slowly filling in her eyes. It stirred, it fell, it dropped upon his hand

Count Clairmont kissed it off.

The tableau was picturesque: they lingered in it a moment, as if they knew it became them. "Dear! dear! there's Pa!" exclaimed Rosalie in a sudden fright, and she threw open a large portfolio of plates.

"An extraordinary taste, Count," said the old gentleman, "Rosalie has for the fine arts." "Oh, Pa!"

"I never knew such an ear, and as for drawing-"

"Oh dear, Pa! how can you-❞

"Then for the plain, sweet old English ballad, my Lord-"

"Good gracious, Pa, don't you see the Count wants to go?"

"What, are you off, Count? Bless me, we must keep you for dinner."

"Necessity, Mr Romain; you know the tyranny of appointments."

"Break them, Count, they are not with the bank. My love, can't you persuade him to remain?"

"I have not tried, Pa."

"Hey-day, these saucy girls! but we must not let you off besides the sky looks showery."

"But showers sometimes," said Clairmont, with a slight glance at Miss Romain, "are more beautiful than sunshine."

"Let him go, Pa; I am sure it will not rain again to day."

66

Why, you jade," cried the old gentleman, you will drive him away in earnest."

"Lock her up, she is mischievous," said the Count, shaking his finger playfully at the laughing girl, as he withdrew.

"The sky has cleared," said Mr. Romain. "Yes, Pa."

"What an elegant young man Count Clairmont is."

"Yes, Pa."

"You are going to Mr. Temple's to-night

Rosalie."

"Yes, if you please, dear Pa."

"You will see the Count there."

"I hope not, Pa; I think him rather disagreeable."

"The ladies are pulling caps for him notwithstanding, they say, in all directions. He is very rich, and appears fond of us,—perhaps―" "Oh no, Pa, only polite."

"Well, every thing is for the best." "Yes, Pa."

"I think Temple's girl will manage to❞— "To what Pa,?" said Rosalie with sudden eagerness.

"Go get ready for dinner, child," said the musing father, recollecting himself,-" it is no affair of ours."

"Yes, Pa. No, Pa!" replied the dutiful daughter, with innocent simplicity, and retired to dress.

CHAPTER IV.

A DREAM, AND AS DREAMS OFTEN ALL BL.

"And thes from Fancy's realne

Fal'a back to earth."-Awa.

THERE is nothing like a roct. Those grea by Mrs. Temple were the most brillant New York. But we must know Mrs. Tempue before we attend her parties.

You have seen a sweet, quiet, unambitious woman, formed for the wife of a poet, whose life would güde happily away amid the green shades of the country; a woman to read to during the long winter nights; to converse with, when the overworked mind and heart are

wearied and exhausted in the world; to look at with inward delight, while she teaches the children their evening lessons-their innocent prayers, kisses them, blesses them, and packs them off to bed.

Such a woman we have all seen, but such a woman was not Mrs. Temple. Her portrait might be appropriately hung opposite to this as you see pendants of sunrise and moonlight, calm and storm, gleaming, side by side, from the walls of an Academy. Mrs. Temple was a city wife, formed to dazzle and triumph in companies; she had trodden the flowery path of an admired belle, had early married a wild, good-hearted fellow, very much like herself, some said for love, some for money. They were affluent beyond measure-loved each other well enough to be perfectly happy when together, or when apart. The blooming girl had scarcely changed as the beautiful wife and the still glowing and