drew the foregoing testimony from him. He has charge of Mr. Daw's
vegetable-garden, and has known the family these thirty years. Of
course I shall make the acquaintance of my neighbors before many
days. It will be next to impossible for me not to meet Mr. Daw or
Miss Daw in some of my walks. The young lady has a favorite path to
the sea-beach. I shall intercept her some morning, and touch my hat
to her. Then the princess will bend her fair head to me with
courteous surprise not unmixed with haughtiness. Will snub me, in
fact. All this for thy sake, O Pasha of the Snapt Axle-tree!. . .
How oddly things fall out! Ten minutes ago I was called down to the
parlor--you know the kind of parlors in farm-houses on the coast, a
sort of amphibious parlor, with sea-shells on the mantel-piece and
spruce branches in the chimney-place--where I found my father and
Mr. Daw doing the antique polite to each other. He had come to pay
his respects to his new neighbors. Mr. Daw is a tall, slim
gentleman of about fifty-five, with a florid face and snow-white
mustache and side-whiskers. Looks like Mr. Dombey, or as Mr. Dombey
would have looked if he had served a few years in the British Army.
Mr. Daw was a colonel in the late war, commanding the regiment in
which his son was a lieutenant. Plucky old boy, backbone of New
Hampshire granite. Before taking his leave, the colonel delivered
himself of an invitation as if he were issuing a general order.
Miss Daw has a few friends coming, at 4 p.m., to play croquet on
the lawn (parade-ground) and have tea (cold rations) on the piazza.
Will we honor them with our company? (or be sent to the guard-
house.) My father declines on the plea of ill-health. My father's
son bows with as much suavity as he knows, and accepts.

In my next I shall have something to tell you. I shall have seen
the little beauty face to face. I have a presentiment, Jack, that