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exemplars and promulgators of "single blessedness"--not such was
_she_! But more of this anon. Aunt Polly was the only sister of my
father, who often spoke of her affectionately; but would end his
remark with "poor Polly! so nervous--so unlike her self-possessed and
beautiful mother"--whose memory he devoutly revered. Children are not
destitute of the curiosity native to the human mind, and we often
teased papa about a visit from Aunt Polly, who, he replied, never left
home; but not enlightening us on the _why_, his replies only served to
whet the edge of curiosity more and more. I never shall forget the
surprise that opened my eye-lids early and wide one morning, when it
was announced to me that Aunt Polly and her spouse had unexpectedly
arrived at the homestead. It would be difficult to analyze the nature
of that eagerness which hastily dressed and sent me down stairs. But
unfortunately did I enter the breakfast-room just as the good book was
closing, and the family circle preparing to finish its devotions on
the knee; however, a glance of the eye takes but little time, and a
penetrating look was returned me by Aunt Polly, in which the beaming
affection of her sanguine nature, and the scowl of scarce restrained
impatience to get hold of me, were mixed so strangely as to give her
naturally sharp black eyes an expression almost fearful to a child;
but on surveying her unique apparel, and indescribably uneasy position
on the chair--for she remained seated while the rest of us knelt,
giving me thus an opportunity to scrutinize her through the
interstices of my chair-back--so excited my girlish risibilities, that
fear became stifled in suppressed laughter. "Amen" was scarce
pronounced, when a shrill voice called out--"Come here, you little
good-for-nothing--_what's_ your name?" The inviting smile conveyed to
me with these startling tones left no doubt who was addressed, and I
instantly obeyed the really fervent call. Both the stout arms of my
aunt were opened to receive me, but held me at their length,
while--with a nervous sensibility that made the tears gush from her
eyes--she hurriedly exclaimed--"_What_ shall I do with you? Do you
love to be _squeezed_? When, suiting the action to the question, she
embraced me with a tenacity that almost choked my breath. From that
moment I loved Aunt Polly! The fervid outpouring of her affection had
mingled with the well-springs of a heart that--despite its
mischievousness--was ever