xt79s46h1n1h https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt79s46h1n1h/data/mets.xml Sherley, Douglass, 1857-1917. 1884  books b92-265-31852258 English Imprimary [!] J.P. Morton and Co., : Louisville, Ky. : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Inner sisterhood  : A social study in high colors / by Douglass Sherley. text Inner sisterhood  : A social study in high colors / by Douglass Sherley. 1884 2002 true xt79s46h1n1h section xt79s46h1n1h 







I 'q'r aistfr ood.

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  -A  SO SIAL -UPy 1 HIGH  OLO-A


                  tiij



      DOQ  GLASS 31jERLE/

                w iO WROTE
The Valley of Unrest: A Book without a Woman














               IMPRIMARY
          LOUISVILLE. KENTUC:Y
       JO)HN P. MO1-)r)N AND (f zTP ANY

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opni8hted accoriding to Law,
         1884,
   1U :Nouglass Jheley).

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E by 99 r gis t rood .
       Dqdicated to

OIe of t  isteriood.

 I  
III
III

V
VI
VII

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      3ujst afitr tot e fit:
         Miss Kate Meadowo.


  OB13EI   A FI FAI F.  V X` 1
          ,Xfi s Belle .Ma a s o j


  'I1E5' UZZ   L AWqIFRL:
          Miss Alice Wing.


FLINTIPG FOR REVErJE O        LPy
        Miss Rose Clendezonin.


    Mother and Dwutqr:
          Miss Sophia Gilder.


A BAS Of CFeOI\Ut0 ftACfUkf.
         snips Mary Lee Mitanict.


 platitudes and     pe1xures:
          Anise ][ejja  rsell

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I

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A Bit of Sweet Sinplicity
I n Blue.

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          3ust (fter Ut          Abet



; HE storm-door closes with a bang! My es-
      cort, a stupid fellow, has said "Good-night!"
He drives down the street in his old rattletrap of
a coupe. I am so glad he is gone! And yet I am
always afraid of burglars-or-something dreadful,
whenever I go into the house alone so late at
night. I bolt the inside door. I mount the hall-
chair, left waiting by papa, and, trembling with a
nameless fear, turn out the gas and leave myself
in darkness. I make two vain dashes for the stair;
a third, and I have found it. I grope for the heavy
rail and go rapidly up, two steps at a time, and
finally, out of breath, badly frightened, reach my
room. What a relief! I turn on the light-two,
three, yes, four burners, and wish for more. I stir
up the fire into a blaze; look over my left shoul-
der, but see nothing; listen, but hear nothing. I
wheel my dressing-table near by; seat myself before
the pretty oval mirror. I tear off those ugly blos-

 
soms, sent by that stupid man for me to wear; I
look long and earnestly at the tired face I see
reflected in the pretty oval mirror, with its bev-
eled edges and dainty drapery of pink silk and pure
white mull. It is not a pretty face; even my friends
do not think me beautiful. Yet I sometimes fancy-
alas! perhaps it is only a fancy-that I have on my
face a suggestion of beauty, even if beauty itself be
absent. My eyes are full and dark, with long lashes;
my mouth is somewhat large, not a good shape either,
and some people-who do not like me-say that
they can easily detect a hard, cold expression which
does not please them. But my profile is good in
spite of my ill-featured mouth, and there is-gener-
ally acknowledged-a certain high-born, well - bred
look about the poise of my shapely head which gains
for me more than a mere passing notice. My man-
ners are pronounced "charming," and by many-
those who like me-charmingly faultless. So, after
all, in spite of this lack of a positive style of beauty,
I am what might be termed a " social success."
But it is a social success which I have slowly
gained, with much labor, and its duration is some-
what uncertain. I am just beginning to be sure of
myself, although this is my fourth winter out. True,
I have almost always had an escort to every thing

 
given, but I have never been able to fully assert
myself. Now, wherever I go, I boldly, and without
fear, seek out some comfortable place in some one
room, at reception, party, or ball, and rest assured
that all of my now-many friends and half dozen or
more lovers will seek me out, and having found me,
will linger about me the entire evening; and if I
like, I need not even move from that one pleasant
place during the entertainment, but have my supper
brought to me and the two or three other girls
who make up our set, for you know it is so dis-
agreeable to crowd into the supper-room; it is a
vulgar eagerness, that carries with it a low-born air
of actual hunger, and it is so vulgar to be hungry;
and our set is so well-born and so well-reared. But,
0, my! my hair's all in a tangle; comes of trying
to do it up in a Langtry-knot. I do n't think it is
a nice way to fix hair, anyhow.   I like to pile
mine on the top of my head. Don't much care if
people like it or not. And yet-well, yes, I believe
I do care a little bit. I suppose I'll have to take
it down myself to-night, and not call the maid,
because she's very tired, and when she's tired she's
cross; I hate cross people.  But I ought not to
blame her, because I 've been out four nights this
week, and the musicale is to-morrow evening. The

 
musicales are always so nice-for people who like
music, and I have many friends who are so devoted
to music, at least they say they are. 0, this is such
a gay season! I do n't know why, but people say
it is always going to be dull, and yet, it is always
so gay. The men go down to the Pelham Club a
great deal more than they ought, and yet they do n't
neglect us entirely; and surely we have no reason
to complain for a lack of parties. Just think of it!
three crushes in two weeks, seven small affairs,
excellent play at the theater all of next week, and
I already have three nights engaged, and a chance
of two more. That stupid fellow said something
about would I like to go with him some time
during the week. How provokingly vague! But
he never made it more definite and final; just
never said another word about it. I hate men who
neglect things.
   Now, my hair is all combed out, and it's not a
bad color, either. I never knew that Belle Mason
to have as good a time as she undoubtedly had
to-night. She was actually surrounded the entire
evening; four or five men all the time, and I not
more than three. I never did like her; she has
such a conceited air; and now she'll be worse
than ever. But I should not have cared if every

 
other man in the house had stood by her the
entire evening, but to think that even Robert Fair-
field was with her constantly! He only bowed AT
AME from across the room, and never came near
me. At the Monday-night German he gave me,
with a hand-touch and a smile, this red rose, then
a bud, and I, foolishly, wore it to-night, although it
was faded. The horrid, withered thing! Yes, I was
actually foolish enough to wear it for his sake, and
he all the time by the side of Belle Mason! It
was a brilliant affair to-night-so every body said;
at least a dozen said as much to me, and I heard
a great many more saying that same thing to our
hostess. All the people really seemed to have a
good time.  But somehow   I did n't enjoy myself
much, and there are several reasons why. I abom-
inate going out with a stupid man; but there was no
other to go with, so it was an absolute necessity,
because go I must. He brought a shabby, uncom-
fortable coupe. He had sent ugly, dabby flowers;
and he hung about me the entire evening with
the silent, confident air of the young person who
fancies himself engaged to you. He said nothing;
he did nothing-except bring me a melted ice; but
he looked a number of unutterably stupid things.
And I heard more than one woman, in a loud,

 
coarse whisper, say, " I wonder why she came with
that stupid stick of a man" But, of course, they
didn't mean for me to hear it; they would not be
so unkind; but, unfortunately for my comfort, I did
hear, and every word. But that was not all. It's
a hard thing for a woman, in a gay season, to
appear each night in a new dress. Of course you
can have one nice, white dress, and change the
ribbons-sometimes pink, sometimes blue, or any
color that may happen to strike your fancy-but
sooner or later people will find that out; they will
just know it's the same dress with other ribbons,
and it 's a social deception which fashionable
society-idiots just will not tolerate.  You  must
appear in a new dress or an old dress, undis-
guised. Now, to-night, how was I to know that
Mrs. Babbington Brooks could afford to give so
elegant an affair, or in fact would be able to induce
so large a number of the best and nicest people
in town to be present at this, her first entertain-
ment. People said it was going to be crude, per-
haps disagreeable. So I wore that pale-blue silk-
old shade of blue-which I almost ruined at the
Monday-night German. When I entered the dress-
ing-room four or five of my best girl-friends affec-
tionately kissed me on the cheek, and exclaimed

 
something about being so glad that I had worn my
pretty, pale-blue silk, and that it was so becoming;
and was it not that same "love-of-a-dress" which I
had worn at the Monday-night German Now I
really would believe those girls malicious if I did
not know they were-each one of the dear, sweet
creatures-perfectly devoted to me; because they have
told me of their devotion many times, and I know
they would not say any thing they did not mean-
girls in our set never do!
   But this painful fact remains: my pale-blue silk
is not becoming! I am entirely too dark to wear
pale-blue, and I am just dying for a terra-cotta.
It's the loveliest shade in all the world!  Papa
likes blue, so I ordered it to please him, because
he is of the opinion that every body looks well in
that color, because mamma always looked well in
blue when she was young and beautiful.    That
reminds me what several old married women said
to me at the party to-night: " 0, my dear, your
mamma was perfectly beautiful when she was your
age! And she had so much attention, and from
such nice young men!" And they looked right at
that stupid fellow, for his silent stupidity had driven
away all the other men, who were just as nice as
any of mamma' s old beaus, too.  But those old

 
ladies could not have meant any thing, because
they are dear mamma's most intimate friends, and
I am sure must take a kindly interest in my wel-
fare. It's a dreadful thing to have had a beautiful
mamma, when you are not considered beautiful
yourself, in fact barely good-looking.
   But quickly to bed, or I will look what I am,
tired and worn-out, at the musicale to-morrow even-
ing. I must be fresh and well-rested, because I am
to play, and alone, a most difficult instrumental
piece. It's one of those lovely "Nocturnes." I won-
der if I '11 be encored  I was not when I played
at the last musicale.
   The lights are out!   The fire burns low!    I
thrust back the little dressing-table, with its pretty
oval mirror, beveled edges, and dainty drapery of
pale pink silk and pure white mull. I tenderly take
that withered rose from off the floor, where I rudely
tossed it in my anger of an hour ago.
   I forget that stupid fellow, my escort; the pale-
blue dress, so often worn; the random words-idle,
thoughtless, and unkind, at least in their effect;
even pretty Belle Mason fades away, and her charm
and her triumph no longer remembered against her.
I go a-drifting from all unpleasant memories! I
murmur a prayer learned at mamma's knee long

 years ago, and alas! for long years left unsaid. I
kneel in the firelight glow, I tenderly, fondly kiss
that red rose. True, it is withered and dead, yet
how sweet it is to my lips, and how dear it is to
my heart! Something whispers that I love the man
who gave it me! It seems to quiver to life again,
and tremulous with a strange, new joy, I remember
the hand-touch and the smile which came with the
giving of that red rose.

   osbrA

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II

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A Dash of jealousy and, HNxpocrisy
Done up in 01d Gold.

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     IXOBEFRIT F(AIEFIIEILD, ISOEIER.



     OBERT FAIRFIELD is an average man
        among men-but he is something more:
He is the ideal man among women. All women
have ideals, and there is not, there can not be a
more dangerous piece of heart-furniture. An ideal
is easily broken, sometimes badly damaged, always
liable to injury; and the heart of woman hath not
one cabinet-maker who can, with his touch and
skill, bring back one departed charm, one lost
beauty.
   I know this man-and yet I do not. I love
him-and yet, again, I do not. I suspect that, wo.
man-like, I am more fond of his charming, delicate
attentions than I am of the man himself. I some-
times fancy that he loves me; but I am wise enough
in my day and generation to be painfully aware of
the fact that just about six other women entertain
the same delicious fancy. He has told me of his
love, told me in a gentle, artistic manner-and

 
doubtless he has told the six other females the
same story; for he need not trouble himself to
vary the telling each time, because he has no fear
of detection.
   He knows that he is never the topic of conver-
sation among women. They seldom, if ever, discuss
their ideals, and all of them, myself included, have
a most evidently-conscious air whenever dear Rob-
ert' s name happens to be mentioned, no matter
howv trivial the mention.  But I am    the least
touched, and surely the more unresponsive of the
entire seven, consequently he is more devoted to
me than to any of the others. He was by my side
the entire evening at Mrs. Babbington Brooks' s
elegant and most fashionable ball the other night;
he was my escort to the musicale last Tuesday, and
0, he did look so handsome! And he never before
said SO MANY positively tender things, and he
said them in such a tired, pathetic tone, that he
almost won my heart; really, when I 'm with the
man I am sure that I love him, and most devot-
edly. But I have perfect control over myself and
my limited supply of feeling-Henry Seyhmoor
says I am without a heart; so I only look at him
full in the face when he tells me all those tender
little things. and then turn away with a light

 
laugh-assumed, of course-and gently but firmly
remind him that I am not Kate Meadows.
   Ah, here is a note from him now! He always
writes from  the Club-the Pelham, of course.       I
do n't know the people who belong to any other
Club. What a nice thing it must be to go down
to the Club at night, or whenever you like-I wish
I was a man. And this is his note:

   "Your Platonic friend, Henry Seyhmoor, seems quite devoted
here of late, my dear Miss Mason. I saw you with him last even-
ing at the theater; your talk charmed him into unusual silence.
How entertaining you must have been!
   " Wo n't you go with me to the opera Friday night; and wo n't
you be as nice to me then as you were at the musicale-no, not
that nice only, but even nicer still-as nice-as-well-as I should
like you to be; wo n't you 


A note of mere nothings. My common sense tells
me that much. Yet I find myself forming words
for myself between the writtent lines, and twice read
that dainty card, with the crest and motto of Pel-
ham.   Of course I'll go with him; for to go with
Robert Fairfield any where means a delightful time
to any girl so fortunate. It means a bunch of roses
almost heavenly in their sweet loveliness! It means
the two best seats in the theater! It means the
turning of a hundred envious female eyes from all

 
parts of the crowded house; for our theater is
always crowded on Friday nights, no matter what
the play or players may chance to be. Because it
is fashionable to go on Friday nights, and theater-
goers in this town are so fashionable.
   I am glad, at least once a year, that I am a
Methodist, because we do n't keep Lent. But Kate
Meadows is very high-church, and, of course, she
ought to keep it! I wonder if she will She was
not out during the Langtry engagement; but that
was on account of lack of men, not on account of
Lent; because her little brother told my Cousin
Mary's little girl that nobody had asked his sister
to go any where for days and days, and that his
papa had to take her whenever she went any where.
However, I suppose she '11 go, if she goes at all,
with her papa; he often takes her out.  I heard
her say that she did just love to go out with her
dear papa, and that it pleased him so much. Poor
old man! I saw him nodding and napping, nearly
dead for sleep, the last time he was out with her.
It s a shame to keep him up so! As for myself, I
would never go any where if I had to, for the lack
of a man, always be dragging poor papa out. It
must be so very mortifying.   But nothing could
mortify that girl; she is such an upstart.  Her

 
bonnets and her dresses are the talk of the town,
because they are so ugly and unbecoming.    But
she has a gracious and pleasant manner, and some-
times has a good deal of attention-whenever she
once gets out. People frequently say nice things
about her; but I am sure it's their duty, because
she entertains charmingly and often.  She never
gives any thing like a regular party, but quiet little
affairs that are acknowledged to be very elegant by
all who are so fortunate as to be invited-because
people never decline invitations to her house. She
is the only girl that I am afraid may finally win
Robert Fairfield.  She's passionately, foolishly in
love with him! Why, I saw him give her a red
rose-bud at our last Monday-night German, off in
the corner-he did n't know I was looking-and
did n't I see her wear that same red bud, then a
withered rose, to Mrs. Babbington Brooks' the fol-
lowing Thursday evening  She wore the shriveled
thing on her left shoulder, nestled down in a lover's
knot of pale-blue ribbon. But I made myself so
agreeable and altogether lovely that dear Robert
F. did not go near her the entire evening; only
gave her, from across the room, by my side, the
heow of compensation. He left that rose, thanks to
me and my successful efforts, to languish unnoticed

 
in its lover's knot of pale blue. Ah, Kate Mead-
ows, that time your lover's knot was made in vain!
   The "Earnest Workers," a society of our church,
for ladies only, meets this afternoon at four, and
it's nearly that time now; so I must put on what
I call my "charity dress and poverty hat."  It 's
such a good thing to dress plain and religious-like
now and then, just for a change, especially when
it's becoming. I will carry my little work-basket
and wear, as I go down the street, a quiet, sober
smile, and cultivate a pious air-a trifle pious any-
how. And if I chance to meet Mr. Fairfield he
will, of course, join me, and wonder as we walk
how one so worldly can be, at times, so charitably
inclined and so full of such good works and holy
thoughts. I sometimes wish I was good. But it's
so stupid to be good, and the men do n't like you
half as well. And I am very willing to acknowl-
edge it, I like the admiration of men.  I do n't
know any "balm in Gilead" so sweet and alto-
gether acceptable.
   But see! Down the street, right beneath my
room-window, comes that Kate Meadows; and Rob-
ert Fairfield's with her! He holds her prayer-book
in his hand! How earnestly they are talking! I
wonder what it 's about What a tender look on

 
his face turned full toward her downcast eyes! 0,
the hypocrile ! They are both hypocrites; we are
all hypocrites! On their way to that horrid after-
noon Lenten service I It 's a whole square out of
the way to come by this house! She did it on
purpose; I know it, I know it! She just wanted
me to see her with him! She 's the meanest girl in
this town ! I always disliked her, and now I fairly
despise the very ground she walks on-when she's
walking it with him! She 's coming to spend all
of Tuesday morning with me; wo n't I be gracious
though ! I '11 kiss her three or four times, instead
of the regulation-twice! I can be hypocritical, and
sauve too !  I do n't wish I was good!   I do n't
ever want to be good!     They have turned the
corner! They are out of sight!   I just won't go
one step to the "Earnest Workers !"  It 's all non-
sense, any how! Just sewing, and gossiping, and
talking about the minister and his wife, and all the
rest of the congregation who are not there ! No,
no, NO! I '11 just stay right here at home, and I '11
have-yes, I will-I 'II have a real good cry.



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III

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A Wild Fantasy
In Garrulous Red.

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Hi JUST must talk! I must talk all the time!
     Of course I talk entirely too much-no one
knows that any better than I do-yet I can not
help it!  I know that my continual cackling is
dreadful, and I know just exactly when it begins
to bore people, but somehow I can't stop myself,
but go right on and on in spite of myself.
   Aunt Patsey says I am simply fearful, and just
like a girl she used to know, who lived down-East,
a Miss Polly Blanton, who talked all the time; told
every thing, every thing she knew, every thing she
had ever heard; and then when she could think of
nothing else, boldly began on the family secrets.
Well, I believe I am just like that girl-because I
am constantly telling things about our domestic life
which is by no means pleasant. Pa and ma lead
an awful kind of an existence-live just like cats
and dogs. Now I ought never to tell that, yet
somehow it will slip out in spite of myself!

 
   My pa says I really do act as if I did not have
good sense, and I am, for the world, just like ma.
And ma, she says I am without delicacy, manners,
or any of the other new touches that most girls
have. As for Aunt Patsey, she is always after me!
She is " Old Propriety" itself! She goes in heavy
for good form. "Not good form, my dear, not good
form!" is what I hear from morning until night. I
do get so tired of it! They are all real hard on
me! No body ever gives me encouragement, and
yet every body is ready with heavy doses of admo-
nition! Now ma is a powerful big talker herself,
although she won't acknowledge it; but she always
seems to know just what not to say! I call that
real talking-luck! I am so unlucky talking.
   But the big power in our house is Aunt Patsey
Wing! There is always bound to be such a per-
son in every well-furnished house! They seem to
be just as necessary as the sofas and easy-chairs-
but not quite so comfortable to have around. We
are all deathly afraid of her! She is rich, stingy,
and says that she has made a will, leaving every
dollar to the "Widows and Orphans' Home "-a
nice way to do her relations! So of course we are
on the strain; on our best behavior to effect a
change in our favor. Ma says she will never, in

 
this world, change it-and changes made in any
other world won't do us any good.  But pa says
he knows how to break it! Mr. Meggley, her law-
yer, who drew up the will, has made an agreement
to sell pa the flaw-for of course there is one in
it, for all wills have flaws-then he will employ
another lawyer and break it without any trouble.
My, it will be so exciting! I suppose we will have
to prove that Aunt Patsey was of unsound mind.
Pa will give us our testimony to learn by heart!
Pa is a real enterprising man! Some people say
he is a regular schemer, but Aunt Patsey says that
he is a brilliant financier! He has made and lost
two or three big fortunes! He lost one not long
ago, and it is so hard just now to make both ends
meet. But Aunt Patsey pays a little board; that
helps along, at least with the table!
   Pa gives me a small allowance-when he has
the money; then not one cent more! I believe
every body in town knows just how much he
allows me! Pa says I told it, myself. Perhaps I
did; one can't remember every thing one chances
to say. Although my amount is small, yet I have
quite a little way of fixing myself, and always look-
ing real nice. Aunt Patsey says I do pretty well,
until i open my big mouth and begin to rattle,

 
rattle. rattle! She says I talk more and say less
than any body she has ever known, except that
down-East girl, Polly Blanton, who always told-
when in want of any other topic-the family secrets.
Aunt Patsey is forever-and-a-day preaching to me
about good form; what I ought, and what I ought
not to do; sometimes repeats long passages from
the prayer-book-nearly all the morning service-
then says, "It 's no use, no use; just like pouring
water on a duck's back !" But she must love to
do useless things, for she just keeps right on. She
says that I ought to be able to keep silent once
in a while, anyhow; but I do n't know how to
keep silent.
   Some body had to come and tell her-Aunt
Patsey-that I talked a great deal, and very loud,
at the theater, between acts. Now the idea of find-
ing fault with girls, or any body, who talk between
acts! Why it 's just perfectly delightful! I begin
the moment the curtain drops; I do n't even wait
for the music to begin-it is such a waste of time!
I know that I do talk a little too loud; but just
lots of real nice persons talk real loud at the
theater-it comes natural.   When    people turn
around and look at me as if I was really doing
something dreadful, then I talk ever and ever so

 
much more!     People can't frown me down-no
indeed, double deed, not if Alice Wing knows any
thing about herself! People who know me never
try; except my family, headed by Aunt Patsev,
who always says, " \Ve are prompted by a deep
sense of duty, my dear, duey I"
   I am almost engaged / Even Aunt Patsey likes
the man, and 0, so do I! He is nice and quiet,
and just loves to hear me talk-never interrupts
me, but lets me go on, and looks at me so admir-
ing-like all the time! Ma says I am sure to spoil
every thing by too much talking! He is so timid!
I encourage him, though, all I can; he seems to
like encouragement so much! He understands and
appreciates me, too, and that is a great deal; for
most of the other men act so funny when they are
left alone with me!  They nearly always have a
solemn, almost scared look-but I really do n't
know why! I must confess that I like stupid men;
they may not talk much, yet they seem real eager
to listen ! Then stupid men always have such
good manners, which, in society, counts for a great
deal! People who have good manners are so safe-
they never do any thing startling! I wish my man-
ners were better-but they are not! After one of
Aunt Patsey's talks on good form, and strict pro-

 
priety, I try to improve-regenerate, if possible. I
often watch Miss Lena Searlwood, one of the older
girls, who is a great favorite with Aunt Patsey-
but it is no use! She is a self-contained woman,
never ill at ease, and who puts you, and at once, at
rights with yourself. She is a most beautiful and
discreet talker! She would rather die, burn at the
stake, suffer on the rack, than tell even the sus-
picion of a family secret ! Aunt Patsey is always
talking her up to me, wishing that I would be only
a little bit like her anyhow. So the other night, at
a party, I took special care to notice the attractive
Lena. She is so graceful; quiet grace, mua calls it.
She leaned against a heavy, carved chimney-piece,
with dark-red plush hangings, and she looked for all
the world just like a tall, white flower, slender, beau.
tiful! She was slowly picking to pieces, leaf by
leaf, a pale-pink rose, which she had stolen away
from somewhere about her willowy, white throat.
And while she was doing all this-and it took
quite a while, too-she looked full in the face of
the man by her side, that rather good-looking, stuck-
up Calburt Young, and said nothing-absolutely not
a word! She did this long enough to make me
almost lose my breath.  I could not do a thing
like that; it would give me nervous prostration

 
sure! Yet, I know it is very effective! It was just
like some picture you read about, and it was beau-
tiful, striking, down to the smallest detail.  But
situations effective, and details pleasing, are not in
my line, and they are just as much a mystery as
improper fractions used to be when I was a school-
girl. I hated my school! It was called a "Young
Ladies' Seminary." It was a fashionable, intellectual
hot-house, where premature, fleeting blooms were
cultivated regardless of any future consequence.
But I was a barren bush! I never fashion-flowered
into a profusion of showy blossoms. Aunt Patsey
said that I did not reap the harvest of my golden
opportunities; but pa, he growled and grumbled a
good deal when the bills came pouring in, but paid
them, and roundly swore that he was glad he had
no more fool-daughters to finish off in a fashion-
able seminary.
   I have a keen sense of the ridiculous, and it
gets me in trouble all the time. I do n't mean any
harm; but I can't help telling a good thing when
I hear it or see it myself. Now that same Calburt
Young can't bear me; he hates me in good
fashion because I made fun of his doleful air, and
said that he had the looks and the manners of a
man who had, in a desperate mood, shot down his

 
sweetheart, concealed the fact, and was suffering
the pangs of deep remorse for the dreadful deed.
He heard about it and got angry! He does look
awful gloomy! He says I am crude, very crude,
and put people on edge; and that I am so good-
natured, so good-humored all the time that it
reduces less fortunate people into a state of most
desperate defiance-defiance against my everlasting
flow of animal spirits, unchecked by any thing. He
told all that to Sophia Gilder, and Sophia is my
bosom-friend; so she told me! Aunt Patsey has a
great admiration for her mother, Mrs. John Robert
Gilder, but says that Sophia, poor girl, is a milk-
sop-weak, weak! and taps her shining forehead
knowingly. Auntie has a most alarming way of
disposing of people !  I know all about her meth-
ods-gracious goodness! I ought by this time.
   About two or three months after I was finished
off at the Seminary, Miss Lena Searlwood gave a
little affair in my honor. She called it a tea-it
really was more like a dinner! They do entertain
so well! I was taken home afterward by that Cal-
burt Young-a great privilege I suppose! He was
in a bad humor anyhow; had not seen enough of
Miss Lena! He let me do all of the talking, never
once suggesting a new topic, and listened with an

 
air, not of attention, but enforced toleration.  It
made me furious ! Two or three times he said
"Yes " which was really worse than nothing! Fi-
nally, when near home, he turned to me and in
a tired, indifferent tone, said  " Beg pardon, Miss
Wing; you are just out, I believe! What did you
study while at school" It was a fling-I knew
it-so I answered, " I studied how to be rude to
arrogant, patronizing people who are forever asking
impudent questions with a desire to give pain, sir!"
He placed my night-key in the door deliberately,
calmly; pushed open the door, lifted his hat, turned
on his heel, without even closing one half of the
storm-doors, like other men always do, and said:
"Miss Wing, you have been well taught! You
were, indeed, a very apt scholar!  I congratulate
you! I have the honor to bid you good-night !"
I could have picked a dozen pale-pink roses to
pieces just then, but not leaf by leaf; I could have
torn up a whole rose-tree by the roots!  They say
Mr. Young is so smart, wonderful deep, and all
that; but he is just a mean, rude man, and I won't
ever have any thing more to do with him; and
when I say I won't, I won't!
   How some people do ruffle me into a fever-heat
of dislike and ardent opposition.  Of course I

 
know that it is all wrong, yet after all there is a
certain kind of satisfaction. Now, for instance, M/oal
Mrs. Babbington Brooks, with her smooth, oily
tongue, abominable phrases, "Yes, my sweet loves,"
and her "O! my dear doves," sets me fairly wild.
She is such a vulgar, low-born person! I always
feel tempted to fly right at her and tear off her
load of tawdry, costly finery, exhaling a strong, close
odor of greenbacks. How people have taken them
up! all on account of their money. They are invited
every where; and only last season people were
turning up their noses and asking, "Who, pray, are
the Brookses" Thanks to a cook from somewhere,
and a butler from somewhere else, their entertain-
ments are said to be really delightful, and their
dinners perfection itself. They are not yet q