SHE might have had twenty other names, but that was the only appellation I ever heard. It was, "Get out of the way, Hatty!"—"I dare say, Hatty broke that vase, or lost that book!"—"Don't come here; what a fright you are, Hatty!" till the poor, sensitive child almost felt as if she had the mark of Cain upon her forehead. She had brothers and sisters, but they were bright, and saucy, and bold, and cunning; and, when they wished to carry out a favorite scheme, could throw their arms about the parental neck, flatter some weak side, carry the day, and then laugh at their juvenile foresight; so their coffers were always filled, while poor Hatty's was empty;—and she laid all these things up in her little grieved heart, and, as she saw duplicity better rewarded than sincerity, began to have little infidel doubts whether the Bible, that her father read so much out of, was really true; while Joseph's "coat of many colors" flaunted ever before her tearful eyes! All their sweet, childish impulses were checked and crushed; and, where the sweet flowers of love and confidence should have sprung up, the weeds of distrust and suspicion took bitter root!

  She took no part in the conversation of the domestic circle. "She was stupid," so they told her; and she had heard it till she believed it true. Sometimes, as was often the case, some talented person made part of the family circle; on such occasions, Hatty would listen in her corner till her great, wild eyes glowed and burned like living coals of fire. But there was one spot where none disputed Hatty's right to reign,—a little lonely room at the top of the house, which she had fitted up in her own wild way, and where she was free from reproof or intrusion.

  You should have seen her there,—with her little yearning heart half broken by neglect,—doubtful of her own powers, and weeping such passionate tears, that she was "so stupid, and ugly, and disagreeable," that nobody could ever love her! And so she made friends with the holy stars, the fleecy clouds, and the brilliant rainbow, the silver moonbeam, and the swift lightning; and an artistic eye, seeing her soul-lit face at that small window, might have fancied her some Italian improvisatrice! There, the fetters fell off, the soul was free, and the countenance mirrored it forth. Back in the family circle, she was again "Our Hatty!"

  "That young daughter of yours differs very much from the rest of the family, Mr. Lee," said a maiden lady, who was visiting them.

  "Yes, yes," said the old man, with a shrug. "She don't look much like a Lee; in fact, she's very plain. She's a strange, unaccountable child,—likes her own company better than anybody's else, and don't care a rush-light for all the nick-nacks other girls are teasing for. Sometimes I think she belongs to another brood,—got changed in the cradle, or something."

  "How does she spend her time?" said Miss Tabetha.

  "I'm sure I don't know. Wife says she has a little den at the top of the house, where she sits star-gazing. Queer child, that Hatty!—plain as a pike-staff;" and Mr. Lee took up his newspaper, and put his feet on the mantel.

  Miss Tabetha was counfounded! She had an uncommonly warm heart, for an old maid. She had never been a parent;—she wished she had, just to show some people what a nice one she'd have made! She inwardly resolved to know more of "Our Hatty."

  Rap, tap, on the door of Hatty's little den,—what on earth did it mean? She hoped they were not going to take that away from her; and, with a guilty, frightened look, she opened the door.

  Miss Tabetha entered.

  "Are you vexed with me for coming here, child? You don't look glad to see me."

  "No, no!" said Hatty, pushing back a tangled mass

  "And why not, Hatty?"

  "Well, I don't know," said she, with touching meekness and simplicity; "unless it's because I'm 'stupid, and ugly, and disagreeable.'"

  "Who told you that, Hatty?"

  "All of them down stairs," said she; "and I don't care about it, only—only,"—and the tears rolled down her cheeks,—"it is so dreadful to feel that nobody can ever love me!"

  Miss Tabetha said, "Humph!"

  "Hatty," said she, "come here. Do you ever look in the glass?"

  "Not since a long while," said the girl, shrinking back.

  "Come here, and look in this little mirror. Do you see those large, dark, bright eyes of yours? Do you see that wealth of raven hair, which a skilful hand might render a beauty, instead of that tangled deformity? Do you see those lithe, supple limbs, which a little care and training might render graceful as the swaying willow? There is intellect on your brow; soul in your eyes; your voice has a thrilling heart-tone. Hatty, you are a gem in the rough!—you cannot be 'ugly;' but, listen to me. It is every woman's duty to be lovely and attractive. You have underrated and neglected yourself, my poor

  "O, Miss Tabetha, please don't! It's only a little scribbling, just when I felt wretched!—please don't!"

  "Yes, but I shall, though. It's just what I want to see most;" and she went on reading paper after paper, while Hatty stood like a culprit before her. When she had finished, she said, very slowly and deliberately:

  "Hatty, come here! Did you know that you were a genius?"

  "A what, Miss Tabetha?"

  "A genius, you delicious little bit of simplicity,—a genius! You 'll know fast enough what it means; and to think I should have been the first to find it out!" and she caught the astonished child in her arms, and kissed her, till Hatty thought a genius most be the most delightful thing in the world, to bring so much love with it.

  "Look here, Hetty,—does anybody know this?" holding up the manuscripts.

  Hatty shook her head.

  "So much the better. 'Stupid, ugly and disagreeable!' humph! Do you know I'm going to run off with you?" said the little old maid. "We shall see what we shall see, Miss Hatty!"

  Five years had rolled away. A new life had been opened to Hatty. She had grown into a tall, graceful woman. Her step was light as a fawn's. Her face,—not beautiful, certainly, if tried by the rules of art,—and yet, who that watched its ever-varying expression, would stop to criticize? No one cared to analyze the charm. She produced the effect of beauty; she was magnetic; she was fascinating. Miss Tabetha was satisfied;—"she knew it would be just so."

  They had almost forgotten her at Lee house. Once in a while they wondered "if Miss Tabetha was n't tired of her." Miss Tabetha thought she would let them know! Unbounded was their amazement, when Miss Tabetha ushered "Our Hatty" in. It was unaccountable! She was really "almost pretty!" Still there was the same want of heart in their manner to her; and the little old maid could not have kept within bounds, had she not had powerful reasons of her own for keeping quiet awhile.

  "By the way, Miss Tabetha," said Mr. Lee, "as you are a blue-stocking, can you enlighten me as to the author of that charming little volume of poems, which has set all the literary world astir? It is n't often I get upon stilts, but I 'd give something to see the woman who wrote it."

  Miss Tabetha's time had come. Her eyes twinkled with malicious delight. She handed him a volume, saying, "Well, here is a book I was commissioned to give you by the authoress herself."

  Mr. Lee rubbed his glasses, set them astride his nose, and read the following on the fly-leaf:

  "To my dear father, James Lee; from his affectionate daughter, The Author."

  Mr. Lee sprang from his chair, and, seizing his child by both hands, ejaculated, "Hatty Lee! I'm proud of you!"

  Tears gathered slowly in her large eyes, as she said, "O, not that! Dear father, fold me once to your heart, and say, 'Hatty, I love you!'"

  Her head sank upon his shoulder. The old man read his child's heart at last; he saw it all,—all her childish unhappiness,—and, as he kissed her brow, and cheek, and lips, said, in a choking voice, "Forgive your old father, Hatty!"

  Her hand was laid upon his lips, while smiles and tears chased over her face, like sunshine and shadow over an April sky.

  O, what is Fame to a woman? Like the "apples of the Dead Sea," fair to the sight, ashes to the touch! From the depths of her unsatisfied heart, cometh ever a voice that will not be hushed,—Take it all back, only give me love!