
KIDD’S OWN JOURNAL. 
21 

too much for her, and Mrs. Jamieson was nodding. 
Once or twice she opened her eyes with an effort, 
and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us ; 
but, by-and-by, even her benevolence was not 
equal to this exertion, aud she was sound asleep. 
“It is very gratifying to me,” whispered Miss 
Barker at the card-table to her three opponents, 
whom, notwithstanding her ignorance of the game, 
she was “basting”? most unmercifully—“ very 
gratifying indeed, to see how completely Mrs. 
Jamieson feels at home in my poor little dwelling ; 
she could not have paid me a greater compli- 
ment.” . 
Miss Barker provided me with some literature, 
in the shape of three or four handsomely bound 
Jashion-books, ten or twelve years old—observing, 
as she put a little table and a candle for my 
especial benefit, that she knew young people 
liked to look at pictures. Carlo lay, and snorted, 
and started at his mistress’s feet. He, too, was 
quite at home. 
The card-table was an animated scene to 
watch ; four ladies’ heads, with niddle-noddling 
caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of the 
table, in their eagerness to whisper quick enough 
and loud enough ; and every now and then came 
Miss Barker’s “‘ Hush, ladies! if you please, 
hush! Mrs. Jamieson is asleep.” 
It was very difficult to steer clear between 
Mrs. Forrester’s deafness and Mrs. Jamieson’s 
sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her 
arduous task well. She repeated the whisper to 
Mrs. Forrester, distorting her face considerably, 
in order to show, by the motions of her lips, what 
was said; and then she smiled kindly all round 
at us, and murmured to herself, ‘‘ Very gratifying, 
indeed ; I wish my poor sister had been alive to 
see this day.” 
Presently the door was thrown wide open; 
Carlo staried to his feet, with a loud snapping 
bark; and Mrs. Jamieson awoke: or, perhaps, 
she had not been asleep—as she said almost 
directly, the room had been so light she had been 
glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been listening 
with great interest to all our amusing and agree- 
able conversation. Peggy came in once more, red 
with importance. Another tray! Oh, gentility!” 
thought I, “can you endure this last shock?” 
For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt not 
prepared, although she did say, “ Why! Peggy, 
what have you brought us?” and looking plea- 
santly surprised at the unexpected pleasure) all 
sorts of good things for supper—scolloped oysters, 
potted lobsters, jelly, a dish called “little 
Cupids,” (which was in great favor with the 
Cranford ladies; although too expensive to be 
given, except on solemn and state occasions— 
maccaroons sopped in brandy; I should have 
called it, if I had not known its more refined a 
classical name). In short, we were evidently to 
be feasted with all that was sweetest and best; 
and we thought it better to submit graciously, 
even at the cost of our gentility—which never ate 
suppers in general—but which, like most non- 
supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all 
special occasions. “ 
Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I 
dare say, been made acquainted with the 
beverage they call “ cherry-brandy.” ~We none 
of us had ever seen such a thing, and rather 
Ong 
» 
shrunk back when she proferred us—‘ just a 
little, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters and 
lobsters, you know,  Shell-fish are sometimes 
thought not very wholesome.” We all shook 
our heads like female mandarins; but, at last, 
Mrs. Jamieson suffered herself to be persuaded, 
and we followed her lead. It was not exactly 
unpalatable, though so hot and so strong that we 
thought ourselves bound to give evidence that 
we were not accustomed to such things, by cough- 
ing terribly—almost as strangely as Miss Barker 
had done, before we were admitted by Peggy. 
“It’s very strong,” said Miss Pole, as she put 
down her empty glass; “I do believe there’s 
spirit in it!” 
“Only a leetle drop—just necessary to make 
it ‘keep!’” said Miss Barker. ‘ You know we 
put brandy-paper over preserves to make them 
‘keep.’” I often feel tipsy myself from eating 
damson tart.’ 
It is pleasant to fall in with women like 
Mrs. Gaskell. She tells her story so com- 
placently, and puts all the tints in so natu- 
rally, that her sketch may be pronounced 
perfect. Peggy, “red with importance,” 
Miss Barker “distorting her face consi- 
derably,” to make her deaf visitor (Mrs. 
Forrester) comprehend her speech; and 
finally, that ‘ cherry-brandy ;" we repeat it, 
the sketch is admirable. 
By-the-by, the name of the book whence 
we have filched this little Village Tea-Party, 
is—“ Cranford.” 

THE LADY’S “ YES!” 
A SONG. 
BY ELIZABETH B. BARRETT. 

“Yus!”’ I answered you last night— 
‘“‘No!” this morning, sir, I say— - 
Colors seen by candlelight 
Cannot look the same by day. 
When the tabors played their best, 
And the dancers were not slow, 
“ Love me” sounded like a jest, 
Fit for “yes” or fit for “no.” 
Thus, the sin is on us both; 
Was to dance a time to woo ? 
Wooer light makes fickle troth— 
Scorn of me recoils on you. 
Learn to win a lady’s faith 
Nobly, as the thing is high— 
Bravely, as in fronting death— 
© With a virtuous gravity. 
Lead her from the painted boards— 
Point her to the starry skies— 
Guard her, by your truthful words, 
Pure from courtship’s flatteries. 
By your truth she shall be true, 
Ever true as wives of yore ; 
And her “yes,” once said to you, 
Shall be yes for evermore. 

