back two years from the time of my story. The season must change, and
instead of summer sunsets and roses, we will bring before them three feet
of snow, and winter's bleakest winds.

Neither of these inconvenienced the company assembled in the comfortable
little parlor of Captain Moore's quarters, with a coal-grate almost as
large as the room, and curtains closely drawn over the old style windows:
Mrs. Moore was reduced to the utmost extremity of her wits to make the room
look modern; but it is astonishing, the genius of army ladies for putting
the best foot foremost. This room was neither square nor oblong; and though
a mere box in size, it had no less than four doors (two belonged to the
closets) and three windows. The closets were utterly useless, being
occupied by an indomitable race of rats and mice; they had an impregnable
fortress somewhere in the old walls, and kept possession, in spite of the
house-keeping artillery Mrs. Moore levelled against them. The poor woman
gave up in despair; she locked the doors, and determined to starve the
garrison into submission.

She was far more successful in other respects, having completely banished
the spirits of formality and inhospitality that presided in these domains.
The house was outside the fort, and had been purchased from a citizen who
lived there, totally apart from his race; Mrs. Moore had the comfort of
hearing, on taking possession, that all sorts of ghosts were at home there;
but she was a cheerful kind of woman, and did not believe in them any more
than she did in clairvoyance, so she set to work with a brave heart, and
every thing yielded to her sway, excepting the aforesaid rats and mice.

Her parlor was the very realization of home comfort. The lounge by the
three windows was covered with small figured French chintz, and it was a
delightful seat, or bed, as the occasion required. She had the legs of