“How could you say those bad words, with a child in the room?” she said, reproachfully,—­pointing to my little black-eyed friend.

“I only said, ’The Devil,’—­that’s all!  But now I remember,—­if a story is ever so good, and ‘the Devil’ gets into it, it’s no go with you!  But, Allie, you shouldn’t be a wet blanket to a fellow!  When he is trying to be entertaining, you might help him out, instead of extinguishing him!  Laugh just a little to set folks going, and make moral reflections afterwards, for the benefit of the children.”

“You know, Harry, I can’t make reflections!”

“No more you can,—­ha! ha!  If you could, there would be the Devil to pay—­in curtain lectures, wouldn’t there?”

“Again, Harry!”

“Pshaw, now, Allie, don’t be hard upon me!  That was a very little swear—­for the occasion!”

She will refine him in time.

Ryerson has infused new spirit into this stiff place.  The very day he came, I observed that various persons, who had held aloof from all others, drew near to him.  The fellow seems the soul of geniality, and everybody likes him,—­from old man to baby.  The young girls gather round him for chat and repartee,—­the young men are always calling to him to come boating, or gunning, or riding with them,—­the old gentlemen go to him with their politics, and the old ladies with their aches.  Young America calls him a “regular brick,” for he lends himself to build up everybody’s good-humor.

He is everything to me.  Before he came, Mr. Winston was almost my only visitor, though other gentlemen occasionally sat with me a few minutes.  But now everybody flocks to my couch, because Harry’s head-quarters are there.  He has broken down the shyness my unfortunate situation maintained between me and others.  His cheery “Well, how are you to-day, old fellow?” sets everybody at ease with me.  The ladies have come out from their pitying reserve.  A glass of fresh water from the spring, a leaf-full of wild berries, a freshly pulled rose, and other little daily attentions, cheer me into fresh admiration of them “all in general, and one in particular,” as Ryerson says.

Perhaps you think—­I judge so from your letter—­that I ought to describe Miss Winston to you.  She is finely——­Ah, I find that she is wrapped in some mysterious, ethereal veil, the folds of which I dare not disturb, even with reverent hand, and for your sake!  Ah, Mary, I aspire!

VIII.

C——­ Springs.  September.

The autumn scenery is gorgeous up among these misty hills, but I will not dwell upon it.  I have too much to say of animated human nature, to more than glance out of doors.  Nearly all the boarders are gone.  Miss Winston left last week for her home in Boston.  I am desolate indeed!  The day after she went away, I stood upon my own feet without support, for the first time.  Now I walk daily from the house to the spring, with the help of Kate’s or Ben’s arm and a cane, though I am still obliged to remain on my couch nearly all day long.  I write this in direct reply to your question.