probable that the girl's fancy had been fed, perhaps indiscreetly
pampered, by her experience there. But it was no fairy-land. It was an
academy town in New England, and the fact that it was so alluring is a
fair indication of the kind of life from which she had emerged, and to
which she now returned. What could she do? In the dreary round of petty
details, in the incessant drudgery of a poor farmer's household, with no
companions or any sympathy--for the family of a hard-working New-England
farmer are not the Chloes and Clarissas of pastoral poetry, nor the
cowboys Corydons--with no opportunity of retirement and cultivation, for
reading and studying--which is always voted 'stuff' under such
circumstances--the light suddenly quenches out of life, what was she to
do?

"The simple answer is that she had only used all her opportunities, and
that, although it was no fault of hers that the routine of her life was in
every way repulsive, she did struggle to accommodate herself to it, and
failed. When she found it impossible to drag on at home, she became an
inmate of a refined and cultivated household in the village, where she had
opportunity to follow her own fancies and to associate with educated and
attractive persons. But even here she could not escape the feeling that it
was all temporary, that her position was one of dependence; and her pride,
now grown morbid, often drove her from the very society which alone was
agreeable to her. This was all genuine. There was not the slightest strain
of the _femme incomprise_ in her demeanor. She was always shy and silent,
with a touching reserve which won interest and confidence, but left also a
vague sadness in the mind of the observer. After a few months she made
another effort to rend the cloud which was gradually darkening around her,
and opened a school for young children. But although the interest of
friends secured her a partial success, her gravity and sadness failed to
excite the sympathy of her pupils, who missed in her the playful gayety