MRS. GRUNDY. What a question! In my youth it was read regularly, once a year, at every Fourth of July celebration. LUCY D----. Did you ever, when listening to it, consider that your interest in its enunciation of principles was merely incidental, not direct? MRS. GRUNDY. How so? LUCY D----. The 'all men' that are born 'equal,' and with an 'inalienable right to liberty,' does not include you, because, although you are white, you are a woman. MRS. GRUNDY. What covert heresy is this, Lucy, with which you are endeavoring to mystify my old-fashioned notions? LUCY D----. I advocate no theory. I merely state a fact. My own belief is, that men are born very _unequal_ (I do not mean _legally_, but _really_, as they stand in the sight of God), and that they, as well as we, are free only to do what is right in the fulfilment of _inalienable duties_. 'Life' and the 'pursuit of happiness' must both yield to the exactions of such duties. I must confess, however, that, let my abstract views be as they may, I have occasionally embraced in their widest extent the generalizations of the Declaration of Independence; and nowhere has the right of 'Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness' seemed to me so precious and delightful a possession as, when seated on top of a stage coach, I have breathed the exhilarating atmosphere of some elevated mountain region. As to equality, I must also say, that _there_ especially do I feel my inferiority to, and dependence on the driver, who, in his sphere, reigns a king. MRS. GRUNDY. In my day, _ladies_ were always expected to take inside seats. LUCY D----. Yes, and be shut up behind a great leather strap, so that if anything happened, they would be the last to reach the door! I have a few notes of a stage-coach journey, made last summer. If you like, I will read it to you while you work on that interminable afghan. By the way, Aunt Sarah, I do not think you have labored quite so energetically since the late decision made by the Metropolitan Fair in regard to raffling. How is that? MRS. GRUNDY. My dear, I must acknowledge that my ardor is a little lessened since I began this piece of work, for then I had not only a vision of the poor soldiers to be aided by my labor, but I also fancied that this warm wrapping, instead of adding a new lustre to the carriage of some luxurious lady, might perchance fall to the share of some poor widow; and these beautiful embroidered leaves and blossoms might delight some sickly child, whose best covering had hitherto been a faded blanket shawl, and whose mother was too poor to afford the indulgence of real flowers, purchased from some collection of exotics, or plucked by the pale fingers from some fragrant country wayside. However, I know that was an idle fancy, and the imagination is a dangerous guide. I surely would never call in question the soundness of a decision made by so many excellent and respectable people. Read on, if you please. You know me to be a patient listener.