dyspepsy than
he had experienced for years," followed his little girls to their
favorite haunts, and seemed to realize the blessing of leisure. Howard,
with his family, passed the third day with them. Towards evening, they
all ascended the hill. Mr. Draper was struck with the extensive view,
and the beauty of his wife's domain, for he scrupulously called it her
own. "What a waste of water!" he exclaimed. "What a noble run for mills
and manufactories!" Poor Frances actually turned pale; but, collecting
her spirits, she said, "It is hardly right to call it a _waste_ of
water."

"Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand."

In the mean time, Mr. Draper had taken his pencil, and on the back of a
letter was making lines and dashes. "Look here," said he to Howard. "See
how perfectly this natural ledge of rocks may be converted into a dam: it
seems precisely made for it: then, by digging a canal to conduct the
water a little to the left, there is a fine site for a
cotton-manufactory, which, built of granite, would add much to the beauty
of the prospect. Just here, where that old tree is thrown across the
stream, a bridge may be built, in the form of an arch, which also must be
of stone. It will make the view altogether perfect."

"I cannot think," said Howard, "the view would be improved; you would
have a great stone building, with its countless windows and abutments,
but you would lose the still, tranquil effect of the prospect, and take
much from the beauty of the stream."

"Not as I shall manage it," said Mr. Draper. "I am sure Frances herself
will agree with me that it adds fifty per cent. to the beauty of the
prospect when she sees it completed."

In vain Frances protested she was satisfied with it as it was; the month
that she had hoped was to be given to leisure was one of the busiest of
her husband's life. Contracts were made--an association formed. Mr.
Draper was continually driving to the city, and mechanics were passing to
and fro. Clyde Farm began to wear the appearance of a business place. A
manufacturing company was incorporated under the title of the Clyde
Mills. The stillness of the spot was exchanged for the strokes of the
pickaxe, the human voice urging on oxen and horses, the blasting of
rocks; the grass was trampled down, the trees were often wantonly
injured, and, where they obstructed the tracks of wheels, laid prostrate.
Frances no longer delighted to walk at noon day under the t