in order; and here is a place for books" (he opened the doors)—"bless me, it is half full already!" The children crowded round, and eagerly took down the books, and found them to be presents from each member of the Beckwith family to each member of the Aikins, down to "Cobwebs to catch Flies," and "Mother Goose's Melodies," for little Phil. The last grandfather averred to be nothing new-fangled, and about the divertingest book that was ever writ for children. To confess the truth, Uncle Phil's chief lore was derived from these immortal lyrics.
We wish that some of our friends whom, in splendid mansions, we have heard fretting and repining because they had not this elegance here, and that improvement there, could have heard the exclamations and seen the sparkling eyes of our humble friends as they surveyed their new tenement. "How nice," exclaimed Anne, "this parlour will be for our 'sociables!'—it will seem like a sociable every evening, with only our own family."
"So it will, Anne," cried Uncle Phil, rubbing his hands, "I declare it's as pleasant—ena'most—as the old house in Essex." Uncle Phil's eye caught the smile on his daughter's lips: "I know, gals," he added, "that was kind o' shattered when we left, and this is snugger and more fixed up; but, after all, it has not that look."
"You are quite right, father," replied Susan; and, as she spoke, the loving matron's eye turned to her husband: "there is nothing can have that look that our first love has."
"This little bedroom is next to Mr. Barlow's
