the mute and muffled room says nothing. A
sofa and six chairs, two ottomans fresh from the upholsterer's, a
Brussels carpet, a centre-table with four gilt Books of Beauty on it, a
mantel-clock from Paris, and two bronze vases,--all these tell you only
in frigid tones, 'This is the best room,'--only that, and nothing
more,--and soon _she_ trips in in her best clothes, and apologizes for
keeping you waiting, asks how your mother is, and you remark that it is
a pleasant day,--and thus the acquaintance progresses from year to year.
One hour in the little back-room, where the plants and canary-bird and
children are, might have made you fast friends for life; but as it is,
you care no more for them than for the gilt clock on the mantel.

"And now, girls," said I, pulling a paper out of my pocket, "you must
know that your father is getting to be famous by means of these 'House
and Home Papers.' Here is a letter I have just received:--

"'MOST EXCELLENT MR. CROWFIELD,--Your thoughts have lighted into
our family-circle, and echoed from our fireside. We all feel the
force of them, and are delighted with the felicity of your
treatment of the topic you have chosen. You have taken hold of a
subject that lies deep in our hearts, in a genial, temperate, and
convincing spirit. All must acknowledge the power of your
sentiments upon their imaginations;--if they could only trust to
them in actual life! There is the rub.

"'Omitting further upon these points, there is a special feature
of your articles upon which we wish to address you. You seem as
yet (we do not know, of course, what you may hereafter do) to
speak only of homes whose conduct depends upon the help of
servants. Now your principles apply, as some of us well conceive,
to nearly all classes of society; yet most people, to take an
impressive hint, must have their portraits drawn out more exactly.
We therefore hope that you will give a reasonable share of your
attention to us who do not employ servants, so that you may ease
us of some of _our_ burdens, which, in spite of common sense, we
dare not throw off. For instance, we have company,--a friend from
afar, (perhaps wealthy,) or a minister, or some other man of note.
What do we do? Sit down and receive our visitor with all good-will
and the freedom of a home? No; we (the lady of the house) flutter
about to clear up things, apologizing