sumed, in order to hide feelings which she did not dare to indulge; but she saw that Mr. Roberts was deeply pained by it; and in the shade of sadness on his brow, which was not for a moment chased away by Fanny's forced merriment, she discerned a dark foreboding of future sorrow and trial to them both.

About a week after Fanny's arrival, Amy received the following letter from her:

Dear Amy,

New York,

Can it be only a week since I left Boston -the blessed place where I first drew the breath of life, where I first became conscious of this craving thirst for happiness, still unsatisfied, the place where you and I have been playmates and friends as long as I can remember anything, the place where I first learned to love all that I have loved, all that I do love? Do you wonder, when all these recollections of Boston cluster around my heart, that I should feel so sad at leaving it? "No," you will say; "but it is your duty to try to like New York; that is that must be your home." What a task you have set me! I cannot like anything be

cause it is my duty to like it. But I will give you some of my first impressions, and then you will see that I have duty enough on hand. I pass over the impression made on my mind, at our arrival in the city, by the forests of masts- the multitudinous houses the unceasing movement of human beings, rushing, in perpetual streams, through the streets and lanes of the city, like the blood through the veins and arteries of the human body. My husband asked me, as the steamboat stopped at the wharf, if it was not a grand sight. "Yes," I said; "but it makes me feel very lonely, to see so many strangers." "It shall," he replied, "be the purpose of my life, dear Fanny, to make you happy. I hope you will become reconciled to New York." "O, yes," I answered, "I shall be happy;" and I really felt, at that moment, Amy, as if I could have lived with him in the black hole of Calcutta.

But you want to know about my home, and about my husband's father, whom I never saw before. He is a kind, simplehearted, quiet old man. As he folded his arms around his son, he said, "Thank Heaven, who has given me back my son! You will be here, William, to close your old

father's eyes." He received me very affectionately, and said, "You must remember, my dear, that you are in your father's house." I felt quite happy, considering I was not in Boston. The tears came into the old man's eyes, when my husband presented him our baby. "God bless the boy," he said, "and make him as great a comfort to his parents as my son has been to me!" Presently he rang the bell. When the servant came, he desired him to go and tell Mrs. Hawkins that Mr. and Mrs. Roberts had arrived. "Your housekeeper, father, is it not?" said my husband. "Yes," he replied; "and a very useful and faithful person she is. I could not live without her."

In a few minutes, this important personage entered. She is a short, spare figure, with a head long and large enough for a tall woman. She has a long, hooked nose, and scarcely any chin, with a large mouth; but her lips are so thin, and they are so firmly compressed, that, when she is silent, you would hardly know she had any. Her piercing, black eyes are perfectly round. Her complexion is very yellow, and she dresses in green; so that the idea of a bilious parrot was immediately brought to my mind by her appearance; and I should not have been

much surprised, if I had said "poor Poll" to her. Then she takes very short steps, and moves very fast; so of course she must trot; and as her petticoats are short, and her feet unusually long, when your attention is not arrested by her nose, you see nothing but her feet.

Imagine, dear Amy, what I must have endured, at being introduced to such a figure, with the knowledge, too, that I was to live with her, nobody knows how long. But I will go on with scene first in our new life. When she heard our names, she darted a glance at us, and, quick as thought, she ran up to my husband first, and gave his hand a sort of swing, and afterwards performed the same operation upon me, but with less cordiality. I see you shake your head, Amy, and say, "Fanny, this is naughty in you; it is contemptible, to laugh at personal defects or peculiarities," and so on; and I acknowledge it all. But, remember, I have promised to write every thing to you just as it is-to say every thing just as it comes into my mind; and you could not judge of me rightly without knowing every thing relating to me, more especially anything so important, and so calculated to affect one's destiny, as being

doomed to live with such an oddity as I have described.

Well, to continue. She took the baby with a sort of jerk from the nurse's arms, and held it up to the light, which of course set it screeching. As she jerked it back again, she said, "It looks most like its Ma."

After we had been seated a little while, she asked me if I should like to go to my room to refresh myself. I gladly said yes. She treads very heavy, and wears double soled shoes; so you may imagine what a clatter she makes going up stairs.

It is a large old-fashioned house, and our apartments are delightful. My nursery is next to my own chamber, and all is thoughtfully arranged for our comfort. Mrs. Hawkins said, "she hoped things would suit; she had done the best she could for us." And she retired. When the dinner hour had nearly arrived, I went down stairs into the drawing-room, where I found my husband and his father still chatting as I left them. Presently the old gentleman said, "I have always been in the habit of having my housekeeper at my table. If it be not disagreeable I shall still invite her to our meals."

"Certainly," replied my husband. have no objection, I am sure, Fanny ?"

"You