Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookfor a few days, that he would bring dolls for her and her sister when he came back. That night, when at her prayers, she put in the very laudable petition, 'Pray God, bring papa home safely;' but somewhat compromised the effect by adding with great emphasis, after a moment's rapt reflection-'with the dolls.' But this was devotion itself compared with the following. A little mite of a creature running out of her room one morning was called back by her mother: 'Dolly, you haven't said your prayers.' 'I dess Dod tan wait,' returned little Miss Irreverence; 'I'se in a hurry.' In both these cases, the utter unconsciousness of presumption on the part of the tiny speakers took away the effect of profanity from their words. Reverence is certainly not the strong point of our small kinsfolk across the water. Almost from their entrance into the world, they begin to assume airs of equality with all around them. One sweet little damsel, who was of peculiarly small and fairy-like proportions, could with difficulty be prevailed upon to call her parents otherwise than by their Christian names; and the effect was quaint to hear her, when offered candy or such-like forbidden dainties, refuse them with a wistful look and the words: 'Willie not likes it' (Willie being her father); or, 'Annie' (her mother) 'said no.' Nay, she did not scruple even to call her grandmother by _her_ name, as far as she could pronounce it, for 'Margaret' offered some obstacles to the baby lips. You would have fancied this same little maiden too soft and gentle to brush the down from a butterfly's wing; but on one occasion she shocked the sensibilities of her young cousin, fresh from England, by exclaiming, on an innocent, newly fledged chicken being brought in for the inspection of the family: 'Me have dat pitty bird for my dinner!' From the youngest age, American children are ready to share-as Wordsworth once expressed it-'in anything going.' A visitor injudiciously offering a little boy some wine at dinner, was requested by his watchful mother not to give him 'too much;' when young Hopeful took the words out of her mouth by protesting with vehement eagerness: 'I _like_ too much!' It is no easy task to impose any restrictions, even of time or place, on one of these little free-born Americans, or to impress them with any sense of restraint or regard of persons. One little daughter of Eve, brought up for baptism at the ripe age of two-episcopal visits being rare in the part of the country where she lived-somewhat scandalised the bishop by calling his attention, just before the ceremony, to her attire, thus: 'Look at my new dess;' and drawing it back to display her dainty feet-'Look, bissop, at my pitty new boots!' The good father took it all in very amiable part, though he remarked to her mother afterwards, that the little one had evidently no intention of giving up the vanities of the world just yet. But we must say good-bye for the present to our little American cousins, on whom we must not be understood to have cast the shadow of an aspersion. Their intelligence and quickness, indeed, combined with the other charms of infancy-of which they have their full share-make them as attractive, to say the least, as any of their kind. We can assert, moreover, from our own knowledge, that some of these tiny gentry, with whose scarce-conscious childish profanity we have dallied for a while, are growing up at this present moment into decent and in every way excellent members of society. A STRANGE LOVE AFFAIR. Hector Mackinnon, the hero of the strange story we are about to unfold, a story perhaps unequalled for uniqueness in the annals of love, was a divinity student. He had just completed his fourth year of the Hall, and expected soon to be licensed as a probationer. He was the only son of a wealthy merchant, and had been destined for the ministry from his birth. Mr Mackinnon, senior, was a prominent and influential adherent of one of our strictest dissenting bodies, and had brought up his son in the belief that there was little else good in the world outside the pale of its communion. There was some mystery about Hector's mother, who had died shortly after giving him birth. Some people whispered that she had been on the stage before she was married, and that Mr Mackinnon had fallen violently in love with her pretty face, and married the young girl while in the ecstasy of his passion, and before the cold dictates of prudence, or the counsel of his friends, could intervene. The marriage had not been, it was said, a happy one. While the magic glamour of love lasted, all went well; when it began to wane, the angular austerities of Mr Mackinnon's disposition became painfully apparent to the young bride. On his part, he looked without sympathy, if not indeed with positive contempt, on what he termed the 'worldly frivolities' of her gay and joyous nature. Above all, he felt keenly the loss of social status which the marriage entailed on him in the estimation of his own sect. The young wife was sternly forbidden to have any intercourse with her relatives and friends; and her husband's sister, who was a maiden lady of very gloomy religious views, was installed as housekeeper ostensibly, but really to play 'propriety' to her unregenerate young relative. Happiness could not, of course, exist in this state of matters; and when the grim messenger arrived with the fiat which dissolved the ill-assorted union, it was perhaps a relief to all. Brought up under a terribly severe code of social ethics, the theatre, concert, and ballroom were represented to Hector as only so many roads to perdition; and being of an amiable disposition, and desirous of pleasing his father, he had up till now, when he had attained his twenty-third year, sedulously eschewed these enticing forms of social amusement. It was not destined, however, that he was always to remain in this state of innocent ignorance. A brilliant theatrical star visited the city, and turned the heads of all-both young and old, male and female, alike. Her stage-name was Violet d'Esterre (no one knew her real name), and it was on her exquisite delineation of Shakspearean tragedy that her justly earned fame rested. The college students were particularly enthusiastic in her praise, and crowded the theatre nightly to admire her beauty, and listen entranced to the melody of her sublime elocution. One evening, Hector, persuaded by his companions, consented to accompany them to hear this paragon of passionate declamation. The play was the old, old story of the hapless lovers of Verona. Such a hold had her impersonation of the intensely loving Juliet taken of the public, that they insisted on it being performed night after night, to the exclusion of other tragic parts in which she was equally celebrated. If any of our readers have not been in a theatre until they were about the age of Hector, they will be able to realise the very powerful sensuous effect the music, beautiful scenery, b |