his wife; and she was obliged, at the age of thirty, to cast about her for means to live by and to bring up Ruth, then six years old. For a few years she kept an infant-school-that is, the infants went to her house, and hung about her skirts, or slept on quilts spread over the floor for their convenience. All the nice people in Repton sent their children to her, understanding they would be taught nothing beyond the alphabet. Mrs. Bowen became a familiar name to every mother in the neighborhood, and it was a matter of pride between them to serve her. The children were made the medium of presents which, in fact, amounted to supplies; and as children have sharp wits, and are able to appreciate the cunning of older minds, they were sometimes made to perceive the comparison between Ruth's home and their own, to Ruth's advantage. She flourished with them at their bed and board, and in similar clothing, and grew more genteel even than her mother. When she was sixteen Mrs. Bowen gave up her school, and took up, with Ruth's assistance, fine-sewing. They never sought work; it was brought to them, to be done at their leisure and pleasure. Both were industrious, ingenious, and capable of executing any trust that was confided to them. The natural conscience, which persons of indifferent characters sometimes possess, is a curious starting point for reflection, if one such had time to reflect on the inconsistencies of men and women. What Mrs. Bowen and Ruth professed to do they did as if they were actuated by a high sense of duty-but they

were not.

What does it matter, so long as the Reptonians felt themselves repaid in their own coin? What if some acute person now and then said that the Bowens lived for themselves alone, and did it shrewdly too? Were they not bright, cheerful, and did they not hold up their heads high while they were about it? They made the most of what they had, and in that way they were generous, bestowing agreeable sensations by means of their neatness and good taste.

Mrs. Bowen turned her gifts and money to so good an account that it was difficult to remember their origin always; her pride assimilated what was originally foreign so thoroughly, that no soul would ever have dared to remind either Ruth or herself of the fact, or play the part of "Indian Giver" with them. They made as fine an appearance in Repton as any Reptonian. Not a fashion came there that Ruth did not adopt; not a new book was heard of that she did not contrive to get, either from the circulating library in the shire town or by borrowing from the few who read in Repton. Every magazine or paper which contained any account of the outside world, taken in the town, she devoured with a zest which was accounted for by her acquaintances who thought it a desire for information. It is not easy to account for a taste in novel-reading when the one who has it is somewhat selfish and passionless, as Ruth certainly was, and still less easy to discover

what the effect of novel-reading is on such a character. It did not appear that she had imbibed therefrom any romantic ideas of solitude or society; she was invited every where, and accepted all her invitations. She was a marked feature in every party, being pleasing in style and intelligent. Sifting her influence to the bottom it was nothing; but she would have been missed from Repton, and never forgotten. People expected her presence, some one said, on the same principle that quince preserves obtained-they were always made, never liked, but eaten. Mrs. Bowen had a half-sister, who lived in a distant city and was married to a merchant of some means. She sometimes sent presents to Mrs. Bowen and Ruth-small articles of taste and luxury, which Mrs. Bowen received with a sneer or a sarcasm, and Ruth with curiosity and gratification. The last gift had been a pair of painted China vases, which Ruth intended to fill with lilies; but Ezra's chimneys had filled her mind instead.

Ezra Clark's farm was not in Repton proper, but three miles from its centre. It was not a model farm. Its buildings were without paint or white-wash; tumbling stone-walls and fences of crooked rails divided its ground into cornfields, potato patches, and pasture. On the north of it was a big swamp, in the west pine woods, and to the east ran the road which led to Repton. There was nothing picturesque about the premises. There were no prize cattle, or breed horses, or fancy poultry, and no pigeons. Ezra owned some good common cows, a yoke of oxen, a horse, and quite a number of hogs. He raised hay, corn, rye, and potatoes. Mrs. Clark made butter and sold it; also apple butter and dried apples. The old orchard, whose fangs defied nature's dentistry, also sheltered a bee-hive, and was the pleasure-ground of a few hens, whose eggs and broods were sold also, together with the honey from the hive. Ezra sold hay in the spring and the rest of his crops in the fall, pork in the winter, and sometimes beef. The farm cleared between three and four hundred dollars a year, which was nearly all saved. It had paid nothing in the time of Ezra's father; but when he died Ezra took it and brought it into a paying condition. It had been his for five years; consequently he was now worth about two thousand dollars. Sometimes he thought of taking this fund to speculate with in some other part of the world: like other Yankees he could go any where and be any thing, should he choose. He might establish a trading post in Japan, or invent something in the East Indies that would keep the natives cool and make his fortune. But he never came nearer to leav ing home than this vague dream brought him. There were a hundred reasons why he should stay. His mother could not live without him. Who but himself could twist and screw a profit from the mean acres they owned? Who would keep an eye upon the old age of proud Mrs. Bowen if he failed to? Lastly, who wouldn't ent him out with Ruth if he forsook his forlorn hope?

Mrs. Clark would have lived had he left her, for she loved life and the world. She was somewhat eccentric-the "Widow Nabby," pious by rule, and skeptical by nature, artful, kind-hearted, bright, and simple, and withal a remarkably handsome woman. Her features were as regular as a Greek's. She had full black eyes, and a mop of black curly hair; her feet and hands were beautiful, her form perfect, and yet she was born on the opposite side of the swamp, where she lived till she married Ezra's father, and moved on the side where she now was. She was an awful dowdy, however, being perfectly indifferent to dress and her personal appearance. Her shoes were always down at the heel; she preferred wearing them so-there was no trouble about tying them. She hated strings, buttons, and hooks and eyes, and pins scratched her; her cap was two-thirds off her head generally, which she said was owing to the obstinate curl of her hair-it would rise up wave-like. Her gowns were made of a material that never required washing, and never came to mending, but fell all away at once. Her house was arranged correspondingly, and her way of doing housework was slip-shod of course. What was the use of making her bed every morning when it was tumbled every night-she reasoned with old Sally Lane, her ancient "help," who made it up notwithstanding. If the furniture dropped apart it remained so, unless Ezra saw it, and had it mended. Occasionally she had a fit of moving what she called "Lumber" into the unused rooms, and compelling Sally and Ezra to enjoy bare floors and walls a while. She swept and dusted, she said, when the Lord willed, which was not often. Her duty was done, however, in the line of milk-pans; their "shining morning faces," when she put them out of doors on a board, propitiated the demon of cleanliness, and was the saving clause put in by her friends when they otherwise called her a "Slut." She made a sincere effort on Sundays to look something like the Repton people whom she met at the Presbyterian church; and, with the help of Sally, succeeded, though before she returned her bonnet, shawl, and collar went astray over her shoulders; and she lost so many gloves and handkerchiefs that she gave up wearing them at last, and flourished a leaf of tansy, a rose, or a dry stalk of caraway seed instead. It was at church that Ezra began to observe Ruth, to admire, and then fall in love with her. His pew was behind the one Mrs. Bowen hired seats in, which gave him the advantage of seeing Ruth enter it, and of looking boldly at the back of her bonnet. Sometimes her silk dress rustled against him, and he smelt the Cologne water her handkerchief was perfumed with. Mrs. Bowen and Mrs. Clark were members of the church, and the symbolic cup was handed by one to the other often; but they never exchanged more than a bow outside of the church. The "Widow Nabby" and her wardrobe was a jesting theme between Mrs. Bowen and Ruth; but her wonderful old woman's beauty was never VOL. XXXI.-No. 186.-3 C

recognized by them; perhaps they never saw it. Some people never discover genius even, when it is born in the same town with themselves. I am told that one of our noted authoresses is considered a miserable housekeeper in her town, and that Mr. Tennyson is called a cross man in his. If the world discovers a man of genius these people cry: "It can't be; he was born here; we have known him always!"

Ezra was really unnoticed by Ruth, and indeed there was little about him that was noticeable. "A common, decent farmer" Mrs. Bowen would have called him, if she had spoken of him at all. He was unlike his mother, but favored his father, as she often said with an odd sigh; he was tall and angular, fair-haired, grayeyed, and had a Roman nose. If Ruth had ever taken pains to examine his face she would have seen there a resemblance to herself. She was tall and angular also, and had fair hair; but her features were delicate and trained, as in fact was her whole self, while Ezra, as yet, was but a man in the rough. Mrs. Clark penetrated Ezra's secret about the time he learned it himself. She thought him a green, foolish boy, but did not say so; she depicted the horrors of gentility to him in her cunning way; exposed the shifts and expedients to be resorted to where there was no real basis for it, but she only made Ezra laugh. The truth was, that it was Ruth's elegant precision that had fascinated him. He had suffered his long life, without knowing it, from the disorder and confusion at home, and his mother, without his knowing this too, would have been the last model he would have chosen from. Poor mothers! But they are ignorant also. After worshiping Ruth for several years in church he suddenly took the initiatory step toward making her acquaintance, and went up to Repton to spend his evenings. This was late in the spring, at the time the young people were beginning their excursions to the woods and fields. He was acquainted with the Repton men, but had made no visits to their houses. His point of attack was a call at the minister's, where it was lawful for all to go, with a bundle of rhubarb stalks, which he presented to the minister's wife, with the hope that they would not use up too much of her sugar; and chance, who loves parochial gifts, favored him. One of his friends, Joel Barnes, was there on a parish errand.

"There's a party of us," he said, "going up your way in a few minutes, Ezra. Join it, will you? We are going to Grape Dell." "Who's going?" Ezra asked, confidently. "I hardly know; I asked Ruth Bowen to go, for one."

"I am not acquainted with her."

"I'll introduce you. Come, you have kept out of company long enough. I never saw you in the minister's house before."

"It is Mr. Clark's fault," remarked the minister's wife, kindly.

"I know it," answered Ezra; "but, marm, the farm is on my hands; it takes all there is of

me, soul and body, to keep it from falling back on me. But I've met with a change lately. I intend to be more among folks; and, Joel, I don't care if I do go along with you, and you may introduce me to as many young women as you like."

As it was dusk when the introduction came off Ezra acquitted himself decently, though he was sure of nothing, except that Ruth Bowen was near him, and that she had said in a high clear voice, "How do you do, Mr. Clark ?" and immediately added, addressing Joel Barnes: "Where did he come from?"

"What a splendid moon, Ezra!" Joel remarked, as if he had not heard her.

"No," answered Ezra.

"What a fool!" thought Ruth.

"The girls are getting into his head," thought Joel.

Ezra thought of a way to speak significantly to Ruth. The loud talking and laughing round him saddened his heart, he could not reason why. He wished Ruth would not feel quite as gay and self-possessed while she was so near him; but of course she could not guess what was seething in his mind. At last he asked her if she liked long walks. Very much, she replied, pleasantly; he said then, that he liked walking too. Behind the plow or dropping corn,' she thought; but said "Indeed!" and spoke to some one else. When the road which led to Grape Dell was reached he suddenly conceived the idea that he should feel easier at home, and drew aside for the party to pass. As Ruth went by he called out to her astonishment, in a friendly tone:

"Good-evening, Miss Bowen!"

"That's a capital good fellow!" said Joel Barnes to Ruth a few moments afterward.

"I have seen him with the Widow Nabby for years, but never met him. Have we the prospect of much of his society in our set ?"

"Do have 'em, Ezry, whether or no; young feet have not trod over these floors for many a day. I wish they would dance." "Will you dance, mother?"

"Oh, Ezra! I belong, and can't; but I'll bet a horse to a herring that Sally Lane would like to cut a caper."

He consulted with Sally; she advised cider and cookies, and, as most of their chairs refused to bear any body's weight, suggested some new ones. He went to Repton the next day and bought twelve maple-backed and rush-seated chairs, and then carried his idea to Joel Barnes.

"If you will come up to my shanty with the same party and spend the evening," he said, "I'll drive you all home in my hay-cart."

"All right," answered Joel; "say when."
"Next week some time."
"Thursday."

"That's fair. Don't expect any thing; there's a good deal of rind about mother and me, you know."

"My country friend," said Joel, "husk is what we jaded voluptuaries need." "Be darned."

When Sally saw the chairs she was so excitedthat she exclaimed: "Ain't he a one to go it ?" "No," answered Mrs. Clark; "I would have burnt the house down, and moved the lot." Ezra exchanged a look with her. "You are right, mother; but I won't do either, and you know why."

"The mountain's a coming to Mohammed." Mrs. Clark spoke kindly to every one on the evening of the party, but made no effort to entertain.

"She has not changed her cap even," said Ruth Bowen to one of the girls. "Isn't she curious? and did you ever see such a house? Ezra has not made a mistake, has he, and put us in a deserted cattle-pen? I would not be obliged to sleep here, or touch a particle of food,

"He!"

poor young man, brought up in this way?" "True enough," her friend answered; "but

and Ezra is a fine young man-forehanded, too. He is looking at us."

Ruth turned her face toward him, and tried to look civil. He had watched her all the evening, and paid her several attentions, which she mutely accepted, He liked her in his own house better than ever. How graceful and neat she looked in her spotted muslin dress and little black silk apron, and with the long curls at the

"What for?"

"Because it is pleasant."

"Ho, ho delightful, ain't it? either with the skeeters in the swamp, the owls in the woods, or me and Sally Lane in the kitchen."

"To-to-see me, then."

and felt the scornful expression in her face while she spoke to her friend. He went up to her, and the friend sauntered away.

"This is a poor place," he said, sharply. She was so surprised at his sudden accost that she blushed and looked very natural. "It is quite old, I suppose," she remarked,

"Old as it is, poor, mean, filthy, I intend to bring my wife here."

"Yes, and I am going to ask you to be my wife. I have thought of you for a long time." He was very pale, and his Roman nose looked more like a bridge than ever.

Mercy on me," said Ruth, terribly afraid he would be overheard; "I decline the honor." Mrs. Clark saw it all through the half-opened kitchen door. She would have flown at Ruth's throat in behalf of her offspring if it would have helped him; as it was she shook her head till her cap fell off, and she kicked it away.

"I am," continued Ezra, between his teeth, "a suitable husband for you. We both earn our living. Our mothers have to labor. I will take care of your mother in her old age. She need never make another shirt; but you would have to work and help me." "I-never! I could never dream of such a husband as you. Please attend to your com

pany and let me alone."

He turned away in perfect calmness, but deeply mortified. So was Ruth, and very angry. He offered her a glass of cider when it went round, but she would not take it or look at him.

"I deserve your respect," he said, holding the glass almost under her nose. "I insist upon your taking this from my hand."

She raised her eyes to his. He looked so determined that she took it; she was afraid he would make a scene if she refused, and then it would come out that she had been subjected to his ridiculous proposal. The remainder of the evening was chaos to both; Ruth was anxious to get away, and Ezra desired an end to the thing. Mrs. Clark was not sorry to see the party depart. She sent Sally Lane to bed immediately, but sat up herself till Ezra returned from Repton with the hay-cart.

"You need not fire up. It will pass over soon; it is not likely that he will tell of his rejection."

"He is Joel's particular friend."

"I am sorry for that; what can Joel see in him?" "I know I shall see him whenever I see Joel; I am sure of it."

And she did. Ezra solemnly went every where with Joel, if there was a prospect of meeting her. His pertinacity came to be understood, and Ruth was laughed at for her adorer. There was but one way of escape-marriage

and there was but one she would marry-Joel Barnes-Ezra's friend, who appeared to be his advocate from the fact of his allowing Ezra to hang to his skirts on all occasions. Joel was genteel. His business, that of clerk in a drygoods store, suited her; his hands were white, his clothes always fashionable. But Joel had no intention of rescuing her from Ezra's pursuit. The summer passed without any mitigation of her troubles; Ezra was quietly friendly toward her, whether she turned her back to him, or whether she set her face in scornful rigidness opposite his. It is certain that under this régime he developed wonderfully, acquiring experience with his hopelessness that went far toward turning him into one of "Nature's noblemen;" that is, his farming instincts and his love of labor sat with ease and dignity upon him. But farming and labor blinded Ruth's eyes still. Nature's nobleman was poor; he had rough hands; he still said "darn" now and then. Can she be blamed? When winter came, she made it an excuse for not going out in the evening as much as formerly. Ezra could not carry the war into her dwelling; he would not quite dare to face Mrs. Bowen. It was not pleasant for Ruth to hear that Ezra was more and more tol

"I don't think."

bles for the season. She refused to join them. When he heard of it he wrote her a long letter, and

"If it was as bitter as the tears that I could shed as easy as not, she'll be very sick before morning. I took her down from the hay-cart, however; if I hadn't she would have sprained her ankle."

"I wish her pride could be sprained." "Never mind, mother; I am going to wait a while. Good-night to you; much obliged." With tears of vexation Ruth related to her mother what had befallen her.

"What could.have possessed the jackass?" asked Mrs. Bowen; "he could not suppose you would inherit any property."

desire to go. He also wrote her some disagreeable truths concerning herself, but he repeated his offer of marriage. Ruth took no notice of the letter, and still staid away from the sociables.

"It will never do to give it up so," said her friends. "You will have to marry him to get rid of him."

"Be sure to come and take tea with me when I do," she answered.

It came to pass that Mrs. Bowen and Mrs. Clark had a slight falling out without ever having had a falling in. One snowy Sunday Mrs. Clark passed the interval between the morning

"There's no other way of accounting for it; but what encouragement had you given him?"

Ruth was to remain at home, Mrs. Bowen started early, and they met at the stove in the entry. Bows were exchanged, but with the sudden opportunity wrath gathered in Mrs. Bowen's