in a voice almost choked with the excess of her feelings, "My sister, love me!-oh, love me!" But Adelaide's heart, seared by selfishness and vanity, was incapable of loving anything in which self had no share; and, for the first time in her life, she felt awkward and embarrassed. Her sister's streaming eyes and supplicating voice spoke a language to which she was a stranger; for art is ever averse to recognise the accents of nature. Still less is it capable of replying to them; and Adelaide could only wonder at her sister's agitation, and think how unpleasant it was; and say something about overcome, and eau de luce, and composure; which was all lost upon Mary as she hung upon her neck, every feeling wrought to its highest tone by the complicated nature of those emotions which swelled her heart. At length, making an effort to regain her composure, "Forgive me, my sister!" said she. "This is very foolish-to weep when I ought to rejoice—and I do rejoice -and I know I shall be so happy yet! But in spite of the faint smile that accompanied her words, tears again burst from her eyes.

"I am sure I shall have infinite pleasure in your society," replied Adelaide, with her usual sweetness and placidity, as she replaced a ringlet in its proper position; "but I have unluckily an engagement at this time. You will, however, be at no loss for amusement; you will find musical instruments there," pointing to an adjacent apartment; "and here are new publications, and porte feuilles of drawings you will perhaps like to look over; and so saying, she disappeared.

"Musical instruments and new publications," repeated Mary mechanically to herself; "what have I to do with them? Oh! for one kind word from my mother's lips!-one kind glance from sister's eye! my

And she remained overwhelmed with the weight of those emotions, which, instead of pouring into the hearts of others, she was compelled to concentrate in her own. Her mournful reveries were interrupted by her kind friend, Lady Emily; but Mary deemed her sorrow too sacred to be betrayed even to her, and therefore rallying her spirits, she strove to enter into those schemes of amusement suggested by her cousin for passing the day. But she found herself unable for such continued exertion: and hearing a large party was expected to dinner, she retired, in spite of Lady Emily's remonstrance, to her own apartment, where she sought a refuge from her thoughts, in writing to her friends at Glenfern.

Lady Juliana looked in upon her as she passed to dinner. She was in a better humour, for she had received a new dress which was particularly becoming, as both her maid and her glass had attested.

Again Mary's heart bounded towards the being to whom she owed her birth; yet afraid to give utterance to her feelings, she could only regard her with silent admiration till a moment's consideration converted that into a less pleasing feeling, as she observed for the first time, that her mother wore no mourning.

Lady Juliana saw her astonishment, and, little guessing the cause, was flattered by it. "Your style of dress is very obsolete, my dear," said

she, as she contrasted the effect of her own figure and her daughter's in a large mirror; "and there's no occasion for you to wear black here. I shall desire my woman to order some things for you; though perhaps there won't be much occasion, as your stay here is to be short; and, of course, you won't think of going out at all. Apropos, you will find it dull here by yourself, won't you? I shall leave you my darling Blanche for a companion," kissing a little French lap-dog, as she laid it in Mary's lap; "only you must be very careful of her, and coax her, and be very, very good to her; for I would not have my sweetest Blanche vexed, not for the world! And, with another long and tender salute to her dog, and a "Good-bye, my dear," to her daughter, she quitted her to display her charms to a brilliant drawing-room, leaving Mary to solace herself in her solitary chamber with the whines of a discontented lap-dog.

CHAPTER XXXVI

"C'est un personnage illustre dans son genre, et qui a porté le talent de se bien nourrir jusque où il pouvoit aller; il ne semble né que pour la digestion."-LA BRUYÈRE.

IN every season of life grief brings its own peculiar antidote along with it. The buoyancy of youth soon repels its deadening weight-the firmness of manhood resists its weakening influence -the torpor of old age is insensible to its most acute pangs.

In spite of the disappointment she had experienced the preceding day, Mary arose the following morning with fresh hopes of happiness springing in her heart.

"What a fool I was," thought she, "to view so seriously what, after all, must be merely difference of manner; and how illiberal to expect everyone's manners should accord exactly with my ideas; but now that I have got over the first impression, I daresay I shall find everybody quite amiable and delightful!"

And Mary quickly reasoned herself into the belief that she only could have been to blame. With renovated spirits she therefore joined her cousin, and accompanied her to the breakfasting saloon. The visitors had all departed, but Dr. Redgill had returned, and seemed to be at the

winding up of a solitary but voluminous meal. He was a very tall, corpulent man, with a projecting front, large purple nose, and a profusion of chin.

"Good morning, ladies," mumbled he with a full mouth, as he made a feint of half-rising from his chair. "Lady Emily, your servant-Miss Douglas I presume-hem! allow me to pull the bell for your Ladyship," as he sat without stirring hand or foot; then after it was done-"'pon my honour, Lady Emily, this is not using me well. Why did you not desire me?-and you are so nimble, I defy any man to get the start of you.'

"I know you have been upon hard service, Doctor, and therefore I humanely wished to spare you any additional fatigue," replied Lady Emily.

"Fatigue, phoo! I'm sure I mind fatigue as little as any man; besides, it's really nothing to speak of. I have merely rode from my friend Admiral Yellowchops' this morning."

"I hope you passed a pleasant day there vesterday?"

"So so very so so," returned the Doctor drily. "Only so so, and a turtle in the case!" exclaimed Lady Emily.

It

"Phoo!-as to that, the turtle was neither here nor there. I value turtle as little as any man. You may be sure it wasn't for that I went to see my old friend Yellowchops. happened, indeed, that there was a turtle, and a very well-dressed one too; but where five and thirty people (one half of them ladies, who, of course, are always helped first), sit down to dinner, there's an end of all rational happiness in my opinion."