some bread and butter may refresh you. Take some chairs. My tea-kettle will soon boil, and we will not hinder you a great while."

We could not resist the invitation, and took tea with George and Mrs. Milbank. It was a pleasant time. The windows were all up, the air was delightful, and we formed an acquaintance with that little rural home, and with Mrs. Milbank, which we long held dear.

After tea, George and his mother took us through their garden, and showed us their trees. "You know this tree, I suppose, that I have selected for the avenue," said George. "They are not very large yet, but are fast growand will be magnificent when about ten years old.' They look like button-wood," said one, and "basswood," said another.

ers,

66

No," said he, "they are the tulip-tree. See what an elegant leaf they have, what a brilliant glossy green, and how beautifully scolloped. See here, how the leaves and sprays unfold from each other. They are very stately when grown, their sprays are elegant and bend like a scroll, and a tulip-tree fifty feet high is the finest object in a forest. It always reminds me of an elegant, stately, perfect woman; and far better than the weeping birch, it answers the words of Coleridge-" Most beautiful of forest trees-the Lady of the Woods." We next saw a pair house for shade, and

of black-walnuts planted near the silver birches, a maple or two, a liquidamber, and a few fine evergreens. George and his mother joined us in a walk to the cascade, and we returned, and they went with us to a lecture in the city..

One of the best courses of lectures was given, earlier than usual that year, and at the expense, chiefly, of the factory girls. There were two on Natural History, which interested us much. There were three on Astronomy, given in a popular style, from which the dullest of our number retired animated and improved.. We had one on he Dignity of Labor, by a clergyman from Medford, who began with an apology, not for the subject of his lecture, but for society, that it should require a word to be said in vindication of a thing so noble and divine. We had one on Howard and Prison Reform, and one on Oliver Goldsmith. I think I never was more inspired or ennobled by any course of lectures than by that, or received ideas that I so long remembered.

In company with Selwyn, (with whom I now felt that I had for the first time got acquainted,) we visited the institutions of Merrimack, and heard their objects and history explained. The rest of the time was spent in the cheerful parlor or on the beautiful grounds of my dear doctor, and the time seemed very short, though I stayed a fortnight before they returned. They told me they had not regretted my staying with Celia and Selwyn, for I appeared as if I had been quite happy, and my health were a good deal improved. My heart did have its happy hours and days, and the happiness was of the kind I expect to taste in heaven.

XXXII.

DERBY returned and resumed his old quarters at the Merrimack House. I was told that he appeared far better for his recreation, and affected the gayest spirits. I too was better for a time; and I know not that the reader would thank me for what I might relate of a few months that followed. Of course there were times of excitement; there were accidental meetings to bring the hot blood to my forehead and ruffle my peace, and I must have been more than mortal to have escaped an illness which I suf fered for several weeks, from an epidemic that prevailed in Merrimack. But I had faith and hope to sit by my bedside, and before I recovered even, I was convinced that my illness came not without a blessing.

My friends were kind to me before, and I thought I had been thankful for their love, but I have found there is nothing like suffering to kindle the ardors of love, to put bliss into smiles and joy into sympathies, and open our hearts to thanksgiving. To me, every friend seemed, at that time, to have been transfigured to a being of superhuman beauty and perfection. The whole circle-Agnes, Julia, Anna, Jesse, Mary, Walter-as they visited me then, each ready to bear my pains,-each striving to

outdo the others in kindness,—seemed to me like a flock of cherubs just lighting down from heaven, to save me from death and solace all my griefs.

As I recovered in the sunshine of this love, it appeared to me that a new world was opening around, and new sensations and enjoyments of a strange, exalted and spiritual nature were rising before me. Walter was twice to

see me, and to assure me how good he had been since I was in Danvers. Julia and Celia came in and read to me, as soon as I could sit up; and after that, Selwyn gave Julia and me a drive on the banks of the Merrimack, and I remember with what keen satisfaction I enjoyed it all. As soon as I was able to undertake a short excursion, Lydia Buxton came with her carriage and took me off to Salem for a visit of three weeks. While I was under her care, the carriage was constantly going, and I was taken to Wenham, and Danvers, and after that to Dexter, to see Hannah in her new home.

I was delighted with my visit. I found my gentle friend in a little rural nook, about half a mile from the village, on the corner of a handsome farm which her husband received from his father. They enjoyed a pleasant old farm-cottage, with innumerable out buildings, all of the same Quaker style and color. There was a large creek about a quarter of a mile away,- -an inlet of the sea, that turned a grist mill of which Seth Parvin was also the owner, and on the other hand, an orchard which scented the air with the fragrance of its fruit. We talked volumes, of old times. We had our pleasant rambles. We went through the mill we visited

a room which Hannah frequently enjoyed, and swung half an hour in her hammock, with books in hand and when we chose, looked out on the landscape that lay in view. I heard all about the progress and labors of the Friends, and the testimonies they were bearing, the hopes and discouragements they experienced, the "disturbed times," and "solid satisfactory opportunities," which alternated with them. I attended a fair of the Prisoners' Friends. I went to yearly meeting. I was in an excellent state, I thought, to receive and appropriate every thing good and peaceful which I heard and saw, to my now plastic and renovated nature, and I returned to Merrimack feeling at times on the way that I could not be Mercy Winthrop; but that some other being more exalted and serene, with a heart of chaster joy and more tender sympathy had taken the place of my spiritual self.

I resumed my labors at the mill. Every thing was real about me, and no tangible cloud of melancholy rested on my heart. But every thing looked a little strange, notwithstanding; and there was something in my feelings which made it seem almost like dreaming that I was passing from earth to heaven, with a heart full of peace, and with eyes full of tears. I wrote again for the "Garden." My articles were somehow recognized as Mercy Winthrop's, but Julia assured me with exaggerated words, that while the hue of my former fancies was more like the bright sky of summer, my thoughts now had the tinge and the pure and tender serenity of autumn.

I was again invited to parties, and now and then made my appearance with the merry. I sometimes met