But this was long ago, and I was a woman now, and a good deal sought after, as I said before, and some of my beaux were well off and good looking; and, if the truth must be spoken, Race had not paid me much attention lately, and did not seem to think as much of me as Ned Hassel did, and the other young men of our place. To be sure he worked very hard, for his father was sick a good while and died in debt, and their farm was mortgaged to 'Squire Stevens; and as Race was the only child, everything came upon him, and he was in the field early and late, trying to pay off the mortgage, and keep the old homestead for his mother. He was a good son—that everybody said; but he didn't visit 'round as much as some.

I sat so long under the apple tree thinking of all this, that I got quite cool and comfortable, and when Polly Jane called me in to dinner I felt good-natured again.

While we were eating dinner, brother Joe said, 'Dimpey, as soon as we get through haying the boys are going to have a drive to Spring Mountain, and take the girls up, for a picnic. Ned Hassel started it; I guess he wants to show off his sorrel horses; but that near horse of his is as skittish a creetur as ever I see—I wouldn't ride after it, if I was you.' 'No, no,' said father; 'Dimpey isn't going to have her neck broken by them beasts; Ned always drives 2.40, as he calls it, and he'll be sure to race with the other teams if they give him a chance.'

Now, if there is anything I do like, it is riding behind fast horses! Father and Joe drive so slow I'd almost as soon walk, but whenever Biel and I went off by ourselves we made the dust fly a little; it didn't hurt our horses a bit, for they were in good pasture all summer, and got as fat as pigs. I thought in a minute how much I'd like to go with Ned; but I knew Polly Jane was watching me, go I said, sort o' careless like, 'I guess Ned could keep his horses from running if he wanted to; but he hasn't asked me to ride yet; it will be time enough to say no when he does.' Biel looked up and gave me a wink, and Calanthy said, 'You must let me know a day or two before you are ready, Joe, so that I can get some nice things made for you; our biscuits weren't quite light last picnic, and I felt really ashamed of 'em.'

Calanthy is so thoughtful—I wish I was more like her.

After dinner was cleared away, I concluded I'd walk down to Preston—we live about a mile out of the village—and get a new ribbon for my round hat. I'm so glad the old pokey bonnets are gone but o' fashion—the round ones are much more becoming to young people. I thought perhaps I would meet some of the girls at the store, and hear more about the picnic—and my hat was getting shabby for want of new strings, whether or no. Just by the hay scales I met Jim Burt, the lame basketmaker, shuffling along as usual with his baskets slung on his back. Poor Jim was real simple, and couldn't do anything but weave baskets; he and his mother lived alone in Rocky Hollow, away t'other side of Preston; they were as poor as poverty, but Mrs. Burt managed to scramble along somehow, and keep a home for herself and Jim; he hadn't wit enough to take care of himself, but was very fond of his mother, and would do as she told him.

I said good day to Jim, and was passing on, for I felt in a hurry to get to the store, when he called after me, 'I say, Miss Dimpey! don't your folks want any baskets? Mother's deown sick, and can't drink milk, and I want to get her some tea, and I hain't got a cent o' money; she paid eout the last for sugar abeout a week ago.' Poor Jim always speaks as if his nose had been pinched together when he was a baby, and had never come apart since; but when I turned around he looked so sorrowful, my heart ached for him.

'What ails your mother, Jim?' said I.

'She's got some kind o' fever, and her head aches awful; she wants to drink all the time, but she won't eat nothin'. I fried a slice of pork real good for her, but she didn't eat a mite!'

'Well, Jim,' said I, 'go up to our house, and tell Miss Calanthy about your mother, and I guess she'll buy a basket; we want a new clothes-basket, come to think.'

I walked on, but somehow I did not feel so much like buying ribbons as before I met Jim. I couldn't help thinking of poor Mrs. Burt, without any comforts for sickness, and no one to take care of her but this half-witted son; however, I comforted myself by supposing the neighbors would not let her suffer, and that Calanthy would likely give Jim something good to take to her.

When I got to the store, who should be there but Abby Matilda Stevens and Rhody Mills! Abby is generally thought a beauty, because she has great black eyes that are always so bright and shiny I wonder the hens don't try and peck at them; then she is tall and slim waisted, and her hair is as black as a coal, and longer than common; but I never liked such dreadful sparkly eyes, do you? I think the kind that have a sort o' hazy look come into them—like the pond when a little summer cloud passes over the sun—are a great deal handsomer. However, I never dared to say so, for fear people might think I was jealous of Abby Matilda.

Rhody Mills is a very good-natured girl, and always ready for a frolic, and the moment she saw me she said, 'Here comes Dimpey Swift now;'—they had been talking about me, I guess;—'oh, Dimpey, are you going to the picnic on Spring Mountain?'

'Our boys were talking about it at noon,' said I; 'I suppose some of us will go—Polly Jane or I; I don't much think Calanthy will.'

'I wish we could go on horseback,' said Rhody; 'that would be real fun; but our Will says we must have a wagon to carry the baskets, so we had better all drive.'

'Who are you going with, Dimpey?' said Abby Matilda.

I knew well enough who would be likely to ask me, but as I had no invitation yet, I answered, 'Oh, Joe or Biel, I suppose; father won't trust me with anyone else!'

'Well, thank goodness, I can ride with whoever I please,' said Abby; 'I should think you were old enough to take care of yourself, Dimpey, if you're ever going to be;' and Abby Matilda tossed her head, and rolled up her shiny eyes in that hateful way she has.

'I wouldn't ride with some of the boys if they were to ask me, said Rhody; 'Will is a real good hand with horses, and he says that the tricks some people play with their animals are enough to ruin the finest horse ever was raised.'

'Who do you mean by some people?' said Abby, and she looked right scornful.

Rhody laughed: 'I didn't mention any names,' said she; 'but I know good driving from harum-scarum, wherever I see it.'

'I'm not afraid to ride behind any horses in this part of the country,' said Abby; 'and I think all cowards had better keep off Spring Mountain!'

I felt my face turn red; but I wouldn't please the spiteful thing by saying a word; so I bought my ribbon and started for home. I had to pass Mrs. Miller's farm on my way, and as I came along by the stone fence, I heard a great gee-hawing; they had just finished loading up the hay cart, I suppose, for Hiram—the hired man—turned the oxen toward the barn as I came up, and Race stood leaning his arms on the fence, and looking up the road; it's likely he was tired and hot, for he seemed to me uncommonly homely, and I was such a goose then, I thought looks was everything. He seemed to be thinking mighty hard of something, for he didn't see me till I got close to him, and then he gave such a start, and his face grew redder than ever!

'Good day, Dimpey!' said he; 'how are all your folks?'

'Very well, thank you, Race.'

'Ain't you going to stop and see mother a minute?'

'I can't, to-day; I've got some sewing to do before dark.'

This was nothing but an excuse—I'll own it now; for I knew I could easily trim my hat next day; but I was so afraid that Race might ask me to go to the picnic with him, I felt in a hurry to get away; so I said good-by pretty quick and went on before Race had time to say anything more.

When I got home, the first thing I saw was a new clothes-basket standing on the ironing table; and Calanthy called to me from the hall, 'Run up stairs and take a rest, Dimpey, for I want you to go to the Hollow after tea, and see Widow Burt. I guess she's very sick, from what Jim says; and Polly Jane and you had better go and find out what help she needs.'

Now I had been thinking all the way from Preston, that Ned Hassel would certainly call in the evening, to ask me to the picnic, before the other boys got a chance. So I expect I answered a little cross, 'Dear me! Calanthy! 'way down there to-night; won't to-morrow be time enough?'

'Why, yes, dear,' said Calanthy, 'if you are too tired; but I was afraid the poor soul might be suffering, for Jim's nobody in sickness, you know; and I don't like to have Polly Jane go alone. Besides, there's such a big ironing to do to-morrow, I can't well spare you in the morning.'

Calanthy spoke so kind, I felt ashamed of my bad temper; so I answered, 'Very well, Calanthy, I'll go to-night; I'm not much tired.'

After tea Polly Jane and I set out; we had a little basket with camphor and mustard, and other useful things Calanthy had put up for Mrs. Burt: it is a beautiful walk through the Hollow, and I should have liked it very much if my head had not been so full of the picnic that I couldn't think of anything else. We didn't go through the village, but turned off the main road into a lane that cut off a part of the distance. I was a little ahead of Polly Jane, for she would carry the basket, and we had just got into the lane when she said to me, 'Look back, Dimpey; here comes one of your beaux!' I turned around, and saw Ned Hassel on one of his fast horses. He pulled up at the corner and called out—his voice was a little too loud and confident like, I must confess—'Good evening, Polly Jane; good evening, Dimpey; are you going to take a walk in the woods, so near sundown?'

It provoked Polly, I suppose, to hear him speak so bold, for she answered, very short, 'No, we're going on an errand.'

He didn't seem to notice, but looked at me, and said, 'I was just on my way to your house, Dimpey, to ask your company to the picnic next week; I suppose Joe told you about it? We're going to set out early, and have a real good time; I mean to take my fast team and the light wagon, and we can get up the mountain before the others have fairly started.'

Polly Jane spoke up again—she never could bear the Hassels, and always said they were the greatest braggarts in our county: 'That would be great fun, for you and Dimpey to get ahead of all the company! I thought picnickers always kept together.'

Ned colored up and looked angry, but he only said, 'Will you engage to ride with me, Dimpey?'

If Polly Jane had not been there, I should have told Ned to ask father if I might go; but I couldn't bear to have her think I wanted Ned for a beau; so I answered, 'I don't know yet whether I can go or not; I'll see what our folks say.'

'Well, Dimpey, I'll come over to your house to-morrow night; I guess you'll go; good evening,' and away he galloped.

'Guess you'll go, indeed!' said Polly Jane, as soon as he was out of hearing. 'I guess she won't go with you, Mr. Impudence! You're not going to make a fool of our Dimpey, and break her neck besides, not if her father knows it, I can tell you.'

It isn't often that Polly Jane speaks out so spunky, but I expect she was vexed because he didn't answer her; as for me, I could have cried to think that things happened so, and I felt almost angry with poor Widow Burt for being sick, and taking me away from home that evening. It was awful wicked, but I was well punished for it afterward.

'It's too bad in you to talk so, Polly,' said I, 'as if I was a child six years old! I wonder why it's impudent in Ned to ask me to ride with him; you wouldn't say so if it was any one else; but you hate poor Ned—you know you do,' and here I broke down and really cried; but they were spiteful tears, after all.

'There, now, Dimpey,' said Polly Jane—she was over her pet in a minute—'don't feel bad; I didn't mean to be cross to Ned; but he has such a bold way of talking, as if he thought nobody could refuse him, that he always makes me angry, and I can't help it. But you shall go to the picnic, dear, whether he takes you or not; there will be plenty glad to ask you; so kiss me, Dimpey, and I won't tease you again.'

I let her kiss me, and then walked on sullen enough till we came to Mrs. Burt's. The house was a forlorn old place, with only one room and a bedroom, and a garret next the roof, where Jim slept. The door of the living room opened out into a shed, where Mrs. Burt did her work in summer time. The trees grew close up to the shed, and the well was under it; and as we came up, who should I see but Race Miller, drawing a bucket of water to fill the teakettle, while Jim kindled a fire in the stove. There did seem to be no end of vexations that day, and I wished myself a hundred miles off.

'Why, Polly Jane! is that you? I didn't think of seeing you down here to-night—and Dimpey, too! We heard that Mrs. Burt was very sick, and mother had tea early, and we came over to see how the poor soul was.'

'Is your mother in the bedroom?' said Polly.

'Yes; we've fixed Mrs. Burt up in the rocking chair, and mother is making her bed. I want to get a cup of tea made for her as quick as I can, for she has a good deal of fever, and is thirsty all the time. Come, Jim! set on the kettle, and we'll have it boiling in no time.' And Race stooped down and blew the fire with his mouth till it blazed up nicely.

'I'll go help your mother, Race,' said Polly Jane. 'You sit down, and rest, Dimpey; you've had walking enough to-day;' and she went into the bedroom, and left me alone with Race. Jim didn't count for anybody.

Race stepped in the room, and brought out a chair; he put it just outside the shed door, and said:

'Sit down there, Dimpey, that's a nice cool place.' I sat down, and he took a seat in the doorway, close by me. 'Dimpey!' said he, 'if mother hadn't wanted me, I meant to go up to your house to ask you if you'd give me your company to the picnic on Spring Mountain. You know we talk of having one next Wednesday, don't you?'

'There!' thought I; 'what am I to do now? I daren't say I'm engaged, for fear father won't let me go with Ned Hassel; and besides, I didn't promise Ned; so it would be telling a lie.' Then I thought how pleasant it would be to ride with the fast horses, and—I may as well own it—to pass Abby Matilda on the road, and let her see I could do as I pleased, and that I wasn't a coward, I didn't speak for a minute, and then I said:

'I believe I'm engaged already!'

The words seemed to come out before I knew it. Race didn't speak, and I felt so guilty I never raised my eyes, but made believe I was sorting some wild flowers I'd picked in the Hollow. Jim came out just then with the teapot in his hand, and drawled out:

'That pesky kettle deont bile yet. 'Pears to me it's tarnal long abeout it; it ollers acts contrairy when mother's in a hurry for her tea!'

I couldn't help laughing, and as I raised my head, I caught Race looking at me as if he'd look me through and through. His eyes seemed twice as big as common! He got up, however, without saying anything, and went to making the tea, and at that minute Polly Jane came out of the bedroom, and told us Mrs. Miller thought that Widow Burt ought to be watched, and said she would stay all night if Polly would stay too. 'So,' said Polly, 'if Race will take you home, Dimpey, I'll watch with Mrs. Miller. Race spoke up quick, and said, 'Certainly; he'd see me home,' and it was growing so late I couldn't say anything against it. As soon as he found he could do no more to help them—(he is one of the handiest men about the house I ever saw, I must say that)—Polly said we'd better go, for Calanthy might feel uneasy. Before we started, she drew me to one side, and whispered:

'Dimpey! I wish you'd tell John Morgan how sorry I am to break my promise to walk with him to-night; but Mrs. Burt is very sick, and Mrs. Miller couldn't get along without me.'

I thought to myself—'What a wicked little thing I am ever to get angry with Polly Jane, when she isn't a bit selfish, and always ready to do good. It's real hard to give up her walk, for John teaches three evenings in the week, and can't always get a chance to go with her!' So I spoke as pleasant as I could, and kissed her for good night, and then set out to walk home with Race Miller.

I have been through Rocky Hollow a great many times, but I shall never forget that walk! The evening was clear and bright, but it was pretty dark in among the willows. Race put out his hand once or twice to help me over a big stone or log, and said:

'Take care, Dimpey! don't go so fast, or you'll hurt your little feet against the stones.'

My feet are not so very little, but I expect he thought so because his own are so big. I suppose it was foolish, but he seemed such a stout, strong fellow, I felt as if he wanted to take me up, and carry me like a baby; but may be he never thought of such a thing.

When we got out in the road it looked quite light; there was a glow on the sky where the sun had gone down, and one bright star had come out just over Spring Mountain, and seemed as if it was keeping watch over the spring—I mean the spring on the top of the mountain that gives it its name. Everything was still, except the crickets that kept up a great singing among the trees. I always liked to be out in the starlight, and should have felt happy then, only things had gone crooked with me all day, and nothing seemed to please me. Uncle Ezra—he's our minister, and one of the best men that ever lived—he says it's always so when we haven't done right ourselves—and I really believe it is—for I remember how discontented I felt that night.

Presently Race spoke:

'See that star over the mountain, Dimpey! don't it look handsome up there all alone? By the by, who is going to wait on you to the picnic—you didn't say, did you?'

I was so vexed at the question, I'd a great mind to answer,'It's none of your business, Race Miller, who I go with,' but just then, I can't tell why, the thoughts I'd had in the morning out in the orchard all came back to me, and I remembered how Race had given up coming to ask me because his mother wanted him; and then I thought how good he was to his mother, and waited on her as if she was a pretty young girl. And what would my mother say, if she was living, to hear me speak so. Father always said she never gave any one a cross word in her life! I looked up at the star, and it appeared to me that mother might be up there watching me, and knowing all my thoughts; and instead of answering Race, I put down my head and burst out crying. I'd wanted to have a good hard cry all day, and now I would have given the world to stop, and I couldn't.

'Why, Dimpey!' said Race, 'what is the matter?'

I couldn't speak; we were passing a big maple tree, and I stopped and hid my face against it, so that Race couldn't see it. He let me cry a few minutes, and then took hold of my hand as gentle as a little child, and whispered, 'Don't cry, Dimpey! I can't bear it. I'm afraid I shall do something rash, if you don't stop soon!'

I didn't know what he meant by 'something rash,' but his voice sounded so earnest, it frightened me. I took my hand out of his, and wiped my eyes; and then I said, 'It's very shallow to cry when one's head aches; but I couldn't help it.'

'Does your head ache, Dimpey?' said Race; 'oh, how sorry I am I haven't my wagon here. I'm afraid you can't walk home.'

Now, my head did ache; but it was because I had been crying; but you see, if one leaves the truth ever so little, how deceitful one has to be to keep it up. I felt real mean when Race showed so much concern about me, and told him I could walk very well.

'Won't you take my arm?' said he; 'that will help you.'

I couldn't refuse, though I was dreadfully afraid we might meet somebody. We walked on in silence for a while, and I could feel Race's heart beat against my hand that lay on his arm, for he held me close to his side, as if I was in danger of falling. Presently he said:

'I only asked who you were going with, Dimpey, because I wanted you to have a good time; if I can't have your company, I don't care to go; but I hoped you would enjoy yourself.'

Race spoke so honest it made me feel ashamed of my ugly spirit, and I answered:

'Edward Hassel asked me to go with him; but father's got a notion he drives too fast, and perhaps he won't let me ride with him.'

I felt Race give a kind of shiver; and when he spoke again, his voice trembled like everything.

'Dimpey!' said he, 'you musn't think I'm jealous of Ned; I want to see you happy, but I am sorry he asked you first, for it's a dangerous road up the mountain, and Ned does drive too reckless, that's a fact; I hope he don't mean to take them young sorrels of his?'

Now, I know I ought to have told Race the whole truth; but I was so afraid he might say something to father; I only answered:

'Oh, I guess Ned will be careful enough; he goes up to High Farm very often, and his horses are used to the road.'

'Yes,' said Race; 'but the worst part is past High Farm; however, perhaps he'll be careful; so don't say that I interfered, Dimpey; for I don't want any words with Ned.'

He didn't say anything after that until we got to our gate, and then he spoke out so sudden, he made me start.

'Dimpey, if you knew—'

I don't know what he meant to say, for father was sitting on the doorstep, and called out:

'Is that you, Polly?'

'It's Dimpey, father,' said I. 'Widow Burt is very sick, and needs watchers; and Mrs. Miller and Polly Jane are going to sit up with her to-night.'

So we came in; and after talking a few minutes with father, Race went home.

I was up bright and early next morning, and worked as smart as I could to get things out of the way before Polly Jane came; for I knew she'd be tired, and she always would take hold till the work was done, no matter how tired she was. While I was ironing, Calanthy went in the milkroom to work over the butter, so I had the kitchen to myself; and having no one to talk to me, I kept thinking of all that happened the night before. I had my own share of curiosity, and I couldn't help wondering what Race Miller had been going to say when father interrupted him: 'If I only knew'—what? Was it something about Ned, or himself? I turned it over in my mind twenty times, like a sheet of paper; but the same side always came up, and there was nothing on it.

It was ten o'clock before Polly Jane got home, and I was right glad I'd worked so hard, for she looked worn out—and no wonder! Calanthy had some nice hot coffee and cream cakes ready for her; but she was so sleepy she could hardly eat anything. She said that Mrs. Burt had passed a miserable night, and toward morning had got out of her head, and was so wild and restless they could scarcely keep her in the bed. As soon as it was light they sent Jim for Dr. Basset, and he gave her a strong dose of morphine. Mrs. Miller had to go home, and when Mrs. Burt fell asleep, Polly left Jim to watch her—he was as faithful as a dog, poor fellow!—and went in to Preston to try and get somebody to stay with her through the day. Polly Jane went first to 'Squire Stevens's, thinking that Abby Matilda had less housework to do than most of the girls; her mother kept a hired woman, and perhaps she'd be willing to go for one day; but Abby was afraid of catching the fever, and said 'they'd better have Widow Burt taken to the poorhouse at once, for nobody would like to stay in that damp Hollow and take care of her, poking their eyes out in the dismal old house!'

'I was so provoked with the unfeelin' thing,' said Polly Jane, that I told her 'I didn't know as the damp would hurt her bright eyes any more than my dull ones; and if the house was dismal, so much the more it needed some one to brighten it up.' I didn't waste many words on her, however, but went on to Mr. Mill's as fast as I could; but for a wonder, Rhody wasn't home; her cousin Hepsy came up from Four Corners the day before, and carried her off to see their aunt Colborn, and she wouldn't be home until Saturday. I don't know what's to be done, Calanthy, unless you can think of some one we can hire for a nurse; the doctor says Mrs. Burt's going to have a hard fit o' sickness, and needs good care every minute.'

Calanthy sat down on the settee; she isn't very strong, as I told you, and has to rest considerable; but she's such a good manager, she gets through more work than many a ruggeder one; and when she's puzzled she always drops down on that old settee a minute or two, and she's sure to think the matter out directly. Presently she said:

'Why wouldn't Betsy Mix do? She makes store shirts now, you know, and she could bring her sewing with her. I dare say she'd like a change of work, she sits so much.'

'Yes!' said Polly Jane; 'but who's to go after her? the boys are too busy haying, and want the horses besides; oh, come to think, I guess we can manage it. I'll run 'round to the schoolhouse and tell John, and he can dismiss a little earlier at noon, and get Mrs. Miller to lend him her wagon and old Bob. I saw Bob in the pasture as I came along; and if Betsy will come, John can drive her right down to the Hollow, and she and Jim can get along to-night, at any rate.'

'I'll go and tell John,' said I; 'you're too tired, Polly.'

But Polly Jane insisted upon seeing John herself; and when I thought of his disappointment the night before, I didn't wonder, so I said no more. Calanthy filled a basket with things to make Betsy Mix comfortable, and John went after her and took her down to Widow Burt's; when he came back, he said he left Mrs. Burt more quiet, and poor Jim quite happy helping Betsy get dinner ready for herself and him. Calanthy had put a dried apple pie in the basket; and when Jim saw that, he sniggered in his simple way, and called out:

'Golly! Miss Mix! a piece o' that air pie will taste good, weont it, now?'

We all laughed hard at Jim's speech; and then John went away, and Polly Jane consented to lie down and rest.

After dinner was cleared away, I set to work to trim my hat. I'd found a real pretty ribbon at the store—brown, with bright blue stripes. Perhaps I gave a little too much for it; but it was a great deal handsomer than the others they had, and then it was a better quality; and a good ribbon wears twice as long as a poor one, so it comes to about the same thing in the end. As soon as I had fastened the rosettes at the ears, I tried it on to see how it looked. It was so becoming, that I thought to myself, 'When I get on my blue muslin, and a white ruffled mantilla, and this hat, I shall look as well as any one at the picnic!' I suppose you think I was a vain little thing, and so I was, but I hope I've got over it now.

Polly Jane had a good long sleep, and woke up as bright as a button. And, when John Morgan came over after tea, they started for a walk, as happy as could be. I stood in the door, as they went out the gate, and I thought, 'John is a good young man, that's certain, but I do wish he was rather better looking. I don't see how Polly can fancy him for a steady beau.' Just at that minute up galloped Ned Hassel on the gray sorrel. He saw me at the door, I know, though I ran into the parlor, and took up my stocking, and began to knit it as fast as I could. He made his horse dance and caper before he got off. More fool he! for father sat on the porch, and was looking at him all the time! When he came in, he had a beautiful color in his cheeks, and his eyes were as bright as diamonds; and, as he pushed the hair off his forehead, and said 'Good evening,' he looked as handsome as a picture, and I thought I was almost in love with him. Much I knew about love, then. But we've all got to learn.

After talking to father and the boys about the harvest, and the election, and such things, he turned to me and said:

'Will you ride with me to the picnic, next week, Dimpey?'

I looked at father, and he answered:

'I think you've chosen a dangerous place for your picnic, Ned! When young people get in a frolic, I'd rather it wouldn't be on Spring Mountain.'

'Oh! there's no danger,' said Ned, 'I go up to High Farm two or three times a week, and I never had any accident.'

'Yes,' said brother Joe, 'but we're not going to have the picnic at High Farm. The road does well enough till you get past there; and I think we'd better walk the rest of the way.'

'How would we get the provisions up, I wonder?' said Ned. 'It would break our backs to lug the baskets to the top of the mountain. I, for one, wouldn't undertake it at any price!'

Father looked vexed, and said, 'Young men's backs must be weak now-a-days. I think it's a risky thing to drive up to the Spring, and I'd rather Dimpey wouldn't go this time.'

I felt the tears come in my eyes, and I couldn't speak. Ned turned very red, and said nothing for a minute or two; then he spoke quite mild and pleasant:

'Can't you persuade your father to let you go with me, Dimpey? I promise to take the best of care of you!'

I suppose father noticed that I felt bad, for he said, 'Do you want to go very much, Dimpey?'

I stammered out, 'Yes, sir, I'd like to go with the rest, if you was willing.'

'Well then, Ned,' said father, 'Dimpey may go, on one condition, that you drive your brown mare, and not either of them young horses.'

'The brown mare!' said Ned. 'Why, she's the slowest old poke in the county. It would take her till sundown to get there, and there wouldn't be much fun in that!'

'Very well,' said father, quite determined like, 'I shan't risk my Dimpey's neck on top of Spring Mountain after anything faster. So you can do as you please.'

Ned started up, and went right out the front door without saying a word! I couldn't believe my senses, that he was going off in that way—so disrespectful to father! I heard him speaking to his horse; and Bill remarked, 'Well, I've seen manners before, but this beats all!' Father didn't open his lips; and, in a few minutes, Ned came back, and stood in the doorway.

'I thought that Lightning had got unhitched,' said he, 'but he's only a little uneasy. Good night, Mr. Swift, I'll be up here with the brown mare bright and early next Wednesday. The boys agreed to meet at the hay scales, at ten o'clock, and start from there, but the mare's so slow, I'll have to be in time. Could you get ready by half past nine, Dimpey?'

I said I could, and felt very happy that Ned had come back. So he said good night to me and the boys, and went off. When he was gone, Joe spoke out:

'I wonder if one of the Hassels ever told the truth; if he did, I guess it was by accident. Ned knew well enough that nothing ailed his horse, but he was so mad, he had to go out doors, for fear he'd boil over. If I was you, Dimpey, I wouldn't encourage him to come here much; for he's as deceitful as a cat-a-mountain!'

'Yes,' said father, 'I am afraid he's a chip of the old block; but I've passed my word you shall go with him, Dimpey, and I won't take it back, though I'd rather see you keep company with any other young man in Preston; that's a fact! I promised your Uncle Ezra I'd never have any more angry words with old Hassel, and I don't mean to. But I don't care to have any further dealings with the family than I can help. They're a slippery set. Reach me the Bible, Dimpey! and I'll get ready for bed.'

So father read the psalm, 'Fret not thyself because of evil doers.' I think he picked it out on purpose; and then he prayed that we might all lead better lives, and live in Christian fellowship with each other.

Now the truth was, he and Mr. Hassel had quarrelled long ago, about some land that Mr. Hassel had sold him. The title wasn't good, and father always thought Mr. Hassel knew it when he sold the land. They had a great many words about it, and put it into law; and father went to a good deal of expense and trouble. He and Mr. Hassel didn't speak for some time. But Uncle Ezra talked to him, and got him to be reconciled to his enemy. It all happened when I was a child, and I never just knew the rights of it. But I know that father was very glad when Mr. Hassel sold his farm joining ours, and bought another at the foot of Spring Mountain, where he has lived ever since. It troubled me very much that our folks felt so set against the family; for Ned was the best-looking young man in our place, and had such a dashing sort of a way with him, that he took my fancy considerable, and I must confess I was rather blind to his faults. I went to sleep that night with my head full of the picnic, and dreamed that I rode up the mountain on Ned's Lightning, and just as I got to the steepest part, the horse gave a jump, and tumbled me over its head right down the side of the mountain; and as I felt myself rolling down, down, down, I screamed so that I woke myself up, and Calanthy too, who ran in from her room to shake me. I often scream out in that way, if I have a bad dream. But I didn't tell the girls what I was dreaming about.

The next morning, as soon as the work was done, Polly Jane said she would go down to Rocky Hollow, and see how Widow Burt was getting on, and if Betsy Mix could do for her. She didn't get back to dinner, and Calanthy began to feel so uneasy, she said she would go herself and see what was the matter. I begged her to send me instead, for I knew she couldn't bear such a long walk in the middle of the day. Father and the boys had both our steady horses in the hay field, and I couldn't drive the colt, so there was no way to ride. So at last she consented I should go, but told me to take her big parasol, and get back as soon as I could. When I got near the Hollow, I met Dr. Basset. He stopped his horse and said:

'Mrs. Burt is very sick, Dimpey; and I'm going after a woman to help Betsy Mix take care of her. She can't get along without help. Polly Jane will stay till sundown, but you can't do any good. So, you'd better get in, and ride back with me; I'm going past your house.'

I was glad of a chance to ride home, so I got in the wagon, and asked Dr. Basset if he thought Widow Burt wouldn't live?

'I can't say for that,' said he; 'but she's a mighty sick woman now. She was out of her mind all last night, and I don't know what Betsy would have done if Race Miller hadn't come in. He saw how Mrs. Burt was, and stayed through the night, and he's so strong he could hold her when Betsy couldn't manage. Once she jumped out of bed, and wanted to go sit in the Hollow, and poor Jim would have let her climb a tree if she had a mind to. But Race lifted her back in the bed, and sang hymns to her till she was quiet. You know what a good voice he has. Betsy says it seemed to act like opium on Mrs. Burt!'

'What would become of Jim if she should die, doctor?' said I.

'The Lord only knows, Dimpey. I'm afraid he'd have to go to the poorhouse. I always hoped he'd be taken first; but we don't know what is best, and God does.'

Doctor Basset is a real feeling man. I can't see what Preston would do without him. So he took me home, and, after tea, Biel harnessed the colt, and went after Polly Jane. She said that Doctor Basset had been over to Pine Hill, and brought Mrs. Jessop back with him. She's a strong, hearty woman, and has had experience in fevers, and knows just what to do. The doctor told Jim he must mind what she said, if he wanted his mother to get well; and she had set him to work directly, as it was better to keep him busy.

'But,' said Polly Jane, 'I never saw such a fellow in time of trouble as Race Miller. He had been busy by daylight clearing up around the house, and making things look comfortable. You'd hardly know the old place if you could see it now. He came in again this afternoon, and I told him I didn't know how he could spare so much time from his own work; but he said:

'Why, you know, Polly, I've let out a part of our farm on shares this year, so I haven't as much hay to get in as usual, and I finished haying yesterday. Besides, Hiram is a right smart fellow, and won't neglect anything if I am away.'

He wouldn't take any credit for what he'd done, but I thought to myself, 'I should think that any man who wasn't a real shirk, would be ashamed not to be smart if you was looking at him!'

This was Wednesday. Mrs. Burt's fever never broke till next Monday, which was the ninth day, and then she was so weak they hardly dared speak in her room, and the doctor said her life depended on good nursing. Betsy Mix gave out, and went home; but Mrs. Jessop stayed. She could get along if any of the neighbors would come in for a few hours every day, and let her go to sleep. So, Mrs. Miller and Polly Jane helped her; and when Rhody Mills got back she went right out to the Hollow, and insisted on watching one night. The neighbors all sent things to keep the pot boiling, and I don't believe poor Jim ever lived so well or saw as much company in his life before. 'Squire Stevens's folks didn't help any, except one day Mrs. Stevens sent a loaf of bread that was so heavy Mrs. Jessop gave it to the pig. But then some people never have their bread light, you know; and perhaps she sent the best she had.

Well, Wednesday was the day for the picnic! John Morgan wanted to hire a wagon, and take Polly Jane; but she was tired going backward and forward to Rocky Hollow, and didn't care to go. Joe and Biel drove our steady horses, and Cousin Nancy and Rhody Mills went with them. I couldn't find out if Race Miller was going or not; but I didn't hear of his inviting anybody else. Calanthy roasted a nice pair of chickens for us, and her biscuits were as light as a feather this time, and I made some real nice cake, and Calanthy iced it for me; it looked beautiful! Polly Jane came home from the Hollow Tuesday afternoon, and said that Widow Burt had her senses, and was lying still and comfortable. She appeared to know all that had been done for her, and was very thankful; but Dr. Basset had forbidden her to speak much. He let her take hold of Jim's hand and tell him she felt better, and the poor fellow went out in the shed, and cried like a baby. Race Miller stepped in just then. He always seemed to happen along at the right minute, and he set Jim to work cleaning some fish he'd caught. The thought of a good dinner soon made Jim laugh again; but that's the way with simpletons, you know.

I do believe there never was a lovelier morning than that Wednesday. It was as clear as a bell, but not nearly as hot as the week before. If the day had been made on purpose for a picnic, it couldn't have been a better one. I felt so glad Widow Burt was like to get well, and that father had consented to let me ride with Ned Hassel, and that my cake was so handsome, and everything else so good, I didn't know how to be happy enough! I went singing about the house till it was time to dress myself, and when I got on my blue muslin and my clean white mantilla, and had smoothed my hair till it shone like satin under the new rosettes in my round hat, I did think I looked pretty nice. I couldn't help it; and when Ned drove up a little after nine o'clock, I felt as if all was going right at last. The girls kissed me good-by, and when father helped me in the wagon, I saw the tears standing in his eyes. He always said I favored mother very much, and I suppose he was thinking of her. He only said:

'Take good care of Dimpey, Ned!'

'Yes, sir,' said Ned, 'I will.'

And as I took my seat at his side, he whispered:

'If there's a prettier girl at this picnic than Dimpey Swift, I'd like to see her. You look like an angel, Dimpey! but I hope you haven't any wings, for we couldn't spare you just now!'

I was delighted at this nonsense; but I was young and foolish, and didn't sense what a goose Ned was with all his fine compliments.

The brown mare went along so fast, I thought we would not be much behind the rest of the company after all; and when we got to the hay scales, there was no one there! Ned stopped a minute, and then he said:

'Dimpey, I've got some currant wine in my basket; but I forgot the wine glasses. I think we'd better drive on to our house and get them, and we can wait there till the others come up.'

'But,' said I, 'you appointed to meet here. Won't they wait for you?'

'That's true. Just hold the lines, and I'll run in to Mr. Smith's, and ask him to tell them we've gone on, and will meet them at the foot of the mountain.'

So Ned ran in to Mr. Smith's, and out again in two seconds, and when he took the lines, he started off at such a rate, I wondered what possessed him, as we had plenty of time. However, I like to ride fast, as I said before; and to tell the truth, Ned was talking to me all the way about 'my beautiful eyes, and how proud he should feel if he had a wife with my complexion;' and he asked me, 'if I didn't think we'd make a handsome team if we were in one harness,' and all such speeches, so that I got quite bewildered-like, and might have been riding behind a humpbacked camel without knowing it!

When we got to Mr. Hassel's, the old man was sitting on the steps reading the newspaper. He came to the gate to speak to us, and Ned said:

'You had better go in, and wait, Dimpey; the boys will not be here yet a while, and I want to fix my wagon more comfortable before we start to go up to the mountain.'

So Mr. Hassel helped me out, and asked me into the house. I should have liked to stay on the steps, where I could see the picnickers as they came along; but he went into the living room, which was at the back of the house, and I followed him. I sat down, and he began to talk of all sorts of things. I answered as well as I could, and pretty soon I heard some one shout at the front gate:

'Hallo, Ned! here we are! Where's your team?'

I heard Ned answer: 'Hallo!' and then run around the house. I couldn't hear what more he said; and then there was a great laughing, and a scraping of wheels, as if they were all driving past. I sat still, wondering why Ned didn't come for me. My face was so red when I went in the house, that I hardly dared to look at Mr. Hassel; but now I looked up suddenly, and he sat looking at me with such a strange sort of smile, I didn't know what to make of it. It's likely he knew well enough—but never mind that now.

Presently there was a great cracking of a whip and a whoaing in the door yard. I heard wheels moving fast, and Ned looked in the room, and said:

'Come, Dimpey! let's be off; the boys have gone on ahead, but we'll soon catch them up.'

I followed him out to the gate; the wagon was there, and I was astonished to see a pair of horses harnessed to it, and a man standing at their heads; but before I had time to think, Ned had lifted me in, jumped into his seat, and taken up the lines. We were off like a shot, and I was actually riding behind the fast sorrels!

'Oh, Ned!' said I, 'what does this mean? Didn't you promise father you wouldn't drive these horses?'

'No,' said he, 'I didn't make any promise. I only said I'd be at your house with the brown mare, and so I was; but I never said I'd drive her up the mountain. The sorrels will go nicely, and the boys won't say anything to your father, if you're not afraid.'

'But what would father say if he knew it; and Calanthy, too! Let me get down, Ned. I can't ride with you.'

But the more I begged, the louder Ned laughed and urged his horses. The ground seemed to fly from under the wagon, and in few minutes we caught up to the company. Now I know I ought to have told brother Joe I was riding against my will, and that I should have jumped out the moment I got a chance, but I could not bear to let the girls know how Ned had acted. So I sat still while he drove past them all; and I was even wicked enough to feel a little proud as we passed Abby Matilda and her beau! Ned kept making love to me all the way up to the farm. It sounded well enough then, but it makes me sick to think of it now. The horses went along like kittens, and he seemed to have complete management of them, and when he came to steep places, he drove so carefully that I could not feel as if there was any danger. It was very cool and pleasant among the trees, and everything smelled so fresh and sweet, it was delightful riding, and I tried not to think about father. Most of the company left their wagons at High Farm, and walked the rest of the way; but John Mills and Abby Matilda drove up to the top of the mountain, and so did a few others. We got safely to the spring, and when Ned helped me out of the wagon, he said:

'There now, Dimpey! don't the sorrels go beautiful? Your hair is just as sleek as when we started, and your cheeks are only a little redder, but that don't hurt 'em any.'

As he lifted me down, his face touched mine for a minute. I don't know that he did it on purpose, but I shouldn't wonder! I was glad to stoop down to the spring, and wet my cheeks, for they felt hot enough by this time. However they had time to get cool while Ned was unharnessing his horses, and presently Abby Matilda and her beau came along.

'Dear me, Dimpey,' said she, 'have you really got here without breaking your bones, and with Mr. Hassel's wonderful team, too?'

I was so provoked at the mean thing—I know she was jealous because Ned didn't ask her—that I never said a word; but Ned answered:

'My horses are not in the habit of breaking anybody's bones, Miss Abby, and if they were, they wouldn't pick out the belle of Preston to practise on—not while I'm master.'

Abby colored up, and flirted her head, as she always does when she's angry; but the rest of the company began to come up, and nothing more was said.

I'm not going to tell you much about the picnic, though it was a real nice one, and in such a beautiful place. Every one says there's one of the handsomest views in the world from Spring Mountain; you can see five villages, and the river winds so pretty among the hills; then you can count a great many church steeples, and there are such noble trees up there, and nice, shady places, and rocks to sit on, that it's the very spot for a picnic. We played plays, and told stories, and sang considerable; our Biel is a funny little fellow, and can imitate almost any animal: he kept us all laughing, till even Abby Matilda forgot her airs, and was quite pleasant. Then we had a right good dinner—cold chicken, and ham, and tongue, and lots of nice pies and cakes, and plenty of currant wine and milk punch, and the clear, good water from the spring. Calanthy's biscuits were so good everybody wanted them, and my Washington cake was praised to the skies, and I was as happy as I could be.

In the midst of the dinner our Joe spoke out—Joe is good, but he don't always know when to speak.

'Where is Race Miller, boys? I thought he was coming with us? He didn't say nothing to the contrary, the other day.'

Ned Hassel was sitting next to me on the grass; he gave me a nudge, and answered, 'I shouldn't wonder if Race has got the mitten from one of the girls; I met him early this morning, and he looked as black as thunder.'

'Well,' said Abby Matilda—she must have her say—'if I was a man, and anyone gave me the mitten, I'd have too much spirit to show it by keeping away from a picnic!'

'Pooh!' said Rhody Mills, 'what nonsense! like enough Race is hard at work for his mother or somebody else. He's always ready to help anyone that asks him.'

Well, the afternoon passed away, and when the sun began to get low, the boys said it was time to be going home. While Ned was harnessing his horses, something got tangled in the harness, and it took him a little while to fix it, so that the others that were riding started first. I saw Joe look back to see if we were coming, and that made me think of father again; I had never deceived him in my life, and I couldn't bear to think of it then; I wondered how Ned would manage, and whether our boys would tell father about the horses, and I was glad we were behind the rest, so that Ned would have to drive slowly, for the road was not wide enough for teams to pass each other. Now the picnic was over I felt very uncomfortable, and blamed myself more and more. However, we started directly, and soon overtook the rest. As we drew up behind the wagon that Abby Matilda was in, Ned said, 'What makes you so still, Dimpey; haven't we had a real good time?'

'Yes,' said I; 'but I was thinking what father will say when he hears you took the fast horses, after all!'

'What will he say? why, nothing, when he sees you safe and sound; besides, what's the use of telling him anything about it; he won't ask any questions when I take you home with the brown mare, and I'm sure Joe and Biel won't be mean enough to speak of the sorrels.'

I tried to feel satisfied, though I knew it was wrong; but I thought to myself, 'There's no help for it now.'

So we jogged along slowly till we came to a place where a thick clump of elders divides the road into two paths; it is just at the steepest part of the mountain, and the path on the left is very narrow, and right on the edge of the precipice. At that minute Abby Matilda looked around, and called out, in her spiteful way, 'It must be dreadful hard for Thunder and Lightning to keep in the rear; what a pity we can't let you pass us, Mr. Hassel!'

I suppose she vexed Ned, for he answered, 'Perhaps we can do it if we try, Miss Stevens,' and before I could speak he turned his horses into the narrow part of the road! I looked down the side of the mountain, and it made me feel so sick and giddy that I put out my hands and caught the lines; this gave them a sudden jerk, the near horse started, and began to back—Abby screamed, and that frightened him more—I felt the wheel going over the edge—the bushes were close on the other side of the wagon—there was no place to jump—Ned dropped the lines and sprang out at the back—I remember seeing something break through the bushes at the horses' heads, and that is the last I recollect, for I fainted away and fell in the bottom of the wagon.

When I came to my senses I felt so strange and confused I did not know where I was; my head had a dull pain in it, and when I touched it, I found it was bandaged up, and my forehead felt sore and bruised. Some one took hold of my hand, and I heard a sobbing; I opened my eyes, and made out that I was on my own bed at home. Calanthy was standing by me, and Polly Jane sat by the foot of the bed crying as if her heart would break. I tried to think, but I couldn't get things right; and the picnic seemed like something that had happened a great while ago.

'What is the matter, Polly?' said I; 'is anyone hurt? Tell father I didn't mean to be deceitful; I'll go tell him myself.' I tried to sit up, but I fell back on the pillow. Calanthy stooped down and kissed me, and I heard her say, 'Lie still, my pet lamb. Father isn't angry with you; he's stepped out a minute, but he'll be back soon; drink this, and you'll soon be better.' She held a cup to my lips; I drank something, and then fell asleep directly.

I wasn't able to sit up for several days, and they kept me very still, and wouldn't let me ask questions; only Calanthy told me that Dr. Basset said I'd had a great shock, and it would take me some time to get over it. I had a cut on my forehead, too, but it healed up pretty soon. It seemed as if Calanthy and Polly Jane couldn't do enough for me, and whenever father came in the room he was as good to me as ever, and I could see that he could hardly keep from crying when I spoke to him. When I got well enough to sit in a rocking chair, and have my knitting work, father came in one morning, and brought Uncle Ezra with him. I was very glad to see uncle, though I was ashamed to have him know how vain and wicked I'd been; but I'd thought a good deal while I was sick, and I made up my mind to do right, whatever came of it. So I told him how wrong I had acted, and how sorry I felt for it, and then I asked him to tell me how my life had been saved, and if any one was killed, and all about the accident. I had my memory by that time, and recollected all I have been telling.

Uncle Ezra took hold of my hand while I was speaking, and then he said, 'We have great reason to be thankful, my child, that we have you with us yet; you've had a narrow escape; but I'm sure it will be such a lesson to you that you'll never disobey your father again. You are young, Dimpey, and may have many years to live; but I hope you'll always be our own dear honest child, and make as good a woman as your mother was.'

Then Uncle Ezra told me that when Ned Hassel jumped out of his wagon, leaving me in it—the coward!—Race Miller pushed his way through the elder bushes, and caught the horses by their heads. They struggled, and threw him down; but the off horse fell with him, and partly on him. This jerked the wagon against the bushes, and the wheel, which was slipping over the edge of the road, caught against a big stone, which held it a minute. John Mills had jumped to the ground at that minute. He pitched the seat out of Ned's wagon, and he and Biel dragged me out of the back in less time than it takes to tell it. Then the traces all gave way, the horse that had fallen struggled to his feet, the wagon went over, and clattered down the side of the mountain, and the horses started to run, but were stopped by some of the boys who were walking. I had struck my head as I fell, and lay senseless, but our boys carried me down to High Farm, and got a large wagon and a bed to put me on. They do say Joe pushed Ned Hassel out of the way, and dared him to touch me. In the mean time, John Mills and the others helped up Race Miller; but one of his arms was broken, and he was so faint he could not stand.

When Uncle Ezra told me this, I burst out crying, and felt as if I should die with sorrow; but father comforted me, and said Race was doing well, and was as cheerful as ever, and had asked them not to tell he was hurt, for fear it might worry me. Now wasn't he a noble fellow; and what did it matter if he was homely? I felt some curiosity to know what had become of Ned Hassel, for no one had mentioned him while I was sick, but I didn't like to ask; however, I think father must have known my thoughts, for just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, and said:

'If you'd like to know anything about your 2.40 beau, Dimpey, he came up here the day after the picnic to ask about you; but I told him your mother's daughter didn't keep company with liars; and he'd better not show his face inside my dooryard, unless he wanted the boys to put him out. He blustered a little, but I guess he didn't think best to make much noise in this neighborhood; so he took himself off, and that's the last of him.'

'Yes,' thought I, I never want to see him again, I'm sure!'

The first time I went to meeting was on a pleasant Sunday afternoon, and if ever any one felt really thankful, I think I did. Uncle Ezra preached a beautiful sermon, and every word of it seemed as if it was meant on purpose for me. I hardly dared raise my eyes, but I saw that Mrs. Miller was in her seat as usual, and I heard Race's voice among the singers. When we came out, Mrs. Miller walked right up to me, and kissed me before everybody. I had felt as though she must almost hate me; but she looked so pleasant, it brought the tears into my eyes.

'Do you feel quite strong again, Dimpey?' said she; 'I've heard from you every day; but I haven't been up to see you, because I thought you had plenty of company, and I had my big boy to take care of.'

'Is Race's arm 'most well?' said I.

'Here he is,' said Mrs. Miller; 'ask him yourself.'

I turned around, and there stood Race. His arm was in a sling, and he was paler than usual; but he smiled, and his eyes twinkled more than ever; and, would you believe it, he actually looked handsome! I tried to speak, and thank him for all he had done; but I choked, so I could hardly say a word. He walked along by my side till we came to our gate—it isn't far from the meeting house—then he said:

'Dimpey, will you do me a kindness?'

'Yes, Race,' I answered; 'I'd do you a hundred, if I knew how.'

'Well, then, just come over to our house, and take tea with mother; she's been waiting on me so long, I want to do something to please her, and I know you'll brighten her up nicely; I'm such a dull fellow for company, you know.'

I didn't know any such thing; but I ran and asked Calanthy if I'd better go, and she said 'Certainly.'

So I went home with Mrs. Miller and Race, and we had the snuggest little tea that ever was. Mrs. Miller makes the best muffins I ever tasted, and she had some ready mixed, and nothing to do but put them on the griddle. After we had done tea, she told Race to sit down in her big chair by the window, and not to stir out of it till she gave him leave. Then she gave me an apron, and said I might help her wash up the tea things, if I liked; of course, I was delighted to do it; and Race sat still, and looked at us.

'What are you smiling at, Race?' said his mother—they always joked together considerable.

'I was thinking,' said he, 'how funny it seems to sit here and be waited on; take care I don't grow lazy, mother!'

Mrs. Miller laughed, and said: 'Well, I am a little uneasy about that—' and just then Hiram came in from milking, and she went into the milkroom to strain the milk.

I was folding up my apron, and I thought I mightn't have another chance to speak, so I said:

'I haven't thanked you yet, Race, for saving my life; but you believe I am thankful, don't you?'

'Come here, Dimpey,' said he.

I walked toward him, for I felt as if he had a right to ask me; he got up from the big chair, and put me gently in it, and then took a little bench and sat down close to my feet.

'Are you glad to live, Dimpey?' said he.

I looked at him in astonishment at such a strange question; but I saw his eyes were full, and his lips trembling.

He said it again, 'Are you glad your life was spared, Dimpey?'

'Yes, to be sure,' said I; 'it would have been dreadful to die so suddenly; and oh, think how our folks would have felt, if I had been killed! And you too, Race! what could your mother do without you? I am so sorry you were hurt saving me, and so thankful it was no worse,' and here my eyes ran over, and I stopped.

'Dimpey,' said Race, and his voice shook as it did that night in the Hollow, 'I ought to be very thankful for my mother's sake, that God has spared my life, and I hope I am now; but when I sat in the elder bushes on Spring Mountain, and saw you sitting by the side of Ned Hassel, and looking so sweet and innocent, I thought that the day you married him would finish all my happiness on earth, and I should have nothing to live for but to take care of my good mother. You will tell me the truth now, Dimpey, I'm sure—will that day ever come?'

'Never, Race!' said I; 'the lying coward! has he dared to say so?'

I started up from the chair; and, I don't know how it was, I fell into Race's arms, and he sat down in the chair, and drew me on his knee as he did when I was a little child; and looking down on his broken arm, it seemed to me like my own old dolly, and I put my hands carefully around it, as I did around my doll in my childish trouble.

* * * * *

It is two years now, since Race and I were married; and I believe no one ever had a better husband! We live on the old homestead—it is one of the pleasantest places in Preston—the mortgage is all paid off, and we are as comfortable as any family need be. Mrs. Miller is as fond of me as if I was her own born daughter, and everybody thinks our little Phebe is almost too sweet to live—she is the picture of Race; but I think her curly hair and saucy blue eyes make her the handsomest baby I ever saw.

Widow Burt and Jim have come away from the Hollow; last year Race put up a new barn, and moved the old one down to the end of the lane—our boys helped him fix it up for a house, and Mrs. Burt and Jim live in it. They make baskets yet, and we find them very useful when we want extra help. Mrs. Burt is stronger than before she was sick; and poor Jim almost worships Race, and would run errands all day, if we asked him to—he thinks there is nothing like our baby on the face of the earth; and simple as he looks, she is always ready to go to him.

Race wouldn't tell me till after we were married, how he came to be hiding in the bushes on the day of the picnic; he always said I must guess—so you may guess too!

After all, I have reason to bless the day I went up Spring Mountain!



ENDURANCE.

At first did I almost despair, And thought I never it could bear— And yet I have it borne till now: But only never ask me how!

—HEINE.



JAPANESE FOREIGN RELATIONS.

[The article we are now about to offer our readers is from the pen of the well-known and highly-esteemed Dr. MACGOWAN, Honorary Member of the Archaeological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, Corresponding Member of the Societe Imperiale Zoologique d'Acclimation, Asiatic Society of Bengal, of the Agricultural and Horticultural Society of India, Ethnological Society of London, American Oriental Society, &c., &c., who was for more than twenty years a resident of the far East, of China and Japan. He has lectured on China and Japan before the most erudite audiences, and has never failed to give entire satisfaction. His lectures were delivered in New York under the auspices of the Geographical and Statistical Society, in compliance with an invitation drawn up by Chancellor Ferris, and signed by President King of Columbia College, Hon. Townsend Harris, late U. S. Minister to Japan, Hon. George Bancroft, Hon. Luther Bradish, Hon. Judge Clerke, Hon. George Opdyke, and other prominent citizens.

At the conclusion of the course, the following resolution, presented by the Rev. Dr. Prime, was passed unanimously:

'Resolved, That this audience has listened with great satisfaction, instruction, and delight, to the valuable and highly entertaining lectures of Dr. MACGOWAN on Japan, and that our thanks are eminently due to him for imparting to us in so attractive a form the results of his extensive travel, illustrated with curious and elegant works of nature and art from that remarkable empire.'

'On commencing his course of lectures in the Cooper Institute, Dr. MACGOWAN was introduced by the Hon. Judge Daly, who appeared as the representative of the Geographical and Statistical Society. Judge Daly said that 'the lecturer came before his countrymen with a well-earned European reputation, that his investigations had attracted much attention abroad, and in the matter of physical geography his researches were referred to in Humboldt's Cosmos, and his discovery and description of the egre or bore of the Tsien-tang River in China, occupies a large space in Maury's 'Physical Geography of the Sea.'' Besides giving the Society's cordial commendation of Dr. MACGOWAN'S Lectures, the Judge expressed on the part of the Society, a deep sense of the importance in a national point of view of the lecturer's projected exploration in the far East.'-Abridged Report.

We could fill pages with such testimonials. We extract the following from notices of Dr. MACGOWAN'S lectures in Europe:

'A large number of Members of Parliament, A. H. Layard, Richard Cobden, John Bright, Sir M. Peto, T. B. Horsfall, Lord Alfred Churchill, and others joined in commending the lectures to Chambers of Commerce, Colleges, Literary and Mechanics' Institutions; and they were commended also to Young Men's Christian Associations by the Archbishop of Canterbury.

'They were delivered in various parts of the United Kingdom under the chairmanship of the Right Hon. the Earl of Shaftesbury, the Most Noble the Marquis of Cholmondeley, the Right Hon. the Earl of Cavan, the Right Hon. Lord Lyttleton, the Right Hon. Earl Strangford, Lord Henry Cholmondeley, the Hon. A. Kinnaird, M. P., Sir J. F. Davis, Bart., Sir Henry Havelock, Bart., Sir J. Coleridge, Bart., Sir Roderick I. Murchison, the Right Hon. and Right Rev. Lord Auckland, Bishop of Bath and Wells, the Lord Bishop of Oxford, the Bishop of Victoria, the Hon. and Rev. B. W. Noel, the Rev. Canon McNeille, Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, General Alexander, General Lawrence, Hon. Capt. Maude, R. N., and other public men.

'In Scotland, the Right Hon. the Earl of Kintore, Rev. Dr. Guthrie, Professor Sampson, Dr. Bell, and the Provosts of the principal towns.

'In Ireland, His Grace the Archbishop of Dublin, Lord Gough, Lord Roden, Lord Talbot de Malahide, the Right Hon. Judge Crampton, Sir W. Hamilton, Astronomer Royal, and the Right Hon. J. Whiteside, M. P. Under the auspices of the Lord Lieutenant, Earl of Carlisle.'

In China, while occupied as Medical Missionary and United States Consul, he published a newspaper in the Chinese language; in London, also, he rendered valuable service in vindicating our Government from the attacks of Lord Brougham and Sir John Bowring.

In all his various efforts, Dr. MACGOWAN received the highest commendation from the press, as well as from his learned audiences. We therefore call the attention of our readers to the present essay, on the important subject of 'Japanese Foreign Relations,' as from the pen of one familiar with the history and bearing of the questions of which he treats.—ED. CONTINENTAL.]

Strolling recently from Nagasaki toward the volcanic mountain Simabara, the writer was compelled to retrace his steps by the yaconins, or guards of the prince of Fizen, and thus he failed to accomplish the object he had in view—that of searching for the monument erected, it is said, to commemorate the expulsion of foreigners from Japan, and the suppression of Christianity, bearing an impious inscription, forbidding Christians and the God of the Christians from ever appearing in that 'Eden Minor.' Whether the monument still exists or not, it is certain that the spirit of the edict of Gongen Sama, which expelled Europeans forever from the country, and enjoined natives to slay foreigners, still actuates the ruling classes in the insular empire of the Pacific. Hence the exclamation of the daring and potent prince of Kago, who, in 1853, when the American treaty was before the Daimios, in council, placing his hand upon the hilts of his swords, said: 'Rather than admit foreigners into the country, let us die fighting.' He was overruled—a decade has elapsed, and his forebodings of evil have been realized. One of the results of the concession to Americans has been a despatch from Earl Russell to the British minister at Yedo, which says: 'It would be better that the Tycoon's palace should be destroyed than that our rightful position by treaty should be weakened or impaired.' When a British minister threatens to burn a palace, Eastern Asiatics know full well that the torch will be preceded by a bombardment and followed by looting, which in Anglo-Indian parlance means plundering. Thirteen ships of war, two of them French, are at Yokahama, within a few hours' sail of the palace which adorns Yedo, the proud metropolis of the 'Land of the Rising Sun,' awaiting an answer to a British ultimatum.

As the Japanese are neighbors of our countrymen whose homes are on our Pacific coast, we should not be so absorbed in the struggle to maintain our nationality as to be unmindful of the perils by which they are surrounded. While the subjugation of Mexico, by one of the Allied Powers, which aims at a general protectorate of the East, causes us anxiety, the prospective invasion of Japan by the other power cannot but be regarded by us with solicitude, for in its results it promises to open another 'neutral' port to facilitate the operations of other Nashvilles and Alabamas against our commerce. Assuming that we shall speedily avert the impending danger of foreign domination involved in the present contest, the various questions affecting American interests in Eastern Asia become fitting subjects for discussion, and at this moment the foreign relations of Japan particularly demand consideration.

At one period of their history, the foreign relations of the Japanese were of the most amicable character. In their treatment of the Europeans who first visited them, they were courteous and liberal. For a period of ninety years the Portuguese carried on a highly lucrative commerce, by which they built up the port of Macao, which has been styled the brightest jewel in the Lusitanian crown. To Xavier and his co-religionists they extended a cordial welcome. Bringing, as did the missionaries, a similar but more imposing ritual, with dogmas in many points analogous, but accompanied with the sublime teachings of the gospel, the propagation of the new faith was so facile, that a single generation might have witnessed the nominal christianization of the entire empire, had not fatal dissensions arisen among the different orders of the Portuguese, Spanish, and Italian missionaries. In consequence of these dissensions the country was closed to foreign commerce and religion for more than two centuries. A like cause led to the closing of China to Christian nations.

The edicts of Gongen Sama (founder of the reigning Tycoon family) not only prohibited the visit of any foreigner under penalty of death, but condemned to death any native who might return to Japan after going abroad, or being driven to another land by a storm. The vindictive code was no brutum fulmen, for not long after their exclusion, the Macao Portuguese despatched an embassy, nearly all the members of which, including attendants and ships' crews, were massacred. Of the sixty, only the menials, thirteen in number, were suffered to return.

A long period of exemption from foreign intrusion followed. With the present century commenced a series of private and semi-official visits from various nations. During their seclusion they ceased not to feel an interest in Western affairs, but, aided by the Dutch, they studied physical sciences and contemporaneous history. Thus they heard of the gradual approach of the irrepressible foreigner, the opening of China through the Opium War, the acquisition of Hong Kong by the English, the frequent appearance of American whalers off their coast, the rise of California, and the introduction of steam on the Pacific. These things must have suggested to thoughtful observers the necessity of modifying some day the institutions of Gongen Sama; indeed, the Dutch state that they counselled against resisting the demands likely to be made by mercantile powers for a relaxation of their prohibitive policy. Therefore it was that the not unreasonable requirements of Commodore Perry were complied with, which guaranteed succor and good treatment of distressed sailors, and the admission of a consul. This last concession was obtained with much difficulty, for they regarded it as an abandonment of their policy of isolation, and such it proved.

Our minister, Mr. Townsend Harris (then consul general), succeeded, after much resistance from the Japanese, in getting access to Yedo from his consulate at Simoda in 1857, his object being to negotiate a commercial treaty, which in the following year he accomplished. Many English writers endeavor to rob Mr. Harris of the honor which he gained in thus opening an empire to the commerce of the world. The Tycoon acquiesced, say they, while the echoes of the allied guns in north China were booming in his ears. Our minister is represented as holding the British and French fleets in terrorem over the nervous Japanese, and obtaining, without the cost and odium of an expedition, the same advantages as if an American expedition had been despatched, and had been successful. The truth however is, the American treaty was negotiated, drawn, and ready for signature before he or they heard of the attack on the forts at Taku; and only signed at the appointed time, after learning that news. Now, however, finding themselves in a quandary, we see their highest authorities on this question pleading in extenuation the circumstance that they were 'driven by the Americans into making a Japanese treaty'!

The concession made by the Japanese, in the first place—of kind treatment of shipwrecked voyagers, and of facilities for the refitting of disabled vessels—was no more than we had a right to exact; perhaps, also, we may be justified in having urged them to admit a resident official agent to protect those interests. But if a nation deems it politic to isolate itself from all others, has any state the right to compel that nation to abandon its exclusivism, and to receive offensive strangers as residents? No publicist will answer this in the affirmative, nor do statesmen advocate such a claim; yet practically Christian nations have uniformly acted on the assumption that they might rightfully force themselves upon an unwilling people. It is however from the corollary involved in this assumption that weak peoples are made to suffer. It would avail the aggressive power little if its subjects were required to comply with all the laws of the country into which they had thrust themselves, for in that case the laws could be made to operate so as to thwart them in every important undertaking. Hence to the right of residing in a country contrary to the will of its government is joined the correlative, that of compelling the feeble state to abdicate its sovereignty to the extent of exempting the intrusive foreigner from local jurisdiction—of according the advantage of extra-territoriality. The pliant Chinese readily yielded to this new order of things on discovering that foreign nations possessed the will and the power to enforce it; but the intractable Japanese must have their spirit cowed by violence ere they can become resigned to the national degradation. It was soon discovered that the measure was highly unpopular: the functionaries who acceded to the demands of the hated foreigner forfeited their lives or their posts. Nobles who were intensely hostile to the regime, succeeded to the administration; and on them devolved the task of inaugurating a new era, of accommodating the institutions of their country to what they could not but regard as the first stage of a revolution.

The delicate undertaking, of reconciling the antagonistic principles of an encroaching commerce and of a feudal despotism, was committed to two diplomatists eminently fitted for its proper performance. Mr. Townsend Harris, who by long and patient study had conciliated the people and won the confidence of the Government, as United States consul general at Simoda, was appointed as American minister to Yedo; and Sir Rutherford Alcock, whose experience as a British consular officer in China dated from the period of the treaty of Nanking in 1842, was delegated as his country's ambassador to that metropolis, the capital of the Tycoon. Several difficulties were to be encountered at the threshold. First came a question of currency. Commodore Perry's treaty allowed foreign coins to be taken at only a third of their value, and under the new treaties our merchants found that by the rate of exchange the price of native products had been raised fifty to seventy per cent.; on the other hand, they were able to purchase gold with silver, weight for weight. The correspondence on this subject, written and verbal, plainly disclosed that the free extension of trade was not contemplated by those islanders. Next we find the Japanese gaining a diplomatic victory in the location of the foreign factories, having managed to have them placed at Yokuhama, instead of Kanagawa, the site stipulated for in the treaties, an arrangement which serves to isolate and almost imprison the foreign settlement; but as Yokuhama was the choice also of the mercantile community, the ambassadors could not well press their point—it went by default. It is the misfortune of Orientals generally, that in all their controversies with the English, the latter have been the historiographers, and therefore, in almost every step of their aggressive career, appear as disinterested champions of justice, seeking the improvement of semi-civilized peoples, by inflicting upon them wholesome and merited chastisement. Let it be conceded that the charges against the Japanese which we find in the Blue Book and in Sir Rutherford Alcock's 'Capital of the Tycoon,' are all well founded, and the resort to strong measures on the part of the British will be admitted to be justifiable.

These authorities narrate a series of murderous assaults, made upon Russian, French, Dutch, American, and British subjects in quick succession, indicative, we are assured, of a fixed determination of a powerful party to restore the regime of Gongen Sama. A party of Russian officers were insulted in the streets of Yedo, for which, in compliance with the demands of Count Mouravieff, a responsible official was degraded. To avenge this disgrace of a Japanese officer, some of his friends set upon a Russian officer and his servant, hacking them to pieces in one of the public streets. The next victim was a servant of the French consul, who was hewn down and cut to pieces in the street. This was soon followed by the murder of the linguist of the British embassy, a Chinaman; the sword which was thrust through his body was left in that position by the assassin. The same night there was an attempt to fire the residence of the French consul general. Two Dutch captains were next barbarously slaughtered in the streets of Yokuhama; one of the unhappy men was over sixty years of age. The French legation again suffered in the person of an Italian servant, who was cut down while quietly standing at his master's gate. Mr. Heuskin, secretary of the United States legation, was the first assailed of the diplomatic body. He was a valuable public servant, highly esteemed by natives and foreigners. A native of Holland, he was linguist as well as secretary, the Dutch language being the medium of communication. Despite various warnings against exposing himself by night, he, on returning home at a late hour from the Prussian embassy, was waylaid and hewn down, dying speedily of his wounds. Hitherto the English, personally, had escaped severe assaults; but, a few months after the assassination of the secretary, a midnight attack was made on the British legation, which, from its formidable character, showed that it contemplated the massacre of the entire body. The assassins met with a spirited resistance from the English and their Japanese guard. In that desperate encounter, Mr. Lawrence Oliphant, secretary of legation, was wounded severely, Mr. Morrison (consul, a son of the celebrated missionary) and two servants slightly. Of the Tycoon's guard two were killed and fourteen wounded. On the part of the assailants three were killed on the spot, two, who were captured, committed suicide by ripping themselves up, and several of those who escaped were wounded.

A subsequent attack on the British legation resulted in the death of two English sentries, one receiving nine and the other sixteen sword wounds. The last of these murderous assaults was made on three English gentlemen and a lady, who were riding on the Tokaido, where they were met by the cortege of Shimadzoo Sabara, prince of Satzuma. Being ordered to return, they complied, but no sooner had they turned their backs than they were set upon by the retainers of the prince, numbering between five and six hundred. The lady miraculously escaped, two of the gentlemen were wounded, and the third, Mr. Richardson, being nearly cut to pieces, fell from his horse, and when lying in a dying state, one of the high officials of the cortege commanded a follower to cut the throat of the unfortunate gentleman, an order that was quickly obeyed.

These sanguinary deeds were diversified by various attempts at arson—the latest, with aid of gunpowder, being successful. On the first of last February, the British minister's residence at Yedo was burned to the ground by armed incendiaries, who made their work more sure by laying trains of gunpowder, which caused a tremendous explosion; but as it was, the members of the legation were all at Yokuhama, and there was no loss of life except among the natives who tried to extinguish the fire—they were shot down by the incendiaries.

The inquiry naturally occurs, Are there no extenuating circumstances to be adduced on the part of the Japanese? Were there no acts of provocation on the part of foreigners? If we rely merely on the testimony of the complainants, the reply would be an unqualified negative. An impartial witness, however, finds no difficulty in presenting apologies, which have some claims to be considered as a justification of their conduct. The Japanese affirm that nearly every case of assault was designed to avenge personal insult. The linguist and the sentries of the British legation had perpetrated wrongs upon those by whom they subsequently fell. When the attack was made upon the sentries, it was by a solitary avenger, who stealthily crawled on his hands and knees until he reached and slew the offender; and he killed the other because this last attempted to prevent his escape. In like manner, the servants of the French official had committed outrages upon these vindictive people, from whose resentment they suffered.

It should be remembered that if these men, instead of revenging themselves, had sought legal redress, it could have been obtained, if at all, only at the hands of the masters of the aggressors, who would have been tried and punished, if convicted, according to the foreigners' code. The Chinese sometimes resort to our tribunals, but oftener submit to wrong; the nobler Japanese have a sense of honor which will not easily brook such an invasion of their rights.

With regard to the case which the English make the immediate casus belli—the murder of Richardson—there are contradictory statements; it is denied by the Japanese that he and his party turned back to make way for the prince of Satzuma's cortege; they say, on the contrary, that he was killed only after obstinate persistence in dashing through the cavalcade. Moreover, patriotism undoubtedly prompted many of the deeds of violence detailed in the foregoing record. Take for example the reason assigned by one of the assassins who was slain in one of the attacks on the British legation, as declared in a paper found on his body.

'I, though I am a person of low standing, have no patience to stand by and see the sacred empire defiled by the foreigner. If this thing from time to time may cause the foreigner to retire, and partly tranquillize the manes of departed mikados and tycoons, I shall take to myself the highest praise. Regardless of my own life, I am determined to set out.'

There were appended to the paper, from which the above extract is taken, the names of fourteen Lonins, or bravos. These impulsive patriots did not restrict their assaults to the aggressive foreigner, but assailed also the nobles who acceded to the foreigners' demands. Several times ministers of state were attacked in the streets, while surrounded by their retainers, and on each occasion many lives were lost in the fight which ensued. Indeed, continuing to follow English official authority, it would appear that the American treaties cost the lives of two tycoons, one regent, and several ministers and nobles, for the most part by self-evisceration. The assassination of the Gotairo, or regent, is fresh in the minds of the public. It took place at noon, while he was in the midst of his guard, on his way to the palace. His head, we are informed, was exposed at the execution ground at Miako, there being placed over it the inscription: 'THIS IS THE HEAD OF A TRAITOR WHO HAS VIOLATED THE MOST SACRED LAWS OF JAPAN—THOSE WHICH FORBID THE ADMISSION OF FOREIGNERS INTO THE COUNTRY,'—but which the Japanese affirm was never written. The sentence, however, seems to express the motives of the murderers. It is the aristocracy of the empire that is fiercely arrayed against an abandonment of the policy of isolation: that the populace is not particularly hostile, is evinced by the comparative immunity of foreigners from violence at the ports of Hakodadi and Nagasaki.

Why should the ruling classes seek to abrogate the treaties and defy foreign powers? The Daimios are not ignorant of the prowess and resources of the country against which they particularly array themselves: they are a well-informed and astute class, and cannot fall to see that feudalism and commerce are antagonistic—that free intercourse with foreigners is incompatible with the existence of the present form of government: and therefore many of them would fain revert to the conservative policy of isolation. More than four years ago, the writer of this article, then in Japan, although his opportunities of observation were limited, published the opinion that a revolution would be the inevitable result of the concessions that had been extorted from the tycoon; that civil war could hardly fail to take place, by which the government would be brought under the sway of one ruler, tycoon, mikado, or some powerful daimio, which would lead to the destruction of the feudal system, and to the introduction of Christian civilization, a consummation which we in the interest of the Japanese may devoutly wish, but which the daimios, having full knowledge of the same, must in self-defence resist to the last. Hence the English base their charge that the attacks on foreigners were instigated by the nobles, and perpetrated by their retainers, which remains to be proved.

Apart from the prospective evils consequent on an abandonment of the restrictive policy under which the empire has long prospered, there were immediate consequences which to a high-minded people must be galling and degrading beyond endurance. The treaties have robbed them of their independence: compelling them to abdicate sovereignty to the extent of absolving resident foreigners from Japanese jurisdiction. In various publications in the East and in Europe the writer has attempted to show how disastrous extra-territoriality has been to China; on the present occasion it will suffice to name this violation of a nation's rights as justifying resistance to the last on the part of patriots in Japan.

While for good political reasons some daimios have endeavored to render the treaties inoperative, and to frighten foreigners out of the land, there has been springing up among the people a strong antipathy toward them, for which they have themselves alone to blame. Who that read the glowing accounts of the reception at first accorded to our people, did not admire the suavity and hospitality of the Japanese? This friendly intercourse lasted only until the parties came to understand each other. Now, we are told that when a western man passes through the streets he is hooted at as 'Tojin baka,' a foreign fool, a gentler way of putting it than in China—where it is 'Fanqui'—foreign devil. The practical joking in which many foreigners are apt to indulge is often carried too far, and being accompanied by an arrogant demeanor of superiority, proves highly offensive. Again, we find the Tojin baka often fail to discriminate between different classes of females. Discovering that the Japanese were lewd beyond all other people, with institutions fostering vice, without even the flimsy pretext of hygienic considerations, they take liberties which rouse the vindictive rage of husbands.

Palliation may be found for the alleged arson mentioned in the catalogue of complaints that have excited British indignation. In the question of a site for the residence of the ambassadors, the irrepressible foreigner demanded a celebrated temple, and its magnificent grounds, the Hyde Park of Yedo—a favorite place of resort of the citizens on holiday merrymaking. Recent accounts represent this cession of a popular place of recreation as having cost the tycoon much of his popularity, and as involving him in a controversy with the spiritual emperor, who, as Pontifex maximus, has exclusive authority over religious edifices. Yielding to pressure from above and below, the tycoon begged the ambassadors to consent to the removal of the buildings to some other site in the metropolis less obnoxious to the mikado and to the populace, all the expense of which the Japanese Government offered to pay. Only one of the buildings had been completed, that for the British legation. Colonel Neal, H. B. M. charge d'affaires, was solicited to give his consent, which he refused. Time was precious. The mikado's envoy was about to return with a final answer; it was necessary that something should be done to save the tycoon from the consequences of his disobedience. The knot was cut, as we have seen, by the torch and by gunpowder.

In the use of firearms the prejudices of the natives have been needlessly offended. Shooting game is not generally allowed to the people, yet foreigners here often been reckless in the pursuit of sport, regardless where they sought it, and terrifying the people. Again, riding on horseback is allowed only to the nobles, and it is a source of provocation to all classes to witness the equestrian performances of foreigners of every station in life, whose amusement at times consists in making pedestrians scatter as they gallop through crowded streets. Moreover, the Chinese servants in the employ of foreigners habitually insult and oppress the natives, presuming on immunity as retainers of the privileged stranger. As the Japanese hold the Celestials in supreme contempt, and as that feeling is fully reciprocated, collisions are the consequence, and it is pretty certain that the 'servants' of the legation who were murdered were offending Chinamen.

Guizot remarks, in his 'History of Civilization,' 'of all systems of government, it may be asserted, without fear of contradiction, that the most difficult to establish and render effectual, is the federative system—which eminently requires the greatest maturity of reason, of morality, and of civilization, in which it is applied. The very nature itself of feudalism is opposed to order and legality.' It was with the executive of a feudal federative system that European and American governments negotiated these treaties, a duplicate sovereign over six hundred and twenty feudal barons, commanding above two hundred thousand armed retainers, governing a people wanting in reason and morality. The existence of the theocratic element served further to complicate the machinery of government at Yedo. It may be questioned whether the ministers of the tycoon were ever heartily in favor of an abandonment of the policy of exclusivism. It is probable that they yielded to the demands made upon them, as the least of two evils, a refusal promising to involve them in wars, which might eventually lead to their subjugation to one of the least scrupulous of the aggressive powers. In the inauguration of the system, Japanese statesmanship was exposed to a severe ordeal. On one hand was the task of pacifying the native opponents of the fundamental change in polity, and on the other, the duty of evading, as far as possible, the concessions that had been wrung from them by the foreigner. Something answering to demagoguism is found in the Ultra Orient: there was not only the honest opposition of the patriot, but the factious hostility of the office seeker, against whom the ministry were called to contend. As a consequence, those who were responsible for the innovation soon lost their lives or their posts. Their successors found themselves, as is often the case in political changes, obliged, when in power, to carry out the general policy which, when in opposition, they decried. Instead of abrogating the treaties, they aimed, by evasions and restrictions, to render nugatory many of their stipulations. The Japanese Herald, an English mercantile newspaper, published in Yokuhama, gives the following list of concessions made to the Japanese Government:

'The right to trade in gold was given up; the right to exchange money, weight for weight, was given up; enforcing recovery of debts clause was given up; Ne-egata was given up; Yedo followed; non-circulation of dollars in the country unopposed; Kanagawa as a residence given up; land leases at the usual rate of the country given up; restrictions on employment of servants allowed without remonstrance; immunity from local jurisdiction endangered; and, lastly, Osaka given up on our own minister's representation.'

Still, the gioro, or council of state, failed to appease the factious opposition, and are charged by Sir Rutherford with not being really desirous of securing foreigners from injurious treatment even from the hands of their own officials. A candid observer, on reviewing all the circumstances of the case, will absolve the Government of the tycoon from the charge of complicity in the injurious treatment from which foreigners have suffered. It must be admitted that the Government were, as they protested, helpless in the matter. In almost every instance they failed to discover and punish the murderous assailants, who were screened by disaffected powerful daimios. They encountered obstacles, the same in character, but far greater in degree, in repressing the hostility toward foreigners which our authorities had in restraining aggression against natives; and further, it ought not to be forgotten that they acceded promptly to all the demands made upon them for pecuniary compensation as an atonement for lives taken and for wounds inflicted. Ten thousand dollars was sent through Mr. Harris to Philadelphia, for the widowed mother of the murdered Heuskin, and such was their regret for the occurrence that the Government would have paid manifold more, if our minister had seen fit to exact as much. English sufferers, or their relations, also received liberal compensation.

Menaced by the feudal aristocracy, and by the theocratic element of the Government, the tycoon's ministers could not but look forward to the period when, by treaty stipulations, the concessions which had been so fatal to their predecessors, and against which they had themselves inveighed, were to be extended to new ports. If the admission of foreigners into or near the metropolis or seat of the temporal authority had proved disastrous, what evils might not be expected when, by admitting them to Hiogo, or Osaca, they would be brought so near to the capital or seat of the spiritual power!

To avert, or rather to postpone this impending evil, an embassy was despatched to European countries with which treaties had been made, soliciting an extension of time (five years) for the opening of new ports. Mr. Harris easily obtained the assent of our Government to the reasonable request. Earl Russell acceded also, but required as an equivalent the strict execution of all the other points of the treaty; viz., the abolition of all restrictions, whether as regards quantity or price, on the sale by Japanese to foreigners of all kinds of merchandise; all restrictions on labor, and more particularly on the hire of carpenters, boatmen, boats and coolies, teachers, and servants, of whatever denomination; all restrictions whereby daimios are prevented from sending their produce to market, and from selling the same directly to their own agents; all restrictions resulting from attempts on the part of the customhouse authorities and other officials to obtain fees; all restrictions limiting the classes of persons who shall be allowed to trade with foreigners; and all restrictions imposed on free intercourse of a social kind between foreigners and the people of Japan. These all seem reasonable, and are only what the Japanese Government was already bound by treaty to fulfil; but as our Federal Government has found itself embarrassed by South Carolina's treatment of colored British subjects, so the tycoon's ministers find some of the feudal daimios nullifying or disregarding the treaty obligations of the general government.

If, however, a more conciliatory policy on the part of British residents had been pursued toward the Japanese people, if greater allowance had been made by English officials for the peculiar difficulties surrounding the Government to which they were accredited, and if more confidence had been placed in the good faith of the tycoon's ministers, it is certain that all opposition would have been gradually overcome. At one time a majority of the daimios had become reconciled to foreign intercourse; but the anti-foreign party has been increased and incensed by recent events; and there is danger that a compliance with the new demands of the foreigner will involve the country in civil war.