vening
sky. "Oh! is that pretty little yellow dot a star?" exclaims the
delighted child. Poor innocent! a star had always been to him a dim,
cloudy spot, a little nebula, which the magic glass has now resolved;
and he can hardly believe that this brilliant point is not an optical
illusion. But when his mother assures him that the stars always appear
so to her, and he turns to look in her face, he says, "Why, mother!
how beautiful you look! Please to give me some little spectacles,
_all my own!_" She could not resist this entreaty,--(who could?)--and
little "Squire Specs" does not mind the shouts of his companions or
the high-sounding nicknames they give him, he so rejoices in what
seems to him a new sense, a _second sight_.

I was summoned, the other day, to welcome a family of cousins from a
distant State, whom I had not seen for a very long time. They were
accompanied, I was told, by a Boston lady, a stranger to us. I entered
the room with considerable _empressement_, but when my eye detected
the dim outline of a circle of bonneted figures, I stopped in despair
in the middle of the room, not knowing which was which, or whom I
ought to speak to first, and at last made an embarrassed half-bow,
half-courtesy, to the company in general. A confused murmur of
greetings and introductions followed, and, throwing aside my air of
stiff, ceremonious politeness, I rushed, with a smiling face, to the
nearest lady, shook hands with her in the most cordial manner, and
then, in passing, bowed formally to the next, who I concluded was the
stranger. What then was my surprise and utter confusion when she
caught me by the hand, and, drawing me towards her, kissed me
emphatically several times. "How _do_ you do, dear? Have you quite
forgotten me? Ah! You don't remember the times when you used to ride a
cock-horse, on my knee, to Banbury Cross, to see the old lady get on
her white horse!" What could I say? I was petrified. I could not
smile, I could not speak. My only feeling was mortification at my most
awkward mistake. Yet I ought to have become accustomed to such
embarrassments, for they are of very frequent occurrence.

"Why, Julia! what is the matter? How strangely your eyes look!" My
sister at this exclamation turns round, and I discover that from the
other end of the room I have been gazing at the unexpressive features
of her "back hair," which is twisted in a "pug," or "bob,"--which is
the correct term?--and surmounted by a tor