last two years, she could not repress her impatience to embrace the dear sister she had left budding into beauty when she last beheld her, and had hurried off in a voiture de remise, from the Clarendon, as soon as she and her lord had finished the late dinner that awaited their arrival.

"But how is this, dear Emily, you have been weeping?" were the first words uttered by Lady Lutterworth, after having again and again pressed her sister to her heart.

"I've been nervous, and somewhat low-spirited," replied Lady Emily, and the tears streamed afresh from her eyes as she spoke.

"Where is Lord Henry? I long to become acquainted with my new brother," said Lady Lutterworth.

"He is gone to the House of Commons," answered Lady Emily. "Which I dare say you find to be just as plaguy an affair as I used to consider the House of Lords the first year of my marriage, n'est-ce pas, ma chère petite sœur? Oh, how well I remember counting the long, dull hours, that I thought interminable, while my lord and master was discharging his senatorial duties, listening to the pungent satire of a Lyndhurst, or the bitter irony of a Brougham. I recollect, too, the heroic courage with which I resisted the attack of the drowsy god Morpheus, for the praiseworthy purpose of being able to tell Lutterworth what a sleepless wretched night I had passed. I have struck my repeater, when so overpowered by drowsiness. as to be almost incapable of counting its silvery sounds, that I might be able to acquaint my caro sposo how many, many hours I had counted. And then how offended, how angry I used to feel, when he has said, 'Why not go to sleep, Louisa? You would then have been unconscious of the tardy flight of time, and I see you can hardly keep your eyes open.' I did learn wisdom, did go to sleep, and acquired sufficient philosophy to be amused the morning after a late debate, in listening to a résumé of it from Frederick, instead of looking, if not uttering reproaches for his having occasioned me such long vigils."

"But where is Lord Lutterworth?" inquired Lady Emily.

"Indulging in a most comfortable siesta, in a chair which he has pronounced to be perfect for such indulgence,” replied Lady Lutterworth." He will then visit his club, hear the on-dit and become au fait of all that is passing in London, which will be retailed and detailed to me at déjeûner to-morrow."

"And does he indulge in these siestas in your presence?" demanded Lady Emily, her brow elevated into an angular curve, indicative of displeasure and surprise.

"Does he not!" answered Lady Lutterworth. "Yes, my

dear little sister, et sans cérémonie, sans peur, et sans reproche."

"And you suffer it?" asked Lady Emily.

"Ay, more; arrange the pillow, and make as little noise as possible, lest I interrupt his slumber," answered Lady Lutterworth.

"But surely, sister, this is very undignified! We ought not to forego those attentions, those petits soins, to which we are entitled, and which form the agréments of wedded life."

"Yes, Emily, during the honeymoon, perhaps ; but be assured that the sooner a wife resigns these petits soins only voluntarily paid while she is yet a bride, the better will it be for her future happiness. Let her receive with pleasure every demonstration of her husband's affection, without ever exacting a single one. Let her ever welcome him with smiles, and conceal the tears his absence costs her. If he will sleep, and husbands have all a peculiar tendency to court tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep,' is it not wiser to ensure his gratitude, by administering all gentle appliances to render his slumbers agreeable, than to resent, though unable to prevent, the indulgence."

"But then, sister, we are so loved, so adored, during courtship, and the early days of marriage, that it is difficult, if not impossible, to bring ourselves to be content will the commonplace civilities, into which husbands allow their attentions to degenerate when the honeymoon is over."

"Wo to her, Emily, who cannot soon and cheerfully submit to be content with such! It is the false notions engendered during the days of courtship and the honeymoon, that lay the foundation for many, if not all the dissensions that too frequently imbitter married life. Men, the lords of the creation, ferego their prerogatives, when they stoop to sue and propitiate those whom they believe themselves born to protect, if not to command. The object attained, for which this sacrifice was offered, they quickly resume their natural and ill-concealed sense of superiority, and begin to treat her, whom they seemed to consider a goddess, as a creature sent into the world to contribute to their wants and wishes. A deposed monarch, driven from the throne where he commanded universal homage from his subjects, is not placed in a more false position, by expecting similar demonstrations of respect in exile, than a wife is, who exacts in the staid and unromantic position of a matron, the devoted attentions offered to her during the illusive hours of courtship and the first bridal days. Let then both the deposed sovereigns resign with decent dignity' the homage they can no longer command, and they will best ensure that continued regard which, though more homely, is not less precious."

The words of Lady Lutterworth made a deep impression on the mind of her fair young sister, who, the moment that lady retired, sought her pillow; and though a few natural tears dewed her cheeks, as she resigned the sweet but delusive hopes of youth and romance, which led her to imagine that the hushand would ever continue the lover, she went to sleep with the firm resolve of seeking content, and of conferring happiness in the discharge of her duties.

When Lord Henry returned from the House of Commonsand this night he did so without dropping in at his club-he found his fair young wife asleep, her cheeks still retaining the traces of recent tears. There was something peculiarly touching in the sight of that beautiful and youthful face, thus marked with sorrow, though under the blessed influence of sleep. The rich crimson lips still quivered, and broken sobs escaped them, like those of a slumbering child who had wept itself to unconsciousness; and a tear still trembled beneath the long silken lash that shaded the fair and delicate cheek.

Lord Henry stood in mute admiration, regarding the lovely object before him, and felt all the lover's enthusiasm and husband's tenderness revive in his heart, from the contemplation. His own name, uttered in the softest tone of affection, stole from the lips of the sleeper; and was followed by a sigh so deep as to agitate the snowy drapery that shrouded her finely-formed bust. That sigh appealed more powerfully to his feelings, than the most eloquent speech could have done; and he reproached himself severely for having caused it.

"Poor, dear Emily!" thought he, " even in her dreams I am remembered. And I can be so unfeeling as to blame her disappointment at finding me so much less faultless than she expected! So pure a mind as hers cannot be expected to make allowance for the breach of veracity she has discovered, where she thought all was truth! And I, like a brute, could be angry, instead of endeavouring to soothe her wounded feelings!"

These salutary reflections produced a happy result. The morrow's sun shone on the reconciliation of Lord Henry and Lady Emily. He acknowledged the error into which a desire to avoid displeasing her had hurried him; he explained the sacrifices entailed by the conventional usages of fashionable life; the necessity of occasionally submitting to them; the expediency of a wife's cheerfully yielding to these unavoidable interruptions to domestic bliss; and by a perfect confidence in her husband, and a freedom from exacting a monopoly of his attentions only practicable in the solitude of their countryseat, exempting him from the painful necessity of concealment or prevarication.

The tenderness with which his advice was bestowed, ensured its adoption. From that day forth Lady Emily learned to bear seeing her husband behave with the courtesy practised by every well-bred man towards women, without feeling any jealousy; submitted without uneasiness to his frequently engaging his old friends to dinner, nay, could smile at the mention of the bewitching widow," and hear of his occasionally supping at his club without being made unhappy.

A letter despatched a few days after to her dear friend, Lady Frances Lorimer, in answer to one from that young lady announcing her approaching nuptials, contained such excellent advice on the danger of young wives exacting attentions only paid during the days of courtship, that it had the best effect on that lady. This judicious counsel considerably lowered the exaggerated and romantic expectations she had previously indulged of the unbroken felicity of wedded lovers, and saved the husband of Lady Frances from the scenes of domestic chagrin that had clouded the conjugal happiness of Lord Henry and Lady Emily Fitzhardinge, during their first entrance as a wedded pair into fashionable life in London.

A FRENCH STORY.

"Let no man trust the first false step of guilt,
It hans upon a precipice,

Whose steep descent in last perdition ends."

"Such is the fate of guilt, to make slaves tools,
And then to make 'em masters by our secrets."

MADAME DE TOURNAVILLE was left a widow at an early age, with an only child, a daughter of ten years old, whose beauty and docility were as remarkable as a certain nervous temperament, that gave to her a shyness and timidity which checked the playful gaiety of childhood, and rendered her susceptible of fear on the slightest occasions.

The long illness of her husband, and the confinement and anxiety it entailed, followed by her deep grief at his death, had so impaired the naturally delicate health of Madame de Tournaville, that in a few months she followed him to the tomb; leaving her daughter, with a large fortune, to the guardianship of a relation, the Comte de Breteul, who had been for many years the intimate friend of Monsieur de Tournaville, and the adviser of his widow during the few months that she survived him.

The Comte de Breteul was a widower with a son and daughter, both senior to Matilde de Tournaville by six or seven years. The young de Breteul was in the army, where he had already distinguished himself, and Louise his sister had but lately returned from the pension, where she had been educated, to preside over the establishment in the paternal mansion. Louise de Breteul was beautiful, gentle, amiable, and accomplished, with a steadiness and decorum remarkable for her years; and with manners whose suavity never failed to conciliate the good opinion of those who had opportunities of knowing her. She soon acquired the devoted affection of the youthful Matilde, and repaid it with sisterly attachment, and an unceasing care bestowed on her education. The Comte de Breteul's exterior was more distingué than attractive; for though he possessed l'air noble in an eminent degree, his countenance was forbidding, and in spite of the polished elegance of his manners, repelled confidence and familiarity.

He occupied a fine hotel in the Rue de Varennes, FaubourgSaint-Germain, and lived in a style suitable to the large fortune he inherited from his ancestors. It was with pleasure that Louise