nown me. Don't say this is extravagant, and flying in the
face of Providence. If He don't want silk dresses worn by the elect,
what on earth does He make silk-worms and mulberry-leaves for? That is a
question that we'll have debated over in the Society some day. Until
then, oblige me by not saying, openly, that I'm a free-thinker, because
I'm nothing of the sort. Not that my taste, since coming to the opera,
has not got a notch above Greenbank or Old Hundred, in the way of music;
I am free to own that it has.

Well, Cousin Emily Elizabeth had sent word that I mustn't wear a bonnet,
or think of such a thing; and she sent me down a fur mantle, made of
white kitten-skins, I reckon, with little black tails dropping all over
it--just the tips, which needn't have hurt the black kittens much, if it
_was_ all day to the white ones. So, when I come down, holding up my
long skirts with one hand, and folding this fur across my innocent
bosom, she just screamed out from the carriage that I looked gorgeous
enough to turn the great Grand Duke's head, which I felt to be true--for
women are not given to praising each other for nothing, anyhow.

The opera-house in New York would take in our biggest meeting-house, and
leave room for a wide strip of carpeting all round it. It has got three
galleries, and ever so many places, that look like pulpits and deacon's
seats, all cushioned and curtained off beautifully.

We went up to the first gallery, and got into Cousin Dempster's
loge-pew, which was just big enough for four people. This was fortunate,
for our skirts and fur mantles took up every mite of room that Cousin D.
did not want; but he put up with it beautifully, and just scrouched down
behind us, with his head rising above our shoulders, which would have
been rather uncovered if it had not been for the fur, which tickled mine
a little; but I bore it with fortitude. You who know me will understand
that.

The opera-house was crowded full; every pew was crammed, and the benches
down below couldn't be seen, the people were so thick. The pew loges
were running over with handsome girls, and old ladies that tried their
best to look like girls, and couldn't, not having the country freshness
that some people bring with them from the mountains.

But the three pulpits on the second gallery were empty yet--all empty,
and gorgeously red, waiting for _him_.

At last, a great green curtain that hung just beyond this sacred place
rolled up. The