II.

A NEW ENGLAND TEA-TABLE.

TRAVELED friend once said to me, "To enjoy the day's meals in perfection, one should breakfast in England, dine in Paris, and sup in New England." Mrs. Divine's tea-table-where my last letter left me-abundantly verified a part of the assertion. It stood in one end of the long, shadowy kitchen, in front of the lean-to door, commanding a view of orchard and hillside; and was, in itself, as pretty a bit of color as an artist, curious of such matters, might hope to find in a long day's journey. There were biscuits. of the whiteness and lightness of new fallen snow, and butter glowing with the bright yellow of early cowslipstransparent jellies and preserves, of rich, deep tints of scarlet and purple-clear, amber-hued honey, still undisturbed in its close waxen cells-pink slices of tonguecrimson shavings of dried beef-creamy, crumbly cheeseemerald pickles-golden custards-a pair of pies-a bewil dering variety of cakes-and a glass of roses in the midstthe last being a contribution from Mrs. Divine's pretty granddaughter Alice. Over this bright picture, Bona and Mala had a characteristic "brush."

"How wonderfully has God contrived even the commonest details of life for enjoyment, if one stops to think of it," said the former. "For example, in this matter of eating."

MALA (indifferently). I don't see it. Of course, He must provide some method of sustaining the life He has created.

BONA. But He might have done it so differently! For instance, we might have had a hole in the top of our heads, or between our shoulders, with a lid to it, wherein a servant, hurrying by, should drop a piece of raw meat, and a few earth-incrusted potatoes, just as he would fling coals on a fire. Whereas, in a family meal, the eye is fed with beauty, the body with strength, the affections with loved companionship, the mind with cheerful interchange of thought, and the soul with content and thankfulness to God!

MALA. Umph! I think your supposed arrangement would have suited me as well! It would have saved a vast Ideal of time and work.

BONA. And of refinement and sympathy, and labors of love, and social culture, and delightful memories. No prodigal son, feeding on husks in a far country, would have thought longingly of the abundance and delights of his father's table; and there would have been one tender, touching parable the less, to lead men's wandering, hungry souls back to the Universal Father!

As I seated myself at the table, I bent my head for a moment, according to my wont, which the keen eye of Mrs. Divine did not fail to observe. "If you'll say that aloud, Miss Frost, I'll be much obliged to you," she said quickly. "As there's only women folks here, perhaps you won't mind doing it."

The grace being said, I inquired, "But why should I mind if there were men here, Mrs. Divine? That is, of course, if none of them would assume the duty."

The good old lady looked at me sharply over her spectacles. "I have lived sixty years in this changing world," said she, "and seen the coming-up of a good many newfangled things, but I never heard a lady say grace aloud before. Not but that it seems right and proper enough among women-but I cannot conceive what would make her do it before a tableful of men."

"The grace of God, I hope,” said I, meditatively. “Or it might be that mushroom courage which springs up to the help of most people in an emergency; yet is neither Divine inspiration nor strength of will. At least, I am by no means certain that it was not that, in my case."

Mrs. Divine looked a mute inquiry.

"It never happened to me to officiate as chaplain for a 'tableful of men' more than once," I answered, “though I have done it, several times, in the presence of a masculine, or two; who, by reason of his youth or irreligion, could not be expected to say grace himself. That once was in Michigan. Travelling in a sparsely settled portion of the State, it befell me to stop for a night at the house of a devout Methodist sister; who, having satisfied herself that I was not altogether a 'dweller in the tents of Kedar,'—to use her own expression,-entertained me with a lengthy account of her religious experience, and beset me with questions of doctrine and duty. Among other things she bewailed herself that the family meals were eaten unblessed, as she was a widow, and none of her sons 'converted.' " For, of course, I could not ask a blessing myself,' she concluded. 'Why not?' said I, 'I do not see the impropriety.' 'But I have five grown up sons and two farm hands; they would laugh at me!' 'I think not,' said I; 'certainly not, when they were once accustomed to it.' 'Would you do it, in my place?' 'Without a doubt.' And I thought no more of the matter until, at the table, with the five stalwart sons on the one hand, and the farm hands and female 'help' on the other, I was called upon by my hostess to 'ask a blessing.' I confess I was slightly disconcerted, for an instant; but I said the grace composedly enough, nevertheless, and the five unconverted sons did not laugh."

"And that reminds me," said Mrs. Divine, "of an incident-a pretty little incident-in one of Sir Walter Scott's novels, I think it's in 'Redgauntlet.' It's your turn to look surprised now; but, really, it's the only book where I

ever read of a lady's saying grace before men,—and I've read a good many books in my day."

There was no doubt she had. Her talk was full of chance allusions, and odd scraps of information, that showed a confirmed, though desultory, habit of reading. Yet the desultoriness was probably less a matter of choice than a necessity of the case, for the family library contains little beside a heap of old almanacs and newspapers, yellow as ancient parchment,-a set of Hannah More's works, that might have crossed the Atlantic with the first Divine that settled in America,-a "Scott's Commentary," well thumbed,-a "Josephus," a "Pilgrim's Progress," minus one cover and some leaves,—a History of the United States," and the "Statutes of Connecticut." So that Mrs. Divine must have satisfied, or appeased, her intellectual hunger with such miscellaneous books as chance has flung within her reach.

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She presided at her tea-table in the most cheery, hearty, and informal way; often beginning a sentence in her chair, and finishing it, in a raised voice, from the pantry, whither she had strayed in search of a knife or spoon, or an additional viand wherewith to allure my slow appetite. Opposite to her sat an upright, angular, severe figure, which I took to belong to the respectable sisterhood of old maids, until it was introduced to me as Mrs. Prescott, a widowed daughter of the house; my own vis-a-vis being the only child of the same, Alice Prescott,-a shy, blue-eyed maiden, who never once ventured to look me in the face, and only answered me, when I spoke to her, in nervous monosyllables. The "men folks," I was informed, would sup later; and would have laughed to scorn an invitation to satisfy their labor-whetted appetites with the cates and dainties whereon we had feasted. "No, indeed," said Mrs. Divine. "The cold boiled pork and beef and potatoes, left from dinner, with plenty of bread and butter and apple pie, is what they want."

Tea over, I was kindly advised to prepare for the night's vigil, by getting an hour's rest. So I underwent a kind of figurative burial in a huge heap of downy feathers, let my head sink into a soft unsubstantiality of pillow; and, while listening to a rambling talk between Bona and Mala, slid into a confused and stifled sleep, perturbed with dreams of a time and a person that it is the business of my waking hours to forget.

A little before nine, I rose, donned a loose, thick wrapper, best adapted of anything in my wardrobe to the chill watches of a night near the end of May, up here among the hilltops (yet not without misgivings lest its bright hue and flowered border should seem incongruous with the place where my watch was to be kept), and went down to the kitchen. It was a cheery picture upon which I entered. The weather was still cool enough for an evening fire on the hearth, and its dancing blaze reddened the dingy walls and the dark oaken ceiling, played at hide-and-seek with the shadows in the corners, laughed at its own reflection in the pewter plates of the dresser, and lit up with a ruddy glow the sun-browned, strong-featured faces around it. Mrs. Divine sat at one corner of the hearthstone, mending certain coarse garments by the light of a tallow candle; -the candlestick being upheld by a quaint, primitive piece of furniture which she called a "candle-stand;" consisting of an upright post, on three legs, with a cross-bar at top, capable of being raised or lowered at pleasure; to one end of which cross-bar the candlestick was hung, and to the other the snuffers. Opposite to her sat a white haired, dreamy-visaged personage, known universally as "Uncle True,"—who merits a more extended description, and shall get it in some future epistle. In a shadowed corner, Mrs. Prescott sat and knitted with the grim energy that characterizes all her movements; and by the table, two young men were amusing themselves with a game of checkers. But all these were subordinate to the central figure of the