ered by a patchwork quilt—the work and pride of the little Aikins, and the admiration of the matrons. A substantial rag carpet was spread over the middle of the floor. The stove, a mournful substitute for the cheerful, open fireplace of the olden time, was black and shining as stove could be. Uncle Phil's cushioned chair, and Aunt Lottie's stuffed one, stood on either side of the stove. The window-ledges were filled with the prettiest screens—plants. Aunt Lottie's charge—the stoutest in pots, and the nurslings in well-patched teapots and mugs. A Connecticut clock (bless the economical artists that have placed within the reach of every poor man this domestic friend and faithful monitor) stood on the mantel-piece. A curtain was drawn aside from two book-shelves, filled with excellent books; the most conspicuous were a Bible, a Hymn-book, the Pilgrim's Progress, a Compend of Universal History, History of America, the American Revolution, a Life of Washington, and a Constitution of the United States, bound up with Washington's Farewell Address. Underneath these shelves was a pine table, with a pile of books, slates, and writings books, two clearly-burning lamps on it, and a chair for Mr. Barlow and benches for the children beside it. A smaller table was placed in the middle of the room; and on it, bright as burnished gold, two brass candlesticks, which Susan had inherited from her grandmother, and which proudly bore two good mould candles of her thrifty grandchild's running. On another table, under the glass, was a waiter, with a nice napkin, which covered a simple treat of biscuits and butter, cakes, nuts, and apples; and on the stove a pot of cocoa.
