And everything that is being made by the may be. Well, and then I began to wonder little company, and other pretty things besides, who would dance with who, and whether Mr. more than you could look over in one good hour, Powis would come, and how jealous he would are making for Philip's birth day. Love-tokens be if he saw any one else with you-of course, for Philip himself, such hosts of them, young it would not be proper for him to dance-a man and scoffer as he is: and such pretty com- clergyman! though if you won't be angry, I do binations of white and gold, and white and sil- think he cares very little about the church; and ver, and white with every possible enlightenment then, somehow, when I really saw the hall, and of delicate color, for Elizabeth, already known in everybody so gay, there suddenly flashed across the household in the magical character of bride. it Elizabeth's marriage, and Mr. Powis ran into "Well, I have many a time thought of Phil- the vicar, and the hall became the church, and ip's birthday," said Sophy, after a pause, and we were all in white and in sunshine instead of the slightest possible touch of sentiment was in the lamplight, and-I-I believe, I fell asleep." Sophy's sunny face, but I never thought what "How you do talk, Sophy," said Margaret, changes it would make at home. I used to with a frown and a blush. think Philip would be a little more master perhaps not that mamma would change-but only of course we are all growing older, and Philip would be a man and not a boy; but only to think what a strange difference there will be! Elizabeth, too! Of course, I knew Elizabeth was to be married some time-but oh! I am sure, Margaret, it will feel so very strange!"

"Elizabeth will come back, and we shall go to see her, Sophy," was the answer; but Percy -to think of Percy going too!-and one cannot tell when he may come again."

"Well, Percy is glad to go," said Sophy with spirit; And Elizabeth, though she won't say she's glad, never makes any resistance, but yields to Captain Bernard without caring for us. I daresay it may be very fine, after all, going out into the world; for my part I would rather stay at the Grange.

A very little toss of Sophy's pretty head, a very little pique in Sophy's half-defiant halfdisconsolate tone, goes far to make you sceptical of the entire truthfulness of Sophy. Marga ret answers with a sigh:

None of us know much of the world; even I, though I am so much older than Percy and you-even Elizabeth, who is oldest of all ;— if our family had been what it used to be, we should all have seen a great deal more; but whatever you may think, Sophy, I am sure it is a great deal better for us. Oh! I have no doubt at all, a real true heart must grow so weary of the world."

"But I don't quite see that either," responded Sophy promptly. The world! I should think, for my part the old women in the village must be a great deal more weary of it than I. I am sure it has been twenty times harder for them than even for mamma, who is as old-and I am more weary than Lady Stanley's pretty niece, who has been presented, and spends all her time among the great people, and is never done with gayeties. Well, I know you say you despise all that, but I am quite certan I don't; and speaking of that, Margaret, do you know I could not sleep all night for thinking of our ball."

"How silly!" said the pensive Margaret, "what were you thinking?

"First of all, how I should have my dress made," said Sophy eagerly; "and 1 fell upon such a pretty fashion just before I went to sleep. To be sure this marriage of Elizabeth is very distracting; for a marriage is always even a greater thing than a party, however great that

"Elizabeth does not say a word-I suppose because she has so much to think of," persevered Sophy; "and Zay-I do wonder what extraordinary thing Zay is making, and who it is for. Do you know, Margaret, I was thinking how this will change us all. Philip will be his own master-a real grown-up man; Elizabeth will be Mrs. Bernard Morton, a married lady; you will be Miss Vivian, and the eldest of us all. Percy will be far from home, and seeing the world; me-it won't make so much difference for mebut still there will be a change when Percy goes. Only Zay will not feel it at all. She was always the youngest, the pet, and spoiled—it will make no difference with Zaidee."

Zaidee heard, but did not look up, being in the crisis and agony of her invention-and Sophy ran on to another subject. Simple Sophy! unforeseeing little mortal company which could tell nothing of the unknown! for not one there could so much as guess or dream that Zaidee's share of all these changes should, far as the extraordinary overpasses the common, exceed and over pass their own.

CHAPTER IX.-A COUNTRY PARTY.

"Yes, Captain Bernard Morton is a very fine young man, I assure you, though of course, a great beauty like Elizabeth-everybody expected something different for her. I was quite disappointed myself-I took such pains to give her proper ideas; but she is so simple-a perfect child-though everybody thinks her quite a princess from her looks. However, a proper ambition-nay, indeed a proper estimate of herself, one might as well try to teach yon odd little Zaidee as lecture her."

Hush, lady dear," said the Vicaress, who could not entirely forget she had once been an Irishwoman," that is Mr. Powis standing close by your other hand."

66

Very well; you don't suppose I mind Mr. Powis," said Mrs. Blundell, the managing and match-making aunt, wife of Mrs. Vivian's only brother, a childless matron and most anxious superintendent of her young relatives.

"I see he is handsome, and I hear he is of good family. Margaret is a plain girl beside Elizabeth. I don't quarrel with her taste; but this family is so destitute of ordinary prudenceeven my sister. I don't believe, now, that till things came so far it would be impossible to break off-I really do not believe any one but

myself or Mr. Blundell would ever think of in-humility and a sigh. "I used to have them in quiring what that young man's prospects were." my dreams, darlin' angels! I've thought some"He is a pretty lad," said the Vicaress, musing- times God would give me these same little ly. Good woman, she remembered the far away cherubs if I came to heaven. Bless you, I'd kindly youth which had been her own; and think- know them every one-all the sweet little faces ing of Miss Margaret, whose pensiveness she was that used to come whispering about me in the extremely respectful of, could not but feel this lone days when Richard was away; but I never the more immediate consideration after all. had one child, true and sure. No, I confess to it "Oh, Mrs. Wyburgh, a person of your experi--it was God's will." ence must perceive," cried Mrs. Blundell, "how situated as I am, with all these dear young people looking up to me, and myself so interested in them all-if they were my own I could not be more concerned for them-my mind is quite tortured with anxiety, knowing as I do, how really ignorant of all the ways of the world they are. My sister is not a romantic person-quite the reverse. Mrs. Vivian is really a practical, sensible woman; but she is so engaged with household matters and common things, and, gives so little attention to the settlement of those dear girls-the first object in my view that a mother should attend to-that really I am kept quite on "I've had them committed to me from India the rack, and could be always at the Grange-from every distance in the civilized world, I if I had my will, out of pure anxiety for them do believe," said the latter lady; "schools to look for, growing boys to attend to, young ladies to bring out ;-we have so many friends abroad; and I am sure many a mother has less experience than I."

all."

"I am certain sure it is very kind of you," said the good Vicaress, who, in addition to her Irish birth, had been long a curate's wife in Wales, and had odd turns of phraseology, and not the most polished style in the world; "but they're all so easy and pleasant at home; and, to tell truth, I'd not be grateful to any one that schemed the pretty things away."

66

"But that is an improper view-an imperfect and limited view," said Mrs. Blundell, eagerly. They must marry, you know; and they must marry so as to keep up their standing in the world. In my opinion there can be nothing more important. I assure you it gives me many an anxious thought."

And the homely womanly heart pursuing this sore want and void, left Mrs. Blundell and her busy schemes far behind, nor ever remembered to wonder what right Mrs. Blundell, as childless as herself, had to address her so. Mrs. Blundell, on her part, was slightly disconcerted— a worldly spirit is always so extremely at a loss to understand a simple one ;—and not as young ladies and gentlemen to be settled in the world, but as babies, dear little hearts, adored and yearned for all her life long, could good Mrs. Wyburgh alone contemplate the children who had cost Mrs. Blundell so much care.

But the Vicaress of Briarford had said her say, and relapsed into acquiescence once more.

And Margaret, with a slight changeful color brightened her face, with a certain new life and beauty of expression awakening her downcast eyes, looking sweeter, purer, humbler, more womanly than it is her wont to look, stands in another corner discussing various matters with some of her young lady-companions, and playing with prints and papers which lie on a little table at her hand. The very rippling motion with which that white pretty hand trembles over them, "No doubt, no doubt," said good Mrs. Wyburgh, the faint pit-pat of the foot peeping from below who, notwithstanding, looked considerably doubt- her dress, the wavering inconstant smile which ful; "but the world grows wiser, I think, every comes and goes over all her face, betray her year; there was nothing said like that in my secret. She is so innocently conscious that some young day"-and with a sigh and a smile, "my one is looking at her; so aware in her very heart young day," merry and Irish and poor, present- of the glances and movements of that "some ed itself to the thoughts of Mrs. Wyburgh. one," upon whom she never fully lifts her own "Richard had not such a thing as a prospect eyes. Mr. Powis is a handsome young men, as when we married," continued the Cheshire Vi Aunt Blundell says; tall, with a little bend and caress, brightening in memory of their old strug-swing in his well-formed person; a sort of halfgling times; "and all my mother gave me was God bless you-yet sure we're here!"

"Ah, my dear good friend, but how much better for you if your family had been more care ful," said the match-maker, shaking her head.

Mrs. Wyburgh also shook her head. Her face now tolerably full and ample, had once been pretty; and there was fun and spirit-a little corruscation-flashing now through the easy content and acquiescence of her usual mood.

"And you never had a family of your own," continued Mrs. Blundell; "you never knew what it was to have a mother's cares; it makes the greatest difference-a woman unaccustomed to the charge of children can have no idea how a mother feels."

Mrs. Wyburgh's countenance fell. "No, I had no babies," said the good woman, with

pleased, half-deprecating consciousness that he is handsome; and a face which has nothing objectionable in it, unless it be the want of something to object to-all is so regular, so well proportioned, so perfectly in balance; a very handsome young man-do you not wonder whether he is worth all this true and genuine feeling which lics in Margaret Vivian's face?

At all events, nothing can exceed his eagerness to catch Margaret Vivian's eye and win her favor. Mr. Powis is the incumbent of a neighboring parish, the cadet of an old, very old, antediluvian family of Wales, with magnificent things in expectation, but only a little rectory and a very modest income in present enjoyment. Mrs. Wyburgh, of Briarford, thinks it would be a very pretty match, and quite equal, for Mar garet's little portion could be comfortably bal

anced against the young incumbent's small but | bring my boy safe through all the dangers; and competent income, without any superiority on as for the discomforts, he must submit to them. either side; while Mrs. Blundell, on her side, Oh, I hope Percy will take no harm." wonders a little what Mr. Powis's "motives" may It was worth while to see the erect imperious

be, and cannot fail to acknowledge him disinter- dignity into which Percy elevated himself, hearested with his fine person and clerical advantages, ing a far-off sough of these concluding words, though she would fain ascertain with greaterTake no harm!" as if the young hero, setting accuracy what these much-spoken-of expecta- out to subdue the world, were nothing better tions are. However, the matter is by no means than a child. so far advanced as that; and Aunt Blundell comforts herself in having abundant time for investigation before this shy and conscious liking can come the length of an engagement, and accordingly turns with an easy conscience to the agreeable bustle of Elizabeth's preparations, and is content.

Yes, we pride ourselves in our children, and they all leave us," said a grave lady sitting by. "I had eleven, and I was so proud of themsuch a flock; but I live by myself now, and they only come to see me. Oh, it is a very different thing living at home with one's children, and having them come to see you-you'll find that by-and-by."

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"I have been thinking of some sweet poetry. Oh, Zaidec! I remember so well where I saw it first," whispers in a corner the curate's wife, whom nobody contests Zaidee's possession of. "Listen, I am not afraid to say it to you:

'Tis vain to seek the gayest crowd,

Though all be glad and all be fair;
Music is sweet, and mirth is loud,

But happiness-it is not there."
But come to the sequestered dell,

Oh seek the pensive shade with me;
For there alone she loves to dwell,

Far, far from mirth and revelry.

Only thus far had Angelina proceeded, when Zaidee put up her hand and said, “Don't.” "Don't!" Mrs. Green passed in silent horror. "Because some of them look quite happy," said Zaidee. Oh, I wouder what Margaret is thinking of. Hush, pray, and don't be angry. I can't tell whether I am happy or not; but I like to look at them all."

CHAPTER X.-FAMILY HISTORY.

"I always dread the first marriage," said a brisker personage. "Oh the flutter my girls were in when my Mary went away! and as for settling again, or letting one get peace and quiet, you might as well think of snow in June. A bride you know-everybody talks so of a bride, "Yes, you may say there were not many peoand all the fuss and the dresses and the excite-ple like your grandfather. I never met with ment-the issue was, every one of them was one," said Mrs. Vivian. "Sit down, Percy, and married before the second year." I will tell you when I saw him first."

"Dreadful!" said a young wife emphatically: she had just been working out her fingers, and lightening her white and gold purse, which was still in its first gloss, in behalf of a second sister following in her own immediate train.

Percy sat down in prompt obedience; the drawing-room lay in a bright, warm twilight glowing with the great, ruddy fire which filled the whole fire-place, a mass of red, touched all over with little points of quivering, lambent Well, Percy is not to be married at least-flame. Another side-gleam of kindled warmth Percy only leaves home," said one of the gentle- came glimmering from the open door of the men of the party; "not such a fascinating thing that his brother should seek to follow him." His brother is the eldest, the head of the house," interposed Mrs. Vivian. with proud humility. Philip, of course, will not leave the Grange."

Only leaves home; how these men do speak!" cried the wife and liege lady of the masculine interlocutor. "Poor boy! to think of all the temptations, and all the discomforts-that laundress, that Mrs. Fieryface, and the boy that polishes Pendennis's boots-that is all they have in place of the services of home; and then the temptations, Mrs. Vivian! Poor boy, how can you trust him in London ?"

"Temptations are everywhere," says Mr. Wyburgh, with professional gravity; and shaking his head half disconsolately, half in a consolatory and confronting strain, bids Mrs. Vivian take

young ladies' room. The heavy antique window. in the front of the house, glittered between its mullions with a ruddy twinkle, which took their chill from the very clouds peering in without, and the long sashes at the other end of the apartment, draped to their feet in crimson curtains, gave back no unkindly light to cool the tone of the warm atmosphere within. Full in the light sat Mrs. Vivian in her great arm-chair, sitting very erect, as was her wont, and making the most of her inches. Close beside her, in his gravest dignity, his long shaggy nose relieved against her black gown, sitting up like his mistress, with the conscious erectness of one who sets a good example. Sermonicus held his privileged place, and Zaidee once more, silent and intent, knelt between Sermo and the mantelpiece. The other members of the family were grouped much after their usual fashion-Philip in the great chair-Margaret very musing and meditative, her pretty hands closed upon her knee, her foot patting the carpet, her downcast eyes gazing into the fire, her thoughts astray-Elizabeth by

the table where she has just laid down her work, his lips, but with that cruel glare always in his because it is no longer possible to see-Sophy eyes. I was young, and I suppose I was fancihalf seated, half leaning upon the arm of Philip's ful. I never got that look out of my mind." chair and Percy thrown into a sudden seat slightly withdrawn behind, and only waiting" to hear my mother," before he seeks his own occupation. Mrs. Vivian likes a fireside audience, and has quite composed herself for a family talk.

"The first time I saw your grandfather I was quite a young girl, myself," said the lady of the Grange, "not quite twenty, newly married, and a little afraid, as you may fancy, of the Squire, whom every one was afraid of. I had been at school out of Cheshire most of my younger days, and when I came home the old gentleman was abroad, so it came about that I never saw him till I was married. We came home here to the Grange after our marriage jaunt: we did not call it a tour in those days, and we had only been to London. You may fancy how I felt, so young, coming to face that dreadful old man. I was afraid to dress too simply lest he should think me a dowdy; and afraid to be too fine, lest I should get condemned for a fool. Well. descend I did at last to this very drawing-room, and there sat the Squire, as suave and bland!-it was dusk and firelight, something like what it is now. Dear me, Philip, don't look up so! I do believe you have a look of that dreadful Grandfather Vivian, after all."

All the audience were as young and fanciful now as their mother had been; and even Margaret, roused from her musings, cast a half-scared glance into the crimson gloom of the curtains, and looked with a thrill of awe round the darkening room.

"Poor Frank had run away just a little time before-poor Frank! Everybody remembered him so well," said Mrs. Vivian, with a little sigh.

Zaidee's kneeling, half visible figure, started into fuller light, with a faint rustle, and everybody else starting at the sound, was so glad to be Mrs. Vivian recertain it was only Zaidee. sumed.

"Such a bright, high-spirited boy!-I always thought Percy would resemble Frank; but, poor fellow, so tender-hearted and sensitive-he could not bear the life he led, so what could he do but run away? He might have written to us, to be sure, but he was as good as a foreigner by that time, and married to a foreign wifepoor Frank! and he did write Percy such a letter just before he died."

"But, aunt Vivian, you never saw my mother?" said Zaidee, in a very low tone. Zaidee has said these same words a hundred times before. "No, poor child, I never saw her. She was so Everybody looked to Philip; and Philip, turn-young, Percy said-so pretty, and strange, and ing uneasily in his chair, laughed, and put So-broken hearted, with that little chain of yours, phy away from him. "I suppose, mother, in the particular of blandness and suavity," said the heir "I have heard nothing else in my grandfather resembling me."

Zaidee, on her neck, and your poor father's Bible always in her hand. I looked every day for Percy bringing her home, and he knew I would take it to heart so, that he never wrote me of her death. I never knew, Zaidee, till I saw your uncle leading you into the Grange, all by yourself, poor little orphan, and then I thought I should have fainted. I had so set my mind on comforting poor Frank's widow. Don't cry, child, I'm sure you can't remember your poor mother."

And Zaidee swallowed her tears very hastily and in silence, not acknowledging that this want of recollection was her very saddest grief; yet Zaidee had a visionary remembrance, half im agination, half memory, of this poor young mother, which she cherished in her inmost heart.

He sat there in that very seat," said the old lady. slightly shrugging her shoulders with a half shudder at the recollection," so polite! but with such a fierce, fiery glow in his red, gray eyes! His politeness was quite terrible. I don't think I ever was so frightened in my life; for it was so easy to see there was not a morsel of real kindness, and all the while that tiger glaring in his eyes! My poor Percy, your dear, good father, who never feared any man, and never had cause he was always so true and guileless himself was quite hushed and silent before the old Squire; for Percy had so good a heart, he could not bear, even in his thoughts, to be disre- "There was a very strange thing said just bespectful to his father, so he always took care that fore the Squire's death," resumed Mrs. Vivian; his father should have no cause to expose him-"I don't think I ever told you; though he was self in his presence-that is, so far as any man furious at Frank for running away-for the could take care; and people said there was nothing Squire had a certain regard for appearances afthat kept the Squire down so much as just thatter all-yet he had either grown more furious at respectfulness of Percy's. However, all that Percy afterwards, or else relented towards Frank. evening I sat trembling-I was so awkward-The land was never entailed, you know, and it spilt my wine at dinner-I scalded my hand when I made tea-and, I can tell you, I was thankful when next morning we came away." "Did you only stay one night, mamma? did you never see him again?" asked Sophy.

was confidently said that the Squire had made a will, disinheriting your father, and leaving everything to his youngest son. His lawyer had told somebody, and as no one could calculate what the Squire might do, it was very generally "I saw him many times again, but I never believed. Of course it made us very anxious, came back to the Grange in the Squire's life-for our family then was increasing every year; time," said Mrs. Vivian ;" and for years after he was dead, I dared no more sit here in the firelight than I dared fly. I always thought I saw him sitting in the great chair, smiling with

DLX. LIVING AGE. VOL. VIII. 27

and though Percy cheered me as well as he could, saying he was a young, strong man, and would so gladly work for us all-bless him, so he would, I knew that-Percy himself believed

it. However, when the old man died, though "I could not be an heiress, with so many Percy and the lawyer searched everywhere-for brothers and sisters," said Sophy, pouting a lit the Squire's papers were scattered over all the tle; and I am sure I don't think, besides that, house, in the most unlikely places-no such that I am quite so disagreeable as you say." thing was to be found-not a will at all-and | everything came to your father in the natural course. I never expected it, I am sure, but so it was."

"He never made the will, then? -or had he repented?" said Philip, with much interest.

Nay he had made the will: the lawyer said so," was the answer, "leaving the Grange, the lands, everything, to his son Frank. I suppose he must have got into a rage with Frank again, and burnt it. It was very well for us he did not give all away to some stranger, or to some charity; and I can't tell you how thankful I was when no will was to be found."

"Oh, mother! if one should turn up now!" cried Sophy.

"Your father took care to look everywhere; your father was too anxious about you all to miss any corner," said Mrs. Vivian. No, no, it is twenty years since, no fear now. But I think that will do for to-night, children; ring for tea, Philip. Elizabeth, lift that work from the table; there never is room for the tray. And if any one likes to get the book and give me my sewing, I think we might finish that story, and get through a great deal of work to-night."

Why not, Sophy?"

Why not?- how simple you are," said the better instructed cousin. Of course no one could take such a gift as that, unless it was from a king or some very great person, who had plenty to give. No, no, I would rather have had Philip working hard to make his own fortune than taking the Grange, if it had been left to you; but not to speak of that, Zay, how would you like to be an heiress, all for yourself?"

"I would not," said Zaidee, with sudden animation; a woman should be poor."

"I would not like, even," said Zaidee with great simplicity, going on with her own thoughts, "to be beautiful like Elizabeth- because I should always think people liked me for being beautiful, and not for just being me."

"Upon my word! and if you were neither pretty, nor amiable, nor good-neither like Elizabeth, nor an heiress, nor anything," exclaimed Sophy, "what good would it do any one to like you because you were you ?

Zaidee could not very well answer this question; it was her turn, now, to be puzzled and shake her head. "I cannot tell," said Zaidee under her breath; "it would do no one any good, but that would be love.”

"Love is not a proper thing to talk about," said Sophy, drawing herself up in womanly state. The blood rushed over Zaidee's face in deep girlish shame. "I do not mean what you mean," said Zaidee; "it is not love like -like Elizabeth; but why is my aunt Vivian so good to me, and Philip, and all of you? Sophy, why have you been so kind to me all my life?"

"Kind! - -no such thing," cried Sophy, indignantly, a little moisture creeping to the corners of her eyes at this appeal; "one never thinks of being kind to one's own family,- that is quite a different thing; why, you are our Zaidee such an odd, stupid, spoiled little girl that's all!"

Zaidee was long silent, pulling the grave ears of Sermo, and something like a tear startled the paw of the favorite hound, falling heavily on its repose.

"It is not called so in books," said Zaidee, softly, at last; "everybody there is accomplished, and handsome, and amiable, and good; it is always for something that people like them,- - but I think this is proper love for all that; not because I am worth much, or pleasant, or pretty, but because I am just Zaidee- -me- that is why my aunt is always so kind, why all the rest care for me, and that is better than anything else in the world!"

"I dare say Sermo thinks so. It is no matter how you are dressed, or how you look, or anything," Serme always chooses you," said Sophy, laughing; but now, you see, I am not so heroical. I should like, very well, to be an heiress, and I should like, still better-hush, Zaidee, you need not tell any one to be beautiful. I could bear to be more beautiful than Elizabeth, I think. I do believe I could. There's something in Shak

would not be a queen, not for all the world."
But I never said it was not very good to be
rich and pretty too in a way," said Zaidee;
only not for one's self."

Now Sophy could by no means see the jus-speare, oh, to be sure, Anne Bullen, and she tice of this proposition. She shook her head. "Should be poorthat is all your romance and nonsense. I cannot see why, for my part," said Sophy, "for I am quite sure women make as good a use of money as men."

She would not be a queen, that would she not,
For all the frogs in Egypt.

said Sophy. "I wish I had a fairy godmother,
like Cinderella. I would not refuse to be as pret-
ty as she liked, if she asked me."

Some one just then emerged out of the open