TOOTSY SWIDGER was a farmer's daughter, and had lived all her life at Esquopaug, a small town of New Hampshire. She had been invited to visit Cambridge by her aunt, Prudence Meeker, a very aesthetic lady, and one who moved in the most cultured society. A few words will suffice to describe Tootsy. Her hair fell in liquid, melting ringlets over her high and classic forehead; her eyes were wavy and dreamy in their expression; she had a fascinating little "nez retrousse," and teeth of pearly whiteness; her lips were ruddy, and appeared tempting in the soft sunlight; her hands were of a delicately shaded nut-brown tint; and, as for her figure, it was divine. Withal she was of a poetic bent, and had often written verses for the Watchman. Eighteen summers and as many winters had passed over her head. But enough of this.

When the invitation came from Aunt Meeker, Tootsy, overwhelmed with joy, burst into tears and exclaimed, "How kind of dear auntie!" So, packing her little wardrobe, and slipping in a few pumpkins for Miss Meeker, she set out on her journey one cold day in December. At Boston she was met by her aunt and a Cambridge horse-car, and conveyed to her new home.

CHAPTER II."Tootsy," said Miss Meeker to her niece, as that young lady returned from a walk one afternoon, - "Tootsy, where have you been?"

"O auntie, I have just been down to the 'Port - "

"My dear," said Miss Meeker severely, "Cambridge does not recognize the existence of the - the 'Port. You should say lower Cambridge."

Tootsy's eyes opened very wide, but she knew she was uneducated, and had come to Cambridge to be cultured; so she resumed, -

"As I was going through the College Yard (here Miss Meeker reached convulsively for her smelling-bottle), all the young men were coming out. They kept looking at me, and one of them said to another, 'coy, coy.' Was that Latin, auntie?"

Miss Meeker had but little strength left after these announcements, but she managed to say, "My dear, I have lived in Cambridge for thirty years, and never, never yet have I ventured to cross the College Yard, and you - you - " (here the good lady's feelings overcame her, and she resorted once more to the smelling-bottle).

CHAPTER III.Tootsy had been in Cambridge for some time, and had been present at several tea-drinkings and other wild gayeties of this dissipated town. To be sure, she had caused her Aunt Prudence no little uneasiness on several occasions, and, as Miss Meeker herself expressed it, had actually made her grow thin (an operation which would seem to a casual observer very difficult of accomplishment).

Tootsy's visit, however, had not been without its consequences. During the first part of her stay she had made the acquaintance of a minor of '84, and a very charming young man, - if he was a trifle fresh.

CHAPTER IV.Tootsy was invited to dine one evening with a certain aristocratic family of Cambridge. Her friend of '84 was there. He was a very aesthetic fellow, though he dressed rather loudly, and brushed his hair over his ears in a peculiar way which led Tootsy to think that some one had been pulling it. She told him of this in her frank way. He laughed, and answered, "It's quite the ta-ta thing." Tootsy opened her hazel-nut orbs in astonishment, and said, "You use some kind of hair preparation." This would have floored an ordinary man, but the representative of '84 went on undisturbed. "I never bat; in fact, none of my class-mates do." "Ah!" said she, in her sweet, coy way, "you have no Freshman nine. How nice that is, base ball is such a dangerous game!" He paid no attention to this remark, but continued, "I have no taste for the convivial life which many lead at college. I have a dog, you know; he and myself never part company; he clings constantly to my arms; we can't leave each other for a moment. Of course I go into town occasionally to take dinner at Parker's, the grub in Cambridge is so deucedly poor." Miss Tootsy had not caught the first part of this remark, and rather misinterpreted Freshy's meaning. "I am delighted to learn that you do 'grub' in the Library; so many of your fellow-students seem to neglect their opportunities, it is really shameful." Before '84 could recover from this shock to his nerves, Aunt Meeker had approached, and said that Tootsy must go, adding that it was doubtless also the young gentleman's bed-time. In saying adieu, Persimmons pressed Tootsy's hand softly, and asked if he might call. "Certainly," replied she, in her cooing tones. Soon after, the student said good-night to his host, and left, muttering to himself, "I 'm mashed! I 'm mashed!"