"Do you know mamma," observed Helen Page, "I do not think Viola Sidney is happy."

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"What nonsense! my dear Miss Helen," replied Mrs. Brooks; you are so unsophisticated;—a perfect child of nature; did you not see that look of abstraction was put on for the occasion. It was

not her cue to appear interested in all that was going on. What to her are the pomps and vanities

of the world?"

"Nay, mamma," said Miss Brookes, "perchance there may be a prior attachment; perchance

"She never told her love,

But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Prey on her damask cheek."

"Oh, what pretty lines!" exclaimed Miss Page, "are they your own? I never heard them before."

With a look of ineffable contempt, Miss Brookes replied, "My own! why child, they are our immortal bard's."

"You don't say so," rejoined Miss Page in a bantering tone, for very sprightly young ladies luxuriate in this species of quizzing.

Nothing daunted, Miss Brookes went on in a moralising strain. "Truly has it been observed,

'l'on n'aime bien qu'une seule fois; c'est la première.'"

"Nonsense, Emily," exclaimed her mother, "there is no such thing as first love."

To this somewhat Milesian dictum, Mrs. Page assented, by giving a most oracular Lord Burleigh nod of the head, and Miss Page exclaimed: "Well I am sure, the sight of those sweet dresses, and those dear emeralds, would be enough to cure a thousand first loves. I would marry my grandfather in defiance of canon, civil, or ecclesiastical law, only to possess that diamond spray, for in these cases you know, le présent fait oublier le futur.”

"Don't rattle on so Helen," cried Mrs. Page, "you talk egregious folly."

To this maternal rebuke, Miss Page was about to make rather an unfilial retort, for it is an incontrovertible fact, that very frolicsome damsels are not always renowned for invincible good humour, especially in the domestic circle; but having arrived at a point where their respective routes diverged, the ladies separated, not, however, before Miss Brookes had tenderly whispered in Miss Page's ear, "Now mind, Helen, you look your very best to-morrow, or I will never forgive you."

"Well now, that is kind," replied Miss Page,

in her most naïve manner;

"that is really generous,

for as we are to be dressed alike, it might provoke invidious comparisons; good bye dear," and she ran after her mother.*

* Lest I should be supposed to possess the gift of ubiquity, I must observe, that this colloquy was repeated to me verbatim by Miss Page some time after it took place, and, to the credit of her sincerity be it spoken, she did not even attempt to conceal her own little ebullition of temper.-NOTE BY DOROTHY.

CHAPTER XIV.

-It seemed as if her breast

Had hoarded energies till then suppress'd,

Almost with pain, and bursting from constraint,

And finding first that hour their pathway free,

Could a rose brave the storm, such might her emblem be."

MRS. HEMANS.

"Thrice he assay'd, and thrice, in spite of scorn,
Tears such as angels weep, burst forth, at last
Words, interwove with sighs, found out their way."
MILTON.

FOR a few minutes after Mrs. Sidney left the apartment, Viola remained with her eyes bent on vacancy; then taking up a casket from a table near her, she repaired to a small apartment which had been long since appropriated to her use. It had been carefully, I might say elegantly fitted up: a few choice paintings adorned the walls, a profusion of richly bound books lay scattered about the tables, and a variety of fragrant plants were taste

fully arranged in the embrasures of the windows. Here were Viola and I accustomed to spend our mornings, and here did I now accompany her, for I felt that she must not be left alone. Viola seated herself at a table, and placing the casket before her, buried her face in her hands; but those hands were too small to conceal the features, which they only shaded, and the swollen veins of the temple, and the convulsive tremor of the lips, told their tale of mental anguish. Suddenly she opened the casket, and drew from it a small book, which had the word "Journal" inscribed on the back. She hastily glanced her eye over its pages, and tearing them into fragments, threw them on the fire.* She next took a withered rose and a letter from the casket; "I must no longer keep these," she exclaimed; "to-day I am weak and frail, but to-morrow I should be culpable." I knew that these words were not addressed to me; they were but the out

*It was a great proof of Miss Sidney's pre-occupation of mind, that she threw the pages so carelessly on the fire, that many fell into the grate only half destroyed, very much scorched, yet still legible. It was not until the next morning that I perceived them, when, after a sleepless night, I descended to the boudoir just in time to receive them from the house-maid. I kept them by me, as I thought the time might come when Viola would be glad to find them again. She afterwards gave me permission to read them, and, at the same time, allowed me to retain them in my possession.-NOTE BY COUSIN DOROTHY,