being arranged, we girls had been
pelting him with the flowers which we tore from the vases, the walls,
and our own topknots, to scatter over him.

"He liked that, and laughed, and waved his hand to us, while we ran, and
pelted, and begged him to come again.

"We young folks quite lost our heads that night, and I have n't a very
clear idea of how I got home. The last thing I remember was hanging out
of the window with a flock of girls, watching the carriage roll away,
while the crowd cheered as if they were mad.

"Bless my heart, it seems as if I heard 'em now! 'Hurrah for Lafayette
and Mayor Quincy! Hurrah for Madam Hancock and the pretty girls! Hurrah
for Col. May!' 'Three cheers for Boston! Now, then! Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah!'"

And here the old lady stopped, out of breath, with her cap askew, her
spectacles on the end of her nose, and her knitting much the worse for
being waved enthusiastically in the air, while she hung over the arm of
her chair, shrilly cheering an imaginary Lafayette. The girls clapped
their hands, and Tom hurrahed with all his might, saying, when he got
his breath, "Lafayette was a regular old trump; I always liked him."

"My dear! what a disrespectful way to speak of that great man," said
grandma, shocked at Young America's irreverence.

"Well, he was a trump, anyway, so why not call him one?" asked Tom,
feeling that the objectionable word was all that could be desired.

"What queer gloves you wore then," interrupted Fanny, who had been
trying on the much-honored glove, and finding it a tight fit.

"Much better and cheaper than we have now," returned grandma, ready
to defend "the good old times" against every insinuation. "You are an
extravagant set now-a-days, and I really don't know what you are coming
to. By the way, I 've got somewhere two letters written by two young
ladies, one in 1517, and the other in 1868. The contrast between the two
will amuse you, I think."

After a little search, grandma produced an old portfolio, and selecting
the papers, read the following letter, written by Anne Boleyn before
her marriage to Henry VIII, and now in the possession of a celebrated
antiquarian:

DEAR MARY, I have been in town almost a month, yet I cannot say I have
found anything in London extremely agreeable. We rise so late in the
morning, seldom before six o'clock, and sit up so late at night, being
scarcely in bed before ten, that I am quite sick of it; and was it not
for the abundan