The Cass County Republican

From the Continental Monthly.

The Mishaps of Miss Hobbs.

Ann Harriet found her uncle's family all that she expected. They found her a little more than they expected.

Everything was done to make her comfortable. Aunt Farnsworth condoled with her niece on the loss of money, and the receipt for Sally Lunn cake.

They brought a fan to cool her, and placed a footstool for her feet. Her cousin Miranda exhibited a photograph album containing all the family likenesses, besides a number they had purchased to fill up the book, such as the Prince of Wales, McClellan, Stonewall Jackson, Beauregard and Butler. All this comforted her greatly, and Ann Harriet was much interested, but was obliged to inquire which were fighting for the North, and which for the South—she had heard something about it, but was not thoroughly informed,—for, to tell the truth, the only medium for news in Peonytown was the Clarion, and the only portion of even that which Ann Harriet attended to was deaths, marriages, and dry goods.

The remainder of the day passed quietly, and the hour for retiring approached. Before Ann Harriet's arrival, it had been arranged that she should share Miranda's bed; but it was now very evident that Ann would get very much more than her share. and it was therefore decided to give her a bed to herself. A lamp was brought, and Aunt Farnsworth, escorted her to her room, and bade her good night. Ann Harriet had the usual share of curiosity which all females—even plump ones—possess; and wishing to know how a Boston street appeared in the evening, she hoisted the curtain with a vigorous jerk, and looked forth. It was not a very beautiful scene; long rows of brick houses stretched away on either side, relieved at intervals by the street lamps and loafers, which, as they appeared at a distance, reminded her of a torch light procession she had witnessed once in Peonytown, when the Hickory Club turned out with twenty torches and a colored lantern. Having satisfied her eyes with the view, she attempted to draw down the curtain, and found that it would not move. She had pulled it up so vigorously that the cord had slipped from the wheel, and rendered the curtain immovable. By stepping on a chair she could, indeed, reach and adjust it; but the only chairs in the room were cane-seated, and seemed altogether too fragile for such a weighty lady as Ann Harriet. To add to her perplexity, the dwelling directly opposite was a boarding house, full of young men; and she noticed that one or two of them, had already discovered her. and that the news was probably being communicated to all their fellow boarders, for in a very few minutes every window had two or more spectators at it, armed with opera or eye glasses, while one saucy fellow had a telescope three feet long. What to do she did not know; there was but one window in the room and no recess into which her portly beauty could retreat. Once more she tried the curtain, giving it a forcible twitch, and this time it came down—but the whole fixture came with it, and, after striking her on the head, slid out of the window into the street, much to the amusement of the spectators opposite.

Here was a dilemma— and what would her aunt say. She had to give up all hope of excluding the gaze of her impudent neighbors. Poor damsel She would have asked assistance of some of the family, but they had all been asleep some time, and she disliked to disturb them. Finally she decided to extinguish her light and undress in in bed—a difficult undertaking, which was, however, accomplished, with the loss of sundry strings and buttons; and Ann Harriet laid her wearied head on the pillow, and thought her troubles for the day were over. But sleep forsook the wretched, and her eyes would not "stay shut." While coaxing them to "stay down," she was startled by a flash of light on the wall and an explosion, then another, and then a third. accompanied by a shower of gravelly substance in her face and eyes. Miss Hobbs, as we have seen, was "a woman naturally born to fears," and this sudden and inexplicable exhibition of fireworks in her chamber almost burst the strings of her night cap, by causing her curly black hair to stand on end.

The mischievous young men opposite had procured a carbine—vulgarly known as a "bean blower," and were shooting torpedoes into Ann Harriet's chamber. Not daring to rise to shut the window she was wholly at their mercy; but fortunately their stock of ammunition was limited to half a dozen pellets, and in a few minutes the bombardment ceased.

About midnight Ann Harriet fell into a deep slumber, and when she awoke the broad sunshine was illuminating her chamber, while the rattling of teams along the paved streets reminded her that she was in the metropolis of New England. She missed the green foliage and healthy perfume and bird songs of her pleasant country home; all she could see was a combination of bricks, slate and stone; and not a green thing was visible in the street, save a few Irish servants, who were washing off the doorsteps and sidewalks. In the middle of the cobble stones lay the curtain which had fallen during the scene of the previous evening, muddy and torn, its sticks broken by the heavy wagons which had passed over it. A glance at the hostile boarding-house assured her that all was quiet there; so, after arranging her dress with studied nicety, and disposing her hair in the most enchanting style and Ann Harriet was really neat and winsome—she descended to the breakfast room. Her cousin Gregory was the only person present—he sat by the window reading. After the customary greeting, Ann Harriet inquired what interested him.

"I have been glancing over an article called "Ludicrous Exaggerations," in Leigh Hunt's Indicator," replied Gregory, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Ann Harriet did not notice any point to this remark, but said: "I do not remember having seen that book."

"What have you been reading lately?" pursued Gregory.

"Oh! I have begun a splendid book that Mrs. Orren Pendergrast lent me: I have forgotten who wrote it, but its name is "The Bloody Butcher's Bride; or, The Demon of Dandelion Dell."

Here Gregory was so impolite as to burst into a loud laugh, much to the discomfiture of Ann Harriet, who was on the point of describing a thrilling scene in the story.

"I see nothing to laugh at," remarked she, solemnly; "it is a very nice book, Cousin Gregory. Why, some parts of it were so powerful that it made me tremble all over."

"It must have been powerful," said Gregory, drily.

"You're a saucy fellow," said his cousin. "But, by the way, where is that new suit that was damaged yesterday? You do not look so stylish this morning."

"Stylish? I hope not. I hate that word; it is only fit to be applied to pigs; they always look so sty-lish" replied Gregory.

The door opened, and the rest of the family appeared, much to Ann Harriet's discomfort, for she liked her cousin, and was just thinking how she could make an impression upon him. The surest way would have been to sit in his lap.

They seated themselves at the table when the customary question came from Aunt Farnsworth:

"How did you rest last night, Ann Harriet?"

This, of course, called forth the history of the mishaps she had experienced, and the indignation of her uncle and aunt was great when they heard how the occupants of the boarding house had behaved.

"Those young men over there are Border Ruffians," remarked Gregory.

"Mercy!" exclaimed his fat cousin; "if I had known that, I shouldn't have slept a wink all night. I have heard Miss Pendergrast tell about those awful men; she had a sister out in Kansas, and a parcel of Border Ruffians came to her house one Sabbath day and ate up everything she had, and then carried off her cow and five pullets."

"What cow-ardly and chicken-hearted fellows, to rob a poor woman in that manner!" remarked Gregory, grimly.

"Oh yes," said Ann Harriet; "and they spit tobacco juice all over her clean floor, and whittled all over the hearth, and told her it was lucky for her that she was a widow, for if she hadn't been, they would have made her one. I should think you would feel dreadfully to have a whole houseful right opposite."

"We do feel pretty dreadfully," replied Gregory; "often."

"Miranda, you must have a little company while your cousin is here, and make her acquainted with some of the ladies and gentlemen of the city," said Aunt Farnsworth.

"I should like to, very much, mother; and if you are willing, I will set about it immediately after breakfast; and perhaps I can arrange things so as to have it to-morrow night," was Miranda's reply.

This suggestion was eagerly seconded by Gregory, who always enjoyed the social parties that his sister had a peculiar knack in getting up at short notice.

Their pleasant anticipations of the soiree were suddenly checked by quite a melancholy mishap to the solid Ann Harriet. In reaching forward to receive a cup of coffee from her aunt, she was obliged to rise a little from her seat. Now, the chair in which she was sitting had been broken the day before and was glued together, strong enough for any ordinary usage, but wholly inadequate to sustain such a weight as now taxed it; so when Ann "set back" into the furniture, the already strained joints came apart, and she felt herself descending to the floor; to save herself, she clung to the edge of the table, but, of course, that was no support; on the contrary, it tilted up and launched the whole contents over the prostrate form of the unfortunate Ann Harriet. There she lay, pinned to the floor by the heavy table, while her face and neck and dress were covered with butter, gooseberry pie, hot coffee, broken eggs, and slices of fried ham. The carpet was in a similar condition, and the Old Dominion coffeepot was found expiring under the sofa.

Mr. Farnsworth, in an attempt to save the table from going over, lost his own balance, and fell flounder-flat on the floor, where he lay shuddering with his hair in a dish of Shaker apple sauce; the rest of the family escaped unscathed, but were sadly astonished at the sudden turn things had taken.

Mr. Farnsworth and Gregory raised the fallen table to its former position, and Miranda set about collecting the scattered dishes.

"I knew that we were going to breakfast, but I did not think we should break-fast as that," remarked Gregory, ruefully.

Ann Harriet up to this time, had retained her consciousness, when it suddenly occurred to her that, in the stories she had read, the heroines always fainted when anything unusual happened; so she shut up her eyes and began to gasp, just as her uncle and cousin were about to assist her to her feet.

"She is faint; get some water, quick!" exclaimed Miranda.

Gregory seized the "Old Dominion," and dashed what coffee there was left in it on Ann's face, then threw on all the cream in the pitcher, and wound up his frightful orgie by emptying over her locks a lot of brown sugar from a bowl which stood near. The effect was that the faint damsel "came to" very fast, and requested to be helped up. Her aspect was remarkably ludicroous; the moistened sugar, clinging to her hair and plastering up her eyes, caused so much mirth on Gregory's part that he could hardly restrain it within the bounds of politeness.

"Oh, do help me up!" implored Ann Harriet.

Easier said than done. Mr. Farnsworth took hold of one arm, and Gregory the other, but their united effort was not sufficient. Mr. Farnsworth had but recently recovered from an attack of the rheumatism—and apple sauce—and was by no means strong enough for such work; while Gregory was so full of laughter that it deprived him of half his strength. After one or two futile attempts, Miranda had a happy thought: she ran into the parlor and brought out half a dozen thick volumes of music; then Gregory and his father lifted Ann Harriet as far as they could at one effort, while Miranda pushed a book under; at the next lift. a second book was inserted, and this movement was repeated until Ann was seated—alto and allegro—on a pile of six large music books. Aunt Farnsworth then brought a basin of water, and carefully bathed her niece's face, removing all traces of the catastrophe, in which she was assisted by a copious flood of tears from Ann's eyes so copious, indeed, that Gregory guessed there would be a rainbow when she ceased.

In about twenty minutes "things were put as near to rights as possible," but their appetites, like the breakfast, was thoroughly spoilt; so Miranda and her cousin went up stairs to make their plans for the entertainment, which was to be given in honor of the fair Peonytowner. This kept them busy all day; for there was shopping to be done, pastry and cake to be made, dresses to be "fixed," and other arrangements "too numerous to mention."

Ann Harriet's thoughts dwelt incessantly on the appointed evening; the iron would then be hot, and she knew that she must strike or lose a golden opportunity for exchanging the desolate monotony of a heavy single life for the sparkling, honorable, enviable life of wedded life.

Surely, Ann Harriet, he who leads thee to the altar will possess a brave and stout heart—one on whom you, although fat, can lean, and of whose home you, though heavy, will be the light. You will so fill his heart that there will be no room for discontent, melancholy, or any evil or mischievous visitor. Whoever the fortunate man may be, you may rest assured that you will exceed his greatest expectations, and he will not attempt to exaggerate your charms and attractions.

(To be Continued.)