You will not wonder, sisters, that I hankered after this delicious fruit, which is about the only good thing that grows which we do not have in the old Vermont State. Only think of them--round, plump, juicy; with the redness of a warm sunset burning on one side, and pale-gold glowing on the other; cool, delicious, melting away in the mouth with a flavor that just makes you want to kiss some smiling baby while it is on your lips! Think of them! then imagine my feelings when I was hurried into a hack, and rattled off to the steamboat with the promise of a hot dinner in its internal regions. We saw peaches on every hand as we drove along--in stores, on street tables, in baskets carried by Irish women, who looked up at the carriage-window pleadingly as we drove along. "Wait one minute," says I, as a woman came up with her long basket brimming over with the luscious fruit; "I must have some peaches." "Not a second," says E. E.; "don't you see Dempster beckoning from the deck? The last bell is ringing. Come, come!" The Irish woman lifted up her basket, and stood there enticing me. E. E. rushed up the plank, calling out: "Make haste, make haste!" Cecilia sung out: "Come along, Phœmie!" Two men had hold of the plank bridge. I had to cross then, or be left behind. I cast one yearning look towards the basket, rushed up the plank, and stood panting, by the side of Dempster. "Oh dear, it is too bad!" says I. "What is it, Phœmie?" says Dempster. "Peaches!" says I. "Those delicious peaches--see how they glow in the sunshine!" "Oh, nonsense! There is plenty on board," says he; "I'll go and get some." "Not yet," says E. E.; "the deck is so crowded." Dempster got seats for us and a stool for himself. The crowd was packed so close that one could hardly breathe. I was thirsty, I was tired out, and just ready to cry. E. E. was tired also, and a little cross. Cecilia was just as she always is--a nuisance. I felt like thanking Dempster when he jumped up, and says he: "Now for the peaches!" Away he went, just as good-natured as could be, calling back for me to keep his seat for him. I laid my parasol on it, and kept my hand on that; but a minute after came a great heathen of a fellow and attempted to take the stool. "It is engaged," says I, pressing down my hand. "What of that?" says he, jerking the stool away, and throwing my parasol on to the floor. "Every one for himself, and no favors." I was blue as indigo before that. At another time this creature would have riled me into a tempest, but now I felt more like crying. But there he sat, plump on the stool, looking as self-contented as if butter would not melt in his mouth. Dempster came back. I looked up longingly. His hands were empty. "I am very sorry," says he, "but there isn't a peach on board."