very means, threw out
hints, until at last Lizzie perceived her drift. Even her father
seemed restrained and annoyed by her presence; and when she proposed
to him that she should do something now for herself, in the way of
support, he made no opposition; on the contrary, seemed relieved,
saying the times were hard, and he had always had an expensive family.
At this time my dear Aunt Lina obtained her for me. Blessed Aunt Lina!
how we all loved her for this good act; even Biddy said,

"Well, the owld toad wasn't so bad, afther all. She had some good in
her, for she sent the angel to our door--good luck to her forever."

And what parted Lizzie from us? Ah, there is the romance of my
story--the darling little bit of sentiment so dear to my woman's
heart. Lizzie lived with me five years. In the meantime her father had
died; the thriftless wife had broken his heart by her extravagant
habits, and Lizzie and her brothers never received a penny of their
mother's little fortune. One evening, my father, on handing me the
letters and papers, said, "Amongst those, Enna, you will find a letter
for Lizzie, which has come from the far West, clear beyond St.
Louis--what relations has she there?"

I could not tell him, but gave the letter to Ike, now grown into quite
a dandy waiter, to take to her. I did not feel much curiosity about
the letter, thinking it might be from some cousin of hers; but when I
retired to bed that evening, she came into my room, and throwing
herself down on the soft rug beside my bed, by the dim light of my
night-lamp, told me all her happiness. The letter was from James
Foster--he still loved her as dearly as ever. He had heard by chance
of her father's death, and her situation, and said if she was ready to
marry him, he was still waiting. He wrote of his handsome farm he had
cleared with his own hands, and the beautiful wild country he lived
in, telling her he hoped her future life would be free from all care.
All this, and even more, dear reader, he told her--in plain, homely
words, it is true; but love's language is always sweet, be it in
courtly tongue or homely phrase.

And James Foster came for her; and in our house was she married. My
father presented the soft mull dress to the bride, which Kate Wilson
and I made, and assisted in dressing her, and stood as her
bride-maids. Aunt Lina, Biddy, the stamping, good-hearted Biddy, and
dandy Ike, were all there, rejoicing in her happiness. Her husband was
a