SHEPHERDSTOWN, ON THE POTOMAC. 97 



and the gray had deepened; the river spread out vaguely ahead of 

 us, its opposite bank no longer so distinctly visible, its song breathing 

 mystery if not sadness; even the melancholy crescent had disappeared. 



" I know cousin Helen is homesick," said Ellen suddenly, " she 

 always looks that way when she is homesick." 



"What" said Mr. Devon, rousing himself, "do you still indulge in 

 that? and what makes you homesick this afternoon? " 



"I think it is very mean in Cousin Helen to be homesick so often," 

 said Ellen, in an offended tone. 



"Mean!" exclaimed Harry, "why you unreasonable child, how in 

 the world can she help it?" 



"She could help it, if she would onl}' try to convince herself that 

 Shepherdstown is as good and as nice as Brookdale," said Ellen. 



"And does she not think so?" asked Mr. Devon, laughing; "what 

 fault do you find with Shepherdstown, Miss Helen? 



"I don't find any fault with it," said I. "I knew it was a very dif- 

 ferent place from Brookdale ; but I think it is quite as good in its 

 way." 



"Just hear how condescending she is," exclaimed Ellen, angrily, 

 "in its way! I think it is a very good way. I would rather have one 

 lovely Potomac River, than all the brooks in the world." 



" I believe that it is its loveliness that makes me feel a little mel- 

 ancholy," said I, "Brookdale is such a bright, bustling little place! 

 I always think of it with the sun shining and the birds singing, and 

 an old hand organ playing in some back street, while everybody 

 seems bright and cheerful, though they are probably all hurrying off 

 to work. Now here, every thing seems larger and slower and quiet- 

 er, and above all, I suppose you will laugh at me when I say it, older. 

 Instead of those nois}', tumbling brooks there is this lovely, slow, 

 melancholy River. Yes, Ellen, I don't care what you say, it is mel- 

 ancholy, not only to-day, but on bright days, but that does not prevent 

 it from being lovely too, and no one that we meet seems in a hurry, 

 any more than the River is. They all seem contented and comfort- 

 able, as if there were nothing for them to do, until they were ready to 

 do it." 



" But you don't think we are laz}', do you, Helen?" asked Margaret. 



"Yes she does" said Ellen, "she thinks that we make the servants 

 do all the work, while we sit by and look on and starve and ill-treat 



