FANNY DAY’S PRESENTIMENT.
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BY MARIE ROSEAU.
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(My dear Rose, you ask me to write something which Mr. Graham will print, for your sake; because it is the best Magazine extant, and because you subscribe for it. I will try.)
Do you believe in presentiments?
Two summers ago Fanny Day and myself visited Caroline Alden in her country home, about one hundred miles from Philadelphia.
The morning previous to that fixed upon for our departure, after vainly using all the ingenuity and strength of which I was capable, to stow away in the top of my trunk three dresses, one large shawl, nine bound books, a portfolio, and the four last numbers of “Graham,” I was forced to the conclusion that one-half the articles named must be left behind. Then came the serious business of deciding which of them should be rejected.
“Couldn’t I leave one of the dresses?”
No, that was out of the question. If I meant to ramble over rocks and hills the five (two were already deposited in the lower part of the trunk,) would be barely sufficient to last me through the visit.