always feel,
however, that milk, or cream, and honey, being as it were natural gifts
of a bounteous Providence, and frequently mentioned in the Scriptures,
may be partaken of in moderation without fear of over-indulgence of
sinful appetites. A little more? Another pound cake, Mrs. Bliss? No?
Then shall we return to the parlor?"

"You spoke of your aunt, Mrs. Tree, Miss Blyth," said Mr. Bliss, when
they were seated in the pleasant, shining parlor of the Temple of Vesta,
the red curtains drawn, the fire crackling its usual cordial welcome.

"She is a--a singularly interesting person. What vivacity! what
readiness! what a fund of information on a variety of subjects! She put
me to the blush a dozen times in a talk I had with her recently."

"Have you been able to have any serious conversation with my aunt, Mr.
Bliss?" asked Miss Phoebe, with a slight indication of frost in her
tone. "I should be truly rejoiced to hear that such was the case."

"A--well, perhaps not exactly serious," owned the little minister,
smiling and blushing. "In fact,"--here he caught his wife's eye, and
checked himself--"in fact,--a--she is an extremely interesting person!"
he concluded, lamely.

"Now, John, why should you stop?" cried Mrs. Bliss. "Mrs. Tree is the
Miss Blyths' own aunt, and they must know her ever so much better than
we do. She was just as funny as she could be, Miss Blyth. Deacon Weight
had asked Mr. Bliss to call and reason with her on spiritual
matters,--'wrestle' was what he said, but John told him he was no
wrestler,--and so he went and tried; but he had hardly said a word--had
you, John?--when Mrs. Tree asked him which he liked best, Shakespeare or
the musical glasses--what _do_ you suppose she meant, Miss Vesta? And
when he said Shakespeare, of course, she began talking about Hamlet, and
Macready, and Mrs. Siddons, who gave her an orange when she was a little
girl, and he never got in another word, did you, John? And Deacon Weight
was so put out when he heard about it! I'm gl--"

"Marietta, my love!" remonstrated Mr. Bliss, hastily, "you forget
yourself. Deacon Weight is our senior deacon."

"I'm sorry, John! but Mrs. Tree _is_ just as kind as she can be," the
little wife went on, her eyes kindling as she spoke. "Oh!--no, I won't
tell, John; you needn't be afraid. Why, she said that if I told she
would set the parrot on me, and she meant it. That bird frightens me out
of my wits. But she _is_ kind, and I never shall