and astonishing the human palate. Its appearance had been deferred for several reasons; first, because everybody would have attacked it, if it had come in with the other luxuries; secondly, because undue apprehensions were entertained (owing to want of experience) of its tendency to deliquesce and resolve itself with alarming rapidity into puddles of creamy fluid; and, thirdly, because the surprise would make a grand climax to finish off the banquet. There is something so audacious in the conception of ice-cream, that it is not strange that a population undebauched by the luxury of great cities looks upon it with a kind of awe and speaks of it with a certain. emotion. This defiance of the seasons, forcing Nature to do her work of congelation in the face of her sultriest noon, might well inspire a timid mind with fear lest human art were revolting against the Higher Powers, and raise the same scruples which resisted the use of ether and chloroform in certain contingencies. Whatever may be the cause, it is well known that the announcement at any private rural entertainment that there is to be ice-cream produces an immediate and profound impression. It may be remarked, as aiding this impression, that exaggerated ideas are entertained as to the dangerous effects this congealed food may produce on persons not in the most robust health. There was silence as the pyramids of ice were placed on the table, everybody looking on in admiration. The Colonel took a knife and assailed the one at the head of the table. When he tried to cut off a slice, it didn't seem to understand it, however, and only tipped, as if it wanted to upset. The Colonel attacked it on the other side and it tipped just as badly the other way. It was awkward for the Colonel. "Permit me," said the Judge, and he took the knife and struck a sharp slanting stroke which sliced off a piece just of the right size, and offered it to Mrs. Sprowle. This act of dexterity was much admired by the company. The tables were all alive again. "Lorindy, here's a plate of ice-cream," said Silas Peckham. "Come, Mahaly," said a fresh-looking young fellow with a saucerful in each hand, "here's your ice-cream ;-let's go in the corner and have a celebration, us two." And the old green delaine, with the young curves under it to make it sit well, moved off as pleased apparently as if it had been silk velvet with thousand-dollar laces over it. "Oh, now, Miss Green! do you think it's safe to put that cold stuff into your stomick?" said the Widow Leech to a young married lady, who, finding the air rather warm, thought a little ice would cool her down very nicely. "It's jest like eatin' snowballs. You don't look very rugged; and I should be dreadful afeard, if I was you". "Carrie," said old Dr. Kittredge, who had overheard this," how well you're looking this evening! But you must be tired and heated;-sit down here, and let me give you a good slice of ice-cream. How you young folks do grow up, to be sure! I don't feel quite certain whether it's you or your older sister, but I know it's somebody I call Carrie, and that I've known ever since " A sound something between a howl and an oath startled the company and broke off the Doctor's sentence. Everybody's eyes turned in the direction from which it came. A group instantly gathered round the person who had uttered it, who was no other than Deacon Soper. "He's chokin'! he's chokin'!" was the first exclamation,-" slap him on the back!" Several heavy fists beat such a tattoo on his spine that the Deacon felt as if at least one of his vertebræ would come up. "He's black in the face," said Widow Leech,-" he's swallered somethin' the wrong way. Where's the Doctor?-let the Doctor get to him, can't ye?" "If you will move, my good lady, perhaps I can," said Dr. Kittredge, in a calm tone of voice." He's not choking, my friends," the Doctor added immediately, when he got sight of him. "It's apoplexy, I told you so, don't you see how red he is in the face?" said old Mrs. Peake, a famous woman for "nussin" sick folksdetermined to be a little ahead of the Doctor. "It's not apoplexy," said Dr. Kittredge. "What is it, Doctor? what is it? Will he die? Is he dead?—Here's his poor wife, the Widow Soper that is to be, if she a'n't a'ready". "Do be quiet, my good woman," said Dr. Kittredge.-"Nothing serious, I think, Mrs. Soper.-Deacon!" The sudden attack of Deacon Soper had begun with the extraordinary sound mentioned above. His features had immediately assumed an expression of intense pain, his eyes staring wildly, and, clapping his hands to his face, he had rocked his head backward and forward in speechless agony. "The At the Doctor's sharp appeal the Deacon lifted his head. "It's all right," said the Doctor, as soon as he saw his face. Deacon had a smart attack of neuralgic pain. That's all. Very severe, but not at all dangerous." The Doctor kept his countenance, but his diaphragm was shaking the change in his waistcoat-pockets with subterranean laughter. He had looked through his spectacles and seen at once what had happened. The Deacon, not being in the habit of taking his nourishment in the congealed state, had treated the ice-cream as a pudding of a rare species, and, to make sure of doing himself justice in its distribution, had taken a large mouthful of it without the least precaution. The consequence was a sensation as if a dentist were killing the nerves of twenty-five teeth at once with hot irons, or cold ones, which would hurt rather worse. The Deacon swallowed something with a spasmodic effort, and recovered pretty soon and received the congratulations of his friends. There were different versions of the expressions he had used at the onset of his complaint, some of the reported exclamations involving a breach of propriety, to say the least,-but it was agreed that a man in an attack of neuralgy wasn't to be judged of by the rules that applied to other folks. Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the ship of pearl! And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed,— Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! THE LIVING TEMPLE. NOT in the world of light alone, Where God has built his blazing throne, Nor yet alone in earth below, With belted seas that come and go, And endless isles of sunlit green, Is all thy Maker's glory seen: Look in upon thy wondrous frame,— The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves And red with Nature's flame they start No rest that throbbing slave may ask, But warmed with that unchanging flame See how yon beam of seeming white |