l crystals of the Siberian emeralds
of large size and beautiful color are now to be seen in the valuable
and choice collections of Messrs. Clay and William S. Vaux of
Philadelphia.]

BERRYTOWN.

CHAPTER VIII.

It rained during the night. The wind blew feebly in the morning,
and the sunlight glimmered dully from behind the flying gray clouds.
Catharine looked out of her window, anxiously pushing aside the boughs
full of wet white roses. The sense of desolation was not strong enough
upon her to make her forget that Peter had not yet cut the clover
in the lower meadow, and that such a rain was bad for the tomatoes.
Doctor McCall was at the gate, propping up an old Bourbon rose, an
especial favorite of her father's. Somebody tapped at her door, and
Miss Muller rustled in in a flounced white muslin and rose-colored
ribbons. She too hurried to the window and looked down.

"I asked him to meet me here, Kitty. I can't make you understand,
probably, but the Water-cure House is so bald and bare! There is
something in the shade here, and the old books, and this wilderness
of roses, that forms a fitting background for a friendship like ours,
aesthetically considered."

"I'm very glad. It's lucky I told Jane to have waffles--"

"I'll go down," interrupted Miss Muller, "and direct her about the
table. Coarse tablecloths and oily butter would jar against the finest
emotions. What very pretty shoulders you have, child! Such women as
you, like potatoes, are best _au naturel_. Now, with those corsets,
and this red shawl over the back of your chair, you would make a very
good Madonna of the Rubens school. Men's ideal of womanhood then was
to be plump, insipid and a mother."

"But about the oily butter?" said Kitty, glancing back over the
aforesaid shoulders as she stooped to lace her shoes, while Maria
hurried off to the kitchen. "Jane will jar against her finer emotions,
I fancy, when she begins to order her about."

But Kitty lost all relish for fun before she sat down to the
breakfast-table. Mr. Muller came in. The poor little man hurried to
her side: "I passed a sleepless night, Catharine. I feared that I had
been rough with you. I forget so often how gentle and tender you are,
my darling."

Catharine was puzzled: "Upon my word, I've forgotten what happened.
And I really never feel especially gentle or tender. You are mistaken
about that."

When she took her place behind the urn, Maria motioned her brother to
th