But our poor people had far more practical reasons than any of these for liking to live where they did. That which makes the pot boil" lay in profusion, dry and brittle, on the ground of the oak and pine woods; and that which alone can give the boiling a satisfactory result was to be had in plenty by all except those who were absolutely too lazy to pick up their food. They could set their nets in deep water and catch as many fish as they chose; or paddle up the creeks and stake their eel-pots to secure a haul next morning; or, for quicker effects, spear the eels in the mud at night by torchlight. If they wanted clams, they needed only to run out upon the flats with their spade and basket when the tide was out, and if they desired oysters, the beds were prolific and the rakes in the boats. Then there were crabs to scoop and ducks to shoot, and always, besides, the enchanting possibility of catching a "torop," for by this contumelious name do they designate that portly, aldermanic personage who presides at lord-mayor's feasts, and other destructive pageants.

These sea-turtle, at certain seasons, come clawing clumsily up the margins of the sandy coves to lay their eggs on the shore, and go blundering back again without further parental inquietude, superbly indifferent as to whether the sun hatches them or not.

One of these rare prizes had fallen into Ed's lucky hands a day or two before his interview with cousin Mary, and he would certainly have arrived eventually at the narration of the grand affair, if Marty's wifely repression had not nipped him untimely. He had seized the ungainly creature as it was returning to the water, and its tortuous track led him back to the newly made hollow in the sand where it had concealed its quantity of ugly eggs. Ed put it in a crawl sunk on the edge of the creek, hoping to save it till the momentous party should take place, when it would properly figure as the prime feature of the fête; and the eggs were carefully covered with an armful of wet sea

VOL. XXXIV. —NO. 204.

29

weed, to keep all vivifying sunbeams from taking even a peep at them; for nectar and ambrosia are less delectable in some people's eyes than the contents of those vellum sacks. Ed and Sammy made delightful diurnal excursions to the crawl; they pulled out the turtle and poked it about the head to make it snap its jaws together in rage; turned it over on its back to see its flippers work, and lifted it cautiously back again by its short, horny tail, - a happy provision of Nature for handling the crossgrained creature. Then they opened the sand and counted their treasure of eggs, and, covering them up wet and fresh, went blissfully back to Marty to tell her how beautiful it all was, and what a red-hot temper the old torop had.

It was close upon midsummer now, and the long-desired party seemed no nearer than at first, for Aunt Dolly was down with the chills, and Marty making up the deficiency by working every day at the house. But one Friday night at dusk, when the last plate was washed and put away, and Marty was slowly wiping the soap-suds from her tired hands, there came a flying scout through the twilight, dispatched from Hannah's in hot haste, with momentous information.

But the news was too prostrating to be borne alone, even by all-enduring Marty, and she came softly tapping at mother's door.

"Mis' Calvert 's gwine to be surprised now, I reckon," she said, very gently, "fer I'm beat myself, - the beatest I ever was yit. They 'se come."

"Who has come?" asked mother.

"All on 'em; all my pay-party, that I was gwine to have along towards fall," rejoined Marty, placidly. "Said they heerd 't was gwine to be to-night, and we hain't gin out, nor nothin'."

"They should not have come without a definite invitation," said mother, rather indignantly. "They must go home again."

"Yas 'm. Mother Honner let 'em know we had n't no notion of havin' it; but they said they heerd it was to be,

and they could n't come so fur fer nothin', and we 'd got to have it whedder or no. There's a big wagon-load chock full, from Tuckappoos, and they say they left the Squaw Neck folks walkin' over, 'bout half a mile back."

So the materials were gathered together and weighed out; the great oven was soon roaring with internal fires; Aunt Dolly, being in the debatable land between a fever and a chill, and much revived also with the prospect of a

"Wal, they knew we was gwine to have it some time or 'nother, when things got settled, and I reckon Ed must 'a' ben talkin' about that torop; he sets 'mazin' by it, and Mis' Calvert knows Ed's such a pleasant boy to talk, 'specially when he's a little out of the way."

"Very well," said mother in righteous wrath, "let him exercise his gift to-night, then, and amuse his company. They have chosen to come without an invitation, now let them stay without any entertainment, and go home as soon as they choose."

"Yas 'm. Mis' Calvert don't think that's kind of onsociable, eh, Mis' Calvert?"

Mother laughed in spite of herself. "I'm sure I don't know, Marty. Manage it yourself. What are you going to do?"

"Reckoned I'd ask Cæsar to take 'em out sailin' a couple of hours. Cæsar's a mortal clever boy, and them Tuckappoosers is dead sot on sailin'. Think's likely they 'll git aground comin' back. Tide 'll be cl'ar down by that time. Ed can kill the torop, I 'count it a 'mazin' marcy we got that torop, mistes, - and then row up to the store and git the goodies to set out and sell; and me and Ann and Mother Honner 'll git 'em a good tea agin they come back. Mis' Calvert think that's a good way to fix it?"

"Yes, as good as can be, Marty; and now, how can I help you?"

"If Mis' Calvert felt willin' to have the big oven het up, and to sell me a little butter and flour and sugar, and that big dish of beans and bacon I got ready fer to-morrow, I'd git along bitiful."

a big batch of her famous soda biscuit and card gingerbread, and afterward went to the feast to help eat it. The willing guests were sent out sailing, and verified Marty's hopeful anticipations, for they ran aground on the south flat, coming into the cove, and were held fast till eleven o'clock or after, when the tide turned and set them afloat once more. What with poling round into the right position, dropping sail and heaving anchor, and leisurely landing a few at a time in the follow-boat, it was almost midnight when they reached the shore.

Here all things had gone on prosperously. The fire had promptly and dutifully begun to burn the stick, the stick had begun to heat the oven, the oven had begun to bake the cake and biscuit and beans and bacon; and all of these had come in the fullness of time to a beauteous brown, and had been carried to Mother Honner's in the clothes-basket. There they adorned the table in company with the sumptuous turtle stew and minor comestibles, and sent savory smells into the contented nostrils of the hungry guests. Ed had returned in good season with his "store-nuts," candies, and rootbeer, and sat behind his stand in the corner, pouring out his heart to the crowd with the most affectionate loquaeity. Cæsar took the entrance-fee at the door, and the women served. After supper Ed and 'Lias furnished the music and the dancing began. The baby had been early dosed with Godfrey's Cordial and stowed away in a basket in the loft; but long-suffering Sammy came to the party as he had been promised, and sat up late and had goodies, till he rolled over with sleep and repletion, collapsed into a shapeless lump, and was finally hoisted into the loft with the baby and the other superfluous articles.

It is not every day that the Tuckappoos and Squaw Neck people go to a party; it is not so frequent a pleasure that they can afford to let it slip too quickly through their fingers. A bird in the hand is enjoyed only so long as he remains there. So the moon sank away in the west, and the eternal stars shone calmly on, and the rosy, innocent dawn flushed up in the east and faded, and the kingly sun came regally up over the sea, and still wassail prevailed on the face of the earth.

Marty came wearily back to the house at late breakfast time, dragging the drowsy baby in her own tired arms, for Ed and Sammy were still accepting Mother Hannah's somewhat reluctant hospitality. Marty was exceedingly meek and silent that day, and once in a while big tears filled her patient eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks. The day after a late party is apt to be an aching void, even for those who have the fun, and Marty's share of the affair had been only toil and weariness. She looked so forlorn toward evening, that mother bade her go to bed and sleep off her fatigue.

"Don't 'pear to be sleepy, thank ye, mistes," said Marty; "my head's so chock full of them accounts. What we owe Mis' Calvert, and what we owe to the store, and what we borrowed of Mother Honner."

"How did the party go off, Marty?" "Wal, it went off, -yas 'm," said

Marty. "Did you make as much as you expected?"

Marty's lip trembled, and the tears dropped as she shook her head slowly..

"It's a kind o' s'cumventin' world, Mis' Calvert, don't Mis' Calvert think so? Ed an't much of a hand to sell things, Ed an't; he 's such a pleasant boy; he gin away a sight o' goodies to the chillen, and the old folks, they hommered him down reel lively on his prices. Old Jed, he let the tongs fall right on to Mother Honner's big yaller puddin' dish, that sot on the hairth keeping the torop warm, and that'll be forty cents, I 'spect. And then countin'

what we owe to the store, and what we owe Mis' Calvert "

"Never mind that, Marty, let it go as my contribution toward the party."

-

"Wal, now, thank ye, Mis' Calvert! that h'ists a big weight off my mind! Mis' Calvert's reel clever to us; she allers is; that makes things better; and now, if we don't have to pay more 'n forty cents for the dish, and if Bruce and his wife pay us what they owe us, - did n't have no change last night, — and if Ruth Jake ever sends along the half-price for her fambly, she said a widder with three chillen ought to git in free, all on 'em; she reckoned it warn't accordin' to Scripter to take the widder's mite, but seein' 't was us, she 'd try to pay half-price bumbye when she sells her baskets, and if there an't nothin' more broke than I know on, I reckon now, we 'll cl'ar one dollar and fifteen cents."

-

"Oh, Marty! poor child! I know how disappointed you are! Why, you've been thinking of this all summer!"

"I have so, mistes," responded Marty with deep humility, "but I 'spect it 's the Lord's will. I allers was a uglytempered critter from when I was a baby. Mammy used to tell me I was the sassiest gal she had, and I'd got to git my sperit broke afore I died. So I'spect it's the Lord's will, Mis' Calvert, for my heart was sot on to them shingles, powerful sot, and I'd ben a prayin' to him so much about 'em that I kind o' felt as if he 'd noticed our roof hisself, and seen how much it wanted fixin'. Not that I want to fret, Mis' Calvert must n't think it-me, with so many marcies, such a clever mistes, and Ed such a pleasant boy, too. The frost and the snow are his 'n; and if it's his will they should fall on our heads next winter the way they did last, why, I reckon we can stan' it, and next summer mebbe we 'll try another pay-party and have better luck."

This was the melancholy end of Marty's long-projected comedy, but there followed a little epilogue of a more cheerful nature.

Cousin Mary told the story of the pay

party in her witty little way, at a dinner given by the General soon after her return to Annapolis; and Colonel Barton proposed that all the guests who cared to partake of the fruit should deposit an equivalent in the fruit-basket for what they took out of it, for Marty's benefit. Unanimous approval followed his suggestion; every one was hungry for fruit and sorry for Marty, and Cousin Mary sent down to mother the next week a little fortune for her. There was enough to shingle the roof, enough to buy the shoes, and a plump little nest-egg be

side, for Marty to tie up in her handkerchief and hide under the pillow.

Marty's face was as the face of an angel when she received the good news. Her very eyes laughed through her tears. "It's the Lord's doin'," she said softly, "the Lord's own doin'! Thar he was a-contrivin' and cunjurin' 'bout them shingles, while I misdoubted him! If I'd only stood fum to the faith, and not ben so uns'cumcised in heart, I might 'a' knowed that however beat a poor critter feels, his marcy endureth forever." Olive A. Wadsworth.

Celia Thaxter.

BERLIN, November 21, 1869.

THERE is so much to be seen and heard in Berlin that if one has but the money there is no end to one's resources. There are the opera and the Schauspielhaus every night, and beautiful concerts going on every evening too. They say that the opera here is magnificent, and the scenery superb, and they have a wonderful ballet-troupe. So far I have only been to one concert, and that was a sacred concert. But Joachim played — and oh, what a tone he draws out of the violin! I could think of nothing but Mrs.

-'s voice, as he sighed out those exquisitely pathetic notes. He played something by Schumann which ended with a single note, and as he drew his bow across he produced so many shades that it was perfectly marvelous. I am going to hear him again on Sunday night, when he plays at Clara Schumann's concert. It will be a great concert, for she plays much. She will be assisted by Joachim, Müller, De Ahne, and by Joachim's wife, who has a beautiful voice and sings charmingly in the serious German style. Joachim himself is not only the greatest violinist in the world, but one of the greatest that ever lived. De Ahne is one of the first violinists in Germany, and Müller is one of the first 'cellists. In fact, this quartette cannot be matched in Europe - so you see what I am expecting!

BERLIN, December 12, 1869. I heard Clara Schumann on Sunday, and on Tuesday evening also. She is a most wonderful artist, and I think must be the greatest living pianist except Liszt. In the first concert she played a quartette by Schumann, and you can

1 The reader will please to note the dates of the letters, which, as well as those from Weimar about Liszt, were written home without a thought of publication. One of A. F.'s friends wished to print extracts from her letters, and though she would not

imagine how lovely it was under the treatment of Clara Schumann for the piano, Joachim for first violin, De Ahne for the second, and Müller for the third. It was perfect, and I was in raptures. Madame Schumann's selection for the two concerts was a very wide one, and gave a full exhibition of her powers in every kind of music. The Impromptu by Schumann, Op. 90, was exquisite. It was full of passion and very difficult. The second of the Songs without Words by Mendelssohn, was the most fairy-like performance. It is one of those things that must be tossed off with the greatest grace and smoothness, and it requires the most beautiful and delicate technique. She played it to perfection. The terrific Scherzo by Chopin she did splendidly, but she kept the great octave passages in the bass a little too subordinate, I thought, and did not give it quite boldly enough for my taste, though it was extremely artistic. Clara Schumann's playing is very objective. She seems to throw herself into the music, instead of letting the music take possession of her. She gives you the most exquisite pleasure with every note she touches, and has a wonderful conception and variety in playing, but she seldom whirls you off your feet. At the second concert she was even better than at the first, if that is possible. She seemed full of fire, and when she played Bach, she ought to have been crowned with diamonds! Such noble playing I never heard. In fact, you are all the time impressed with the nobility and breadth of her style, and the comprehensiveness of her treatment, and oh, if you could hear her scales! In short, there is nothing more to be desired in her play

say "yes," she did not say "no." With this negative permission they were arranged for The Atlantic without her supervision, and are given almost verbatim as they left her rapid pen.