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Next, Mr. Arthur Fields had partaken of a very comfortable breakfast. That was something more in his favor. A good warm breakfast, especially in a sparkling morning in the Fall, has a wonderful effect on the nervous system. It works its way closer to the heart even than most people are apt to imagine. Nothing is better than a bountiful break fast, in fact, before going about the business of the day.

Thirdly, the brilliantly varnished coach drove round to the door of the hotel, the driver dismounted from his box, the servant assisted to lift the young man's trunk on behind, and a knot of after-breakfast loungers on the piazza gazed intently-the only thing about which they seemed to be in earnest at all-to see the young traveller enter the vehicle.

He turned half round, and his eyes fell on a face sides, instead of one-and a few more good hearty that he could hardly believe to belong to flesh and jounces of the coach, shaking all their formalities blood. Such a mixed-up sensation as tingled along and pruderies and reserve up into one undistinguishhis veins, darted through his heart, and buzzed | able bundle—and the thing was done. To increase busily in his brain! Such a confusion of sights as the effect of it all, not another passenger was taken drowned out his own sight-sights of red lips, ripe up by the coach during the whole of that ride. and pouting; of glowing eyes; of clear complexion; of-alas! he knew not what! It was enough to bewilder an anchorite, or make a bachelor of susceptibility go quite crazy.

Add to all, the rattling, and pitching, and sailing, and swaying of the coach, and you get the whole reason of our friend's complete intoxication thus early in the day.

Mr. Arthur Fields was just from the "far-West." When he was hardly more than an infant, his father had removed his family out of the way of such civilization as was at that time vouchsafed us here at the East, resolute in the one purpose to dig a broad and deep hole for himself in the world, before some second and altogether disinterested person might set about digging his grave. From the day he was carried toward the setting sun till this very day, in the autumn of ever so many years afterwards, Arthur had never visited the land of his nativity. Of course, then, he was a stranger there. Of course, too, he had never seen his only uncle living, nor the cousin who was traditionally (to him) known as that uncle's daughter.

So he rode on in the coach, thinking only of the great time he was going to have at meeting his cousin. Yes, he did think of at least one other thing-and that was, the girl who was at that moment

All this looked like it, now. It promised well for a beginning. The driver's long lash cracked, till the tall houses on both sides of the street gave back the echoes. The horses began to prance and plunge. And the wheels rattled over the bald-headed cobble-sitting beside him. stones, till their bright spokes glittered in the morning sun, like the rays of new luminaries under

neath.

Through the streets of the little town they went, themselves the only passengers. The driver stopped not again on his course till he had got far away into the country, travelling over the smooth road almost as easily as on a rail. He drew up to deliver an errand before a brown house, in the door of which stood a ruddy-faced young woman with four children tugging at her skirts, and rattled off again more briskly than before.

"I've never been east before, since I was old enough to remember anything about it," said he, getting into the merits of the subject rapidly now. "Never have!"

She seemed quite surprised at the discovery. "No. I'n on a hunt now for a cousin; I only hope I may find her. Two day's ride, I calculate, will bring me quite to the end of my journey." "Indeed!"

"May I ask if you reside in this neighborhood anywhere?"

"O, certainly, sir. I do."

"Perhaps, then, you may have heard of the Foible family?"

"Foible-Foible-oh, yes, I certainly have, sir.” His face brightened perceptibly. He looked into her eyes with a little more steadiness and composure.

"Are you acquainted with them, may I ask?—I hope you will indulge my inquisitiveness a little, for I am hunting up relatives whom I have never seen.”

"You need make no apology sir, I assure you," she replied, with a humorous look, that perhaps had a sinall spice of gaiety in it. "I am acquainted with the family; quite well acquainted, in fact."

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Now, I want to ask you one more question. What do you think of them?"

He laughed, as he put the interrogatory; and she could not well help laughing too. And the driver's lash cracked again, as if that were inclined to laugh with them.

Mr. Arthur Fields congratulated himself. So The young lady might, for aught I know to the busily was he engaged in that occupation, he had contrary, have been too much discomposed by both not yet made an estimate of the number, sex, or the natuse of the question, and his manner of putcharacter of his fellow-passengers for the day. ting it, to know exactly how to answer it; but a When, however, he came to himself a little, he was fresh bounce of the coach, that brought in a good wonderfully astonished to find himself alone in a sweep of bracing Autumn air, suddenly gave an imstage-coach with a young lady, sitting close at his "If I only knew what was proper in such a case!" | pulse to her speech and spirits, and she replied with side, and till that very moment unaware of the prox- thought the young man. "But I don't. I've never exquisite naivéteimity of a single human being! This was some-travelled before, and have come but little in contact thing to flutter the nerves of even an older man than with female society. I feel awfully awkward, I our youthful hero. must confess!"

He ventured another glance round. The stage, luckily or unluckily, gave a jolt just at the same moment, and he found his face exactly in the face of his fairest of companions

He was fluttered. There was no denying that. A second time his swimming eyes went round and round the inside of the coach, not yet satisfied that there was no other one there. But, stare as he might, he could not call up a third person to the Their eyes met. Both colored deeply, and both surface. There he sat, alone with a young lady, smiled. Here certainly was something to begin on. feeling as confused-I dare not say, awkward-as it "Coaches are rough things sometimes," reis possible to conceive. It was certainly a highly-marked he, with a look of mingled apology and galtrying situation.

He bore it just as long as he could, and bore it like a martyr. The perspiration broke out on his forehead, Autumn morning as it was. He wiped it away, replaced his hat, and ventured to look round.

Oh, Venus! But let me be calm. Everything is lost by too much haste and flustrement.

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There sat right at his elbow one of the no; that's not it, at all. That's going to bring me out a good deal beyond the spot where I want to stop. Let me try again.

The young man's heart began to beat a tattoo.

“Well, indeed, I can hardly tell you, sir." But it was the laugh that conveyed the answer, chiefly.

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'You do not dislike them, perhaps?" "Well-not altogether."

"Are they much known hereabouts?" "That is really more than I can tell you. I'm sure I would do so if I could."

He sat a moment, and fished for another question. It was so much easier to make inquiries than to offer remarks; for the former diverted attention in a degree from himself, while yet his voice made him a perpetual presence. But now he found his stock of interrogatives rather exhausted. Accordingly, he fell to indulging in such reveries as the occasion seemed inclined to favor. Perhaps a mile, or two miles even, slid by while he was at this occupation. Whatever the distance was, however, it was all the same to him. He was in a sort of trance. A luminous vapor seemed to enshroud all his senses, in the heart of which he felt that he sat-a very

A few more general remarks and responses-aking.

few more glances-a few more smiles, now on both | When he got a little over this peculiar feeling, he

He started. Aha! it was no one but his charming

saw that it was somewhat necessary for him to continually with her frankness. Her undissembled, break the long silence again. He roused himself, but perfectly innocent gaiety, won upon him by travelling companion of yesterday, looking as much and dashed in upon it where the first impulse hap-swift and rapid marches. She became a picture-a pened to direct him. fiction-a dream. Such a delicious illusion had never, he was sure, visited him before. He looked around to assure himself of the reality of himself, of his companion, and of his situation. Yes, here he was -he himself. This was a coach he was in, and that

46

'Do you know Miss Fanny Foible?" said he, as if he had been thinking of no one but his cousin all

the while.

"Oh, yes; I know her very well."

"Is it possible? I am really delighted! Perhaps was a beautiful and bewitching female at his side. you can tell me something of her ?" It was all real. There was no dream about it. Well, not a great deal." She spoke quite bash- Nothing but fact-sober and serious fact.

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fully.

"Yet she is a very intimate friend."

"Can you tell me if she is handsome?"

The truth began to develop itself in all its due proportions; and as soon as it had made a beginThe young lady turned her face fully upon him.ning, it unfolded with astonishing rapidity. He was and bestowed on him such a smile, blushing the in love!--clean gone in love! while, as made his heart thrill.

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When he made this discovery, it is needless to say People have different standards of beauty, you how changed he suddenly grew in his manner. He know," said she. felt a modesty, or bashfulness, of which no one could

more beautiful, to him, in her simple morning costume, as it is possible to conceive! I shall not repeat what was said and done then. The kind reader has an imagination; let him give a little play to it, and he possesses the picture.

Anyhow, I will just add that the young man's stage courtship was not quite for nothing! Cousin's even marry sometimes, you know; and, pray, why not they?

NOVELETTES BY

DISTINGUISHED AUTHORS.

TOO HANDSOME FOR ANYTHING.

BY SIR E. L. BULWER LYTTON.

Mr. Arthur Fields thought he at least had a very before have told him the meaning. Now, he hardly 66 MY dear friend," said I, the other day, to a

good one, and that was, for the time being, the really dared look round in his companion's face; and but
beautiful creature who sat at his side.
a short time before so easy, and so much at home.
"Should you judge, then,” he asked, laughingly, | What was going to come of it?
"that I resemble her?"

She had to laugh, too, at the amiable conceit. “Well—yes, sir. I should think you did a little!" And her handsome face was a blaze of blushes, as she said it.

This interesting epoch in the conversation was drawn to a sudden close by the stopping of the coach before a country tavern.

"This is the place where we dine, I suppose," she remarked, gathering up her skirts, preparatory to getting out.

Possibly the young lady had as social a way with her as you generally find, on travelling much greater distances than our hero did that day. She was social and communicative-exceedingly. A gayer little chit never bewitched a bachelor with the melody of her voice. Some might think her forward. If it was so, I can only reply in her favor that it was a way she had. There was no finding fault with it, seriously; it was so very sweet and enticing.

At dusk they reached the village that concluded their delightful journey. By this time all ceremony "Ah, yes," answered our hero; and jumped briskly between them had melted away its frost-work in the to the ground, to help his fair friend out. genial sun of a better acquaintance. The young man grew impetuous and impulsive. His heart beat faster than ever. He was impatient-he hardly knew wherefore.

They entered the house, and seated themselves after a few minutes at the table. Arthur was exceedingly attentive to his fellow-traveller, and sedulously studied all her little wants. And he was the better pleased, to know that she received his very partial attentions with a beaming expression of countenance, that kindled in the tinder of his heart with amazing rapidity. The race-horse speed of prairie-fires was nothing to it.

Dinner had a great effect on him. It always has on every one. He felt a fullness, not less of heart than of stomach, The juices of his system were set into a quicker circulation, and his spirits as surely rose with the sudden quickening. So that, after they had resumed their seats in the vehicle, and by the time they had gone on their way some mile or more, he was more inclined to be chatty than ever. In addition to this, and to encourage him in his present state of mind, the unknown young lady was vastly more obliging and condescending than usual, entering into his sympathies with a readiness that astonished him.

They talked of what came uppermost. Now it was one thing, and now it was another.

The country,

and the town-relationships, and antipathies merry-makings, and marriages—these, and the like of these, came into the circle of topics, round which they chased one another, as in sprightly play.

When the driver jumped down from his seat, our hero had the hand of his fair companion in both his own, and was hurriedly offering her his heart! She managed to evade his addresses with what skill she possessed, and the next moment she was out on the ground. The stage drove away while he yet stood on the tavern steps, and he was left alone to wonder why he had not even asked her address, and to think what a complete fool he had made of himself!

He got through the night after a fashion. How much sleep he managed to cheat his senses into, he never saw fit to tell.

After breakfast the next morning, he inquired his way to his uncle Foible's, and set out with a brave heart to make the personal acquaintance of the family. The house was a large and fine-looking mansion, with spacious and well-cultivated grounds. There was a plenty of flowers and flowering vines about in the front yard, showing whose hand ministered there to the spirit of beauty and love.

He was standing on the door-stone, and whacking away at a heavy and brightly polished old brass knocker. A servant answered his call, and showed him into the parlor a comfortable old country parlor.

Arthur grew continually more and more delighted He sat a few moments, waiting for some one to to discover the treasure upon which he had so acci- appear to him. Presently, a back-door opened, and dentally stumbled. He admired the beauty of her a female form seemed rather to float than to walk manner, and the simple richness of her conversation, through. She advanced to where he sat, gazing—ob, every moment more and more. He was charmed so strangely !—right in his face.

mother who was expressing her anxiety that her son should be as handsome as herself "Believe me that if beauty be a fatal gift to women, it is an inconvenient one to men. A handsome face is very much against a young gentleman destined for the professions. An attorney takes an instinctive dislike to an Adonis of a barrister. What prudent man would like Antinous for his family physician? The envy of our sex (much more jealous than yours) will not acknowledge wisdom unless it has a snub nose. When Apollo came to earth, the highest employment he could obtain was that of a shepherd."

"Pooh!" replied my fair friend-" has it not been well said, that a handsome face is a letter of recommendation?"

"It is a Bellerophon letter, madam, and betrays while it recommends. Permit me to tell you the history of Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy."

Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was one of those models of perfection of which a human father and mother can produce but a single example. Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was therefore an only son. He was such an amazing favorite with both his parents that they resolved to ruin him; accordingly he was exceedingly spoiled, never annoyed by the sight of a book, and had as much plum-cake as he could eat. Happy would it have been for Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy could he always have eaten plum-cake and remained a child. "Never," says the Greek tragedian, "reckon a mortal happy till you have witnessed his end." A most beautiful creature was Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy. Sucl. eyes—such hair-such teeth-such a figure—such manners, too-and such an irresistible way of tying his neckcloth! When he was about sixteen, a crabbed old uncle represented to his parents the propriety of teaching Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy to read and write. Though not without some difficulty, he convinced them, for he was exceedingly rich, and riches in an uncle are wonderful arguments respecting the nurture of a nephew whose parents have nothing to leave them. So our hero was sent to school. He was naturally a very sharp, clever, boy; and he came on surprisingly in his learning. The school

master's wife liked handsome lads.

"What a genius will Master Ferdinand Fitzroy be if you take pains with him!" said she to her husband.

"Pooh! my dear, it is of no use to take pains with him."

"And why, love?"

"Because he is a great deal too handsome ever totution. be a scholar."

"That's true enough, my dear!" said the schoolmaster's wife.

So, because he was too handsome to be a scholar, Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy remained the lag of the fourth form!

by heart-and made notes upon the English consti-husband; but our heroine had no aversion to a lover, especially to so handsome a lover as Mr. Ferdinand He rose to speak. Fitzroy. Accordingly she neither accepted nor dis"What a handsome fellow!" whispered one of carded him; but kept him on hope, and suffered him the members. to get into debt with his tailor and coach-maker, on "What a coxcomb!" said another. the strength of becoming Mr. Fitzroy Convolvulus. "Never do for a speaker!" said a third, very Time went on, and excuses and delays were easily audibly. found; however, our hero was sanguine and so And the gentlemen on the opposite benches were his parents. A breakfast at Chiswick and a "What profession shall he follow?" said his sneered and hear, heared! Impudence is only indi-putrid fever, carried off the latter, within one week mother. genous in Milesia, and an orator is not made in a of each other; but not till they had blessed Mr. Fer"My first cousin is the lord-chancellor," said his day. Discouraged by his reception, Mr. Ferdinand dinand Fitzroy, and rejoiced that they had left him father; "let him go to the bar " Fitzroy grew a little embarrassed. so well provided for.

They took our hero from school.

The lord-chancellor dined there that day: Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was introduced to him. His lordship was a little rough-faced, beetle-browed, hardfeatured man, who thought beauty and idleness the same thing—and a parchment skin the legitimate complexion for a lawyer.

"Send him to the bar!" said he; "no, no, that will never do. Send him into the army; he is much too handsome to become a lawyer."

"That's true enough," said the mother. So they bought Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy a cornetcy in the regiment of Dragoons.

Things are not learned by inspiration. Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy had never ridden at school, except when he was hoisted; he was, therefore, a very indifferent horseman; they sent him to the ridingschool, and everybody laughed at him.

"He is a d-d ass!" said Cornet Horsephiz, who was very ugly.

"Told you so!" said one of his neighbors.

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Now, then, our hero depended solely upon the crabbed old uncle and Miss Helen Convolvulus ;—

"Too fond of his hair to have anything in his the former, though a baronet and a satirist, was a head," said a third, who was considered a wit. "Hear, hear!” cried the gentlemen on the oppo

site benches.

Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy sat down-he had not shone; but in reality, he had not failed. Many a first rate speaker had made a less flourishing commencement; and many a county member had been declared as a phoenix of promise upon half his merit.

banker and a man of business. He looked very distastefully at the Hyperion curls and white teeth of Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy.

"If I make you my heir," said he, "I expect you will continue the bank."

"Certainly sir!" said the nephew.

"Humph!" grunted the uncle; "a pretty fellow for a banker?"

Debtors grew pressing to Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy, and Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy grew pressing to Miss

Not so thought the heroes of corn-laws.
"Your Adonisses never make orators!" said a Helen Convolvulus.
crack speaker with a wry nose.

"Nor men of business, either," added the chair-
man of a committee, with a face like a kangaroo's.
"Poor d-1!" said the civilest of the set. "He's

a deuced deal too handsome for work! By Jove, he "A horrid puppy!" said Lieutenant St. Squintem, is going to speak again!—this will never do; we who was still uglier.

"If he does not ride better, he will disgrace the regiment!" said Captain Rivalhate, who was very good-looking.

"If he does not ride better, we will cut him!" said Colonel Everdril, who was a wonderful martinet. "I say, Mr. Bumpemwell (to the riding-master,) make that youngster ride less like a miller's sack."

must cough him down!"

And Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was coughed down accordingly.

Our hero was now seven or eight-and-twenty; handsomer than ever, and the admiration of all the young ladies at Almack's.

"We have nothing to leave you," said the parents, who had long spent their fortune, and now "Oh, sir! he will never ride better," said Mr. lived on the credit of having once enjoyed it. "You Bumpemwell.

"And why the d-1 will he not?"

"Bless you, colonel, he is a great deal too handsome for a cavalry officer!"

are the handsomest man in London; you must
marry an heiress."

"I will," said Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy.
Miss Helen Convolvulus was a charming young
lady, with a hair-lip and six thousand a year. To
Miss Helen Convolvulus then our hero paid his ad-
dresses.

"True!" said Cornet Horsephiz. "Very true!" said Lieutenånt St. Squintem. "We must cut him!" said the colonel. And Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was accordingly cut. Our hero was a youth of susceptibility-he quitted the regiment, and challenged the colonel. The colonel was killed. "What improper behavior in Mr. Ferdinand Fitz- his person." roy!" said the colonel's relations.

"Very true!" said the world.

The parents were in despair. They were not rich; but our hero was an only son, and they sponged hard on the crabbed old uncle.

"He is very clever," said they both, "and may do yet."

So they borrowed a few thousands from the uncle, and bought his beautiful nephew a seat in parliament.

Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was ambititious, and desirous of retrieving his character. He fagged like dragon-conned pamphlets and reviews-got Ricardo

"It is a dangerous thing," said she, timidly, "to marry a man so admired-will you be always faithful?"

"By heaven!" cried the lover.

Heigho!" sighed Miss Helen Convolvulus; and Lord Rufus Pumilion entering, the conversation was changed.

But the day of the marriage was fixed; and Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy bought a new curricle. By Apollo, how handsome he looked in it! A month before the wedding day the uncle died. Miss Helen Convolvulus was quite tender in her condolences"Cheer up, my Ferdinand!" said she; "for your sake, I have discarded Lord Pumilion!"

"Adorable condescension!" cried our hero; "but Lord Rufus Pumilion is only four feet two, and has hair like a peony."

"All men are not so handsome as Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy," was the reply.

Away goes our hero to be present at the opening of his uncle's will.

"I leave," said the testator (who, I have before Heavens! what an uproar her relations made said, was a bit of a satirist), "my share of the bank, about the matter. and the whole of my fortune, legacies excepted, to” "Easy to see his intentions," said one; "a hand--(here Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy wiped his beautiful some fortune-hunter that wants to make the best of eyes with his cambric handkerchief)—“my natural son, John Spriggs, an industrious painstaking youth, who will do credit to the bank. I did once intend to have made my nephew Ferdinand my heir; but so curly a head can have no talent for accounts. I want my successor to be a man of business, not "Never marry a beauty," said a third; "he can beauty; and Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy is a great deal

"Handsome is that handsome does!" says another. "He was turned out of the army and murdered his colonel."

admire none but himself."

"He will have so many mistresses,” said a fourth.
"Make you perpetually jealous,” said a fifth.
"Spend your fortune," said a sixth.
"And break your heart!" said a seventh.

too handsome for a banker; his good looks will, no
| doubt, win him any heiress in town. Meanwhile, I
leave him, to buy a dressing-case, a thousand
pounds."

"A thousand devils!" cried Mr. Ferdinand Fitz

Miss Helen Convolvulus was prudent and wary. roy, banging out of the room.
She saw a great deal of justice in what was said;

He flew to his mistress. She was not at home.

and was sufficiently contented with liberty and six" Lies," says the Italian proverb, "have short legs," thousand a year, not to be highly impatient for a but truths, if they are unpleasant, have terribly long

ones! The next day, Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy re- be at least sixty years of age. I must tell you this ceived a most obliging note of dismissal.

"I wish you every happiness," said Miss Helen Convolvulus, in conclusion: "but my friends are right! You are much too handsome for a husband!"

"Alas! sir," said the bailiff, as a day or two after the dissolution of Parliament he was jogging along with Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy, in a hackney-coach, bound to the King's Bench—“ Alas! sir, what a pity it is to take so handsome a gentleman to prison !"

666 By heavens! and you call that a misfortune! Ungrateful wretch! I should like to be in love! And pray who is the object of your ardent flame?' 'Ah, uncle, she's an angel!'

666

history; it is one which has had an immense influ-
ence on my life, and of which the memory, even now,
moves me in an extraordinary manner-even now-
when my blood has only just warmth enough to keep "I know she is, of course; it is always an an-
me alive, and enable me to play backgammon. Igel! A little later in life, you will prefer a woman!
I But in short, by what mortal name do you call this
angel!'

"She is called Noëmi, uncle!'

"That is not what I ask you: Noëmi is enough for you, I quite comprehend: besides, 'tis a pretty name! But for me, I must know who this angel is, and to what family she belongs? What is the family name?'

And the week following, Miss Helen Convolvulus was twenty-that is more than forty years since. became Lady Rufus Pumilion! had just quitted college, where young men were kept a little longer than they are to-day. After well weighing the matter-but without consulting memy father decided on my future path in life, and announced to me one morning that he had obtained a lieutenancy for me in the regiment, then in garrison in Auvergne, and desired me to be ready to leave in three days. I was not a little taken aback, for several reasons. In the first place, I disliked a "The devil! that's better than an angel! A military career; but that objection the sight of a brunette, tall and slight, with eyes like black velvet! dashing uniform would soon have overcome added I don't at all disapprove of the object of your affec

A BOUQUET OF ROSES.

WALKING in my garden the other day,

I

stopped before a tree covered with yellow roses, and looking at them reminded me of a tale

which I will relate.

Two years since, I dropped in to spend my evening with an old lady who resides near my house. She is a most charming person-amiable, clever, witty, and charitable in all things. She is passionately fond of flowers, and you will scarcely credit the coquetry and gallantry I expend in making bouquets for her, nor how much I rejoice at her surprise when I bring her a flower of the name of which she is ignorant, or which is very uncommon in our part of the country.

"'Tis Mademoiselle Amelot !'

to it, a few ambitious hopes excited, and a little tion!'

music would, all combined, have made either a Cæsar
or an Achilles of me!

"But I was in love!

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666

Ah, uncle! Did you know her soul !' "I know-I understand all about it! And does she return your affection, as we used to say? Is that still what you young ones call it?' "I don't know, uncle!'

"How! You don't know, nephew unworthy an uncle like myself? How! You are every day in her house, and don't know yet whether you are loved?'

"She does not even know that I love her!'

"Oh, in that idea you are mistaken, my handsome nephew, and comprehend nothing of woman's nature! She knew it at least a quarter of an hour before you did yourself!'

"All I know, uncle, is, that I shall kill myself, unless she marries me!'

"He was a man then of the same age as I am now, but he was still young-not for himself--for no old man ever renounced Satan and all his pomps and works better than he did--but for others: he loved the young, and perfectly understood, without One evening, when I arrived at her house, I found being jealous of them. He did not deem the infirher seated with an old gentleman who has been re-mities of age a progress, neither did he think length siding on his property more than a year-a hand- of years necessary to be wise. From excessive some estate in the vicinity, which had been left him goodness and good sense, he lived in the happiness Oh-oh! Well, then, I can tell you my neby a distant relative, on condition of his taking the of others. He was ever found mixing in all the phew, that there exists many chances against your name of his benefactor: consequently, he was called noble and generous follies of youth; he was the con-union. Your father is much richer than hers, and Monsieur Descoudraies. fidant and protector of all true lovers, of those harm- he will not give his consent !' less debts young men contract, and of all youth's “Well, then, I know the only thing which is left went to him, and said: me to do!' hopes and fears. "Uncle, I am very unhappy!'

He had obtained an introduction to my old lady, and I had every reason to be jealous of his assiduities. They became very warm friends, and passed almost every evening, together, and played backgammon.

I bowed silently, on the evening in question, as I entered, not to interrupt the game. When it was finished, I presented Madame de Lorgerel a bouquet of yellow roses which I had brought for her.

My roses were very beautiful, and singularly sobecause the continued rains of the season had blighted most of those of the neighboring gardens; but I had taken the precaution of sheltering mine by a shed, and they were perhaps the only ones to be met with in perfection. Madame de Lorgercl uttered an exclamation of delight when she saw the beautiful bouquet. Monsieur Descoudraies said nothing, but seemed pre-occupied. I looked at him with surprise, not well able to comprehend the mysterious influence of my yellow roses. Madame de Lorgerel shortly afterwards spoke of something else, and I thought I had been mistaken.

666

"Come--come! Listen to me! Let us see! "I bet twenty louis you are not!' was the Don't go and commit some act of folly! Let us look reply.

"Ah, uncle-don't laugh! Besides, you would lose!'

into the business!'

"I am all attention, uncle!'

"In the first place, then, you cannot marry at

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"Three years?'

"Don't argue with me, or I will say four! If she will promise to wait three years, you shall join your regiment-but not at Clermont. I will get you an

"What a dreadful misfortune! One of the most gallant regiments in the service. A handsome uniform, and all the officers are men of rank!' "Uncle, I don't wish to be a soldier !' "How! You don't wish to serve? Do you exchange into one a few leagues from Paris, and happen to be a coward?'

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roses in her bosom.

"I shall then dare speak to you," I said, "and tell you what you must do to secure my happiness; I dare not say ours!”

terly blamed myself for my timidity; I tried every-consented, that evening to wear one of the yellow
thing to gain courage to speak; I learned my
speeches by heart-I wrote piles of letters-but
when the moment arrived, the first word I endea-
vored to utter choked me, and I began speaking of
something else. She had so sweet a look and yet
so stern, that it seemed to me she could never love.
As for the letters, it was far worse. At the mo-
ment I attempted to give them I found them so stu-
pid, that nothing appeared diminutive enough to
tear them into, lest a word should appear against

me!"

“Well, but, my boy, you must decide at last, and for this reason: your father has not confided all to you; if he sends you to Clermont, it is because the colonel of your regiment is a friend of his, and has a daughter-and this daughter is destined for you, because it will be a good and rich marriage. But don't answer me I know all this is nothing when we love! 'Tis a very stupid thing to think thus and love disinterestedly; but I should be sorry not to have been guilty of so doing. Only men of biased minds are incapable of the like. I know the old call these delusions - but who knows whether it is not they who are self-deceived? The glass which diminishes objects is not more true than the one which enlarges them. If she loves you, you should sacrifice everything for her: it will be very foolish to do so, but quite right—and you must do it; but first find out whether she loves you; and you have an excellent opportunity for doing so. They wish to make her marry, nephew! You turn pale at this idea-you would like to have your odious rival at swords length-is that how you express yourself at present? Well, then, try and gain a little of this noble courage in the presence of your fair Noëmi. They want her to marry you are richer than she, but the man they propose to give her to is richer than yourself, besides being titled, and quite readythe wedding-clothes and presents are so alsowhereas they would be obliged to wait for you. Now go and seek Noëmi; tell her you love her : she knows it, but it is nevertheless a thing always told. Ask her if she returns your affection, and tell her for she must love you, I am sure-you are young, handsome, and witty; ask her to promise solemnly to wait three years for you; but to write it to me, and I will keep the letter. I will then break off your marriage with the colonel's daughter, I will get your exchange, and, despite your father, in threc years-despite the devil and all-you shall marry Noëmi!"

"Uncle, I've an idea!" "Let's hear it?”

"I'll write to her!"

"Just as you please, my boy: only act at once." I quitted my uncle, and went to write my epistle. This was not the most difficult task: I had written fifty letters to her before, though unsent. The most embarrassing circumstance was, to send or give it nevertheless, as there was no time to be lost, I made up my mind, and, purchasing a bouquet of yellow roses, placed the note in the centre of them. It is very silly, but I scem even now to live over the time again in memory. After the avowal of my love, I besought her to love me, make me happy and wait three years for me. I implored her, if she

Both of them remained silent. I wished to go, but Monsieur Descoudraies rose.

Madame de Lorgerel took his hand and said: "You are right! We must not let this memory of youth in our hearts pass before two old faces like

"And you put the note in the bouquet?" asked ours! Let us avoid anything so ridiculous, which Madame de Lorgerel.

"Yes, madame !"
"And then?"

would degrade the noble sentiment which will perhaps make us happy the remainder of our lives! Do not return for some days."

"Well, then, in the evening Noëmi had no rose Since that evening, Descoudraies and Madame de in her bosom! I wanted to kill myself-but my Lorgerel scarcely ever quit each other's society. uncle carried me off to Clermont. He remained There exists between them a sentiment such as I two months with me, mixed with the young officers never before beheld. They go over together all the and ended by calming my sorrow and disappoint-minute details of that love which was never explained ment, by proving to me that Noëmi had never nor expressed; they have a thousand things to tell one another; they love in retrospection; they would much like to be married, but they dare not, so much does ridicule often mar our purest wishes.

loved me."

"But, uncle," I said, "she was, she appeared so happy when I arrived, and reproached me so gently

when I came late!"

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N. B.-Young ladies, always untie and well examine any anonymous bouquet you may receive. For a lover is always more agreeable at twenty than at sixty, and forty years of expectation is really no

Women," continued Monsieur Descoudraies,"
"love the devotion of all the world; but there are
those they never love! In short, I ended by almost
Then I married the colonel's joke!
forgetting her!
daughter, who died eight years after our marriage ;
and now I am quite alone; for my uncle has been
dead a long time! Would you believe I often think
of Noemi? And that which is more serious and
absurd, I always see her in imagination as a young
girl of seventeen, with her dark-brown hair, and, as
my uncle said, her eyes like black-velvet-whereas,
if living, she must be now an old woman!"

"You don't know what has become of her?"
asked Madame de Lorgerel.

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WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD.

WHEN Love was a child, and went idling round,

'Mong flowers the whole summer's day, One morn in the valley a bower he found, So sweet it allured him to stay.

O'erhead, from the tree, hung a garland fair,
A fountain ran darkly beneath ;-
'Twas Pleasure had hung up the flow'rets there;
Love knew it, and jumped at the wreath.

But Love didn't know-and, at his weak years,
What urchin was likely to know?
That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears
The fountain that murmured below

He caught at the wreath-with too much haste,
As boys when impatient will do-

It fell in those waters of briny taste,
And the flowers were all wet through.

This garland he now wears night and day;
And, though it all sunny appears
With Pleasure's own light, each leaf, they say,
Still tastes of the Fountain of Tears.

A LOVER'S FANCY.

WEET Heaven! I do love a maiden,
Radiant, rare, and beauty-laden :
When she's near me, Heaven is round me.
Her dear presence doth so bound me,
I could wring my heart of gladness,
Might it free her lot of sadness!
Give the world, and all that's in it,
Just to press her hand a minute!
Yet she weeteth not I love her;
Never dare I tell the sweet
Tale, but to the stars above her,
And the flowers that kiss her feet.
Oh! to live and linger near her,
And in tearful moments cheer her,
I could be a bird, to lighten

Her dear heart-her sweet eyes brighten ;
Or in fragrance, like a blossom,
Give my life up on her bosom !
For my love's withouten measure-
All its pangs are sweetest pleasure;
Yet she weeteth not I love her;

Never dare I tell the sweet
Tale, but to the stars above her,

And the flowers that kiss her feet.

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