d here in 1840, and made an answer
to the Earl of Mainridge that put him in his place. She was our famous
Kings Port wit, and at the reception which her father (my mother's
uncle) gave the English visitor, he conducted himself as so many
Englishmen seem to think they can in this country. Miss Beaufain
(pronounced in Kings Port, Bowfayne), as she was then, asked the Earl
how he liked America; and he replied, very well, except for the people,
who were so vulgar. 'What can you expect?' said Miss Beaufain; 'we're
descended from the English.' Mrs. St. Michael is out, and the servant
has gone home. Slide this card under the door, with your own, and come
away."

She took me with her, moving through the quiet South Place with a
leisurely grace and dignity at which my spirit rejoiced; she was so
beautiful, and so easy, and afraid of nothing and nobody! (This must be
modified. I came later to suspect that they all stood in some dread of
their own immediate families.)

In the North, everybody is afraid of something: afraid of the
legislature, afraid of the trusts, afraid of the strikes, afraid of what
the papers will say, of what the neighbors will say, of what the cook
will say; and most of all, and worst of all, afraid to be different
from the general pattern, afraid to take a step or speak a syllable that
shall cause them to be thought unlike the monotonous millions of their
fellow-citizens; the land of the free living in ceaseless fear! Well,
I was already afraid of Mrs. Gregory St. Michael. As we walked and she
talked, I made one or two attempts at conversation, and speedily found
that no such thing was the lady's intention: I was there to listen; and
truly I could wish nothing more agreeable, in spite of my desire to hear
further about next Wednesday's wedding and the brute of a girl. But to
this subject Mrs. St. Michael did not return. We crossed Worship Street
and Chancel Street, and were nearing the East Place where a cannon was
being shown me, a cannon with a history and an inscription concerning
the "war for Southern independence, which I presume your prejudice calls
the Rebellion," said my guide. "There's Mrs. St. Michael now, coming
round the corner. Well, Julia, could you read the yacht's name with
your naked eye? And what's the name of the gambler who owns it? He's
a gambler, or he couldn't own a yacht--unless his wife's a gambler's
daughter."

"How well you're feeling to-day, Maria!" said the other lady, with a