UGLY LUCETTE. BY MRS. A. M. F. ANNAN. No eye hath seen such scare-crows: I'll not march through Coventry with them-that's flat. CHAPTER I. SCARCELY a turnout of any distinction, in New York, but was to be seen in Broadway one evening, which closed a beautiful spring day; and amid their glitter and dash, very much out of place, appeared a towering, dusty, country vehicle, with scarlet bombazette curtains, and a top projecting like the roof of a Dutch porch. It was drawn by two fat horses, of different sizes and colors, which, instead of champing and caprioling, in the excitement of competition, as animals of more ambition would have done, seemed conscious of their false position, and moved along with their heads down, and at a pace so slow that even their sturdy driver appeared ashamed of their performance. He was a respectable looking farmer, dressed in a coat of substantial blue cloth, with gilt buttons; pantaloons of the same material, which, from the absence of straps, were drawn up high enough to reveal a pair of snow white, flaxen stockings, and a hat of which not a hair of the nap seemed yet to have been disturbed, though its block must have been good five years old. At length he drove up before a large house, of unexceptionable style and finish, within the windows of which stood two very pretty little girls. "Ciel!" exclaimed the elder, throwing up her hands-a miniature dandizette, some twelve or thirteen years old; "here, mamma, is a market-wagon stopping before our door!" "It can't be a market-wagon, Victorine," said the other, "for there is nothing inside but people. What a funny looking concern!-with red curtains, and a big gray horse and a little brown one!-and there's a woman getting out, and such a queer-looking little girl! see, Victorine, her frock comes down to her heels, and up to her throat, and what big leather boots she has on, and what a monstrous green silk reticule is swinging from her arm!" "Hush, Clara-come from the window, Victorine," said their mother, approaching through the foldingdoors; "in all probability it is your sister." "Our sister!" ejaculated Victorine, again throwing up her hands, while Clara burst into a laugh, saying; "If it were Lucette I dare say she would know naturally how to pull a bell, though she was brought up in the country; just listen-jerk, jerk, jerk! why the servants will be scared out of their wits-there, now, the wire is broken, to a certainty!" Henry IV. cordial "How d'y' do, Mrs. De Ford?-you see I have brought home your daughter, safe and sound." 64 "Thank you, Mr. Horton. Ah! Mrs. Horton, how are you?" replied Mrs. De Ford, civilly; come here, Lucette, child, and speak to me and your sis ters." The little girl walked shyly forward, and, taking the offered hands, made an effort to shake them, with a gesture particularly uncouth and unbecoming in a child, whereupon Victorine returned a dancing-school courtesy, and Clara put her handkerchief to her face and giggled. "I did not think you could be here so soon after receiving my letter, Mr. Horton," said Mrs. De Ford. "It is a good distance to come in one day, ma'am, but I put two horses to the carriage and drove fast, thinking you would be impatient to see your daughter." "I am much obliged to you," said Mrs. De Ford, and, hearing the door bell ring again, she added hurriedly, lest she might be surprised with visiters so unusual, "walk out into the dining-room, if you please, and I will settle for the last quarter's board. Come along with Mrs. Horton, Lucette." "I hear my horses moving, I shall have to go out to look after them," said Mr. Horton. "Ah-but I suppose Mrs. Horton can sign a receipt for you," said Mrs. De Ford, for though her spruce waiting man stood holding the street door in his hand, she had no inclination to lower his dignity by sending him in the farmer's place. She then busied herself in getting her pocket-book and writing materials. Meanwhile, little Lucette clung to the kind-looking country woman, in apparent agony at the thought of separation. Mrs. Horton seemed almost equally distressed, and, while the tears rolled down her cheeks, she drew the child to her bosom, whispering, "Don't forget the prayers I have taught you, Lucette. You will see much to grieve and fret you, but beg the Almighty to keep you humble, and make you good, and you will be much happier." "Now, if you will put your name to this receipt, Mrs. Horton," said Mrs. De Ford, presenting a slip of paper with one hand and a roll of bank-notes with the other; “you find I have allowed liberally for your traveling expenses;" and, while the fashionable mother believed she had amply discharged her obligations by pecuniary justice, Mrs. Horton, though meThey were interrupted by the entrance of the party chanically complying with her request, thought of from the carriage, the farmer leading the little girl, nothing but the privation of losing a child whom she and presenting her to the lady of the mansion, with a | had regarded as her own. Not trusting herself again to speak, she once more clasped Lucette in her arms, and hurried to the door. The little girl flew after her, screaming, "I must see my dear, dear uncle Horton once more!" "Stop the child from going into the street, Pierre," | said Mrs. De Ford, hastily, "and look after the horses while Mr. Horton comes in." Mr. Horton came into the entry, and lifting up the poor child, he kissed each of her wet cheeks, whispering, "God bless my little Lucette," and then hurried out with his wife. "Oh my dear, dear aunty! my dear, good uncle Horton!" sobbed Lucette, throwing herself upon the stairs, and burying her face in her lap. "Hush, hush, my dear!" said Mrs. De Ford; "you must learn to call Mrs. Horton 'nurse Horton,' and not aunt; and Mr. Horton is not your uncle-you have no uncle; call him your foster-father;" but the poor child still sobbed and screamed, and she was led up stairs to be put to bed as soon as she could be quieted. Mrs. De Ford was the widow of a French merchant, who had left her, if not wealthy, at least in very easy circumstances. Madame De Ford, she wished much to be called, but though her husband had been French, and her servants were French, and she kept French furniture, and wore French dresses, and tolerated only French cookery, yet, as she was altogether American by family and birth, she remained still simply Mrs. De Ford. She was a young looking, handsome woman, and of late she had felt some concern to be reminded that the time was approaching when she would have to chaperon three daughters. The beauty of the two elder had, in some measure, reconciled her to the prospect-they would be some credit to her-but the arrival from the country of the third, who appeard a hoplessly ugly child, filled her with an anxiety which spoiled her night's rest. Lucette was now eight years old. She had been a puny, sickly little thing from her birth; but as her father had possessed much parental feeling, he loved her though she was ill-favored, and, by the advice of his physician, took her into the country in her infancy, to insure her better health and a longer life. She was placed in the hands of Mr. and Mrs. Horton-a worthy couple who had no children of their own--and, while her father lived, had always received several visits in a year from him, with at least one or two from her mother. But Mr. De Ford had been dead three years, and his widow had found so many engagements since, that for eighteen months she had not seen the little exile, whose education she now designed to commence, and whose appearance now struck her with double dismay, when it was contrasted with that of her sisters. The next morning Mrs. De Ford entered the sleeping-room of her children at an earlier hour than usual. Lucette was on her knees by her little cot, and the other two were tittering at the toilette. Their mother had sense of propriety enough to check them, but when Clara whispered to her what they had overheard of the child's devotions, she joined in their laugh. It "Oh, dear Lord, if I am ugly, pray make me was good!" The little stranger's wardrobe was now overhauled, and as the various articles were drawn forth from her trunks, each one was received by her sisters with a peal of merriment. Her mother had never taken any charge of her clothing, but had merely sent money to Mrs. Horton, with instructions that she should be supplied with what she needed, and was suitable to the country. She had now nothing that was considered fit to wear, and a dress of Clara's was tucked for her. Her mother was in hopes that it would improve her appearance, but she wore it with so bad a grace that it had rather a contrary effect; and, with a sign, Mrs. De Ford directed Victorine to bring Lucette to pay her respects to aunt Bently. Lucette accordingly followed to the state chamber, which was now occupied by a guest, an aunt of her mother's. Mrs. Bently was in her second widowhood-a stern, coarse, though rather a fine-looking woman, considerably advanced in years, and, from her dress, evidently valuing beauty as highly as did her niece. She had won her first husband, indeed, by that endearment, and her second also, according to her own belief, though as to that there is some dif ference of opinion, as she was middle aged when she captivated him, and known to possess a large fortune. Her wealth she still retained, and by her niece she was always treated with the greatest deference. She put on her spectacles as Lucette approached, and looked at her so keenly that the poor child colored until her skin showed its redness through her light and scanty hair. "Why, it is even worse than you told me, Harriet," said the old lady, sourly, when the children had been directed to go and sit down; "who under the sun does she take after?" "Not after me, I trust," said Mrs. De Ford, pensively; "and her father was a handsome man.' "Where in the world did she get those eyes?" exclaimed aunt Bently; "perfect gooseberries!" "If they only had better lashes, their color and dullness would not be so perceptible," returned the mother, "but, as it is, there is nothing to relieve them." "And such a nose!-so nondescript and so ugly!her father's, I believe, was well shaped, and inclined to Roman." "And mine is considered pure Grecian. Clara and Victorine both have my nose.' "And was there ever such hair!-thin and stringy, and several colors all mixed; upon my word, some locks are white, some yellow, and some inclined to lead-color! I wonder if we can't get some preparation to improve it. Such things are often advertised." "I would not mind the hair so much, but the skin looks so dark by contrast with it, and is so deplorably freckled. Lucette, child, did not Mrs. Horton know enough to make you wear your bonnet, to keep you from getting so much freckled?" "Yes, ma'am, she did," replied the affrighted child; "I always wore my bonnet, and she washed me every day in buttermilk, but the freckles would come." "I would get some kind of a caustic wash to take them off, even if it took the skin with them;" said the aunt, decisively. Lucette, accordingly, held up her head and threw forward her chest, but aunt Bently thought it only made matters worse. She was now square shouldered. "If you keep her with you, she will be apt to spoil your own market, Harriet," said the old lady, with a rough laugh; "no man would like to marry a woman who had been so unfortunate as to have such a child. He would fear a repetition of it." "Lucette," again called the mother, "were you | pretty estate, of a few acres, which, from its aboundnever taught to sit upright? I never did see a little ing in an innumerable variety of trees, shrubbery and creature so round shouldered." plants, was known by the name of the "Botanical Gardens." It had belonged to a nursery-man, but, on his resigning it for a more profitable location nearer the city, had fallen into the hands of a new resident of the district, a Doctor Wykoff. He was a German, a man of varied and extensive attainments, and of profound and active philanthropy. Next to her foster parents, he was the kindest friend to little Lucette, and she had given him a large portion of her heart, for she had few friends, as is commonly the lot of children so lacking the gift of beauty, and those she had, she valued accordingly. The doctor had been attracted to notice her by the neglect of others, and she soon won his regard by the patient cheerfulness of her disposition, and by her love of flowers-one of his own strong feelings. Many a long, tiresome walk she had taken with him, in search of her painted favorites, and many a luxurious hour she had spent in studying their names and likenesses in the rich folios he piled before her, in his quiet library. There was little comfort in the remark, and Mrs. De Ford turned a look to the other children. "We must try what artificial means will do for her," said she; "her sisters have beauty enough to insure their fortune, and besides are so extremely graceful! I never saw any one more sylph-like than Clara, when she dances, and Victorine, when she sits at the harp, is a perfect seraph." Two or three weeks were devoted to remodeling Lucette, but without any encouraging effect. New clothes were furnished, but they only made her look more awkward, by confining her movements, and nothing would become her complexion. Her head was shaved for the improvement of her hair, and she looked still uglier in caps. A patent wash was tried on her skin, but it only, as aunt Bently remarked, "seemed to set the freckles." She did not care for music, and, though she had a good talking voice-her only perceptible attraction-she could not turn a tune, so there| was no hope in attempting to accomplish her in that line; and as for dancing, her want of ear for time made that an equal impracticability. The discussions she was hourly subjected to, and the efforts she was constantly required to make, were torture to the poor child, and she pined after her country home till her health was evidently failing. "It is a pity to see her suffering," said her mother, "for she is a good little thing, after all; so obedient and submissive, and so free from all envy and jealousy of her sisters." "Yes," returned aunt Bently, "she is getting so thin and pale that she will soon be quite hideous, so you'll just have to send her back to the country, Harriet. From her account, there is a good enough school at Arlington, and you can let her go back to the Hortons and attend it. It is to be hoped she will imbibe a taste for literature, and come out a blue in course of time-it is the best hope for her. Let her learn every thing she can, at all events, and, when she grows up, she may, at least, have a chance of making a match in the country, where looks are of not so much consequence." The advice was taken. Mrs. De Ford wrote to Mr. Horton, proposing to send Lucette back again. Her letter received a joyful answer, and the little girl, with tears of happiness in her eyes, was placed under the care of a country neighbor, delegated to escort her, and forwarded by the stage-coach to her foster parents. CHAPTER II. Two or three furlongs from the village of Arlington, and adjoining the farm of Mr. Horton, was a The commonest haunts, in her play hours, to our little heroine were along a fine stream, which on one side bounded both the farm and the doctor's little domain. Its banks, for some distance, were composed of precipitous rocks, overgrown with trees, and here and there draped with heavy vines of the wild grape, and of the graceful clematis. Among these rocks Lucette could always find a sheltered seat, where she could listen to the gurgling of the water, watch the labors or the frolics of the birds, or, undisturbed, enjoy such books as her pocket money afforded her. The beautiful scenes of nature to which she had been accustomed, and the loneliness of her life had already awakened in her a taste for the love of fancy, and a new fairy tale was her most delectable feast. She naturally loved those the best that brought her own trials the most feelingly before her, and her favorite characters were such as poor Cinderella, and the persecuted girl in "Toads and Diamonds." The acquisition of two or three unexplored volumes was the only agreeable result of her recent visit to the city, and on her first walk, after her return, her companion was "Riquet with the Tuft." She seated herself by the water's edge, at the foot of a cliff which rose abruptly beside her to the height of thirty feet or more, and was soon happy to learn that, in spite of ugliness and deformity, her new prince had, by virtue and wit, made himself beloved and admired. Lucette had no aspiration after wit, she was too humble for that; so she was content to forego admiration, but she had always tried to be good, and she found the success of her hero fresh encouragement. But before she had finished the story, her reading was interrupted. A stone fell from the rock into the water, and on looking up she saw a slightly formed, handsomely dressed boy, some three or four years older than herself, on its summit, and approaching with a fearless step to its very edge. His face was upturned toward the trees, as if in listening to the birds, and he seemed apparently unconscious of any danger. Lucette perceived at a glance that he was a stranger, and called out loudly, "Go back, little boy, go back! If you fall over into the water you'll never get out again. This is the deepest place in all the creek; the miller's colt was drowned in it, and the town's people bring here all the kittens and puppy dogs they want to get rid of!" The boy halted instantly on hearing her voice, and carefully reaching out a stick he held in his hand, he passed it along the edge of the precipice. "Are you a little girl?" he asked, bending in the direction whence the warning proceeded. Ernest related that, having grown tired of being alone, he had left his seat to walk in the woods, as he supposed, and had been found by Lucette in a place of danger. "I hope you will let this be a warning to you, Ernest," said the doctor, in a grave tone, and noticing, from the flush which covered the clear, white forehead of his young charge, that the reproof was felt, he proceeded no farther, but, giving him his hand, asked Lucette to walk with them. "Mrs. Horton tells me, Lucette," remarked the "Yes, don't you see me?-down here by the water, doctor, "that your mamma wishes you to go regujust at the foot of the rock." "No, I can't see you-but wont you come up here?" Wondering what he wanted with her, Lucette ran some distance back, and mounted the rock. "Give me your hand," said he, as she approached him; "I can't see, and, as you tell me the place is dangerous, I am afraid to move. You'll lead me away, wont you?" "Why can't you see?" said Lucette, looking into the full, soft blue eyes which seemed fixed upon her. "Because I am blind," answered the boy. Lucette had heard of blindness, but she had never before met any afflicted with that terrible privation, and, with a feeling of awe, she took his hand and led him to some distance away. "Now," said she, with her voice softened and sweetened by compassion, "you are in the smooth, open road, and you have nothing to fear." "You are a good little girl," said the boy, appreciating her tones, and laying his hand on her head to judge of her height; "what is your name?" "Lucette De Ford." "I shall remember your voice if I hear it again, and let me feel your face, that I may know it too," but Lucette drew back and refused. "Why wont you?—I would just touch it gently." "Because," she returned, artlessly, "you might laugh at me, and, like the other boys, call me 'ugly Lucette.'" "I don't know what it is to be ugly," said the boy; " and I would rather call you 'good Lucette,' for you perhaps saved my life," and, as she did not again object, he moved his fingers slowly over her features. "But, can you see nothing at all?" asked the little girl, her curiosity rising as her first surprise abated. "I know light from darkness, and can tell if people move before me. That's all." He was interrupted by a voice familiar to Lucette, and Doctor Wykoff emerged from a thicket near them, with a couple of mineralogical specimens in his hand. "Ah, my little Lucette," said he, "I percieve you have found out the new companion I had to bring home to supply your place while you were gone. I am glad to have you back again, and, as I wish you to be friends and playmates, you must shake hands with each other. His name is Ernest Cline." Lucette gave her hand again to the blind boy, and the doctor, turning to him, continued; "But how happens it, Ernest, that you are so far from the place where I left you? did you get tired of waiting for me? My specimens were more difficult to find than I expected." larly, now, to school. How would you like me for your school-master?" "Oh, a great deal better than any one else!" "Would you? I am glad to hear it. Ernest is now to live with me, and I am to instruct him. He ought to have a companion in study as well as in play, and, as I do not wish him to have any intercourse with the boys of the village, I should like you to share his lessons. Would that please you?" "Oh, yes, sir-if they would not be too hard.” "I shall take care of that," returned the doctor, smiling; "and, if you are agreed, I will write to your mamma about it. It will be pleasanter to study in my garden and green-house than you would find it in the seminary school-room, I am certain.” Lucette gladly assented, and, her mother having been written to, in a few days her new course of tuition commenced. Ernest Cline was the orphan of a wealthy foreigner, who had left him to the guardianship of Doctor Wykoff. "I wish my son," said his father's will, "to remain where he now is-in the Asylum for the Blind-— until he shall have acquired the rudiments of educa tion, and afterward to be placed under the immediate eye of his guardian, to be orally instructed by him in the attainment of literature, science, and Christian virtue, as far as his capacity will admit. I know not a man as competent to such a task as my friend, and, trusting to his profound and extensive knowledge, his ingenuity, his wisdom and his excellence of heart, I rest satisfied that my boy, should he live, will become, notwithstanding his natural infirmity, an honor to his species." The conditional time had now expired, and the doctor assumed his position of tutor. He had no family of his own, and the employment promised to be one of pleasure as well as usefulness. The talents of Ernest were of an encouraging order. He acquired readily, and reasoned with a degree of acuteness and strength uncommon to one so young. In selecting Lucette as a companion for his pupil, the sagacity of the doctor was not decieved. Her abilities, also, were good, and, being treated with constant kindness, she was grateful, docile, and eager to learn. Then she was always at hand, to relieve the tedium of study by devising amusements for Ernest. "How much better I like her than if she were a boy!" he often innocently observed to his guardian; for, without any of the reckless hardihood which would have made one of his own sex and age repulsive to a boy of his refined and sensitive nature, she was sprightly, active, and able to share all his physical diversions. | holiday linen of her worthy husband. Nor was her She also imparted to him a taste for her own favorite pastimes, reading to him her fascinating stories, wandering with him about the fields and woods, exciting his curiosity and then patiently answering his questions, until he could tell almost every herb and flower they met with in their walks, by the touch, and every bird by its song. Thus passed four years, and Doctor Wykoff had reason to be proud of his pupils. Their attainments were surprisingly varied, and, though acquired in a desultory manner, were by no means superficial. Lucette's mind had become vigorous and methodical, while she had lost none of her simplicity and gentleness of character; and Ernest, confined to her sole companionship, retained all the purity of his childhood. But at this time came an unanticipated change. A letter was recieved from the elder brother of the deceased Mr. Cline, stating that he had recently lost an only son by death, and that as Ernest was to be his heir, he wished him to be brought to Germany, under the charge of his tutor. The proposition was not unwelcome to the doctor. He had for some time wished that his ward should have the advantage of hearing lectures in the transatlantic universities, and, as he was now sufficiently advanced in his education to be benefited by it, he made immediate preparations to comply. Then there was a sorrowful parting of the three friends. The heavy tears dropped from the sightless eyes of Ernest upon the face of Lucette, as he took leave. "I shall have a lonely time without you, dear Lucette," said he, "but if we live we shall meet again. Who can prevent one from coming back to America?-I should be allowed to come on account of a sister, and to you I owe more than any sister could have earned of me." Mrs. De Ford, on hearing that her daughter had lost her instructor, thought proper to make her a visit, to decide upon what was to be done for the future. She found her much grown, having sound, white teeth, hair considerably improved, and manners quite divested of their awkward shyness; yet she was still "ugly Lucette," whom it would have been as impolitic as ever to take to the city. Therefore, and as there was a respectable female school in the village, she concluded to leave her with the Hortons, and again trust to time to befriend her. To the school Lucette was accordingly sent, but it soon proved in the capacity of teacher rather than of scholar. She had so improved the instructions of the doctor that she found little there to learn, so she relieved the languid assistants of their wearisome duties, did their needle work for all the lazy girls, and simplified their lessons for all the stupid ones. As she grew older, her sphere of usefulness extended. She became the main support of the Sunday-School; she was the first to whom application was made, if a bundle of sewing was to be done for the poor, and if a nurse was needed to "sit up" with the sick, she was always ready for double duty. In all domestic affairs she was ably trained by her excellent fostermother, whose services she repaid by making her best gowns, caps and collars, and by stitching all the own mind neglected. Doctor Wykoff had left her a valuable little library, with written suggestions for her progress in knowledge; and thus, with abundant employment for hands and heart, with a consciousness of the respect and affection of all around her, and with no lack of intellectual resources, she ceased to lament her personal disadvantages, and in the whole country there was not a happier person than ugly Lucette. CHAPTER III. Puplic opinion was the idol and the bugbear of Mrs. De Ford; and when, at length, it was hinted to her that she might be pronounced an unnatural mother for continuing so protracted a separation from her daughter without any ostensible reason, she hastened to summon her home. Victorine and Clara had by this time fulfilled all their early promise of extreme beauty, and had been carefully educated, agreeably to what appeared their peculiar endowments. The former was a tall, pensive-faced blond, affecting Italian music and German poetry, and looking surpassingly elegant as she sat at her harp, or moved in a quadrille. The latter was of a smaller, lighter figure, with a richer complexion and a brighter cast of countenance, and was bewitchingly graceful in the waltz, or in singing gay ballads and love songs to her guitar. In opposition to her sister's sentiments, her forte was piquancy and bon mots. But Clara was now twenty, and Victorine full two years older, and, though all seemed to acknowledge the attractions of her fair charges, none of eligibility had offered to relieve her of them, greatly to the amazement of Mrs. De Ford. The presence of Lucette in the household, except by giving her mother's vanity an occasional twinge, was less of an inconvenience than had been apprehended. She was perfectly willing to keep in the back ground; she had no ambition for fashionable acquaintances, no curiosity about parties, and, besides, she was easily satisfied with regard to dress, making no demands for new, and even recieving what her sisters had cast off as superfluously fine. Indeed, in a short time she was regarded as a domestic acquisition. She seemed to perceive at a glance all the bearings of a fashion plate, and had the readiest fingers in the world at applying them. So well she convinced her sisters of her aptness, that, in a month or two after her return, they were able to dispense with their lady's maid. "After all," observed Mrs. De Ford, one day, "poor Lucette verifies the remark that there is nothing which was not made for some use. I think, girls, your hair was never arranged so well, nor your dresses put on with so much style as since you have given yourselves into her hands. And then she saves the extortionate wages of Florine. And my own caps, too-this one particularly, is so neat and becoming, that no one would take it to be home-made. Lucette seems to have a gift for such occupations, and, as she is so capable, it is a pity she has not more to do. Employment will save her from the mortifica |