We have now arrived at a period which most girls look forward to as an epoch in their life--the first ball! Lucretia had been to dancing-school, and took great delight in that exercise. In the hope of overcoming her painful timidity, her mother had consented to her attending the public assemblies of Plattsburg. She was fourteen. The day arrived, and the important subject of dress was the matter of consultation between Mrs. Davidson and her eldest daughter, Lucretia sitting by, absorbed in one of the Waverley novels. "What shall Lucy wear?" asked the sister. "Come, Lucretia; what color will you wear to-night?" "Where?" "Where? why, to the assembly, to be sure." "Is it to-night? so it is!" and she tossed aside her book, and danced delighted about the room. The question of dress was now settled, and Lucretia was soon again absorbed in her book. At the hour for dressing, the delights of the ball again filled her imagination, and she set about the offices of the toilet with interest. Her sister was to dress her hair; but, when the time came, she was missing. She was called in vain, and was at length found in the parlor, in the dusky twilight, writing poetry. "She returned from the assembly," says her mother, "wild with delight." "O mamma," said she, "I wish you had been there. When I first entered, the glare of light dazzled my eyes; my head whirled, and I felt as if I were treading on air; all was so gay, so brilliant! But I grew tired at last, and was glad to hear sister say it was time to go home." About the same period, life received for her a new object of interest. Her little sister Margaret, the frequent subject of her verses, was born. The following are among the earliest stanzas addressed to her:-- "Sweet babe, I cannot hope that thou'lt be freed From woes, to all since earliest time decreed; But may'st thou be with resignation blessed, To bear each evil, howsoe'er distressed. May Hope her anchor lend amid the storm, And o'er the tempest rear her angel form; May sweet Benevolence, whose words are peace, To the rude whirlwind softly whisper, Cease! And may Religion, Heaven's own darling child, Teach thee at human cares and griefs to smile; Teach thee to look beyond that world of woe, To heaven's high font, whence mercies ever flow. And when this vale of years is safely passed, When death's dark curtain shuts the scene at last, May thy freed spirit leave this earthly sod, And fly to seek the bosom of thy God." Lucretia was now placed in trying circumstances. Her mother, after the birth of Margaret, was very ill; the infant, too, was ill; and, to add to their misfortunes, the nurse was taken sick. Lucretia's eldest sister had recently been married, and had removed to Canada; so that upon her devolved great and manifold duties.