Or e'en a tiger's deep, ferocious growl,
Than sit in chimney-corner 'neath my hat,
And list the screechings of an irate brat."
We thought we would go to Mrs. Stanhope's this cold, starry, winter evening, but on passing the parlor windows of Dea. Allen's cottage, the curtains being yet undrawn, we distinguished, by the blazing firelight within, the form of that good lady, and also that of her maiden sister, Miss Martha Pinkerton, both sitting at the family table, drinking tea with the good deacon and his amiable spouse. Amy Seaton and Charlie were there, too, but we missed the laughing face of Jenny Andrews, and Mrs. Allen said she was gone on a sleighing excursion, which a number of the young people of Wimbledon were enjoying, this fine, bright evening.
"I want to know," asked Miss Pinkerton, sipping her bohea, "if you believe there's any truth in the report of Florence Howard's engagement with Rufus Malcome, Mrs. Allen?"
"Well, I never thought much about the matter," returned that mild-visaged lady. "The young people's affairs don't interest me particularly. The two families are quite intimate. We have the Malcomes at our next door, and can't well avoid seeing a large number of their visitors, as they come and go."
"Col. Malcome is a very gentlemanly man," remarked Mrs. Stanhope, as they were rising from the table.
"Yes," said the good deacon, wiping his face with a yellow silk handkerchief; "but sometimes I fear he is not the Christian he should be. He never goes to church, and every Sunday that wicked-looking woman of Major Howard's is there the whole day, racketing about with Rufus and the servants. I don't think a peaceable, pious man would counsel such doings, for my part."
"That Hannah Doliver at Col. Malcome's every Sabbath?" said Miss Pinkerton, opening wide her large, light eyes; "I don't see what she does there; really, the impudence of some people is astonishing. 'Tis likely she wants to see all she can and gossip about the colonel's affairs."
Nobody replied to this pert speech of Miss Martha's, and Mrs. Stanhope resumed the conversation by giving a brief account of Mrs. Lawson's discomfiting attempt to convert Mrs. Louise Edson into a reformer; she having received an amusing description of the scene from Louise's own lips. This was exciting considerable merriment among the group, when there came a rap on the door, and Mrs. Salsify Mumbles entered with her daughter, Mary Madeline; the latter carrying a bundle in her arms. Before the salutations were fairly over, said bundle began to squeal, and on removing several yellow flannel blankets, a baby was discovered of nearly the same hue as the shawls which had enveloped it.