feeling of new light and life, in terms whose modesty might have done honor to the wisest.’
‘This afternoon we met Mr. —— in his wood; and
he sat down and told us the story of his life, his courtship,
and painted the portraits of his father and mother
with most amusing naïveté. He says: — “How do you
think I offered myself? I never had told Miss ——
that I loved her; never told her she was handsome;
and I went to her, and said, ‘Miss ——, I’ve come to
offer myself; but first I’ll give you my character.
I'm very poor; you'll have to work: I’m very
cross and irascible; you'll have everything to bear:
and I’ve liked many other pretty girls. Now what
do you say?’ and she said, ‘I’ll have you:’ and
she’s been everything to me.
‘“My mother was a Calvinist, very strict, but she was always reading ‘Abelard and Eloisa,’ and crying over it. At sixteen, I said to her: ‘Mother, you’ve brought me up well; you've kept me strict. Why don’t I feel that regeneration they talk of? why an’t I one of the elect?’ And she talked to me about the potter using his clay as he pleased; and I said: ‘Mother, God is not a potter: He’s a perfect being; and he can't treat the vessels he makes, anyhow, but with perfect justice, or he's no God. So I’m no Calvinist.’ ”’
Here is a very different picture: —
‘—— has infinite grace and shading in her character:
a springing and tender fancy, a Madonna depth of
meditative softness, and a purity which has been
unstained, and keeps her dignified even in the most
