and yet be unconscious that he had uttered a beautiful comparison.”
“So, too,” said Fred, “any one who has ever cooked a certain kind of shell-fish before sunrise, could not help saying, as the light broke upon him,
“ ‘Like lobsters boiled—the moon
From black to red begins to turn.’ ”
“Come,” said Hattie, when our laugh had subsided, “it is getting dark, and as I promised to be at home in time to see Sally dressed for her bridal, I fear if we don’t go now, she will remind me of the pouting dame who sits at home,
“ ‘Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.’ ”
After we had left Hattie at her own door, and were proceeding homeward, Fred broke out in his most earnest tone. “That Miss Atherton is a very nice girl; what an intellectual face she has—have you seen any of her poetry—does she write much?”
“Oh, yes—you have read some of it, which she has published anonymously, (but this is a great secret, remember,) and her motive in doing so is as honorable to her heart as the verses are to her poetical powers. You know Mr. Atherton lavishes his wealth upon his children without bounds, and Hattie says it does not seem very benevolent for her to give away her father’s money, so she devotes the proceeds of her literary labors to purposes of charity. She is very kind to the poor; I wish you could see how their faces brighten at her approach.”
“Well done! that is what I like in a woman. She is really a very sensible girl,” replied my brother.