l a little curiosity as to how he
fares, what he wears, where he goes, and how he takes the great life
tragi-comedy at which you and he are both more than spectators? Show me
a person who lives in a country-village absolutely without curiosity or
interest on these subjects, and I will show you a cold, fat oyster, to
whom the tide-mud of propriety is the whole of existence.

As one of our esteemed collaborators in the ATLANTIC remarks,--"A dull
town, where there is neither theatre nor circus nor opera, must have
some excitement, and the real tragedy and comedy of life _must_ come
in place of the second-hand. Hence the noted gossiping propensities
of country-places, which, so long as they are not poisoned by envy or
ill-will, have a respectable and picturesque side to them,--an undoubted
leave to be, as probably has almost everything, which obstinately and
always insists on being, except sin!"

As it is, it must be confessed that the arrival of Miss Prissy in a
family was much like the setting up of a domestic show-case, through
which you could look into all the families in the neighborhood, and see
the never-ending drama of life,--births, marriages, deaths,--joy
of new-made mothers, whose babes weighed just eight pounds and
three-quarters, and had hair that would part with a comb,--and tears of
Rachels who wept for their children, and would not be comforted because
they were not. Was there a tragedy, a mystery, in all Newport, whose
secret closet had not been unlocked by Miss Prissy? She thought not;
and you always wondered, with an uncertain curiosity, what those things
might be over which she gravely shook her head, declaring, with such a
look,--"Oh, if you only _could_ know!"--and ending with a general sigh
and lamentation, like the confidential chorus of a Greek tragedy.

We have been thus minute in sketching Miss Prissy's portrait, because
we rather like her. She has great power, we admit; and were she a
sour-faced, angular, energetic body, with a heart whose secretions had
all become acrid by disappointment and dyspepsia, she might be a fearful
gnome, against whose family-visitations one ought to watch and pray. As
it was, she came into the house rather like one of those breezy days
of spring, which burst all the blossoms, set all the doors and windows
open, make the hens cackle and the turtles peep,--filling a solemn
Puritan dwelling with as much bustle and chatter as if a box of martins
were setting up housekee