pouting, that they would not
dance at all, "because the music was so miserable;" and then they
cloaked and hood-ed themselves, and the "rich" Miss Judkins rolled off
in her father's carriage, much to the dissatisfaction of some of the
other young ladies, who walked home with their little pinafore
admirers, cutting up Miss Gertrude's party in a manner that showed they
had not listened in vain to the remarks of their mammas about the
parties _they_ had attended.

As to Gertrude herself, when the last little foot had pattered out of
the entry, she threw herself, weeping, into her mamma's lap, quite worn
out with excitement and mortification.

Gertrude's mother considers the money laid out for that "party," and
the "cherry silk dress," as one of the most profitable investments she
ever made; for, although Miss Gertrude is now a wife and a mother, with
a house of her own, she has never been known since that night, to "have
a party," or to express the least desire to _go to one_. For, my dear
children, "grown-up parties" are not a whit more profitable or
satisfactory than the little miniature one that caused Gertrude so much
trouble and unhappiness.

FERN MUSINGS.

Morning again! and New-York is beginning to stir. Lazy creatures! they
_should_ have been up hours ago. That old rooster over the way has
crowed himself hoarse, trying to start them all out: and _he_ is not as
smart as he might be, for I saw the first streak of dawn myself, before
he was off his perch.

Now the carts begin to rumble by, with "fresh sweet milk," labelled on
the sides. Lucky they tell us of it, for we never should find it out
ourselves by _tasting_. There go the dray-carts, with baggage from the
just-arrived cars; then follows a carriage with the owners of the
baggage. How hollow-eyed they look, traveling all night. They are
evidently thinking of eggs and hot rolls. There go the boarding-house
women, basket in hand, to secure their dinner: hope they won't spoil it
with bad cooking-butter! There go the shop girls, shrouded in thick
brown veils: poor things! they got up late and couldn't stop to comb
their hair. There come the market carts from the country, laden with
cabbages, and turnips, and beets, and parsnips, and apples, and nobody
knows what else beside.

There comes a little boy, screeching "R-a-d-i-shes;" and a little girl
just behind him, shouting "Bl-a-ck-ber-ries," and a man in the middle
of the street, yelling "Tin-tin-tin-