she read her answer in the determined expression of his mouth, and the ironical glance with which he met her questioning look, so that courage was gone before he formally requested that "Miss Grahame wonld favour him with her company in the library for a few minutes."

len desolation, of almost uninterrupted and unbroken membrane which forms the external covering of the
dreariness-such a winter as comes but seldom in eye, shall be kept moist and free from the contact
our happy England, and when it does come, is long of opaque substances. To supply the fluid which
and painfully remembered. It is the hour when the shall moisten and cleanse the eye, there is placed at
happy love to sit idle, looking at the fire and enjoy the outer and upper part of the ball a small gland,
ing their own thoughts; when the miserable sit, and which secretes the lachrymal fluid, and pours it out
idly brood over their sorrows.
at the corner of the eye, whence, by the motion of
the lids, it is equally spread over the surface, and
thus moisture and clearness are at once secured.

Mr. Stone's refusal to accede to Helen's wish was couched in language that decidedly wanted origi- In a small room, boasting no extravagance of denality, as he made use of arguments which, from coration, showing no signs of luxury and wealth, time immemorial, have been used for "preaching yet pervaded by that air of refined comfort which down the heart." In the course of his harangue, marks the home of pure minds and of home-loving he informed Helen that Mr. Grey was poor-a fact hearts, and imparts a charm which wealth and faswhich she received with perfect indifference-and tidious taste often fail to give-in this room, which that she "might do much better," being yet a fool- is only lighted by a warm, dancing firelight, sit two ish girl, not old enough to know her own mind-silent, thoughtful creatures; whether belonging to a statement which filled Helen with indignation; the happy or miserable it will not be difficult to and he concluded by positively forbidding her to answer his letter, which she thought unnecessary tyranny.

When Helen was alone, a struggle between conflicting notions of right and wrong took place in her mind. It seemed to her such a great wrong and such flagrant ingratitude to leave her friend without any answer, that she at first resolved just to write him an explanation, and an assurance that he was not forgotten. But then she had a stern sense of duty-her uncle was appointed as her guardian by her venerated father. At last the martyr-spirit, that trial often develops in a true woman, made her take the way that was not shone upon by the sun of incli

nation.

She wrote to Mrs. Ainslie, however, confided all to her, and begged her to do whatever she thought right; but on no account to allow Mr. Grey to go away with a doubt of her gratitude or remembrance. When this was done, she meekly made up her mind to wait. Two years was but a short probation, and she was strong in the new joy of believing herself loved, and filled with a firm conviction that all would be right at last. So she would wait in peace and patience, working while she waited-doing diligently whatever her hand found to do. Yet often an indefinite dread would come over her; it seemed to her that she went about with an everpresent consciousness of having a sensitive spot in her heart which might at any time receive a deadly

hurt.

*

Two years and more have gone by. Through Mrs. Ainslie, Helen heard of the departure, the arrival, the progress and accomplishment of the business, of the time, and the ship by which Mr. Grey would return. Then came an interval, during which no tidings reached them-only torturing rumours of homeward-bound vessels lost, of storm, and tempest, and shipwreck. Night after night, during these terrible gales, did Helen start from harrowing dreams, in which one drowning face was ever present; and every gust of wind that howled round the old house seemed laden with the agonised cries of one voice. But she did not sink, resting on an Arm mighty to save; her spirit was bowed, not and still she waited! Ay! but how will she bear the end of that waiting! How the certainty following that dreadful doubt? The knowledge ending that sickening suspense?

broken;

decide.

The attitude of Helen and her husband, now in the inmost heart of domestic life, by their 'ain fireside,' is very characteristic. She's on a low seat at his feet, her cheek resting on the hand that lies upon his knee; but there is no kingly assumption, no Sultan-like dignity in his posture, though he sits enthroned in that comfortable chair; he is bending over her, and there is tender reverence as well as unutterable love, outlooking from his eyes, as he peruses the intent, fire-gazing face.

"Is it all a dream, and will this deep, ineffable peace, this fullness of joy, all quickly pass away?" murmured Helen, in a voice low as if she feared to break the charm, and with eyes still riveted on the fire, as if seeking a bright answer there.

"I will strive to make thy true heart's dream of joy a lifelong, life-outlasting one to thee, my wife. And I trust that thy peace shall prove to be of that kind which, being not in the world's power to give, is not in the world's power to take away.”

When we incline to sleep, the eyes become comparatively bloodless and dull. The eyelids drop to shut out everything which might tend to arouse the slumbering senses. The secretion by the lachrymal glands is probably all but suspended, and the organs of sight participate in the general rest. When, after a long night's sleep, the eyelids first open, there is, therefore, a dulness of vision, arising probably from the dryness of the cornea: then occur the rapid motions of the eyelids, familiarly termed "winking "-sometimes instinctively aided by rubbing with the hands-and after a few moments the "windows" of the body have been properly cleansed and set in order, the eye adjusted to the quantity of light it must receive, and we are "awake" for the day, and may go forth to renew our acquaintance with the beauties of nature. It is from the glands which supply this moisture that tears flow. Among physiologists it is well known that emotions-impressions upon the nervous system-exercise a powerful and immediate influence upon the secretions. As, for instance, the mere thought of some savoury dish, or delicious fruit, or something acid— as the juice of the lemon-will excite an instant flow of the salivary fluid into the mouth. An emotion of the mind influences the lachrymal glands, which copiously secrete and pour forth the crystal drops, and these, as they appear upon the surface of the eye, we denominate tears.

A similar action, called forth by another kind of PHILOSOPHY OF A TEAR. excitement, occurs when dust or other irritating substances come in contact with the eye: the EAUTIFUL tear! whether lingering upon the glands instantly secrete abundantly, and pouring brink of the eyelid, or darting down the fur- the crystal fluid out upon the surface, the eye is rows of the care-worn cheek-thou art beautiful in protected from injury, and the offending substance thy simplicity-great because of thy modesty is washed away. The feelings which excite excesstrong from thy very weakness. Offspring of sor-sive laughter or joy also stimulate this secretionrow! who will not own thy claim to sympathy? the eyes are said to "water." It is only when the who can resist thy eloquence? who can deny mercy crystal drop comes forth under the impulse of sorwhen thou pleadest? Beautiful tear! row-thus speaking the anguish of the mind-that Hence its sacred Let us trace a tear to its source. The eye is the it can properly be called a tear. most attractive organ of animal bodies. It is character, and the sympathy which it seldom fails placed in a bony socket, by which it is protected, to create. Every tear represents some in-dwelling end wherein it finds room to perform the motions sorrow preying upon the mind and eating out its requisite to its uses. The rays of light which trans- peace. The tear comes forth to declare the inward mit the images of external objects, enter the pupil struggle, and to plead a truce against further strife. through the crystalline lens, and fall upon the retina, How meet that the eye should be the seat of tears upon which, within the space represented by a six--where they cannot occur unobserved, but blendpence, is formed, in all beauty and perfection, an ing with the speaking beauty of the eye itself, must exact image of many miles of landscape, every command attention and sympathy. object displaying its proper colour and true proportions-trees and lakes, hill and valleys, insects and flowers, all in true keeping, are there shown at once, and the impression produced thereby upon the filaments of the optic nerve, causes a sensation which communicates to the mind the apparent qualities of the varied objects we behold.

That this wonderful faculty of vision may be It is winter—a winter of unusual gloom, of sul- uninterrupted, it is necessary that the transparent

Whenever we behold a tear, let our kindliest

sympathies awake-let it have a sacred claim upon all that we can do to succour and comfort under affliction. What rivers of tears have flown, excited by the cruel and perverse ways of man! War has spread its carnage and desolation, and the eyes widows and orphans have been suffused with tears! Intemperance has blighted the homes of millions, and weeping and wailing have been incessant! A

of

thousand other evils which we may conquer have fruits for the tables; several gardeners are retained
given birth to tears enough to constitute a flood-in the establishment. Over the dining room is an
a great tide of grief. Suppose we prize this little apartment of precisely the same dimensions, fitted
philosophy, and each one determine never to excite a up for a ball room; and an excellent band is kept
tear in another-how pleasantly will fare mankind! during the entire season, for the purpose of amusing
Watching the eye as the telegraph of the mind the visitors. In another part of the premises a ten-
within, let us observe it with anxious regard; and pin alley is fitted up. Indeed, taking the whole ar-
whether we are moved to complaint by the existence rangements of the hotel, we cannot speak too highly
of supposed or real wrongs, let the indication of the of them. The perfect comfort of the visitor is the
coming tear be held as a sacred truce to unkindly proprietor's evident aim. There are single as well
feeling, and all our efforts be devoted to the substi- as double bedrooms in different parts of the build-
tution of smiles for tears!
ing; the log houses are intended for families, as
each little house is fitted up for one, which can live
as privately as possible, or mix with the general
company-whichever seems the most agreeable.
Many of the parties lodged in the hotel are in the
habit of exploring the Cave more than once-fre-
quently perhaps, before they can acquire even a par-
tial knowledge of it. In this case, the rule is, that
they pay their entrance or cave-fee once, and so
often as the guides go in with fresh visitors, the old
visitors have the privilege of accompanying them,
without being required to pay any second fee-so
that a particular party may visit the Cave a hundred
times, and yet only pay one fee. Persons form
themselves into companies, each day, to hunt, or
fish, as well as to visit the Cave.

MAMMOTH CAVE,

KENTUCKY.

THE
HE illustrations that we here present of several
interesting points about the Mammoth Cave
are from an Illustrated Guide published in this city,
by Stringer and Townsend.

The first engraving is a view of the Cave Hotel, conducted by Mr. Miller. It consists of a number of buildings, of different dates, having been increased from time to time to meet. It is two stories high, and two hundred feet long, with brick buildings at each extremity, showing their gable ends in front. The space in front is occupied by a long wooden building, with a piazza, and gallery over it. At the end of the hotel runs a long row of log houses, one story high, with colonades in front, the whole length, which must be near two hundred feet. These colonades and piazzas must be very convenient in wet weather, helping to form as they do, a beautiful promenade, protected from the rain or sun. The dining room of the hotel is a spacious apartment, while the fare displayed upon its table is of the finest quality. Venison is always to be found here in abundance. A large kitchen garden is kept in a high state of cultivation, to furnish vegetables and

hand, the visitor approaches the entrance of the Mammoth Cave.

He is now under its arch, having made a descent of some thirty feet of rude stone steps. Before him is a small stream of water. It falls from the front of the crowning rock, its sound being wild and unequal. The ruins below receive it, and it ultimately disappears in a deep pit. Let the visitor now look backwards. How awful must be his sensations! All is utter gloom; and well may he exclaim, "This is chaos!"

The other illustration is a view of the Gothic gate. It is so named from its strong resemblance to a Gothic building. Its dimensions are, in width forty feet, height, fifteen feet, length two miles. Nothing can be more smooth than the appearance of the ceiling; in fact, it seems as though the artizan had given it the last touch, and it was only waiting the process of drying.

66

HEY will be here soon, I should think," said the youngest of three sisters, who were gathered close around the fire, in the well-furnished drawing-room of one of the principal houses in the suburbs of Brankleigh, a large manufacturing town in the north of England.

Our second engraving gives a view of the entrance to the Cave, which is about two hundred yards from the back of the hotel. Leaving it, the expectant tourists pass down a beautiful ravine, having on each of its sides towering trees, their foliage form-"to call her 'mamma;' a girl no older than one's"How odd it will feel," said the second sister, ing a beautiful arch overhead, so umbrageous as to self! But I shall never think of doing it: will you, shut out all vision of the blue sky. About the trees Carry?" grape-vines are entwined, and flourish in luxuriance. For a painter, the scene now presented would make a splendid study. It is difficult, in fact, to find words sufficiently expressive to describe the beauty of this spot. Descending gradually to the bottom of the dell, and turning sharply around to the right

Of course, we shall at first call her 'Mrs. Sellers;' "Just like you, Jane, to have such an idea at all. and, if she should turn out tolerably agreeable on further acquaintance, we may even get so far as her Christian name."

"Which is, I believe, Martha. What a plain,

common name! I would rather be called anything. | with rose-coloured ribbons; and in another moment
But, Carry, what a strange creature she must be, the carriage stopped, and a good-looking man of
if you really come to think of it, to marry a man about fifty descended from it. He took out a few
like my father! I should as soon have dreamed of packages, and then offered his hand to the lady
marrying old West, the apothecary. If she had within. The sisters had by this time reached the
been a woman of forty, I should not have wondered, hall steps, just in time to be introduced to the
or even a very poor person; but for a girl of three-wearer of the straw bonnet.
and-twenty, and an heiress"

The young lady's wonderment was interrupted by the sound of carriage-wheels and a bustle at the outer gate; and the three sisters ran to the windows, to have the first glimpse of the bride.

"What do you think of her?" said Jane to Carry, when, having left Isabella with the bride, they retired to their own apartment, to dress for dinner.

"I can scarcely tell. She appears to be very plainly dressed, and is just one of those who are neither one thing nor another in appearance; neither plain nor handsome, tall nor short, dark nor light. I hope she is not a quiz. I am inclined to think so, from her being dressed so very plainly for a bride; and a woman with a handsome fortune, too." "Well, we shall see. Here comes Bella." Numerous were the questions asked of Isabella, and very unsatisfactory were her replies. In fact, it became evident that their father's young wife was

The morning had been intensely cold, and now large flecks of snow were gently falling. The windows in which the young ladies stationed themselves commanded a view of what was called by courtesy the lawn. At the end of this, and nearly opposite the hall-door, were the large, green, pallisaded gates, opening on to a carriage-drive that ran around the lawn, and was somewhat disproportioned to the size of the grounds. The carriage came slowly on, crunching beneath its wheels the dead not to be understood upon one interview. leaves that had fallen during the morning. The

"I like her, too," said Isabella. "I think she is sisters caught sight of a straw bonnet, trimmed very kind; and I fancy she can look pretty. But

"Oh, dear! Carry, just clasp my bracelet. I had no idea it was so late; and here we have been chattering. Papa will be so angry."

But papa was not angry at all. He was seated by the drawing-room fire, talking to his young wife, who had placed herself on a low ottoman by his side, and was looking up into his face with such an expression of loving confidence, that the sisters were quite struck by it.

"How odd!" they whispered to each other, as they proceeded to the dining-room; "she really loves him, then."

So possessed were they by this novel idea, that they forgot to remark her dress, which would at another time have claimed all their attention. She was attired in a rich black satin, made as plainly as possible. There was not a single ornament of any kind, save a little trimming of good lace; yet it well

ma,' it is quite ridiculous; such a simple-looking
body, with no womanly airs about her."

became the youthful bride, whose appearance was quite altered when he looks at her. Do you know,
striking, from its very simplicity.
I really think I shall give over calling her so for-
The second Mrs. Sellers was evidently a charac-mally, Mrs. Sellers!'
ter, and that of no ordinary kind. Calm and self- "But, then, Martha! I can never manage the
possessed in manner, her high, wide forehead pre-Martha,'
,'" said Carry. "And as to saying 'mam-
sented a splendid study for a phrenologist. She
had clear, dark eyes, that looked the very mirror of
innocence and trusting affection; but there was a
depth in them, a depth inscrutable to ordinary ob-
servers, which concealed a truly masculine energy
of thought and feeling. Her peculiarities, however,
as evinced by her conversation and daily course of
proceeding, will be best developed in the progress
of our tale.

"How cold it is!" said Mr. Sellers, as, the dinner having been removed, and the wine and dessert placed upon the table, the party of five drew their chairs around the fire. "How cold it is!" he repeated, rubbing his hands over the cheerful blaze.

"Shall I prepare you some walnuts?" asked his youthful wife, placing herself next him, and smil-❘ ing in his face with that devoted look of hers.

"My dear, you are very kind.”
“Papa," said Isabella, "when will it be Christ-

mas-day?"

"Can't you calculate, my love? To-day is the

13th. It will be on the-let me see,"

"On Thursday week, papa," said Jane. "I like it best to occur on Thursday. It is several years since it fell on that day."

The subject seemed to annoy Mr. Sellers. As

Jane proceeded in her speech, his brow darkened, and he turned away, and hastily drank off a bumper of port. His wife looked up at him with a glance of anxious inquiry.

"Thursday" continued the unconscious Jane, who was singularly devoid of tact and perception. "Where were we living when Christmas day was on a Thursday? I must have been quite a child." "Jane, can't you hold your chattering tongue?" whispered her elder sister, angrily.

Mrs. Sellers sat with downcast eyes. She felt that she was treading on unknown ground. Jane looked offended, and her sisters uncomfortable; while their father preserved an absolute silence. A few seemingly insignificant words had destroyed the harmony of the party. But the young bride was full of benevolence; so she resumed her preparation of the walnuts, and asked her husband to pour out half a glass of sherry.

"Did you ever hear," she asked, in her peculiarly winning voice," of the practice of soaking walnuts in sherry? See, I have filled the glass. Taste how good they are."

Her husband smiled kindly upon her, and took the glass. The girls lifted their drooping heads, and the conversation resumed its usual tone; but no farther mention was made of the unfortunate Christmas Thursday.

"I wonder," said Caroline, as she took off a magnificent amethyst and emerald brooch, in her dressing-room that evening: "I wonder why the new Mrs. Sellers wears no ornaments. Did you ever see a bride dressed so plainly? She must have some ornaments. We will make her show us her jewel-box."

"She is a kind creature," said Isabella. "How fond my father appears to be of her! His face is

"She will wonder," said Jane, "what we meant about Thursday and Christmas-day. You pinched my arm so, Carry, that I am sure it is black and blue. Yes: see the marks of your thumb and finger. How should I remember that poor dear sis

ter".

"Hush! Jane; I can't bear to hear about it. My father has been a different man ever since. You and Isabella were too young to know all the sorrows of that dreadful time. I believe it killed mamma." In how many families is there some sorrowful, mystery, some fault committed by a once beloved and esteemed member of the household, and over which is cast the veil of silence, moistened with the

secret tears of vain regret.

On the day of the bride's arrival at her future home, and while she was sitting with her husband and his children in their comfortable dining-room, another and very different scene was passing in another quarter of the same town.

CHAPTER II.

OUR readers must proceed with us along one of
the oldest and filthiest streets of Brankleigh;
where the rumble of carts passing along from the
coal-staiths and corn and iron warehouses, added to
the uncouth cries of the dirty children playing about
in the mud, and the oaths and loud talking of the
brutalised men who pursued their several callings in
the midst of the smoke and impure smells of the
place, formed by no means a fitting atmosphere for
one who had to gain her hard-earned bread by the
labours of her pen. Yet there she sat, in the close,
confined room of a small lodging, leaning her head
upon her hand, and endeavouring to elaborate from
her confused brain a short tale for one of the peri-
odicals.

"Have you looked at it? Any particular news?" "No, I have been too busy. Dearden, the editor of the 'Ladies' Scrap-Book,' you know, wrote to me to send him an article on a particular subject; so I set to at once, and have been busy at it until now." "Well, that is good news, at any rate. Now, darling, help me to dress."

The invalid was speedily attired in his old blue dressing-gown, and laid on the little hard sofa in the sitting-room.

"The room feels close," he said. "Have you had the window open to-day?"

"No, dear. The carts make such a noise; and, besides, though I don't know where it comes from, there is a most disagreeable smell. I just put my head out early this morning, and it made me quite sick. So I closed the window again; and here I have been writing-writing-all the day, even while you have enjoyed that sweet slumber which has so revived you. No wonder you feel the room close. will set the door open, if you don't mind that crying child in the opposite chamber."

I

"No, never mind. Let us have tea; and sit by me on the sofa, my dearest. While you make tea, I will have a look at the paper."

So Mary gave her husband the paper, and set handily about her business of preparing tea. She put two little spoonfuls of congou in the pot, with a pinch of carbonate of soda, to make it draw. Then, going to the old mahogany side-board, she took from

one of the deep drawers at the side, a small pot of marmalade, a little loaf, and some sugar and butter. These, with a pennyworth of cream, which was brought by the milk-man to the door, and served them for both tea and breakfast,constituted their meal.

Just as the delicate-looking little woman seated herself upon the sofa, as her husband had requested, and proceeded to pour out the tea, she was startled by a violent exclamation; and, looking anxiously at him, perceived his emaciated face all in a glow.

66

"What is the matter, dear Henry ?" she said. What affects you so much?"

66

Something that concerns you Mary, much more nearly than myself. Who would have believed it? What strange things do happen, to be sure! I won"Mary, dearest," called a faint voice from the ad-der what your sisters will say to it." joining bedroom.

The authoress obeyed the call, with a sigh which she smothered as she drew near the bed of the in

valid.

"What is it, dear?" she asked in her most cheerful tone, as she gently drew back the curtain, and leaned over the bed.

"Give me the paper, dear, and let me see this wonderful news for myself. You are far too excitable, Henry. Where is the place? Do show me.”

"There little woman. Who is excitable now!" Mary looked fondly in her husband's face, and took his long, thin fingers within her own, while she read:

"On the 12th instant, at St. James's Church, Cotterell, by the Rev. Walter Thomas,'- Why,

"I think, Mary, I shall be able to get up. I feel a little stronger this afternoon, sweet wife." "Thank God for it, darling. But take care you Henry, this is never my father who has been getting married again! It must be a hoax. My poor dear mother! Surely he would never wish to replace her!"

are not exerting yourself too soon."

"Feel,"

The sufferer raised himself in the bed.
he said, "how much better my pulse is."
She took his emaciated wrist between her fingers,
and counted its feeble throbbings.

"Yes, it is improved. Fuller, and not so inter-
mitting. How pleased Mr. Fairlegh will be to find
you so much better!"

"The 12th instant," musingly remarked the husband. "The 12th-what is to-day, love?"

"Wednesday was the 10th. It is the 13th. There must be some mistake. Why! the paper is nearly a month old, and we have been reading it for a new How out of the world we are!"

"By the by, Mary, where is the paper he brought one. me yesterday?"

"Out of every world but your literary one, my "Here, love, in the closet. I put it out of your dear. I can't imagine how Fairlegh could make

way until it was proper for you to read it."

such a mistake as to bring me such an old paper."

66

"Ah! I have not thought of that yet," said Mary; Christmas-day is-when?"

"On Thursday week. We have hitherto managed to keep Christmas in some fashion; and, though matters are worse with us now than ever before"

"We will have a Christmas-pudding, won't we, love, though we pinch a little for it? Well, we will see; there are twelve days yet. How I should like a peep at the second Mrs. Sellers! Bah! the word does not seem natural. I never will call her mother,' whatever age she may be."

"Now, I consider that unkind of my little wife. Suppose she should turn out a very angel, a' Christmas angel?'"

the fire, shook himself like a huge dog. Then lay- themselves and their toilets for the important
ing aside his shaggy great-coat, and a massive stick occasion.
that he always carried, and which was so like him
in general appearance, that his friends considered it
quite a part of him, he first took Mary's hand with
a kindly greeting, and then seating himself beside
the invalid, entered into an examination of his con-

dition.

"All well, so far," he said, in his deep, musical voice. "Our little nurse performs her duty well. Not like many a wife, who will my love' and my dear' her good man while he is able to attend to his business, and buy her satin gowns to gossip about in, and will set off, as soon as the poor fellow fails in health and pocket, to complain among her acquaintance how extravagant he has been, and how irritable and troublesome he is."

Matrimony was a favourite topic with Mr. Fairlegh. Why he was so bitter about it, nobody knew; for he had never, to any one's knowledge, experienced the annoyances of that state himself.

"You don't intend to set to work again, do you?" he asked, as Mary brought a quire of foolscap to the "Nonsense, Henry. Do you suppose that any table, and, dipping her pen in the inkstand, began one could equal my own dear mother?"

66

"Busi

to write. Mary wiped a tear from her eye, and rose to clear Oh, yes! indeed I do," she answered. away the tea-things, and revive the scanty fire, which ness will not wait." had sunk down to a few red ashes. She then went "Then why do you sit in that position, with a to the window, and stood for a few minutes observ-side light? Have I not often told you that you will ing the shivering passengers below, who hurried hurt those sparkling eyes of yours by such proceedalong in the lamp-light; hats, bonnets, and shoul- ings? By-the-by, I had nearly forgotten. Here is ders whitened with the snow that fell in huge flakes, a parcel of the brown candles I told you of, that but melted immediately on the trampled mud of give such a brilliant light." And he went to his the pavement, moist with the rain of the previous overcoat, and pulled an immense packet out of the day. front pocket. "And here, too," said he, producing

a small pot wrapped in blue paper, "is some more
of that marmalade you told me you liked, Henry,
my good boy. Take care you are always equally
candid in stating your fancies."

66

Thank you; but you are really too kind-
"Too kind! What do you mean? Can any one
be too kind? Is any one too kind? If Christ were
to come upon the earth again, would he find one in
a thousand anything like the good Samaritan?
Answer me that."

The argument was incontrovertible. Henry
Drummond was obliged to resign himself, as he had
done a hundred times before, to the disinterested
bounties of his friend.

"Come," said the latter, after he had sat about an hour, and they had thoroughly discussed the topic of Mr. Sellers's marriage, but in a low tone, not to disturb the pale, young authoress-"come, Mrs. Drummond, get your husband to bed, and I will take myself off. He has talked long enough for that excitable head of his."

"Now," said Jane to Carry, as they stood arranging their hair before the cheval-glasses in their dressing-room, while a comfortable fire burned in the grate, and took off the chill of the foggy morning-" now we shall see our young mamma like a bride at last. Hark! there is the breakfast-bell. How do I look, Carry?"

'Perhaps papa will let us have one now. Come, let us go to breakfast.”

Down to breakfast they all went, in their beautiful amber satins. Mr. and Mrs. Sellers speedily followed; and the surprise of the three sisters may be imagined when the plain black satin again met their eyes.

"Then you are not going to appear at church this morning, papa," said Carry, as Mr. Sellers commenced cutting the cold boiled ham into "Vauxhalls."

"Why do you think so, my dear ?" inquired he, unconsciously, proceeding to put a delicate slice into each of their plates.

"Because-because--"

"Because I am not in fitting attire?" inquired the bride, smiling archly.

"Yes," answered Caroline, smiling also, and at the same time blushing a little.

Your father and I are certainly going to church, but we do not see why we should make a fuss about it. We go just as we should on any other Sunday. The house of God is not a show-room."

"Then you don't mean to sit for company?"

'No, my love," replied Mr. Sellers; "Martha and I have agreed to dispense with all such foolish and useless ceremonies. Those of our friends who know that we have returned, and wish to keep up our acquaintance, will call, just as they would at any other time. We shall always be happy to see them."

Caroline and Jane were much disappointed by this decision. They had anticipated all the glory of sitting in state, which was rigidly kept up in Brankleigh; the chocolate and bridecake, the room full of elaborately dressed ladies and gentlemen, and the blushes of the bride and her satellites, looking their very best for the occasion. What an opportunity for touching the heart of young Somerville, who would be sure to escort his sisters; or of rich Mr. Woodhouselee, the banker-and all lost! What possible good was a wedding in the family, without all the proper accompaniments? Jane and Carry inwardly vowed, that if they had ever the good luck to be married, they would have something like a wedding.

The door opened, and in came a tall, well-built, gentlemanly-looking man, with a huge head of curly black hair, sprinkled with grey, which he had the habit of holding down, as if iminersed in the abstraction of deep reflection. When he raised his remarkable head, and looked straight at you with his thoughtful black eyes, shining from under prominent and shaggy brows, it needed a most perfect candour and rectitude of intention to meet that scrutiny unblenched; for you felt that there stood a man whose perception penetrated all disguise and pettinesses of feeling, and who possessed, besides, a stern sense of justice that was ready to expose and annihilate everything that was not genuine. With the false and hypocritical he was a very Joab; but innocence and confident integrity experienced Not so with Isabella. Younger by some years an indescribable sense of protection in his benevothan her sisters, and more simple-minded, she was lent presence, and were drawn towards him, as by already disposed to look up to the superior character an irresistible attraction. Children and dogs always of her new relation, and appreciate her intentions. ran to claim acquaintance with Andrew Fairlegh; Besides, she could not help admiring the perfect and children and dogs generally know pretty well harmony that existed between her and her husband, what they are about in matters of affection. It was Sunday morning; and, according to time- and which is so rarely to be met with in that holy This man, such as we describe him, walked into honoured custom, the bride ought to make her state, where spirit as well as "flesh" should be the little parlour where Henry Drummond was still appearance at church in all her wedding finery." one." It had not been so in her own mother's lying extended on the sofa, and, advancing towards The young ladies at Beech-House had duly prepared lifetime. Though both Mr. Sellers and his first

So Andrew Farleigh took his departure; and Mary, having seen her husband safe in bed, returned to her quire of foolscap, and sat late into the night, spinning out her brains into a rich and fanciful web, for the amusement, and, possibly, instruction, of the fair readers of "The Lady's Scrap-Book."

CHAPTER III.