_Friday._ Mrs. Wolcott called and very politely asked Mrs. Sheldon to permit me to take tea with her and Miss Cook, a niece of hers from Danbury for whom she had made the party (I was at school) Mrs. Sheldon gave her permission and I went. Though Mrs. Wolcott was the only married woman in the room, yet no one would have thought her the oldest for she looked very beautiful. The party was large. Some of the ladies were—both the Misses Catlin, Miss Hooker, Reeves, Kirby, Sanford, Beecher, Devaux, Lord, Landon, Burr and the two Misses Buel. When the clock struck nine, the girl was carrying round the wine, and I too well knew if I was not at home, the family would be displeased. I spoke to the lady who sat next to me and said I must go, and she said it would be extremely improper in her opinion for me who was the youngest in the room to go first, because if I went, all would go. At about half past nine Miss Burr rose to go, and all the company followed her example. It was very cold and as I crossed the green, the wind blew and I thought, what can be keener? but I found when I reached home that a keener blast awaited me, a blast which will never no never be erased from my memory. I opened the door with a trembling hand, no one was in the room, but soon Dr. came. My heart throbbed violently, and he said—why are you home at this late hour? I told my excuse, he interrupted me by saying that it was but a poor excuse, that I might as well have come as not, for it would have been perfectly proper if I had only been five years old. He concluded by saying that if I ever staid out again he certainly would lock the door if it was after nine. I looked round for a candle but there was none. I asked for one and he said if I wished one I might go up stairs and get one. I spoke and said, Sir I can go to bed in the dark, he made no objection. As I went up stairs I wept as a child and wished I was at home with those friends whom I so dearly dearly loved. Mary was asleep and I thought I should have frozen before I undressed myself, and thus did I pay for my whistle. The party was pleasant but the scolding was not, and sincerely did I wish I had not gone—— CAROLINE CHESTER—HER COMMONPLACE BOOK.[42] A blush Like the last beam of evening thrown On a white cloud just seen and gone The words of Schenadoah an Indian chief who died lately aged one hundred and thirteen, at Oneida I am, an aged hemlock; the winds of an hundred years have blown through its branches; it is dead at the top. Those who began life with me have run away from me: Why I am suffered to remain God best knows. M. W. PECK. Your own luminous nature surrounds you and seeing through that, you fancy objects bright which only reflect your beams.