I ed the bottom of the page. She was telling me was rich then, and had money to loan; now it of the annoyances she had with the crabbed old is supposed, and rightly too, that there is no-man, her husband. "That's for marrying for thing more to be got out of us. "N'importe," said I; "money never gave me happiness. Adversity, like the venomous toad, has a jewel in her head,” and I have learned many excellent lessons by its light, for which I am very thankful, so I will not look again at any one as I walk this day, and I shall prevent them from compromising themselves. money." I looked up, and Master Charley was off. "Fred, where's your brother?" said I. How could Fred know? He was deep in one of the "Nights"-he was far away in Araby the Blest. "Now," said I, "you must mind the bundles while I go and hunt him up." After pushing and "Please, ma'am-ing," and "Thank you, SirWe then went into a book-store; bought the ing" through the crowd, I found the chap perched Arabian Nights, and a book of fairy tales for up on somebody's carriage that was going over the long winter evenings; then to the dry-goods in the boat, and trying the efficacy of the new stores for tapes, needles, cotton, etc. [See Ex-carriage-whip. I coaxed him down, and got pense-book.] We then returned to the Astor and lunched. How could we leave the city without going down to the Battery? What would people do without that most beautiful of walks? All the up-town parks in the world could never equal it. How crowded it was with such handsomely-dressed people! The bay, the shores, the dancing sunbeams through the glorious trees; the steamboats; the ships of the line; the small craft, like sea-gulls flitting here and there. Oh, it was surpassingly beautiful! The day, too-so cool for August; one of those days when one might paint earth and sky him safely back, and placed myself between him and Fred, and resumed my letter. Jane gets the value of the postage in writing, if nothing else. "Mamma! mamma!" said Charley, "this is no steamboat; there is not a bit of smoke coming out of it!" "No," said I, "it goes by horse-power. Keep still, and I'll tell you by-and-by." "Horses, mamma! Where are the horses ?" "Out on deck," said I. "Don't worry so." Jane was telling me in the letter of a cruel piece of scandal about a poor girl, and begging |