“Bless your dear old heart, Harry,—you deserve to be shaken to death if you’re not the happiest man alive. I _must_ hurry home and see you both with my own eyes, and learn to believe that all this wonderful, glorious thing has come to pass. Give Alice a sister’s kiss for me (if you know how to give more than one kind), and give my cherubs a hundred each from the mother that wants to see them so much. “With love and congratulations, “HELEN.” The other letter, which I opened with considerable reverence and more delight, ran as follows: “HILLCREST, June 29, 1875. “DEAR FRIEND HELEN:—Something has happened and I am very happy, but I am more than a little troubled over it, too, and, as you are one of the persons nearly concerned, I am going to confess to you as soon as possible. Harry—your brother, I mean—will be sure to tell you very soon, if he hasn’t done so already, and I want to make all possible haste to solemnly assure you that I hadn’t the slightest idea of such a thing coming to pass, and I didn’t do the slightest thing to bring it about. “I always thought your brother was a splendid fellow, and have never been afraid to express my mind about him, when there was no one but girls to listen. But out here, I have somehow learned to admire him more than ever. I cheerfully acquit _him_ of intentionally doing anything to create a favorable impression; if his several appearances before me _have_ been studied, he is certainly the most original being I ever heard of. Your children are angels—you’ve told me so yourself, and I’ve my own very distinct impression on the subject, but they _don’t_ study to save their uncle’s appearance. The figures that unfortunate man has cut several times—well, I won’t try to describe them on paper, for fear he might some day see a scrap of it and take offense. But he always seems to be patient with them, and devoted to them, and I haven’t been able to keep from seeing that a man who could be so lovable with thoughtless and unreasonable children must be perfectly adorable to the woman he loved, if she were a woman at all. Still, I hadn’t the faintest idea that I would be the fortunate woman. At last _the_ day came, but I was in blissful ignorance of what was to happen. Your little Charley hurt himself, and insisted upon Har—your brother singing an odd song to him; and just when the young gentleman was doing the elegant to a dozen of us ladies at once, too! If you _could_ have seen his face!—it was too funny, until he got over his annoyance, and began to feel properly sorry for the little fellow—then he seemed all at once to be all tenderness and heart, and I _did_ wish for a moment that conventionalities didn’t exist, and I might tell him that he was a model. Then your youngest playfully spilt a plate of soup on my dress (don’t be worried—’twas only a common muslin, and ’twill wash). Of course I had to change it and, as I retired, the