"No, mamma; I cannot degrade myself by such meanness ;-they are kind-hearted excellent people; the nice old Squire; I love him dearly. I did not say the fine woman that I saw there was a lady; you know I never call people that

I like ladies."

"O Zephina, you have such shockingly low tastes," in a piteous tone whined Mrs. Fanshaw. "I do not know what will become of you; I think I shall call on the lady myself."

"You, mamma! why should you?"

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Why, if her equipage is so splendid as you say it is, she must be somebody," was the reply.

"If it is the carriage and horses that you respect so much, you can call upon them at the tavern, for there is where I saw them," said Zephina.

"You are a very provoking girl, Zephina, and I can never make you understand these things." "O mamma, excuse my impertinence; I know it is wrong, but indeed I do see too plainly into the ways of the world; - I am old before my time."

Mrs. Fanshaw made no reply, but went to array herself to call on the stranger.

The style of Mrs. Fanshaw's dress somewhat resembled that of Zephina, though the materials

were not of such undeniable antiquity. The satin shoes, with which she saw fit to make her way among the stones, had to suffer; and her long veil, floating far behind her, caught repeatedly upon the briers by the road-side. From her sallow complexion, and the expression of discontent and affectation upon her countenance, one would have judged that the pure sources of health and happiness were lost to her; - that face it was painful to behold.

When she arrived at the farm-house, she had entirely forgotten the lady's name, and was obliged to inquire for Mrs. Morris. Beulah, who came to the door, said that her mother was not at home; she had gone to see a sick neighbour.

"Is the lady at home who is visiting here? Mrs. what is her name?

"Mrs. Whately?" said Beulah; "she is here. Will you walk in?

Mrs. Fanshaw did so; and, handing her card to Beulah, said; "That is a card, with my name on it, girl; give it to the lady." Then, as she took a seat in the little parlour, and glanced at the home-made carpet and plain furniture, the marked smile of contempt that distorted her mouth called up a rosy blush to the face of Beulah Morris.

As soon as Mrs. Whately had read the name, "Mrs. Zephaniah Fanshaw,"

she quietly laid

the card upon the table, saying, "Beulah, dear, please say to the lady, that, as I stay so short a time in Baxter, I receive no ceremonious visits."

Beulah gave the message very politely, and

Mrs. Fanshaw stalked out of the house with an air of offended pride, much more ridiculous than sublime.

"How did you like Mrs. Whately?" inquired Zephina.

"She was engaged, I presume; but the farmer's girl, not understanding etiquette, gave me a very singular excuse. It was not genteel in the person not genteel at all to send an apology; and I dare say the carriage is only a hired hack, after all."

This singular mode of reasoning amused Zephina exceedingly; but she made no reply. She went to her room and wrote a letter, which, early the next morning, was conveyed to the post-office, under the old oak-tree.

CHAPTER IV.

66

GIRLISH CORRESPONDENCE.

ZEPHINA'S LETTER.

DEAR, Sweet little Beulah, rose-bud of all rose-buds for me. Was n't it the funniest thing for mamma to call at your house? I laughed and laughed till the tears ran out of my eyes, to think how you would stare to see her coming up the yard. What a funny, funny world this is! I, poor I, am nothing but every-day stuff, just fit for every-day wear; and yet am to be made a lady, bon gré, mal gré, that is, whether I will or no; and you, dearest Beulah, who are of such nice, delicate stuff, that you are fit for Sundays and holydays, may live always in the country, and care not a fig what any body thinks of you, excepting those you love.

"Tell me all about that good woman, Mrs.

Whately. She has such a sweet voice, and such simple, natural manners, that I want to see her again very much. You know I have always lived in a large city till a short time since, and, of course, have seen a great many people. If there were more of them like Mrs. Whately, it would not be such a comical world as it is.

"Give my compliments to the green carriage and the black horses; they ought, after, or before, the owner, to command my respect. But somehow I do find it difficult to think any more of a person merely because they ride in a carriage, than if they went on foot.

"Tell the Squire that I did not love him for the nice things he gave me, but because he is such a dear, kind soul. Yet I confess to a love of the goodies' too. Now write as you promised, and put it in the post-office for your own

6

"ZEPHINA.

"P. S. Tell me, Beulah, did Mrs. Whately laugh at my forlorn old bonnet, with those old flowers, gone to seed ages ago?

The next morning Zephina flew to the old oak, and there upon the stone was a basket of cakes, and under the basket the following note.