An Old-fashioned Girl by Louisa M. Alcott

over the arm of her chair, shrilly cheering an imaginary Lafayette.

The girls clapped their hands, and Tom hurrahed with all his

might, saying, when he got his breath, “Lafayette was a regular old

trump; I always liked him.”

“My dear! what a disrespectful way to speak of that great man,”

said grandma, shocked at Young America’s irreverence.

“Well, he was a trump, anyway, so why not call him one?” asked

Tom, feeling that the objectionable word was all that could be

desired.

“What queer gloves you wore then,” interrupted Fanny, who had

been trying on the much-honored glove, and finding it a tight fit.

“Much better and cheaper than we have now,” returned grandma,

ready to defend “the good old times” against every insinuation.

“You are an extravagant set now-a-days, and I really don’t know

what you are coming to. By the way, I ‘ve got somewhere two

letters written by two young ladies, one in 1517, and the other in

1868. The contrast between the two will amuse you, I think.”

After a little search, grandma produced an old portfolio, and

selecting the papers, read the following letter, written by Anne

Boleyn before her marriage to Henry VIII, and now in the

possession of a celebrated antiquarian:

DEAR MARY, I have been in town almost a month, yet I cannot

say I have found anything in London extremely agreeable. We rise

so late in the morning, seldom before six o’clock, and sit up so late

at night, being scarcely in bed before ten, that I am quite sick of it;

and was it not for the abundance of fine things I am every day

getting I should be impatient of returning into the country.

My indulgent mother bought me, yesterday, at a merchant’s in

Cheapside, three new shifts, that cost fourteen pence an ell, and I

am to have a pair of new stuff shoes, for my Lord of Norfolk’s ball,

which will be three shillings.

The irregular life I have led since my coming to this place has

quite destroyed my appetite. You know I could manage a pound of

bacon and a tankard of good ale for my breakfast, in the country,

but in London I find it difficult to get through half the quantity,

though I must own I am generally eager enough for the dinner

hour, which is here delayed till twelve, in your polite society.

I played at hot cockles, last night, at my Lord of Leicester’s. The

Lord of Surrey was there, a very elegant young man, who sung a

song of his own composition, on the “Lord of Kildare’s Daughter.”

It was much approved, and my brother whispered me that the fair

Geraldine, for so my Lord of Surrey calls his sweetheart, is the

finest woman of the age. I should be glad to see her, for I hear she

is good as she is beautiful.

Pray take care of the poultry during my absence. Poor things! I

always fed them myself; and if Margery has knitted me the

crimson worsted mittens, I should be glad if they were sent up the

first opportunity.

Adieu, dear Mary. I am just going to mass, and you shall speedily

have the prayers, as you have now the kindest love of your own

ANNE BOLEYN.

“Up before six, and think it late to go to bed at ten! What a

countrified thing Anne must have been. Bacon and ale for

breakfast, and dinner at twelve; how very queer to live so!” cried

Fanny. “Lord Surrey and Lord Leicester sound fine, but hot

cockles, and red mittens, and shoes for three shillings, are horrid.”

“I like it,” said Polly, thoughtfully, “and I ‘m glad poor Anne had a

little fun before her troubles began. May I copy that letter some

time, grandma?”

“Yes, dear, and welcome. Now, here ‘s the other, by a modern girl

on her first visit to London. This will suit you better, Fan,” and

grandma read what a friend had sent her as a pendant to Anne’s

little picture of London life long ago:

MY DEAREST CONSTANCE, After three months of intense

excitement I snatch a leisure moment to tell you how much I enjoy

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