bag," said Pauline whose ideas were all of an expensive kind.

"We shall see," said Hesse. "I think I shall keep my costume as a surprise - except from you, Cousin Julia. I shall want you to help me, but none of the others shall know anything about it till I come down-stairs."

This was a politic move on the part of Hesse. She was resolved to spend no money, for she knew that her winter had cost more than Uncle had expected, and more than it might be convenient for him to spare; yet she wished to avert discussion and remonstrance, and at the same time to prevent Mrs. De Lancey from giving her a new dress, which was very often that lady's easy way of helping Hesse out of her toilet difficulties. So a little seamstress was procured, and Cousin Julia taken into counsel. Hesse kept her door carefully locked for a day or two; and when, on the evening of the party, she came down attired as "My great-grandmother," in a shortwaisted, straight-skirted white satin; with a big ante-revolutionary hat tied under her dimpled chin; a fichu of mull, embroidered in colored silks, knotted across her breast; long, white silk mittens, and a reticule of pearl beads hanging from her girdle,- even Pauline could find no fault. The costume was as becoming as it was queer; and all the girls told Hesse that she had never looked so well in her life.

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Eight or ten particular friends of Pauline and Grace had arranged to meet at the De Lanceys', and all start together for the ball. The room was quite full of gay figures as My great-grandmother" came down; it was one of those little moments of triumph which girls prize. The doorbell rang as she slowly turned before the throng, to exhibit the back of the wonderful gored and plaited skirt. There was a little colloquy in the hall, the butler opened the door, and in walked a figure which looked singularly out of place among the pretty, fantastic, girlish forms,-a tall, spare, elderly figure in a coat of old-fashioned cut. carpet-bag was in his hand. He was no other than Uncle, come a day before he was expected.

A

His entrance made a little pause. "What an extraordinary-looking person!" whispered Maud Ashurst to Pauline, who colored, hesitated, and did not, for a moment, know what to do. Hesse, standing with her back to the door, had seen nothing; but, struck by the silence, she turned. A meaner nature than hers might have shared Pauline's momentary embarrassment, but there was not a mean fiber in the whole of Hesse's frank, generous being.

"Uncle! dear Uncle !" she cried; and, running forward, she threw her arms around the lean old

neck, and gave him half a dozen of her warmest kisses.

"It is my uncle," she explained to the others. "We did n't expect him till to-morrow; and is n't it too delightful that he should come in time to see us all in our dresses!"

Then she drew him this way and that, introducing him to all her particular friends, chattering, dimpling, laughing with such evident enjoyment, such an assured sense that it was the pleasantest thing possible to have her uncle there, that every one else began to share it. The other girls, who, with a little encouragement, a little reserve and annoyed embarrassment on the part of Hesse, would have voted Uncle "a countrified old quiz," and, while keeping up the outward forms of civility. would have despised him in their hearts, infected by Hesse's sweet happiness, began to talk to him with the wish to please, and presently to discover how pleasant his face was, and how shrewd and droll his ideas and comments; and it ended by all pronouncing him an "old dear." So true it is that genuine and unaffected love and respect carry weight with them for all the rest of the world.

Uncle was immensely amused by the costumes. He recalled the fancy balls of his youth, and gave the party some ideas on dress which had never occurred to any of them before. He could not at all understand the principle of selection on which the different girls had chosen their various characters.

"That gypsy queen looked as if she ought to be teaching a Sunday-school," he told Hesse afterward. "Little Red Riding Hood was too big for her wolf. And as for that scampish little nun of yours, I don't believe the stoutest convent ever built could hold her in for half a day."

It will

"Come with us to Mrs. Shuttleworth's. be a pretty scene, and something for you to tell Cousin Marianne about when you go back," urged Mrs. De Lancey.

"Oh, do, do!" chimed in Hesse. "It will be twice as much fun if you are there, Uncle!"

But Uncle was tired by his journey, and would not consent; and I am afraid that Pauline and Grace were a little relieved by his decision. False shame and the fear of "people" are powerful influences.

Three days later, Hesse's long, delightful visit ended, and she was speeding home under Uncle's

There is nothing like a long absence from home to open one's eyes to the real aspect of familiar things. The Sparlings-Neck house looked wofully plain and old-fashioned, even to Hesse, when contrasted with the elegance of Madison Avenue,— how much more so, she reflected, would it look to the girls!

She thought of Uncle's after-dinner pipe,—of the queer little chamber, opening from the diningroom, where he and Aunt chose to sleep,—of the green-painted woodwork of the spare bedrooms, and the blue paper-shades tied up with a cord, which Aunt clung to because they were in fashion when she was a girl; and for a few foolish moments she felt that she would rather not have her friends come at all, than have them come to see all this, and perhaps make fun of it. Only for a few moments; then her more generous nature asserted itself with a bound.

"How mean of me to even think of such a thing!" she told herself, indignantly; "to feel ashamed to have people know what my own home is like, and Uncle and Aunt who are so good to me. Hesse Reinike, I should like to hire some one to give you a good whipping! The girls shall come, and I'll make the old house look just as sweet as I can, and they shall like it, and have a beautiful time from the moment they come till they go away, if I can possibly give it to them."

To punish herself for what she considered an unworthy feeling, she resolved not to ask Aunt to let her change the blue paper-shades for white curtains, but to have everything exactly as it usually was. But Aunt had her own ideas and her pride of housekeeping to consider. As the time of the visit drew near, laundering and bleaching seemed to be constantly going on, and Jane, the old house-maid, was kept busy tacking dimity valances and fringed hangings on the substantial four-post bedsteads, and arranging fresh muslin covers over the toilet-tables. Treasures unknown to Hesse were drawn out of their receptacles, bits of old embroidery, tamboured tablecloths and " crazy quilts," vases and bow-pots of pretty old china for the bureaus and chimneypieces. Hesse took a long drive to the woods, and brought back great masses of ferns, pink azalea, and wild laurel. All the neighbors' gardens were laid under contribution. When all was in order, with ginger-jars full of cool white daisies and golden buttercups standing on the shining mahogany tables, bunches of blue lupines on the mantel, the looking-glasses wreathed with traveler's joy, and a great bowl full of early roses and quantities of lilies of the valley, the old house looked cosy enough and smelt sweet enough to satisfy the most fastidious taste.

Hesse drove over with Uncle to the station to meet her guests. They took the big carry-all, which, with squeezing, would hold seven; and a wagon followed for the luggage. There were five girls coming; for, besides Pauline and Grace, Hesse had invited Georgie Berrian, Maud Ashurst, and Ella Waring, who were the three special favorites among her New York friends.

The five flocked out of the train, looking so dainty and stylish that they made the old carry-all seem shabbier than ever by contrast. Maud Ashurst cast one surprised look at it and at the old white mare; she had never seen just such a carriage before; but the quality of the equipage was soon forgotten, as Uncle twitched the reins, and they started down the long lane-like road which led to Sparlings-Neck and was Hesse's particular delight.

The station and the dusty railroad were forgotten almost immediately,-lost in the sense of complete country freshness. On either hand rose tangled banks of laurel and barberries, sweet-ferns and budding grape-vines, overarched by tall trees, and sending out delicious odors; while mingling with and blending all came, borne on a shoreward wind, the strong salt fragrance of the sea.

"What is it? What can it be? I never smelt anything like it!" cried the girls from the city.

"Now, girls," cried Hesse, turning her bright face around from the driver's seat, "this is real, absolute country, you know, none of the makebelieves which you get at Newport or up the Hudson. Everything we have is just as queer and old-fashioned as it can be. You wont be asked to a single party while you are here, and there is n't the ghost of a young man in the neighborhood well, yes, there may be a ghost, but there is no young man. You must just make up your minds, all of you, to a dull time, and then you 'll find that it's lovely."

"It's sure to be lovely wherever you are, you dear thing!" declared Ella Waring, with a little rapturous squeeze.

I fancy that, just at first, the city girls did think the place very queer. None of them had ever seen just such an old house as the Reinikes' before. The white wainscots with their toothed moldings matched by the cornices above, the droll little cupboards in the walls, the fire-boards pasted with gay pictures, the queer closets and clothes-presses occurring just where no one would naturally have looked for them, and having, each and all, an odd shut-up odor, as of by-gone days — all seemed very strange to them. But the flowers and the green elms and Hesse's warm welcome were delightful; so were Aunt's waffles and wonderful tarts, the strawberries smothered in country cream, and the

cove oysters and clams which came in, deliciously stewed, for tea; and they soon pronounced the visit "a lark," and Sparlings-Neck a paradise.

There were long drives in the woods, picnics in the pine groves, bathing-parties on the beach, morning sittings under the trees with an interesting book; and when a north-easter came and brought with it what seemed a brief return of winter, there was a crackling fire, a candy-pull, and a charming evening spent in sitting on the floor telling ghoststories, with the room only lighted by the fitfully blazing wood, and with cold creeps running down their backs! Altogether, the fortnight was a complete success, and every one saw its end with reluctance.

"I wish we were going to stay all summer!" said Georgie Berrian. Newport will seem stiff and

tiresome after this."

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"I never had so good a time; never!" declared Ellen. "And, Hesse, I do think your aunt and uncle are the dearest old people I ever saw!" That pleased Hesse most of all. But what pleased her still more was when, after the guests were gone, and the house restored to its old order, and the regular home life begun again, Uncle put his arm around her, and gave her a kiss,— not a bed-time kiss, or one called for by any special occasion, but an extra kiss, all of his own accord.

"A dear child," he said; "not a bit ashamed of the old folks; was she? I liked that, Hesse." "Ashamed of you and Aunt? I should think

not!" answered Hesse, with a flush.

Uncle gave a dry little chuckle. "Well, well," he said, "some girls would have been; you were n't, that 's all the difference. You're a good child, Hesse."

IN the first part of our visit to Rome I remarked that the ancient city is now many feet below the level of the present streets. For centuries upon centuries, dust and rubbish of various kinds have gradually accumulated and formed a soil which has thus slowly piled itself upon old Rome, covering it all out of sight, excepting those portions of the ruins which were tall enough to keep above this rising tide of earth. In some parts of the city we may yet see the ruins of temples with the lower parts of the porticoes imbedded deeply in the soil, and wherever these old buildings have been excavated, the entrances and lower floors are far beneath the level of the streets, so that we have to go down to them by steps. Thus we must descend to reach the arena of the Colosseum, the whole lower part of this great building having been covered up in this way. This is the reason why we can still see, near the ground, the great iron bars which held the stones together. In the Middle Ages, when people used to come and take away this iron-work, all the bars which now remain were covered up, and thus protected, while of those in the exposed portions of the walls not one is left. This covering up of old Rome is a great disadvantage in some respects, for it has made necessary a vast deal of work and expense in excavating the ruins, but, on the other hand, it has been of great advantage in saving and protecting until modern times, not only portions of buildings, but great numbers of valuable statues, mosaics, and other works of art. In fact, nearly all the ancient Roman sculptures which we see in the galleries were preserved in this way, and it is very fortunate for us that they were; for, in the medieval times, every piece of ancient marble that could be found, no matter how beautifully it was sculptured, was either used for building or burned for lime. It is believed that some of the most valuable statues of antiquity were thus used to make mortar. Now, the work of excavation is going on all the time; the greatest care is taken of the ruins that are thus exposed to view; and every statue that is found, and even every broken-off hand or foot, is looked upon as a treasure. If I could believe that the people of the

twenty-fifth century would improve as much on us as we have improved upon the people of the Middle Ages, I should almost be sorry that I was born

so soon.

At some distance from the modern portion of the city, and near the river, is a rounded green hill, which is called Monte Testaccio. This hill is a very good example of how the surface of the ground can be gradually raised in the course of centuries. It is one hundred and sixty-four feet in height. It stands near the place where the ancient Roman wharves were situated, at which the ships bringing large jars and other pottery from Spain and Africa unloaded. Such jars as were broken were thrown or piled up here; and it is said that, at the end of the second century the mound was about eighty feet high. The fragments of these jars and of other pottery that was landed here have thus gradually formed a little mountain as high as the top of a tall church-steeple. It has been cut into in many places and found everywhere to consist of the same material, and so it may be said to be the largest object in the world that is formed of earthenware. It is long since any broken pottery has been added to the pile, and it is now covered over with soil, on which the grass grows green and luxuriant.

There is a church in Rome, called San Clemente, which is, in some respects, an exceedingly curious edifice. Here we find four buildings one on top of another. The uppermost is the present church, built in the year 1 108, and we shall see some interesting decorations of old-fashioned mosaic work on its walls and ceilings. But we shall not spend much time here, for there is another church below this, and under the surface of the ground, which we very much wish to see. This is a church of the early Christians which was first mentioned in the year 392. During one of the wars of the Middle Ages, the upper part of this building was entirely destroyed and the rest much damaged; and about twenty-four years afterward, the present church was built over it, and partly on its walls. A stair-way now leads down into this old church, and we can wander about the nave and aisles in which the early Christians used to worship. On the walls are a number of fresco paintings, representing Bible-scenes, and instances in the life of St. Clement, for whom the church was named. There are also other subjects, and some of these paintings