towards the invalid. "I on the contrary, shall not return, for I leave Paris this evening; but you shall soon hear from me." He then pressed the old man's hand kindly and departed. When he emerged from the gateway of the house into the street, though hopeless of seeing his young assistant in the work of benevolence in which he had been engaged, he still could not avoid looking round, if by chance she was still in sight. As chance would have it, she was standing, as if undecided at the door of a jeweller's shop at some distance. At last she appeared to have formed her determination, for she opened the door and entered. Without exactly analyzing the cause of his curiosity, the stranger approached the window of the shop, and observed what was passing inside. He saw the young girl take off her glove; and whilst he was admiring the dazzling whiteness and aristocratic form of the hand, she drew, with some emotion, a ring from her finger, and presented it to the person at the counter. He took it, examined it carefully, rubbed and tested the stone, and then methodically took out a small pair of scales, and having ascertained the weight, offered his customer a price, which it was easy to see she accepted, from the movement of assent with which she bent her head. The jeweller opened a drawer, and counted out some money, which he pushed over the counter; and having written down in his book her name and address, he cast the ring into another drawer, amongst a heap of jewels of all forms and colors. The girl then departed, and in a minute afterwards the young man entered the shop.

In a short time afterwards she turned into a plain looking house, in one of the streets off the Rue St. Honoré; and opening the door of a room on the rez-de-chaussée, she entered hastily, crying, "Here I am, dear mother. You must have been uneasy at my long absence?"

Madame Revial, the person to whom these words were addressed, appeared infirm, though more from trouble than years. She was stretched on a sofa, and appeared in delicate health. Her features, usually pale, assumed an appearance of animation when her daughter entered, and then immediately became more sombre than before.

"Dear Ann, ," said she, "I have an unpleasant piece of news to acquaint you with; it was this perhaps, that made me rather fear your return, than take note of your prolonged absence."

Anne, having cast on a chair her shawl and bonnet, immediately seated herself on a low stool, near the end of the sofa which supported her mother's head. The latter passed her hand affectionately over the dark hair of her daughter, and then continued :--

"You know that your father had promised your hand to the son of M. Barsac, of Bordeaux, his oldest friend. The death of your father---the lengthened illness which has so much reduced me---had not overcome my courage, as long as I could indulge in the hope of seeing you one day rich and happy, under the protection of a worthy husband. This very morning the scaffolding of happiness, which I loved so much to build up for you, fell to the ground. This letter addressed to our old habitation, ought to have come to hand yesterday. Here, read it yourself."

Anne took the letter which her mother held out to her and looking at the signature, remarked, "It is from M. Jules Barsac himself." She then read the contents aloud.

'MADAME,---As long as fortune smiled on me, I thought with delight on the alliance which M. Revial and my father had contracted for me; but the late failure of the firm of

Danderlias and Co. has drawn on ours; and as a man of honour I deem myself bound to restore you your promise. If your daughter and myself were acquainted, and if mutual affection had been the basis of the projected union, I would have bent my knee before you, Madame, and prayed you to wait until I had repaired our disasters; but have I the right to call on another to partake in my poverty, and to join in my labours? Do I even know what space of time it may take to acquire a fortune worthy of that which you have lost? He that is above can only tell. Your daughter, brought up under your protecting care, is, as I am informed, both amiable and lovely. Who is there then, who will not be proud and happy to give her an honourable name, and a position in society equal to that in which she was born? As to me, I have nothing left, and unwillingly I am forced to renounce the favor designed for me. You will pardon me, Madam, for leaving Paris without paying my respects to you; but I should fear, after having seen your daughter, to carry with me a keen regret, which might trouble the calm of an existence now consecrated to labor.

'Farewell then, Madame: believe me to be penetrated with every sentiment of respect for you, and to remain "Your most humble and most obedient servant, "JULES BARSAC.

The young girl paused a moment after reading the note, and then raising her eyes to meet her mother's, she remarked, as she placed it on a work-table---“ Do you not think, mother, that this letter is perfect; except the too high opinion expressed of me? I really think that M. Barsac writes with the utmost good sense. I almost regret that I have not seen a man whose conduct is actuated by such honorable motives." "This letter," said Madame Revial, mournfully, "certainly augments my regret. I feel that I could have loved this young man as a son. Now what a different lot awaits you! Are you not terrified at the idea of being obliged to work for your poor mother?" "How unkind," said Anne, "how unlike yourself! Why, what is it, after all? Formerly I embroidered to amuse myself, now I do the same to contribute to your comfort. The latter will be surely, the more agreeable. Besides, I can do it now so much more cleverly. Look, I have disposed of the collar," and she shewed the empty case which she brought in, "and here's the price obtained for it," placing three pieces of money on the table.

A light knock at the door interrupted the conversation; Anne cast a look of inquietude at her mother, for since the loss of their fortune, no visit had broken their solitude.

"Go and open it," said the lady, with a smile. She obeyed, and the opened door gave entrance to a man, whom she immediately recognised as the stranger who had assisted the poor old sufferer.

The countenance of Mademoiselle Revial at once assumed a grave and severe expression. Her mother perceived the change, but before she could make an inquiry into the cause the stranger advanced and saluting her with respect, said, "Madame, you are, I presume, the mother of this young lady?"

Madame Revial made a sign of assent, and pointed out a chair to the stranger. He took it, and continued; "Chance this morning brought Mademoiselle and myself together in affording assistance to an unhappy---"

"Oh! mother," interrupted the young girl, whose neck and face were covered with blushes at this allusion to the

morning's adventure, "I have not had time to tell you all

about it. Do you remember the poor old man who generally took up his station at the door of our hotel formerly? He always wore a green bandage over his eyes, to conceal his face from the passers-by, and held a small basket of matches in his hand---"

"Yes," interrupted Madame Revial in her turn, “I remember him well: your father always dropped some money into the basket when returning from the Bourse. You used always to call him your poor old man---and you, little as you were, delighted in giving him every thing you could scrape together."

"Well, since our departure from the hotel, we have asked each other a hundred times what could have become of him."

"Say, rather, without your's," said the youg man, earnestly. "I could do nothing, for I had lost my purse. To you and you alone, is he indebted for life. But, continued he, in a different tone, seeing the bright color again mounting rapidly to Anna's face," it is not for the purpose of disclosing to this lady the secret of your good actions that I have followed you here; it is to request you to take the trouble of buying a bed and some other little necessaries for this poor child of misfortune. Here are a hundred francs, that you will have the kindness to employ for this purpose. I pray you to believe that if I was not a stranger in Paris, and on the point of quitting it this very evening, I would not take this liberty with persons to whom I am not known. I trust that you will excuse my request."

"There is no necessity to offer any apology" said Madame Revial," on the contrary, we ought to thank you for having selected us to complete a benevolent action."

How does

"Alas! you have but too truly stated the case. it happen that you are acquainted with these facts?" "I am Jules Barsac," said the young man, in a voice scarcely audible.

Anna grew pale, and went and placed herself near her mother's seat. A mournful silence succeeded for a short time, and it was Jules who broke it.

"Ah! Madame," said he, suddenly rising, "I perceive that I yesterday sent you my renunciation of a life of happiness. This letter," and he took it from the table, "this letter," he repeated, as he slightly touched it with the finger of his right hand, with a look of disgust---" permit me to destroy it, and to forget that it was ever written ?" Looking from one lady to the other, and seeing no sign of opposition, he tore it down the middle, and threw the portions into the fire; he watched them until the flame had seized on every part; andthen, as if content that it was wholly and irrecoverably destroyed, he approached Madame R evial, and bent his knee before her, as she regarded alternately, with the utmost satisfaction, her daughter and him, whom she would have

chosen for her son-in-law, if the choice had been in her power---" Or if the memory of this unhappy letter cannot altogether pass away, and if part of it must still remain in your remembrance, think only of the words which say 'If your daughter and myself had been acquainted.' We are acquainted---and know each other already as if we had never been apart. Do not separate those whom charity has united. I just now called Mademoiselle by the name of sister: let me call her by another name, not less kind, but more sacred---that of wife. I have no fortune to offer her, but I feel myself now animated by double courage and hope. For her, for you, Madame, who will never quit us, I will work with energy and determination, and I feel that I shall succeed in my efforts. Oh! Madame, deign to answer me ;--but you weep---you give me your hand---you consent to my request?"

"And you, Anna, what do you say?" asked Madame Revial, as she held out the other hand to her daughter. "Have I ever any other will than yours, dear mother?" and she pressed the hand to her lips.

"You consent then, Mademoiselle?" said Jules, "Then you will allow me to present you this ring as a mark of our engagement?"

He handed her a little ring set round with turquoises. "It is Anna's ring!" said Madame Revial, with surprise. "Yes, mother," said Anna, quite confused: "I was obliged to sell it to replace the money I had received for my embroidery."

"It was in purchasing it that I discovered your address, although you entered in the jewellers's book only the name of Anna. It is to this ring that I owe the happiness of again beholding you. He took, as he spoke, the unresisting hand of the young girl, and placed on her finger the pledge of their union.

The same evening, in order to fulfil the benevolent intentions of M. Barsac, who was obliged to leave town for Bordeaux, Anne returned to the old man's lodging. He was no longer to be found: he had disappeared, without pointing out his new abode !

A month after, in the humble lodging of Madame Revial, a few friends were assembled to witness the signing of the marriage contract before the notary, who soon made his appearance; he was followed by an elderly man, richly attired. As the latter was not introduced, no person took much notice of him, for each was too much occupied with the ceremony for which they had come together. Madame Revial was still an invalid, and had her daugter seated near her. Jules Barsac was standing on the other side. The notary placed his portfolio on the table, and took from it a contract of marriage, which he proceeded to read aloud. After having specified the little property of the bridegroom, he went on to detail the fortune of the lady--- "Madame Revial makes over to her daughter the sum of £1000 per year---"

"You are making a mistake, Monsieur," interrupted Madame Revial; "formerly, indeed, I did intend---” The notary without paying any attention to this interuption, continued--

this interference, they awaited with interest the result of this strange scene.

“What!” said the old man with a broken voice, and addressing Anna, "What, Mademoiselle, do you not remember your poor old man?'

Whilst she was looking earnestly at him, trying to read in his calm and venerable countenance the marks of misery and suffering, he continued--

"You, have, then, forgotten ten years of daily kindness! You have forgotten the 3rd of January, with the assistance you gave so opportunely---the fire, the wine, and the wing of a fowl wrapped up in a piece of newspaper? All forgotten? Well, that very piece of newspaper is the cause of all my misery being at an end. In an advertisement which it bore, I read the intelligence, that a French gentlemen, named Francois de Chazel, had been for years seeking in vain for his brother Jacques de Chazel, ruined, like him, in the revolution; and that, by his will, he had ordered an advertisement to be inserted every week for three years, that the brother might come forward and claim his ample fortune. That Jacques de Chazel stands now before you---it is I.--Without delay I set out for London, and only returned yesterday. Your notary," continued he, speaking to Madame Revial, " is mine; from him I heard of the intended marriage of your daughter. To that angel I owe my life, and the least I can do is to present her with a part of that fortune which, without her, never would have reached my hands."

"But, Monsieur," said Madame Revial, with emotion, "perhaps you have a family ?"

"Yes, Madame," replied he, bowing low as he spoke, "if you will admit me into yours?”

Ah, you have made part of our family for such a long time!" said Anna, pressing in her hands those of M. de Chazel; then, with a gesture full of naïveté and grace, pointing to her intended husband, she added, in a low voice, “It is he who took you up. Do you recollect him? Ah! you say that to me you owe your life: if you only knew how much I am indebted to you---if you only knew it---But we will separate no more, and I shall have time to tell you all about it."

Jules came forward to present the pen to his bride, and they both signed the marriage contract. Formed under such auspices, who can doubt that it was a happy one."Court Gazette."

LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG.

It was on a lovely morning in the spring-time of summer, that the coach stopped at the gate of a pleasant countryhouse, where bewildering shrubberies, fair lawns, and brilliant flowers, were the fit ornaments to the hospitable mansion they surrounded. A traveller, a portmanteau, and, though last not least, a hat-box, that sine qua non of a masculine wanderer, were deposited. A hat-box is a mysterious thing; what wonders are not, or may not be, contained within that little insignificant case---especially if the hat

box comes from foreign climes? But it was not so in this instance, and it contained nothing contraband ;---nothing save a hat, which would have been the envy of Rotten-row had it ever been exposed to that dusty atmosphere. But as yet it was virgin,---unpolluted by any zephyr. Its master rang at the gate impatiently, and the lodge-keeper quickly answered; but, ere the traveller set his feet within the gate, a surly, pugnacious animal of the canine species flew at him, and did his best best to make acquaintance, with his legs. This rude and unlooked-for mode of salutation was promptly returned by a somewhat severe chastisement from the cane carried by the traveller :---the dog ran away howling. The lodge-keeper looked aghast.---“ Sir,” said he, "Sir, do you know, what you have done?---you have beaten Solomon."---" Beaten him! of course I have," replied the traveller; "why do you suffer such an ill conditioned brute about the place?”---“ Ah, Sir, he is somewhat of a cur to be sure, but he is our young mistress's pet for all that; and no one here dares to beat him. But allow me to conduct you to the house." So saying, the man took up the portmanteau and hat-box, and led the way. The stranger followed, but, sighing, said, "Alas, my friend! 'Love me, love my dog,' may be a true saying, but it augurs ill."

Julius Ormond found his friend Jefferson in his dressingroom, sitting before a secretaire, and plunged in so deep a reverie that he did not at first perceive his entrance. He looks tolerably unhappy for a bridegroom, thought Julius, but it is certainly a bold undertaking for a man to rush into matrimony, especially when one's mistress has such a pet as Solomon. "How is it with you, my friend," said he, approaching Jefferson, who started from a reverie; “when is the marriage-day?”

"I hardly know; three days hence, I believe," replied the bewildered bridegroom.

"You believe! you are an ardent lover. Come, come, there is something wrong here. Tell me what all this means."

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"There," said Ormond, seating himself close to his friend, now we are literally téte-à-tête, open up your griefs.--Now begin."

"Ah! said Jefferson, heaving a deep sigh, "when I wrote to you to come down here to Mr. Anderson's, I was in an excess of enthusiasm; I beheld the future through a flattering medium, and everything was couleur de rose."

"And now you have seen the reverse of the medal?" inquired Ormond. "I can guess at the evil. There is a deficiency in the portion?"

"Quite the contrary. It is double what I expected." "Then I suppose there is something objectionable in the connexions of the family. A cousin has been hanged or sent to Sydney at the expense of the public?"

"No such thing, the family is as respectable as any in the county."

"Well then, Miss Celestina owes her figure to her staymaker? I have hit the mark at last."

"You are wider than ever. Her figure is as light and symmetrical as a Grecian nymph, the votaress of Diana." "Then there is a lover in the case?"

"No such thing; I am quite positive she has never loved any one."

"Except Solomon."

"Oh," groaned Jefferson, "you have seen that brute then? Has he bitten you?"

"No, but I have beaten him."

"God bless you for it. That cursed animal is the cause of all my cares."

"How so?"

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'Why, you know I abominate all animals, particularly dogs. He, I suppose, saw my antipathy in my face; for, from the moment I came here, he has lost no opportunity of annoying me. The first time he bit me, I laughed; the second, I looked black; the third, I begged that he might be tied up; but I had far better have tied my tongue and suffered in silence. Mr. Anderson thought my complaints very reasonable, and ordered the beast to his kennel; but Celestina-pity me, my friend! Oh, I was "a hardhearted monster,---a wretch, to wish to deprive the innocent animal of his natural liberty; my conduct was a sample of the tyranny of man, who always domineers over the weak; it was a sample of my conduct to a wife: was I not aware that liberty was the gift of Heaven, and that he who deprived the meanest creature of its birthright was a miserable wretch!” Oh, how my ears have ached with the reverberation of her reiterated reproaches! Thus we have gone on for a whole week, and this abominable Solomon is a stumbling block in the way of my marriage. His barking might be borne, but he bites."

"Pooh, pooh,” replied Ormond, "why should you quarrel with your intended about a dog? You must put up with it till the wedding-day is over, and the first thing you do the next morning will be of course to shoot him."

"I have tried to comfort myself with that idea, but these disputes have drawn forth so much of Celestina's character, that I begin to be alarmed at the prospect of the future. She is so capricious, wilful, unreasonable---in fact, quite a spoiled child."

Ormond, after changing his travelling dress, accompanied his friend to the drawing-room, where they found their host, the intended father-in-law of Jefferson, and shortly before dinner was announced they were joined by two ladies: the first, a pretty woman, about twenty-five, the young wife of an old gentleman, who was in conversation with Mr. Anderson at their entrance, was scarcely glanced at by Ormond; but the sight of the second sent the blood to his heart, and thence, though he was all unused to blush, it mounted, in despite of all his efforts at stoicism, to his temples. It was she, that lovely, sparkling unknown, whose eyes had found their way to his heart, one well remembered night at the opera, and whom he had vainly sought for since. His confusion caused him so much embarrassment, as he paid his compliments to the ladies, that his friend began to be ashamed of the awkward brideman he had chosen, but the announcement of dinner put an end to all further difficulties. Ormond seized the opportunity, and, perceiving that Jefferson was very backward in proffering his services, offered his arm to Celestina, and thus contrived to sit next her at dinner, in the course of which he used all his art to penetrate the character of a woman, whose conduct gave so much uneasiness to her future husband. She was so young and unsophisticated, so slender and buoyant, so much a child, that you felt almost inclined to inquire after her doll. Her figure, at once regular and delicate, presented a most charming contour. Her large black eyes, whose cloudy radiance seemed to presage lightnings, and yet shone with the brightness of innocence, spread a charm around her which it was difficult to withstand.

It is needless to follow the proceedings of dinner, although to Ormond they were of considerable importance, so great was the charm of the fair girl by whom he sat, so original were the few remarks she let fall; her manner was so marked by the playful impetuosity of a spoiled child, and yet so chastened by womanly dignity, that he much wondered that his friend Jefferson, his senior, by the way, of some five years, should have taken the affair of the dog so much to heart. The dinner ended at last, the ladies withdrew; and the younger gentlemen, after paying proper attention to their host's claret, left him and his more ancient friend to enjoy the last bottle and the last scrap of politics by themselves, and sought the more agreeable charms of female society. They found the ladies in the billiard-room, where Celestina was making the balls bound as wildly as her own joyous spirits. They agreed to form a party, two against two, and drawing lots for partners, Fortune for once was wise, and the affianced pair were opposed to Ormond and Mrs. De Quincy.

Celestina entered into the game with all the vivacity of infancy, now laughing at her adversaries, then scolding her partner, and herself when she failed; vexed when she could not laugh, and laughing after each vexation. The game was nearly ended, and Celestina danced with joy. Three points more would win the game, and if the red ball were pocketed it would be secure. It was Jefferson's turn, and, according to his custom, he took a long and steady aim, but, whilst he was deliberately poising his cue, the impatient. Celestina rested her white hand on the cushion, and looked into his eyes. His aim was altogether distracted, and he pocketed his own ball without touching any other, and the game was lost. Celestina screamed aloud, and stamped her little foot. "You abominable creature!" cried she; a child could have made the stroke,"---and her eyes flashed lightnings.

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"I was looking at you," said poor Jefferson, with a contrite aspect.

"Looking at me! I never look at you. I tell you, you have done it on purpose!"

"We shall win the next game," supplicated Jefferson. "Win it by yourself then. I shall play no more." So saying, the wilful girl walked to the window, and began to play the galopade in Gustavus upon the glass.

Vexed to his soul, poor Jefferson challenged Mrs. De Quincy and Ormond, offering to play alone against them, but Mrs. De Quincy declined, and, seating herself on a bench overlooking the table, declared she would rather take a lesson from the young men. They began to play, Ormond with indifference, Jefferson measuring each stroke with the utmost care, and, from too great nicety, missing several. Celestina still drummed the galopade upon the window. At length, just as the game was thrown into Jefferson's hands, and he, with the characteristic indecision of weak minds, was balancing his cue, and pondering upon his stroke, she threw open the window and called to the gardener, who was passing below.

"Where is Solomon ? let him loose directly; it is inhuman to deprive him of his liberty. Send him to me directly." The man obeyed. Solomon bounded in through the window just as Jefferson had adjusted his cue. At a signal from his mistress, Solomon bounded on the table, and seized the all-important ball; Jefferson flew to rescue it, and for his pains was bitten through the hand. In his desperation he struck the brute with the but-end of the cue, and the dog retreated under the table howling.

7

"What, Sir," cried Celestina, her cheeks glowing, and her eyes flashing with anger, "do you dare to beat my dog?" Poor Jefferson thought within himself, now is the time to show my marital authority; and, holding out his bleeding hand, he struck the dog again.

"You wretch!" cried Celestina; and she raised her little hand with the full intention of repaying Solomon's wrongs on the ears of Mr. Jefferson; but, at the moment, Mrs. De Quincy quitted her elevated post and ran to interfere.

"Celestina!" she cried; and by a violent effort, that most irascible of spoiled children withheld her hand. But tears of passion rolled down her beautiful cheeks. Solomon, emboldened by the turn of fortune in his favour, crept from his intrenchment, and commenced an attack upon his foe, but the judicious Ormond quietly took him by the neck and tail, and, throwing him out of the window, closed it against him.

Meantime Miss Anderson had gained the door and opened it; then turning back, her face all glowing, and some bright drops of pearl still sparkling on her cheeks, she thus addressed her future husband--

"Wretch that you are, I hate you! do not deceive yourself, I will never be yours. You strike Solomon! I had rather be beaten myself. I detest you; do you understand me? I hate and abhor you, and I won't marry you."

So saying, Celestina, accompanied by Mrs. De Quincy, quitted the room, and drew to the door with a noise that shook the room.

"Well, said Ormond, after a silence of some minutes, to his friend, who remained lost in thought, with his chin on his breast, and his hands clasped before him, "well; what think you of this gentle exhibition of your intended ?"

"I won't have her; my mind's made up. I tell you I would sooner marry a fury.---Marry, indeed; why was I ever such a fool as to think of marrying? I! and I had such a comfortable little establishment at home; all so quiet, so regular. Rachel is an excellent cook; James, the best of valets, never gives me any trouble; and Bob is so good a groom, that my horses are never lame; what the mischief possessed me when I wished to marry ?---and to fall in love with a tigress.---I've done with it. But what shall I say to her father? The wedding-day is fixed, and, despite all she has said in anger, I shall be obliged to fulfil my engagements; and if I meet her again---"

"Leave that to me, my dear friend," said Ormond, "it is easily arranged. You have an uncle, a rich uncle ?"

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'Certainly, my uncle Edwards, from whom I have great expectations. Ah, when he dies I am sure of ten thousand." "Well; he is dying. he had an apoplectic attack last night."

"He had? How came you to know it?"

"How came I to know it? My dear fellow, don't waste time inquiring, but set off at once! It will enable you to come to a decision. Absence is a sure test, and if this wild girl really loves you, absence will try her. At any rate, the news of your uncle's illness will give you an excuse for absenting yourself for an indefinite time, without entirely breaking with this fair dragon."

"It is a good idea. Let us seek Mr. Anderson." "They found Mr. Anderson in his private room, which he dignified by the name of a study, but when he heard Mr. Jefferson's statement, he looked rather blank.

"Come, come, my friend," he said, "I've heard all about that foolish affair of the dog: you ought not to take offence

at it. A child's trick, a child's trick! A wife will know better. I trust you are not playing me false."

Ormond, seeing Jefferson wavering, stepped forward. “I assure you, my dear sir, that such is not the case. I myself, I am sorry to say, am the bearer of this sad news; but, knowing that there was no conveyance to town till the evening, I concealed them until the latest moment, in order to spare the feelings of my friend. The coach will pass your door within a quarter of an hour, and we must take our leaves hastily, though unwillingly."

"If it must be so, it must," said Mr. Anderson, slowly rising out of his comfortable arm-chair. "I like not to see marriages delayed. You will return quickly."

"As soon as possible," murmured Jefferson. "Will you not take leave of the ladies?" said Mr. Anderson.

"Alas! it is impossible," replied Ormond, with great quickness; my friend has not yet prepared anything for his departure."

"But you, at any rate, need not depart, Mr. Ormond,” remonstrated Mr. Anderson. “No, no, we shall keep you as a hostage for Mr. Jefferson.”

By no means displeased at this arrangement, Ormond hurried Jefferson away, and, after receiving from him a letter to Celestina, renouncing all claim to her hand, and referring particularly to her behaviour respecting the dog, with a slight reference to the superior excellence of his cook Rachel, Ormond at last succeeded in starting his friend and his pattern valet James, the one in, the other outside the coach, and then resumed his way to the house with a tranquillised mind. Here he passed a delightful evening, the enfant gâté was all smiles, and when he bent over her at the piano and requested his favorite pieces, the joyous, pure, and free-hearted glances that met his eyes carried him away into the regions of enchantment. And when, at her request, the trio, Mrs. De Quincy, Celestina, and Ormond, joined in a glee, he sang (he had many times been praised for his pure bass) he sang with an earnestness, a desire of doing well, that he had never felt before.

When he sat in the quietude of his own room, he thought to himself, is this the spoiled child of whom I have heard so much? the girl whose mind is nothing but a light thing, that can be turned by the power of society? I cannot believe it. She is evidently a child of nature, totally unacquainted with the artifices which teach the practised to conceal their feelings. It is evident that she does not love Jefferson, and I feel very certain that I love her myself. I shall lose no time in acquitting myself of my commission, and he will have no cause to complain if I turn to the fair one he abandons.

Days passed on, and Ormond was lost in the contemplation of this young girl, whose beauty had a seduction for him which he could hardly bring himself to acknowledge. By turns thoughtless as a child, and pensive as a woman, in wild spirits in the morning, and melancholy at night, petulant and serious, she seemed an enigma, and Ormond hesitated. A letter from Jefferson roused him. Absence had calmed his spirit, and he begged his friend, if he had not already delivered the message with which he was charged, and altogether broken the match, to act the part of a peacemaker, and endeavour to move Celestina in his favour. No, no, my friend, thought Ormond, I cannot allow you to be thus fickle you surrendered Celestina, and have now lost all right to interfere. However, I will put an end to this at