ng right on the plumpest part of his under lip.

Oh, sisters! I thought that I should have died with shame.

He looked from me to the young lady, and she looked at him. I looked
first at one, then at the other, from under my drooping lashes.

She smiled, she touched her lip with one finger; he touched his, the
mite of court-plaster stuck on his finger. Then she began to laugh, and
so did he; the chairs shook under them. They made no noise, and the
redness of their faces was lost in the shadow cast by the beer-bottles
to every one but me.

Cousin Dempster was busy trying to crowd an extra candle into one of the
wine-bottles that had just been emptied, while he sat before the chair I
ought to have been sitting in.

"We must have a little more elegance at this end of the table," says he.

"Wax candles and champagne bottles for this lady."

He stooped down, expecting me to answer him; when he saw _her_ face all
glowing with blushes.

"Ah!" says he, laughing, "we have got a little mixed here, Cousin Frost.
It will never answer to come between man and wife in this fashion,
especially when they have been only three weeks married. Supposing we
change round again?"

I arose--she arose--we exchanged glances, then exchanged seats.

The lights from these beer bottles were numerous, but not brilliant.
Under the shadows we concealed the emotions which disturbed us.

He looked funnily penitent, whenever his eyes caught mine, which was
often, for somehow I could not keep looking on my plate all the time.

As for that young creature, she seemed to be brimming over with fun.

After a little, I began to feel myself smiling. It really was droll, but
not so _very_ unpleasant.

XXII.

NEW YEAR'S DAY.

Dear sisters:--After all, this city of New York is a wonderful
institution. Vermont has its specialties, such as maple-sugar, pine
shingles, and education; but in such things as style, fashion, and
general gentilities, I must say this great Empire City isn't to be
sneezed at, even by a Green Mountainer. Of course we are ahead in
religion, morality, decorum, and a kind of politics that consolidates
all these things into great moral ideas--as rusticoats, greenings and
Spitzenbergen apples are ground down into one barrel of such sweet cider
as we used to steal through the bunghole with a straw. You will
recollect the straws--a Down-east invention, which these degenerated
Yorkers have stolen, and are now using unblushingl