“I find myself deficient in the easy command of language which seems so natural here.  I have been astonished to find what an easy flow of polished and tolerably correct language is possessed by some with whom language might rather be regarded as the substitute for, than the instrument of, thought.  It must be owing to practice; though it is a mystery, to me how persons can talk so smoothly, and even so beautifully, without ideas.

“I have seen a great many new things.  I will tell you all about them when I get home.  I long for that time to come, though it be only two days off.  Every one has so much to do here, or rather in in such a hurry, that, were it not for my uncle’s mercantile habit of keeping his word, I should not expect to see home at the appointed time.

“I am glad I came, for many reasons.  I did not know so well before how little the external has to do with happiness.  As persons pass by and look through the plate glass upon the silk damask curtains, they doubtless think the owner of that mansion must be very happy.  Now I believe my dear father is far more happy than my uncle.  I do not believe that my uncle’s magnificent parlors (I use strong language; but I believe they are regarded as magnificent by those who are accustomed to frequent the most richly furnished houses) have ever been the scene of so much happiness as our own plain keeping-room has.  I would not exchange our straight-backed chairs, which have been so long in the home-service, for the costly and luxurious ones before me, if the adjuncts were to be exchanged also.  I long to sit down in the old room and read or converse with my parents, by the light of a single candle.  I prefer that homely light to the cut-glass chandelier which illuminates the parlors here.  I love to see beautiful things, and should have no objection to possessing them, provided the things necessary to happiness could be added to them.  Of themselves, they are insufficient to meet the wants of the heart.  Instead of being discontented with my plain home, I shall prize it the more highly in consequence of my visit to this great Babel.  Do not think I am ungrateful to my dear uncle and to his wife for their efforts to amuse me and make me happy.  I should not be your daughter if I were.

“Aunt has just come in, and has sent for me to her room.  Kiss my dear father for me, and pray for me that I may be restored to you in safety.

“Your affectionate daughter,

“SUSAN.”

(To be continued.)

* * * * *

SING ME THAT SONG AGAIN!

BY MISS E. BOGART.

      Sing me that song again! 
  A voice unheard by thee repeats the strain;
  And as its echoes on my fancy break,
      Heart-strings and harp-chords wake.

      Sing to my viewless lyre! 
  Each note holds mem’ries as the flint holds fire;
  And while my heart-strings in sweet concert play,
      Thought travels far away.