muster. I thought it had rather a stern look
as it inclined downwards; but, it was neat
and well-brushed, and had a very respectable
appearance altogether. On the left side, far
lower down, hung a straw cottage bonnet
crossed with a simple pale blue ribbon, round
which clustered innumerable little caps, and
hats, and bonnets, of different dimensions. I
fitted a face into that bonnet as I stood there,
and the event did honour to my powers of
divination. A fair meek Madonna face, I
made it, with eyes all love, and a mouth all
gentleness. Too much love, and too little
power, in that whole countenance, to fit it for
this work-o'-day world.

The master and mistress coming in to
receive me, I found my Mahogany friend quite
right in these suggestions. I made a pleasant
visit, and I thanked him with a courteous
look as I went out. We understood each
other. I did not frequent the Chase much in
those days, comparatively speaking; but,
before the year was out, there was a blank on
the topmost branch of the tree that looked
sad, even to me.

"Bad news!" said my Mahogany Friend,
"you see!" And bad, indeed, it was. The
small close crape bonnet of the widow which
replaced the Cottage for a time, had mounted
a degree higher; but, it seemed now as if it
only peeped out of a little nest of mourning
head-gear.

That was the winter I fell ill, and was
ordered to a southern climate. I remained
away, several years—a sufficiently long time,
in fact, to lay in a good stock of health, so
that I was better able, on my return, to
encounter the damp air and clayey soil round
my old Den.

Nothing could exceed the loquacity of my
Mahogany Friend, when I went up, to the
Chase, on my return. Instead of allowing me
to draw my own conclusions from what he
showed me, he began to talk in a most
unreserved manner.

"Look here!" says he, "don't you think
the Cottage appears gayer than it ever did
before, with dear old William's hat hanging
close to it? That is William's, old William,
or Sweet William, as we call him; see how
manly it looks. Some people say it has
grown very like the one I used to carry on
my head some years ago; but, I know better.
The quality is quite different, Sir. That cap
very near the Cottage, that's young George's.
George mounted that sort of cap because all
the other Eton fellows do; an argument
which black-eyed sister Katie does not admit.
See that little tarpaulin hat just underneath
the Cottage; that's Tom's. Tom, sir, is gone
raving mad about sailoring. I see the poor
Cottage sometimes, peeping down so anxiously
over that little hat! But, it's of no use,
Mr. Mum; the boy's mind's made up. I
suppose I need not tell you who owns this
black hat and feathers, eh? Has it not just
such a pretty, jaunty, wayward, high-spirited
warm-hearted look, as Katie herself? It's
the hat I love to carry, best of all! Though
I have no objection to the broad straw hat
with its fluttering ribbons, that sits like a
thatched roof on the golden locks of little
Minnie. Bless you, Mr. Mum, I have seen
the people stoop down (and it's worth their
while too) to look at the little fairy
underneath! This is Harry's hat next to Katie's.
Oh, you may be sure that, while they can,
that brother and sister will be side by side!
This brown wide-awake is Harry's too—mad-cap,
we call him— and this green Tyrolese
hat, with the peacock's feathers, is Harry's,
too; and this Glengarry bonnet—all Harry's,
Mr. Mum! Harry has no end of friends, and
they all send him presents; and, as he spends
almost all his time out of doors, what can be
a more appropriate present than a covering
for that wild head of his, eh, sir?  These two
neatly trimmed, ladylike bonnets, with a
coarser one in the centre," continued my friend,
nearly out of his mahogany breath, "these,
Mr. Mum, belong to our twins and their
governess. Katie, you see, has emancipated
herself from that yoke, and Minnie has not put
it on yet; but dear me, how I do chatter!"

"Not at all, my Mahogany Friend," I
politely replied. His remark was strictly
true, but I wished to encourage him; because,
like many chatterers, he seemed instinctively
to avoid the very point on which I felt some
curiosity.

On one side of the stand, but much nearer
the top than any of the others, was perched a
large, determined, grim-looking Bonnet. It
was very plain that Katie's Spaniard and
Harry's Tyrolese tossed their feathers at it;
that Minnie's ribbons trembled under it; that
the twin bonnets, though too well disciplined
and ladylike to be demonstrative, inclined
nearer to each other, as if they shrunk from
it; that William's hat seemed looking away;
that George's was running away, and that
Tom's was sailing away, from it.

The Cottage had a peculiar expression, or
else I am much mistaken; it had a sort of
upward look in the direction of the solitary
bonnet, and it hung closer than ever to
William's hat.

"That grim-looking bonnet is something
new, my Mahogany Friend," I observed with
some hesitation; for I felt it was rather a
breach of taste to allude to the one only
subject on which my friend had been silent.

"It may be new to you, Mr. Mum," was
the reply, in a decidedly peevish tone, "who
have been amusing yourself in Italy all these
years; but, it is not new enough to have any
charms for me. It is a beaver bonnet, you
see. Maybe that is the reason it is so heavy.
I know that side of me often aches with the
weight of it."

"Why, how can that be?" I asked,
determined to sift the matter, now that I had once
begun, "almost all your weight is on the other
side."