and fields, like a great white world. I declare it was romantic. The horses enjoyed themselves too. I know they did by their prancing, and seeming to keep time to the bells. I suppose they thought we got up that music for their especial merriment and behoof.
"We succeeded quite well with our new cotillon, did not we? That good old fiddler—I hope he'll live forever—that is, as long as we want him. But those horrid cakes they regaled us with, at last. Not the least light, and scarcely sweet at all. I could have made better ones myself. If that is a specimen of village cookery, I'm glad I don't 'tarry' in their tabernacles.
"Brother thinks it would be a pleasant variety to sing a song or two just before leaving. What do you say? Would not it look too frolicsome? I told him you'd never consent to any thing short of Old Hundred, or St. Martin's. He is half crazy about the 'Battle of the Nile,' and pretends to play it on a flute. You may hear him any hour in the day, and for aught I know, in the night too, shouting the hideous chorus:
'And Nelson, gallant Nelson's name
Immortal shall be.'
Mother thinks he improves mightily, and grows more of a gentleman in the house since he has gone with us nice ladies to these sleighing parties. So she promises we shall go again. That's just right. To please her,
