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the truth; and, if a moment's pain be thus given, the passing cloud breaks almost as soon as it is perceived; no tempests are suffered to gather in the distance, and the heiress constantly congratulates herself that she chose not the handsomest, the cleverest, or the most fashionable, but the most truthful, of her "wooers."

Of these wooers I have but little to say. Captain Nesbitt is on the point of marriage with a middleaged widow of good fortune; he was successful in impressing her with the belief that he must ultimately inherit his uncle's property; but she was more cautious than ladies of fewer years and less experience might have been, and made so many inquiries about the state of health of the old gentleman, that his nephew was obliged to improvise an

apoplectic fit for him! This intelligence caused the widow to fix the day; but she is providing a very limited trousseau, since she anticipates the "melancholy pleasure" of giving large orders, in the course of a few weeks, at one of the "Mansions of Grief" in Regent Street!

Talbot and Stratford seldom meet; indeed, if one becomes introduced into a family, the other almost invariably ceases to visit there. However, there are two points in which they show great sympathy and congeniality of mind. They particularly dislike to hear of the failure of a new piece at the theatre ; and there is no work for which they feel such unmitigated detestation, as one which still engrosses much of the public notice-the tragedy of the "Russian Brothers!"

INTERVENTION.

A SEQUEL TO "PLEASING THE PARISH."*

BY THE AUTHOR OF "MISS BREMER'S VISIT TO COOPER'S LANDING," "GETTING INTO SOCIETY," "WOOING THE WIDOW," ETC.

"If you don't like it, let it alone," is a very excellent and pithy aphorism, when the advice can be followed.

In politics now, your non-interventionists are having the game mostly to themselves, and, as we write, are spending the money contributed by the sovereign people for the specific purpose of lawmaking, in very flourishing, and, for the most part, eloquent, denunciations of a course no one ever intended to pursue; enlivened or relieved by an occasional pause to pass the appropriations of the aforesaid funds to their own especial pocket-money.

In fashion, moreover, the system answers very well. There is that recent innovation, the vest, with its close fitness to an elegant figure, the coquettish roll of the collar, the jaunty pockets, the richly jewelled or enamelled buttons. What right has Prudery to deny its assumption by our sex, or to urge that it is unfeminine to imitate any garment that has been sacred to the wardrobe masculine heretofore? Are not the close corsages still left to choice? Has any one denied the shrinking conservative free election?

And society, with its sparkling current of wit, and beauty, and style; who has a right to point out the quicksands of wasted time, and the wreck of reputation, the detraction and sarcasm that barbs the arrows of repartee, the selfishness that lurks under the blandest proffers of service, or the honeyed flatteries that fall so soothingly on the ear of the novice? If the cavillers have looked beneath the surface, and cannot have the heart or conscience to remain one of the gay throng, society will not miss their withdrawal! Their places can be easily, and

* See "Lady's Book" for January, 1852. VOL. XLV.-4

perhaps more pleasantly, filled! Society is impatient of strictures, and has no leaning towards the reading of homilies. It is a system in which no Lent is recognized, and the mad revellers of the Carnival do not chose ashes for their adornment.

So says the mere observer; and yet one cannot always follow the advice so complacently offered. The rector's wife found it so, when she would gladly have stepped aside for the retirement of her home, the simple round of domestic joys and pleasures. Her son-for the nursery had its cradle now; her pretty Etta, full of all winning, childish ways-her husband, with his ever-affectionate manner, and their united tastes, gave all that she could wish of interest and variety to her life. Particularly when she found so little pleasure in the formal visiting which she was expected to pursue. The frigid morning calls; the tea-drinkings, rarely enlivened by music or rational conversation, and never by dancing; but, nevertheless, the weary round must be gone through, or offence would be given; and, where the congregation was so large, invitation folPowed invitation with never-ceasing regularity. The Christmas week at Mrs. Lovel's had been an oasis in her social existence. Her host and hostess, in themselves delightful, had gathered a pleasant circle about them, and, in this charming domesticated intimacy, each seemed to contribute their utmost to the general enjoyment. Mrs. Stone had particularly liked Miss Lovel, and Dr. Howell and his young wife, the last a niece of their host, and, when they separated, had said that she hoped to meet them often, as they were both residents of the city. She had breathed a congenial atmosphere, more like that of her own home, and her new friends promised

Place,

to see her frequently. She returned to invigorated and refreshed by change of scene and society, and quite prepared to do all that was right and proper in her difficult position as the rector's wife, to bear the affronts of Mesdames Jenkins and Skimpton with sweetness as well as composure, and try, if possible, to regain the good-will of the offended parties.

It is the work of Sisyphus to keep up a large round of acquaintances in a city. No sooner do you begin to congratulate yourself that you have nearly paid a list of owing visits, than you find half of them already returned by people that have more leisure or fewer acquaintances than yourself, and the toilsome labor is to be recommenced. Mrs. Jones reminds you that you have owed her neighbor, Mrs. Smith, a call since before Christmas. Mrs. Brown's gray beaver recalls her sister-in-law, Mrs. Green, and her friend, Mrs. White, to your recollection. Mrs. Thompson offers to go with you, and return visits in her set, which you had overlooked when you were in that neighborhood; and, though you are fully aware that neither Mrs. Smith, Mrs. White, nor Mrs. Green care one whit to see you, or would do more for your memory than a ceremonious call of condolence on surviving relatives, you are equally sure of their displeasure and its gossiping effects of unpopularity, if you do not keep up the acquaintance.

Therefore, as we have said before, Mrs. Stone could not "leave it alone," much as she "did not like it." "Popularity was a duty with her," said Mrs. Skimpton, the first visit she paid to the offended lady, with all sincere desires for pacific measures, and a consequent humility of deportment.

"Her husband's usefulness depended on it, unity in church measures depended on it," she urged still more vehemently, emphasizing her remark with a decided tap of her gold thimble upon the work-table before her. "For the good of the church, every clergyman's wife ought to sacrifice her own private views to popularity!”

Poor Mrs. Stone! How little she had realized the vast responsibility thrown upon herself by her husband's acceptance of the call of St. John's Parish!

Mrs. Skimpton held her hand to the light, and took up the stitches of the thin place she was darning. Mrs. Skimpton considered economy a chief virtue, and therefore mended the stockings of the household; she could not trust it to any one else; and the parlor window-seat was therefore frequently adorned with a heaped-up willow basket of ungraceful hose.

"Speaking of that reminds me," she continuedthough what was the train of association Mrs. Stone in vain attempted to discover-"that the reason I advised you to have the Venetian pattern on the stair-carpet, is that the threads are so much closer, and it wears longer. But I noticed, the last morning I called at your house, that it is beginning to

go." (No wonder, with the multitude of feet that trod the way to Dr. Stone's study, where he was never secure from interruption.)" When you have it taken up-I suppose you will begin to clean in April-you must go over it carefully, and darn all the thin places, being particular to use worsted of the same color in every thread. Just now I observed the hall door open, just before you came over; it was when Dr. Jackson was let in, you remember: Mary often leaves the door open for ten minutes together. She is a careless creature; I would never put up with her. Any one might have gone into your parlors, and carried off dear knows what all. But, as I intended to say, the oilcloth seems to have worn very badly. You should have chosen one of the last year's patterns. The colors have had time to dry in, and it wears twice as well. I never chose a fashionable oilcloth for that reason."

Mrs. Skimpton seemed to forget that she had urged Mrs. Stone to this particular purchase, assuring that "stone colors wore better than any others, and were the most fashionable for entrances now."

However, she had condescended to offer her advice once more, and Mrs. Stone saw in it an omen of good. Mrs. Skimpton had used her eyes in all her late visits at the rectory, but had closed her lips in a painful, but, nevertheless, firm silence with regard to what she saw. But Mrs. Stone asking her advice about the baby's cloak, in the commencement of her call, had somewhat molified her; the fair had been numbered with "accomplished efforts," and their unusual success, realizing nearly two thousand dollars, and a vote of thanks from the committee to herself, for her active superintendence, had made her more than usually forgiving. Besides, withholding advice was really too great a self-denial, involving a miracle of self-control, particularly with the constant opportunities her neighborship to Mrs. Stone presented.

Miss Angelica Tuttle also renewed her visits when she heard the Lovels had become friends of Mrs. Stone; for she had always wished to be intimato with them, not that she exactly liked their society, but that it was considered exclusive-a far greater charm than a lavish display of wealth and luxury. Miss Little, who was now devoting all her energies in behalf of the "Female Auxiliary Society, for the Evangelization of Southern Italy," condescended to call and solicit the aid of the rector's wife in this important undertaking; and, as the summer advanced, there was a truce at least to hostilities. Mrs. Stone began to be sorry that she had troubled her husband with any of the past discomforts, and to think she "might be happy yet."

Autumn came, with the return of the birds of passage, the opening and cleaning of houses, the putting down of carpets, and the putting away of brown Holland covers. Mrs. Stone had paid a short visit to her own home, and found much to occupy her in housekeeping on her return. She

looked over the card-basket in dismay, at the accumulation not only of cards, but notes of inquiry, and notification, and invitation, that awaited response: "The Union Benevolent would hold a meeting for the election of officers on October 14th."

"The Evangelical Society had chosen her as Secretary."

"The Treasurer of the Seaman's Friend' would be obliged for her aid to assist in soliciting subscriptions."

"A special meeting of the Directors of the House of Industry' was earnestly requested."

"Mrs. Tuttle's compliments, and would Mrs. Stone fix a day for visiting the 'Foster Home?""

Mrs. Jenkins solicited a subscription for the silver pitcher about to be presented, as a mark of respect, to the lady of "our lamented pastor," the widow of Dr. Naylor's predecessor.

"Mrs. Smith's compliments, and would Mrs. Stone be so good as to look over the pamphlets relating to the shocking atrocities of the Thugs of India, and return them as soon as possible? Mrs. S. would be pleased if Mrs. Stone could prepare a short and pithy abstract of them for the next week's 'Church Witness.""

Mrs. Jones would call an afternoon early next week, to finish visiting the district assigned to her in the Dorcas distribution. "Mrs. Jones was sure Mrs. Stone would feel it a great privilege to become acquainted with some of the pensioners of this admirable church institution."

A subscription was solicited by the committee appointed to report on the expediency of establishing a "Church Home" for colored orphans.

Mrs. Stone spread out the communications in dismay; she had not yet opened half of them. It is so wearisome to commence an accumulated round of duties, when every day has its "sufficient evil!" Yet there was Mrs. Skimpton's warning sounding in her ears, as distinct as when first uttered: "For the good of the church, every clergyman's wife ought to sacrifice her own private views to popularity."

But there was one invitation she was not at all disinclined to accept: "Mrs. Howell would see a few friends very socially at tea. She must beg Mrs. Stone not to disappoint her." Miss Little had fixed on the same evening for a meeting of the managers of the "Female Auxiliary," at her house. Yes, it was the same date, "Thursday, October 11th." Mrs. Stone compared them twice, and then sat in deep deliberation. She had always liked Mrs. Howell; she was sure of meeting a pleasant circle at her house, like that of Elmwood. Perhaps Miss Lovel would be there; and she should so enjoy her music! On the other hand, she had never approved of Miss Little's society, thinking the "Evangelization of Southern Italy" a work the ladies of Philadelphia were not specially called to; at any rate, while there was so much ignorance and destitution immediately around them. It had always reminded her

of Sidney Smith's celebrated retort, "Madam, the Fegee's are at your own door!" If she accepted the membership and managership at all, it was as 66 a sacrifice" to the Moloch of "popularity," which, gaunt and spectral, ever rose before her. Besides, she had opened Mrs. Howell's note first, and mentally resolved to go. Could not that be considered "a previous engagement?" We cannot much wonder at Mrs. Stone's affirmatory decision; nevertheless, as often as a thought of it came to her mind, it was accompanied by an uncomfortable feeling of disquiet, not very unlike a conscientious scruple, which destroyed all the pleasure of anticipation.

But, seeing that "Harry" was comfortably asleep, and charging the careful nurse with two unneces-sary cautions at least, kissing Etta's rosy cheek, turned towards the light, as she lay with one little arm embracing the rounds of her crib-Mrs. Stone descended to the parlor, to await her husband's leisure as escort. But, in the hall, she was met by Mrs. Skimpton's maid Eunice, who shared in many of the peculiarities of her mistress, either from natural sympathy or the power of association. "Mrs. Skimpton had sent over to see if she should call and take her to Miss Little's, where the committee met; she thought Dr. Stone might be engaged, as there was a light in the study, and she knew Mrs. Stone would not like to be disappointed in going."

The sharp eyes of Eunice seemed to pierce the unhappy lady through and through, as she said, in a faltering tone, that it would not be possible for her to go to Miss Little's that evening. She was sure a full report of her toilet would be given to Mrs. Skimpton, and it certainly was not one intended for a quiet evening at home.

The bang which the departing Eunice gave the street door thrilled every nerve with a dread of "evil to come."

Sitting with hood in hand, awaiting her husband, Mrs. Stone half resolved not to go; but she was glad she had not given way to it, when the warm welcome of Mrs. Howell and Miss Lovel laid all thoughts of Mrs. Skimpton and her displeasure at rest for the evening. There were about twenty present, all intimate family friends, except the young bride of Mrs. Howell's cousin, to whom the company was given. The entertainment was tasteful, but simple, conversation lively and agreeable. Mrs. Stone forgot her "popularity," and seemed to grow young again. Dancing was proposed at the close of the evening; but neither Mrs. Howell nor Miss Lovel played quadrilles, and none of the young ladies could be spared from their partners. Mrs. Stone could play at sight; "would she be so very good?" begged Jeannie Howell, the doctor's sister. Before her marriage, Mrs. Stone had been in general request at all their little gatherings as musician, the marked and excellent time which distinguished her style being so well suited to the lively measures. Certainly; Mrs. Stone would be very happy to obligo

them. She rose at once, and, going to the piano, commenced a favorite set from recollection, every note recalling the pleasant days of her girlhood, and the associations which had brightened it. Then Jeannie Howell placed a new polka before her, and some of the young ladies were soon circling in the lively dance. A Schottish followed by Jeannie and her brother; none of the others had learned the then new figure. Mrs. Stone played this also, still reading at sight, and was warmly thanked for her good

nature.

On the whole, it was a delightful evening; and Dr. Stone was pleased by his wife's good spirits, when she came home escorted by young Mr. Howell. He had been detained on parish business, and found it impossible to return for her. "Southern Italy" did not cross the mind of the rector's wife, except as a geographical existence, until she saw Mrs. Skimpton going to market the next morning. The new board of managers for the society was reported in the "Church Witness" the following week. Mrs. Stone saw, with a feeling of relief, that her name was altogether omitted. She little knew the storm it portended in her horizon.

Through cold and snow, Mrs. Stone pursued the weary tenor of her visits and engagements. Often a whole morning was lost by a continual succession of visitors. She was obliged to be ready to receive them at an instant's notice. Once she placed it upon record that, from nine in the morning until ten at night, there had been visitors in the house; but it was not a solitary instance. Though able to snatch but few moments for housekeeping, it was always necessary to provide for dinner company. It can readily be seen that, with the time occupied in societies and calls, there was little left for the nursery or sewing. It was well her old nurse, Etta's nurse, was so entirely trustworthy; after the morning's bath, accomplished usually before breakfast, poor Harry saw very little of his mamma. It must have been the same, if her place had been filled by an untrained Irish servant-girl. Sewing she was obliged to give out; but here she always made it a point to seek those in need of employment, and to pay them liberally. It was not so much physical fatigue-though this was all Dr. Stone dreaded, as he often insisted on her taking a carriage, when he saw her consulting a formidable list of people who lived at the extreme ends of the city-as the mental anxiety or harassment, lest something should be neglected, some unintentional offence given. Scarcely a Saturday night but that was shaded by a part of the week's engagements unfulfilled, and Monday brought its own duties in addition.

Mrs. Skimpton seemed to have passed over her neglect of Southern Italy; but Miss Little was still unforgiving. This Mrs. Stone was especially reminded of by the second annual report, in which was stated that, "notwithstanding the discouragement and cold neglect which the society had met

with, even in high places, and where it was least ex pected"--the italics as pointed as printer's ink could make them-" they had been prospered far beyond their humble deserts and expectations." Mrs. Skimpton, by repeated attacks upon Mary, Mrs. Stone's waiter, by special settings forth of her many delinquencies, with which she seemed unaccountably acquainted, had induced the rector's wife to discharge her, and take a sister of Eunice, highly recommended by herself, in the place. Judith was indolent and a slattern; but Mrs. Stone did not dare to discharge her, or even complain. She charitably supposed Mrs. Skimpton to be in ignorance of these faults; but as Judith, whenever most wanted, had "run over to see Eunice a moment," she had the pleasant apprehension of being always under her neighbor's surveillance. In this she was not mistaken; with the range of front windows, and the full daily report of Judith to her sister, Mrs. Skimpton was in ignorance of very few facts relating to the household economy of the rector.

"I don't see how she can reconcile it to her conscience," Mrs. Skimpton remarked to Eunice, as she stood looking over a tray of clean clothes that had just been brought up from the kitchen. "Such neglect is as bad as downright robbery of the poor: -just hand me that shirt, it wants a buttton on the waistband. Dear knows what would become of my house, if I let things go on so-one, two, three, four, five; there's one of these fine napkins wanting, Eunice. Put Miss Jane's clothes in the left-hand side of the upper drawer. Doesn't count the wash? I shouldn't think she would know when she had a clean pocket handkerchief-there-not the other side, and put the stockings in my basket. As long as I've kept house-twenty-seven years, next April -I never saw Monday morning without counting my clothes. A minister's wife ought to set a good example-there, just look; is not that young Sidney Howell ringing over the way? The second time this week. She 's never too busy to see any of that family; and they Presbyterians! Well, all ismy goodness, Eunice, don't fold those pillow-cases so! I should think you'd been with me long enough to know my ways-and he 's gone in, of course."

Mrs. Skimpton's chamber commanded a view of the rector's parlor. Eunice gave one curious look, following the example of her mistress, who seated herself at the stocking-basket, as her handmaid removed the empty tray. Mr. Howell had gone in, and Mrs. Stone just appeared from the back parlor to welcome him. In justice to Mrs. Skimpton, we must say that Eunice did not go over to borrow the pattern of her sister's cape, ten minutes after, at her suggestion.

Mrs. Stone was preparing for a tea-party at Mrs. Green's one evening late in February. The long and busy winter was almost through, and she was jaded in spirits and weary in body. Etta had been attacked with croup frequently of late, causing her

constant alarm; and not a day passed but some fresh domestic trial of temper arose, from the negligence or impertinence of Judith. She was weary of misapprehension from those around her, of half real, half imagined slights, and unkind remarks. A half finished report of the "Evangelical Society" lay on her writing-desk, beside a letter from home which she had just received, and watered with her tears. It was an exertion to dress and go out, still it was expected of her, and she must make the effort; though she would gladly have passed the evening in a dressing-gown in her own nursery. She did not anticipate any pleasure from the visit; she knew the stiff and formal circle she would meet, and she dreaded lest any should be there that she had offended by look, word, or deed. Dr. Stone did not seem to notice her dejection when he came in. His own tranquillity was disturbed. There had been a meeting of the vestry that afternoon. She longed to beg him to take her home; she had often checked this impulse; for she knew she had no right to attempt to influence him, when he was useful and satisfied with his choice of duty. As far as it was possible, she had spared him the knowledge of her own grievances, since her first lesson in "popularity."

Mrs. Green's guest-chamber, the reception-room, was filled with square and massive black walnut furniture. Nothing was out of place; for nothing looked as if it could be moved. There were stonecolored Venetian blinds at the windows; everything stiff, formal, and precise. The mistress of the place was the presiding genius, as one could see from her dress and manner, when she came in to welcome her guests. Cold, square, and undemonstrative, the visitors were ladies of her own heart, middle-aged, and many of them in mourning, with black kid gloves, as if it were a funeral, instead of a social gathering an adornment at once unnecessary, and in bad taste. Gloves have no place out of a fulldress party, and those mourning ought never to intrude. They sat in a stiff, unbroken line about the stereotyped parlor, the exact counterpart of hundreds we pass daily with Venetian blinds at the windows. The panel wall-paper, the mirrors, the candelabras, the chairs, the heavy sofas, the "whatnot," and the angular gas fixtures, are all there, if the blind was but drawn up. The very portraits of Mr. and Mrs. Green in the recesses, in their square gilt frames, would not be amiss in the parlor of Mrs. Brown or Mrs. Jones, having that family resemblance in coloring and posture which all portraits by third-rate artists bear to one another.

They talked of the weather: it was always freely discussed at Mrs. Green's tea-parties. Then the ladies who sat next to each other spoke of the bishop's last charity sermon, and commended his course, with frequent allusion to Bishop White and his mild paternal sway, the spirit of which, however, minds like theirs never could appreciate. The

alterations in St. Stephen's, the last "Church Witness," in turn suggested the topics of conversation until tea came in, with the best china and the new silver service. Mr. Green, a small, rather retiring gentleman, went around with the tray, and made the same formal inquiry of every lady present, "Black or green?" The toast was uncommonly hard, the crumpets crisper than crumpets were ever known to be before; but that was in their favor, every one agreed. It was such a relief from the dire necessity of keeping up a conversation! The solemn silence was broken only by the click of teaspoons, or an interjectional "Thank you," "If you please," "Quite sufficient!" Every lady seemed to consider herself fully employed in the onerous task of balancing her tea-cup, so as not to deluge her own or her neighbor's dress.

Mrs. Stone enjoyed the respite particularly; she had not been able to extract one gleam of intelligence, or to call up one flush of animation from her right-hand neighbor. It was such a relief, as she turned to deposit her empty plate on the tray, to find herself seized on conversationally, by a lady she had not noticed before; one of those who never weary of discussing one theme, and require only a good listener to be perfectly contented for the evening. How she had happened to be admitted to Mrs. Green's solemn convocation was a mystery; but Mrs. Stone gladly resigned herself to be talked to for the remainder of the evening.

Mrs. Campbell was one of those people who, out of mere indiscretion and goodness of heart, make more mischief than any other members of society, the professed evil-speaker not excepted. She heard everything, notwithstanding she talked so much; but she never heard things quite right. In her repetitions, she always managed to be mistaken either in the words or the circumstances of the occurrence. Her particular forte was telling her acquaintances what others said of them-always from the kindest motives-either to warn them, or to show how she had defended them. She always did take the part of the slandered one, the very warmth of her defence often doing more harm than the passing unkind remark she caught at; for that might have passed unnoticed, but for her zeal, which, of course, fixed it on the memory of the listeners.

"Why, I had no idea that was you, Mrs. Stone! I was admiring your collar while you were talking to Mrs. Lea. It's a lovely collar! I saw one at Levy's, the very mate to it, at four dollars," was Mrs. Campbell's first remark, which naturally suggested the second. "I shouldn't have noticed it, only Angelica Tuttle was with me, and she said-I remember now-that you had one like it. Yes, I recollect; and how provoked I was with her at the time for calling you extravagant, as I told her it was none of her business if you chose to pay ten. But she said a minister's wife ought to set an example to the whole parish, Mrs. Skimpton said; and it

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