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One day my father entered my room, which I had not yet left. "Heaven be praised!" said he, affectionately pressing my hand; "my son is restored to me.' After a few minutes' silence, he added, Louis, I am come to speak to you on a subject which I have much at heart-your marriage."

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which no human voice can find words. A strange and my father rejoiced in the certain hope of my cloud, however, suddenly darkened her brow; her recovery. bosom palpitated; her eyelids became moistened with tears, which she tried to restrain. She gently pushed away the bread and wine which I had placed before her, took one of the sprigs of consecrated myrtle, and slipped it under one of the knots of her bouquet. She then rose, and departed by the way she had come. I was then relieved from the horrible constraint which chained me to my seat, and I darted after her, to obtain one word of consolation and hope. "Oh! whoever you are," I exclaimed, “abandon me not to the terrible regret of having seen you, and never being able to find you out again! Think that my future happiness depends on you, and make not the sweetest moment of my life an eternal misfortune! Tell me, at least, I implore you, whether I shall again press this hand which I bedew with my tears-whether I shall see you again?"

I looked at him in surprise. "Don't you think, father," I replied, "that there is still time enough to trouble ourselves about that? I am not yet twenty."

"It is a matter which concerns you deeply," he returned; "and why not? I married too late, or else the years have passed away too quickly; and I should lose one of the sweetest enjoyments of life if I died before having been loved by a daughter whom you should have given me, without having played with your children, without 'Once more!" she replied; "or never! never!" leaving behind me the remembrance of my features she repeated with a mournful cry, and vanished. and affection to a new generation. This, my son, I felt my strength fail, and my limbs sinking is the material immortality of man, which alone the under me, and was obliged to lean on a chair for weakness of our organs and intelligence permits support. At this point I was awakened to broad us to foresee clearly. The other is a great mysdaylight by the bursts of laughter of a servant tery, which religion and philosophy prudently who was removing the preparations of my noctur-abstain from attempting to explain. Your marnal collation, and which he attributed to the fantasies of somnambulism-to which, indeed, I was subject.

riage, then, has become, for your own sake, the principal object of my thoughts and hopes; however, I do not wish to put any force on your inclinations, but leave you perfectly free in your choice and establishment: and I shall never depart from this promise."

"You overwhelm me with gratitude and joy!" I exclaimed, embracing him. "On my side, I swear to you that I will never bring a daughter into your house whom you will not have adopted beforehand."

I was not of a character easily to lay aside ideas with which I had once been strongly impressed. This unknown female, whom I loved with all the strength of my heart, even to distraction, and who perhaps was not in existence, became my fixed idea the only thought of my life. I shunned society, and sought for solitude; because it was only when alone that I could freely indulge in the contemplation of my wishes and hopes. To what "As you will," said my father; "however, friendship, or to what complaisant credulity, could this idea which I must now sacrifice to you was I have dared to confide them? I imagined that the sweetest dream of my old age. Suffer me to some unforeseen circumstance would shortly bring speak of it to you for the last time. I have perme in contact with my visionary betrothed. I ex-haps never mentioned before you the name of one pected her. I fancied I should find her in every of the friends of my youth, the remembrance of strange female whom I saw at a distance; but she always escaped me, like the dream in which I had seen her. My reason and health sunk under this perpetual succession of powerful emotions. The physician, vainly called to my bed of grief, in a few days gave up all hope of me. In the meanwhile, I had neglected no means to discover my mysterious friend. Under the seal of profound secrecy, I communicated to a schoolfellow of mine, who lived at Montbéliard, the initials of the bag, with a most circumstantial portrait of the young girl whose name they were meant to express.

whom recalls the only real friendships we generally enjoy in this life-the sincere and disinterested friendships of the college. Though a great difference of vocation, habits, and abode, seemed to have separated us forever, yet I have never forgotten him. He became a colonel of artillery. He emigrated, and this circumstance rendered our separation irrevocable; for I, like many others, had followed the movements of the Revolution, when I was far from perceiving its aim and results. This transitory direction of a mind deceived by appearances, gave me a political credit which I The reply came at length to cheer my heart, in have had the happiness of seeing sometimes useone of those moments of extreme anguish when ful. My friend, undeceived in his turn from my exhausted strength seemed no longer able to another kind of error, sighed for his country, struggle against death. The ideal being of whom always so dear to every well-constituted heart. I I dreamt on the night of the Chandeleur really succeeded in obtaining his eradication,* in restorexisted! The resemblance was perfect, even to a ing him to his hearth, his paternal fields, and small mark on the back of her neck, which I had native air. We have not seen each other since, noticed in her retreat. Her name was Cecilia but his letters cease not to testify an affectionate Savernier and these names corresponded with gratitude, which sweetly repays me for my efforts the letters I so well remembered to have seen on in his behalf. Mutual confidence has made us the steel-clasp of the bag. She usually resided acquainted with the most trifling particulars of our with her father, in a mansion situated at some dis-inmost thoughts and fortune. My old friend Giltance from the town of Montbéliard, where her beauty and virtues were the theme of every conversation. Thus my illusion assumed a body; my chimera became a reality; my languor disappeared with my anxiety; my health improved;

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bert knows I have a son in whom I repose all my hopes of the future. He has a daughter whose praise is in every mouth, and who will certainly make her husband as happy as she has made her * Getting his name struck off the list of the proscribed.

father. I do not conceal from you that we had seen in this projected union an agreeable means of reuniting ourselves for the remainder of our days. It was a life we had fondly planned in our foolish confidence; so true is it that we deceive ourselves at every age, and that old age, matured by experience, is as apt to give way to illusions as youth itself. This prospect was delightful! It must be renounced!""

"Pardon, my father; a thousand pardons! Why has Heaven condemned me to acknowledge your affection so badly?"

"Never mind," said he; "I shall easily forget the joy I promised myself in seeing my hopes realized by thinking of yours. After all, it is a pity, for Cecilia Savernier is considered a handsome girl in a country where it is difficult to choose

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"Cecilia Savernier!" I cried, jumping to my feet; "Cecilia Savernier Oh, father! have I heard you rightly?"

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Perfectly," said he. "Cecilia Savernier, daughter of Gilbert Savernier, late colonel of artillery, residing at Montbéliard, department of Mont-Terrible. It is of her I spoke."

I fell at my father's feet in a state of agitation impossible to describe. Unable to utter a word, I covered his hand with kisses and tears. My father raised me anxiously, pressed me to his bosom, and asked me what was the matter more than ten times before I had power to answer. "Cecilia Savernier! 'Tis she; 't is she, father!" I cried with a choking voice. ""T is for her I ask you on my knees!"

"Indeed," he replied; "then your prayer is soon heard, since the affair is nearly all settled. But where can you have seen Cecilia? Or where can she have known you? Montbéliard is the only town in France she has appeared in since her return from abroad. And when you were in that part of the country two years ago, I am positively certain she was not yet there."

I blushed. This question touched too nearly on a secret which I had not strength of mind to reveal, and which my father might regard either as an illusion or a falsehood. "Believe," I replied, "that I have seen Cecilia, and have reason to think that she will not be unfavorable to my love. With respect to the circumstances or accident that brought us together for an instant, be so good, I beseech you, as not to question me further."

establish it. You will be present at your cousin Clara's wedding as you pass, for she lives halfway, at the Bois d'Arcey."

Clara's wedding!" I exclaimed in surprise. "Is Clara going to be married?"

"Yes," replied my father. "I wish she may be happy; though there is something extraordinary about the whole affair. This year she refused three highly-advantageous offers, and her mother thought she was disposed to embrace a religious life, when a strange young man, who had arrived in town only a day or two before, obtained her consent in their first conversation. The references he gave as to character and fortune were satisfactory, and their two families promptly agreed to the match. Clara is happy in this union, which the Virgin, she says, had in reserve for her since the night of the Chandeleur. But what say you? Does the arrangement I have proposed suit your inclination?"

I threw myself into his arms; he kissed my forehead, went into his study, and soon came out with a letter in his hand, addressed to Colonel Savernier. Next morning I set out for Montbéliard, happier than I can express.

Alas! what are human joys!

I have said that the strange illusion that filled up my whole life, and absorbed my every thought since the night of the Chandeleur, had to me become equivalent to the most positive truth. The result of my inquiries had given to it an extreme likelihood. The unforeseen concurrence of my father's projects with the time and circumstances of my dream, distinguished it from the class of ordinary dreams. It was no longer a dream-it was a revelation. Constitutionally disposed to be easily impressed by the marvellous, I abandoned myself to this without resistance. Hearts that resemble mine will have no difficulty in understanding me. I embraced, for the first time, the thought of a happiness which I imagined nothing was to disturb. I flew towards Cecilia in all the confidence, all the abandonment of my heart. It was at the end of January; and I was struck with a strange sensation when I remarked that Clara's marriage was exactly on the day of the Chandeleur. I arrived in time to be present at the ceremony. The countenances of the bride and bridegroom expressed the most perfect happiness. The young man was handsome, affectionate, and engaging, but serious in his demeanor. When the ceremony was ended, I approached my cousin, and pressing her hand to my lips, whispered, "I hope, my dear friend, that this gentleman is the husband who was revealed to you on the night of the Chandeleur?" Clara blushed, and gave me a look which seemed to say, "How do you know that?" Then pressing my hand, she replied, "I would not have married another." I felt myself agitated by a delightful emotion, impossible to describe, in thinking that a similar happiness awaited myself.

"Heaven forbid!" said he, embracing me. "I have too much respect for this kind of mystery to take from you the merit of discretion. There are secret links, sympathies, known only to lovers, which one at my age can but ill discern. This state of things accords so well with my wishes, that I have no desire to find out how it originated. Let us now think only of your marriage, which will be celebrated without fail after you shall have taken your degree. This delay seems to frighten you; but it is not so long as you imagine. You will soon regain the time you have lost during Whilst the fêtes of Clara's marriage detained your illness. You must feel that it would ill be- me at the Bois d'Arcey longer than I could have come you to present yourself at the most solemn wished, my excellent father had advised Colonel act of life, without bringing as a dowry an honor- Savernier of my intended visit; of which the able and serious title. Besides, it is but proper latter, curious to know me first, did not think that you should first see your intended wife and proper to inform his daughter. When I had prefather-in-law, and obtain a more positive consent sented my letter to the colonel, he merely glanced than that on which we have been flattering our- at it with a smile, and coming to me with open selves, before pushing things any further. As arms, "I need not ask your name," said he with your health is so much improved, I trust that a affectionate cordiality; you bear so strong a month's residence at Montbéliard will quite re- resemblance to the friend of my youth, that I think

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I see him still, as when every morning brought us | name was known to me scarcely two days before together-only you are a little taller. You are my father mentioned it to me. Notwithstanding, welcome, my dear boy, as a friend-as a son-if, it is a year since I first loved her; and I will love as I hope, your heart and that of my Cecilia's her all my life. There is the truth, sir. The rest come to a mutual understanding. And now, sit is to me an incomprehensible mystery." down and rest yourself, while I read your father's letter, and consider you more at my ease.

"Incomprehensible, indeed!" replied M. Savernier with an anxious air-" quite incomprehensible; for I do not suppose you could be guilty of a falsehood. And yet

"And yet I have disguised nothing from you. Is it not an instance of those mysterious sympathies which sometimes unconsciously take possession of us, and carry us away with all the vehemence of a passion? It is what I am profoundly ignorant of; however, I must believe it, for I have no other explanation to give you.”

The kindness of this reception brought tears to my eyes, which I sought to restrain by taking a survey of the room. A straw-hat, trimmed with blue ribbons, hung upon a nail: it was Cecilia's. There was a harp in one corner of the room: it was Cecilia's harp. A bag had been carelessly left upon a chair close to mine, on the steel-clasp of which my eye quickly detected the initials that had struck me on the night of my vision. Yet the idea suddenly occurred to me, what if Cecilia was "Pshaw!" replied the colonel; "you will next not the right person after all? The thought froze have me believe that you have seen and loved me with terror. I found myself engaged in the each other in a dream. If the secret of that kind most sacred, the most irrevocable manner, by the of rendezvous get abroad, it will be all over with wishes I had expressed to my father, by my pres-paternal surveillance. But what matters it, proent proceedings with respect to M. Savernier, and my blind precipitation was perhaps about to separate me forever from the bride who had been promised me. A mortal shudder ran through me when I perceived, at a distance, the portrait of a young female wearing a straw-hat. I collected all my strength, and hastened across the room to examine it more closely. I was struck with despair. It was the portrait of a charming woman, but whose face bore no resemblance to that of my imaginary Cecilia. It was not she! My limbs were sinking under me, when the arm of M. Savernier, passed round my body, held me up. "Alas!" said he, wiping away a tear, you will never see her! That is Lidy! my fair and gentle Lidy the mother of our Cecilia. May you never experience the grief of surviving what you love!"

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My terror vanished, leaving only a profound sympathy for my friend, who seemed to appreciate my feelings, for he said, "Yes, you shall be my son! for you have a soul! You shall be the husband of Cecilia, if she consent. And why should she not?" After a pause, he added, "My dear young friend, a regard to propriety will not permit that you should stay at my house; but we shall see you every day while you remain at Montbéliard, before going to resume your studies. The sweet intimacy that ought to precede a serious and inviolable engagement will grow up of itself. One ought not to proceed lightly with affairs of life and eternity. But I learn with much surprise, from your father's letter, that you already love my Cecilia; and, what is still stranger, if it be possible, her artless heart, which has never concealed anything from me, feels drawn towards you by the same inclination, though you have never seen each other; unless, indeed, my vigilance has been deceived by some of those artifices which youth practices by instinct, and old age forgets. That, I own, is a point on which I am anxious for an explanation; and my friendship for you gives me : some right to expect it."

The colonel cast a searching look on me; and the trouble into which his question plunged me could not have escaped his notice. I cast down my eyes, hesitated, and vainly sought for an

: answer.

"I swear to you, upon my honor, sir," I at 'length replied, "that I have never seen Cecilia; that I have never seen her portrait; that I have never presumed to write to her; and that her

vided you love each other?-just as I wish things to be. This is what we shall all know before long in a more positive manner; for you shall dine tomorrow with Cecilia."

"To-morrow!" I exclaimed in a tone of disappointment.

"To-morrow," said he, smiling. "It is not so soon as you would wish; but the delay is not long enough to cause you any real affliction. I have not told Cecilia of your expected arrival. I reserved to myself the pleasure of discovering at your first interview, when I had known you a little, whether there is any reality in the sympathy between you; and I was not sorry that an opportunity offered to get my daughter out of the way at the moment I expected you. A country family, in which Cecilia counts no less than six friendsall sisters-solemnize to-day the anniversary of the birth of their excellent grandmother, who is an old friend of mine. As the long retirements of the Chandeleur are over, and the rest of the time between this and Lent is, by immemorial custom, consecrated to amusements more or less innocent, but which religion itself does not forbid, they dance, they disguise themselves, and I even believe they will be masked. Don't be alarmed, my friend; the programme of the fête admits females only, nor will any man be received there, whether father, husband, or brother, till the hour appointed for the sweet lambs to return to the fold. Meanwhile we shall dine tête-à-tête, for there is Dorothy calling us."

"Do you know,” said he suddenly, when we were about to leave the table, "an idea occurs to me. Since to-morrow seems so long to your impatience, we shall at least try to deceive her till then. I shall tell you how. At the hour of breaking up this evening, you shall accompany me when I go for Cecilia. I shall enter alone, and in a few words smooth all difficulties. A servant, at my appointed signal, will introduce you as a friend of the family. We must seem to be entire strangers to each other. In this way I shall be enabled to appreciate the reality of those marvellous sympathies you speak so much of; for there will be nothing to prevent you, if not from seeing Cecilia, at least from conversing with her without restraint. I hope you will have no difficulty in distinguishing her in her disguise as a bride of Montbéliard."

"She is disguised as a bride of Montbéliard, say you? Can it be possible?"

THE NEUVAINE OF THE CHANDeluer.

"Why, yes; as a bride of Montbéliard,” he replied. "It is a good omen, is it not? But this costume is so graceful, that more than one of her In that case companions may have also chosen it. will know her from the others by a little sprig of myrtle, separated from her bouquet, which she took a fancy to attach to her bosom, and by which I am myself to recognize her."

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Although the colonel had told me something of this circumstance, which inspired no fear, the expression of suffering that accompanied those words froze my blood. Besides, her father was standing before us at the moment that she seemed to be seeking him through the room with an uneasy look. I was surprised that she had not seen him. "I am near you," said he, encircling her with his arm, for she was going to faint. She leant upon him, and passed one of those moments so long to pain.

This second circumstance, which recalled so vividly the particulars of my dream, renewed my The friends of Cecilia had gathered around her, emotion; but I soon mastered it, and answered to the proposal of M. Savernier by testifying the most tender gratitude. An hour afterwards, he and, in the cares they lavished on her, displaced had executed his project on all points, and I was her mask. Alas! all my doubts were dissipated; in the presence of Cecilia, whom I easily recog- but a frightful pallor covered those features so On dear to my memory. I felt as if life was about nized by the tokens her father had given me. her side she had shown some emotion at my ap- to leave me, when Cecilia breathed, raised her her. Ah! all is well now," said she. "1 am proach, and when I had taken my place beside her, head, and looked at the persons who surrounded Excuse," I thought I perceived her tremble. said I, "a liberty which the mask and disguise better. I no longer suffer. I ask pardon, and will in some degree explain. The vicinity of a thank you all. This crisis is never long, but I stranger may perhaps be unpleasant to you; would have wished to have spared you the pain of come, or have gone away sooner. I will no longer yet I doubt much whether my features are wholly witnessing it. In that case I should not have strange to your recollection?" complete my recovery. interrupt your pleasures; the air and a walk will

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"Indeed," she replied, "I do not think I have had the honor of ever seeing you before." "Never ?" said I.

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"Never," she returned with a forced laugh, "unless it was perhaps in a dream; and you may believe my word, for I am incapable of feigning. I have not even tried to disguise my voice." It was indeed the voice I had heard a year bePerfore, and which still echoed in my heart. mit me, then," said I with warmth, "to seek some motive which may supply the pleasing customs of established acquaintanceship. My name, or rather that of my father, must have often been mentioned to you by yours, and I am not ignorant that I speak to the daughter of M. Savernier. Would this name be happy enough to awaken any kind of sympathy in your soul?"

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I had hardly pronounced my name, when Cecilia started, and turned on me a look expressive of "Yes, yes!" tenderness, mingled with terror. she replied; your name is well known to me. It is dear to my father and to me also; it recalls to us recollections which are never effaced from an It is true, honest heart-those of gratitude! then?" she continued, speaking to herself, as if she had suddenly forgot my presence; "it was All has been thus far fulfilled not an illusion. -all will be fulfilled without doubt! The will of God be done!" And she fell into a state of gloomy dejection, in which all her ideas seemed to be absorbed. One of her hands nearly touched mine. I took it without her making the slightest effort to withdraw it. She only looked at me more attentively. "It is he!" she said.

"Oh, let not the sight of me give you any "The sentialarm!" said I, pressing her hand. ment which has led me to you is as pure as your own heart, and it has the sanction of a father whose only thought is your happiness. You are free, Cecilia; and our future destiny depends only on you."

"Our future destiny depends only on God," she replied, letting her head droop with a deep sigh. But you have spoken of my father. You have surely seen him? He knows that at this hour of the night, for some time past, I suffer from an inexpressible affection which stifles and kills me. I wished 80 much to prevent its approach! How is it that my father is not come?"

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Shortly after we set out, and M. Savernier enShe was near trusted his daughter's arm to me. me-close to my heart. I conversed freely with happiness that ever mortal was permitted to enjoy her. I spent ten minutes of the fullest, the purest on earth. Cecilia walked with a light and firm step. She seemed happy. Her father, with one arm passed round her, congratulated himself on seeing her so well, and attributed her late illness to the fatigue of dancing, or to some sudden emoThe space we had to walk was very short. tion, the secret of which he gaily refused to pene"Adieu till to-morrow," said the trate. We arrived. est day of all our lives, if my hopes be not deceived. colonel-" till to-morrow! To-morrow, the fairAt four o'clock in the But the night is past, and this fair to-morrow must be near its second hour. evening," said he, embracing me; "and at this time we shall all three sit down to table. Sleep, the toilet, and hope, will help to shorten the time till then." They retired. I still hear Cecilia's adieu.

Next day was Sunday. The hour so impatiently expected at length arrived-the hour at which I was to see Cecilia! Cecilia, by whom I believed myself loved! Cecilia, whom I adored! The street through which I had to pass, and which I had seen nearly deserted the evening before, was to the solemnity of the day; but I could not exnow filled with people. I attributed this difference I rapidly into motionless and silent groups. plain why the crowd formed itself here and there threaded my way through those little assemblies, and only by chance caught a few confused words persons do not die of aneurism at that to the following effect:-"An aneurism?" said "One dies when the hour of death is one; age.' was a young girl, adorned and veiled, to whom come," replied his neighbor. A little farther on one of her companions was listening in tears. "At half past two, when leaving the ball, she said truly that she would never be married!" A horrible light glanced in upon my mind. I was not more than twenty steps from the house. I ran. The many years which have elapsed since then The door was hung with white; in cannot weaken the impression of that fearful

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the passage was a coffin, surrounded with pulling at the back of her dress, two or three times

torches.

"Who is dead? Who is dead in this house?" I exclaimed, violently laying hold of the arm of a man who seemed to have charge of the preparations.

66 'Mademoiselle Cecilia Savernier !"

From Chambers' Journal.

THE WORK-GIRL.

work; and when she saw the trimming on your dress, she thought it so pretty, that I could not help drawing it a little nearer for her to see.”

Before she had concluded the sentence, her companion had again glided forward, her dark eyes glistening, and slipping her hand into that of her courageous defender, added earnestly, “Forgive us both, ma'am." The lady, whom we shall call Mrs. Villars, much struck by the little scene, reässured them speedily with one of her own sweet smiles, and stooping down, unclasped her mantle, and showed them, to their hearts' content, the dress they had admired so much; then gathering up her little purchases, she returned their encrgetic gratitude and admiration with another smile, and left the shop.

repeated, and so far different from the occasionally rude pressure of the crowd, as at last to attract her attention. She turned, and saw two young girls immediately behind her, both of whom colored deeply as she looked round: one, very small and delicate-looking, drew back timidly; but the other, a tall, handsome girl, raised her eyes ingenuously, though respectfully, to those of the lady, and in gentle accents apologized for the liberty they had taken. "But my sister, ma'am," added WORK!-what extremes in human life are sug-she, "is very sickly, and her only pleasure is in gested by this little monosyllable! What varied interpretations may be placed on this one short word! And how differently is it considered in each circle through which we might trace its universal application, from the light and elegant occupation of affluence, downwards to the toilsome drudgery of necessity! One picture gives us the fair and accomplished daughters of our land seated before their embroidery-frames, surrounded by col. ors as bright as the rainbow's hues-worsted, and silk, and golden threads, scattered in rich profusion, with every accessory to interest and amuse; but before the leaf, or the flower, or the cunning device is half copied on the canvass, some anxious parent or careful friend will approach, and in tones of fond entreaty request they will lay it aside, lest the graceful figure should be injured, or the radiant Days passed away, and she saw the sisters no eyes made dim, by work! And this, again, is the more; but they often returned to her thoughts, term to designate the employment that has hol- and, unblessed by any similar tie, she would rememlowed the cheek and chilled the life-blood of the ber with a sigh the strong affection revealed by weary occupants of many a solitary garret, who, that little incident. In one moment it had told its sighing, listen to the midnight chime, and think own story-of fond protection on the one side, and that even then they cannot lay it by to rest. Such grateful reliance on the other-as intelligibly as if are the extremes. Would that neither boundary the parties had been known for years; and she was so strongly marked, and that a little habitual marvelled that, in a class where, from want of self-denial in the one instance, might afford means mental cultivation, externals must seem so importo lessen the privations of the other! When Lord tant, such superior personal attractions as one sisCollingwood wrote home, enjoining his wife to in-ter enjoyed, should create no taint of vanity or of spire his daughters with a contempt for vanity and embroidery," it might almost be imagined that the gallant admiral had a prophetic glimpse of the expenditure of time and money lavished by the present generation on this fascinating pursuit. But it is the abuse, not the use of anything which renders it reprehensible; and we may remember it was a saying of the sagacious Dr. Johnson, that many a man might have escaped hanging, had he At last one morning, in an early walk more exknown how to hem a pocket-handkerchief. Let tended than usual, she came to a cluster of cotour fair countrywomen, then, enjoy this recreation tages near the shore, at some distance from the as a recreation, not as an all-engrossing pursuit; village. It was a pleasant, animated scene, and and let us all, both men and women, feel thankful that the needle has provided an antidote against listlessness in one class, and a means of livelihood for another.

A lady was lately making some purchases in the principal shop of a little sea-side village in the south of Ireland. As usual, it was a place where the most incongruous articles were collected, and, accordingly, frequented by purchasers as different as there were varieties in the inhabitants of the village; besides which, on the weekly market-day, it was so crowded from morning till night by an influx of country customers, as to render it a matter of some difficulty to reach the counter. The lady, however, was a person of some importance, and way was made for her as soon as she appeared, while the obsequious shopman threw everything else aside to attend to her commands. They were not very important; and having soon despatched them, she was waiting for the change of a note, when she became aware of a gentle

jealousy to sully their mutual love. But Mrs. Villars reasoned wrong. She had yet to learn that the heart teaches its own lesson-the most unsophisticated often the warmest; and that true affection is a sunbeam that blinds our eyes to the deficiencies of the beloved ones, while it casts a ray of tenfold brightness on every excellence they possess.

Mrs. Villars stopped to admire the eager groups collected round some boats returned from the night's fishing, and either making bargains for themselves, or congratulating their sons or husbands on their success. As she lingered, a young girl tripped lightly by with a basket on her arm; and even in that passing glance she could not mistake the bright eyes and glowing complexion of her late acquaintance. A look of recognition also beamed from those same eyes. Half hesitatingly she paused for an instant, then with a modest curtesy was passing on, when Mrs. Villars accosted her, and, with an inquiry for her sister, joined her on her way.

During their walk, she learned that Ellen and Mary Roche were sisters, their mother long since dead, and their father-" Wisha, he was just nothing at all." Mrs. Villars had lived long enough in Ireland to know that the smothered sigh which followed that little hesitating sentence indicated a good-natured kind of idler, who smoked tobacco

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