don't know," she continued, seriously, "how I shall miss you all." "It's onpossible just now," replied Uncle Lawrence, shaking his head. "But I reckon I'll be there next spring," he added, with a significant smile, "that is, if I'm alive, even though I have to walk all the way." Kate blushed crimson at the allusion, but rallying, an swered promptly, while she extended her hand for a parting farewell, "I shall be sure to expect you, and will take care that a carriage is sent for you. You must bring my old friend, Mrs. Herman." "Mother's too much of a home body, to come," replied the veteran. "Besides she'd be flustered so, she wouldn't know what she was doin', when she found herself among all the grand folk I spose will be there. I shouldn't wonder now," he added "if General Washington himself was to be present." "Oh! you must come and see," laughed Kate. "And that you'll be married by your own preacher. I've heerd they wear black gowns, like we see in pictures. I reckon that'll be more cur'us to me than a'most anything else." "You shall see all," said Kate, "only come; and there'll be no one more welcome." "Well, you may depend on me, as I said before; that is if I'm alive. The Lord bless you, my child," he concluded, with great seriousness, "and make you as happy as you are good and beautiful.” "Farewell," said Kate, the tears coming into her eyes; and the carriage drove on. The veteran remained standing, with his hat off, and his thin gray hairs stirring in the autumn breeze, until the coach had disappeared; when he turned to seek his dwelling, feeling as if he had parted with one of his own flesh and blood; and that night, when he led the family devotions, he prayed as fervently for Kate as for any member of his own household. The Aylesford mansion, in Philadelphia, was an imposing, aristocratic looking edifice, standing back from the street, amid venerable trees, and surrounded by a spacious garden. Thirty years ago, more than one such stately relic of the ante-revolutionary times was still to be seen in our midst; but they have all been long since demolished, or have been so shorn of their surroundings, as to have lost most of their ancient dignity. The town-house of the Aylesfords was among the proudest of these old colonial mansions. It had been, in the preceding generation, the head-quarters of fashion in the city. In the grand, wainscotted room, every person of distinction, who had visited the metropolis, during a period of nearly twenty years, had been entertained. There beauty had rustled its silks, dazzled with its diamonds, conquered by the graceful use of the fan, and awed by the haughty carriage of its plumed and scornful head. There Washington, then a young man, had visited, on that memorable tour in which he lost his heart to the beautiful tory of New York. There royal governors and titled nobles, courted heiresses and worshiped belles, officers and statesmen, the proud Virginia planters and the wealthy Boston merchants, the chivalrous Carolinian and the princely manorial lords of the Hudson, had assembled to drink the rare wines of the host, dance the minuet, or exchange the stately courtesies of the time. But for many years the mansion had been shut up. A solitary servant had been its sole tenant during all this time. The boys had been allowed, unchecked, to club down the English walnuts from the trees in the yard, and the towns-people had come to consider its desolate look as one of the characteristics of the street where it stood. Consequently, when the shutters were seen thrown oper, one fine November day, and the servant was observed to be carefully scrubbing the gray stone steps in front, everybody was agog with curiosity. The arrival of a travelling carriage, towards evening, collected quite a crowd, and when a tall and graceful girl alighted, followed by a child, and subsequently by a stately, dowager-like lady, the spectators spread the intelligence that the Aylesfords had actually come to town as if to stay, a fact which set half the teatables in the place speculating as to whether the family could be as great tories as rumor had said, or whether it was really true, as had begun to be whispered by those who ought to know, that the heiress was going to marry a patriot officer, high in the esteem of General Washington. When Kate, the morning after her arrival, walked through the desolate-looking garden, she almost despaired of ever being able to restore it to order. The once clipped boxwood had grown into all sorts of fantastic shapes; the gravel walks were covered with grass; rank weeds had overrun the flower beds; and the grotto at the foot, which, in her childish days, she was accustomed to regard as the greatest wonder of the world, was damp with water, stripped of its shells, and covered with green, slimy moss. Mrs. Warren, who, to do her justice, was as notable a housekeeper as she was a martinet in dress, walked through the mansion, meantime, absolutely beside herself with dismay. Panes of glass were cracked; spider-webs were everywhere; the wood work was almost black from damp and want of light; the roof leaked; and the whole place, she declared, smelt musty. The good dame exaggerated not a little; nevertheless, the house was in sad, almost dismal disarray, and as the instructions to have it renovated had been disregarded, maids were set to work immediately. For nearly a fortnight buckets and scrubbing brushes had it all their own way. Mrs. Warren, with the true spirit of an old-fashioned Philadelphia housekeeper, was so happy amid this turmoil, that she forgot to reflect on Kate for having ridden alone. Indeed, the excellent dame was never better pleased than when house-cleaning, unless, perhaps, when talking' of her cousin, Lord Alvanley, or appearing in a new damask gown. At last, however, the dowager pronounced "things fit to be seen;" and, ceasing to scold the maids, reassumed the great lady. To use her own phrase, she could now go about the house without "getting the fidgets." We may amuse ourselves in this harmless way, with smiling at the excellent creature's nervous abhorrence of illy-performed housework; but, perhaps, the dames of the present age would be none the worse if they imitated the habits of their great-grandmothers in personally supervising such labor more frequently than they do. The highest in the land, in the good old times, were not above ordering their households; and did not either delegate the duty to upper servants, or leave things to chance. By the close of November, the Aylesford mansion was restored to all its pristine freshness, and to much of its former vivacity. There were no balls, it is true. But visitors came and went continually, for it was impossible for a family of such consideration to fix their abode in a city so small as the metropolis then was, without all the gentry calling upon them. A whisper of the approaching wedding, which, as we have seen, had got abroad, assisted to stimulate these civilities; for every one wished to be a guest at what, judging from the wealth and position of the bride, could not fail to be an unusually brilliant affair. CHAPTER XLIX. MAGGY. I cannot speak, tears so obstruct my words, With goddess-like demeanor forth she went, A pomp of winning graces waited still.-Milton. That what she wills to do or say Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best.-Milton. THE venerable edifice of Christ Church, the oldest house of worship of its denomination in Philadelphia, still retains the outward appearance it wore five and seventy years ago. But its stately front and exquisite steeple, instead of rising within view of the fashionable quarter of the town, as it did then, now overlooks a wilderness of shops, while its pavement is encumbered on market days with the eggs, chickens, and vegetables of farmers, who chaffer for a cent. The interior of the ancient edifice, however, has undergone great changes, not the least of which is the substitution of comfortable modern sittings for the stiff, high-backed pews in which Lady Washington and the elite of that day used to worship. The appearance of the Aylesfords in their family pew at Christ Church attracted universal attention. The worthy rector lost no time in paying his respects to them, and was charmed with little Maggy as well as with Kate. He became a frequent visitor. He often seemed lost in thought, as he gazed on the child. At last, when Kate and he were alone together one day, he said, |