wide-reaching consequences in the affairs of Europe.  I hunted up that cup of tea as diligently as ever a Boston matron sought for the last leaves in her old caddy after the tea-chests had been flung overboard at Griffin’s wharf,—­but no matter about that, now.  That is the way things come about in this world.  I must write a lecture on lucky mishaps, or, more elegantly, fortunate calamities.  It will be just the converse of that odd essay of Swift’s we read together, the awkward and stupid things done with the best intentions.  Perhaps I shall deliver the lecture in your city:  you will come and hear it, and bring him, won’t you, dearest?  Always, your loving

Lurida.

MISS LURIDA VINCENT TO MRS. EUTHYMIA KIRKWOOD.

It seems forever since you left us, dearest Euthymia!  And are you, and is your husband, and Paolo,—­good Paolo,—­are you all as well and happy as you have been and as you ought to be?  I suppose our small village seems a very quiet sort of place to pass the winter in, now that you have become accustomed to the noise and gayety of a great city.  For all that, it is a pretty busy place this winter, I can tell you.  We have sleighing parties,—­I never go to them, myself, because I can’t keep warm, and my mind freezes up when my blood cools down below 95 or 96 deg.  Fahrenheit.  I had a great deal rather sit by a good fire and read about Arctic discoveries.  But I like very well to hear the bells’ jingling and to see the young people trying to have a good time as hard as they do at a picnic.  It may be that they do, but to me a picnic is purgatory and a sleigh-ride that other place, where, as my favorite Milton says, “frost performs the effect of fire.”  I believe I have quoted him correctly; I ought to, for I could repeat half his poems from memory once, if I cannot now.

You must have plenty of excitement in your city life.  I suppose you recognized yourself in one of the society columns of the “Household Inquisitor:”  “Mrs. E. K., very beautiful, in an elegant,” etc., etc, “with pearls,” etc., etc.,—­as if you were not the ornament of all that you wear, no matter what it is!

I am so glad that you have married a scholar!  Why should not Maurice—­you both tell me to call him so—­take the diplomatic office which has been offered him?  It seems to me that he would find himself in exactly the right place.  He can talk in two or three languages, has good manners, and a wife who—­well, what shall I say of Mrs. Kirkwood but that “she would be good company for a queen,” as our old friend the quondam landlady of the Anchor Tavern used to say?  I should so like to see you presented at Court!  It seems to me that I should be willing to hold your train for the sake of seeing you in your court feathers and things.