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Original sortrt).
ror thP Southern Literary Gazette.
FRAGMENT.
I.
-truck the.* when they smiled the most;
tautrht thee what thy heart had lost;
thee hope for better things,
j ir ,| each word they spoke with stings.
11.
,hou not fly ‘—in other lands,
int may renew its “bands,”
irW restore, and happly, heal
llinn( | that here thou still must feel.
111.
)(lt ask thee love again ;
, u .;| 1 know the thought is pain ;
t the heart that’s truly thine,
irt hv thee, then cherish mine !
IV.
ivars ago, thou had’st its vow ;
truly it renews it now ;
youth hath fled thy form, oh see,
omes, in all its youth, to thee !
V.
„h threatening looks would fain affright, j
(I ter words and thoughts would blight,
[Ponee more, with fondest will,
tosuffer with thee still.
VI.
!y with me ! If I, thus blest,
home, and there a cherish'd quest,
bus that home, that homage, fly,
th. c, to mourn, to toil, to die ;
VII.
thou.thus scorned by all that know,
: doomed to slight, to shame, to wo,
W ,.| forget the world thus known,
tie to love so much thine own.
Charleston. S.C. GINUS.
LOVE.
is not that eye of liquid fire,
Tho-e cheeks that witlt the roses vie,
hat wakes my soul to warm desire,
And tills my heart with ecstaey.
not the dimple on thy cheek,
Where mingling love and graces play,
rvet the ivory of thy neck,
Where amorous ringlets love to stray.
; :i,, eye is bright, thy neck is fair.
And sweet, indeed, thy tresses flow,
it'tis not eye, or neck, or hair,
Fuat makes my heart with rapture glow.
charm that brings me to thy feet,
That makes me seek and love thee well, ;
.—-till a something very sweet, —
But what it is I cannot tell.
‘ounce, Ala. WERTER.
tflir fh’rij ifrllrr.
From the Loudon Family Herald.
CORA?
OK TIIE TAKE-IN.
My dear Cora,” exclaimed Mrs.!
itn. toa beautiful young girl, who j
accompanied her back from a re- j
visit to the United States, and
at that moment entered the room
iv the mistress of the house was ‘
._ r . “ 1 pray you tell me where you j
ired the exquisite rouge with which !
haw just tinged your cheeks.”
i got it from this,” answered Cora, i
ing out an open letter as she spoke. |
A deviation in form from Sir Phil
piesuine. said her hostess, taking !
letter that Cora offered her.
dh. no!” returned the young Amer
.laughing. “Suchan epistle would
have raised the colour on my
A. 1 assure you.”
And vet it is no trifling matter,
coming from the possessor of an I
fide and a long rent-roll.”
i hey are very pretty things, no
k but yet not such as will ever
Pi my heart.”
kit perhaps it is not necessary that
Int should have anything to do
l mi afraid I am too old-fashioned i
I pense w ith it,” said the beauty, I
‘mile; “ but read that letter,and |
r mt a different source my pleasure
I s from.”
’ Holbeu did as she was request- j
M perused the following note : j
P’ Dear Cora,—Papa and mamma !
nst come to the determination ■
!!li me to my sister, to spend my \
i‘ l:nas with grandpa and grandma ;
aroline and 1 both agree that it |
: make our holidays most delight
('°md we prevail upon our dear
laecompatiy us. 1 acknowledge
iir from a tempting invitation, to !
you to spend a week in a lonely
ltr , v house, in the depth of winter,
with a very aged couple. To the
•liitv of young ladies, so surround- i
r *th the means of enjoyment, and
“'dug so many qualities calculated
iiw a crowd of admirers around j
1 should consider the proposal j
-terous, but a something whispers j
bat my dear Cora would enjoy the j
‘‘inplation of two of the finest mo- j
“1 antiquity now extant, more than j
: ;‘ing that the world of fashion can
“b- Grandpa is now in his nine
-1 }'*ar, and grandma, though twelve
byounger, is still very far advanced
” journey of life; and I believe
‘•H find it no uninteresting occu
r 1 to make yourself personally ac*-
ol with two living specimens of
* English gentry. We expect to
the oitv on Monday next by the
[ H and grandpa’s carriage will
r u> ; at the nearest station. Papa
[’ “ ! g"iug with us, but if he ispre
r ‘• he will provide for us a fitting
I should have come to talk
“utter over with you in person,
I'in obliged to go out this morning
r Mamma. 1 shall endeavour, how
[' 1,1 s e you in the evening, and
to hear from your sweet lips, that
I ar e disposed to gratify the wishes
I Ur truly affectionate friend,
*• Mary Holland.”
U r!( l what answer do you mean to
[ ! ; ’ asked Mrs. Hoi ben, as she
f. u p the letter.
I- 1 ’ -\ ou have no objection, 1 shall
I 1 tree and hearty consent,” replied
f'onnpanion.
I don’t know that I should have any
I to make objections, were 1 even
I I med. 1 believe the laws of your
4 mi he, mmm m mummm. tm Am aib scamis. iib tb asm wmMmm.
country have already made you your
own mistress.”
“1 never wish to be independent of
the feelings of those around me,” re
turned the sweet girl, with a look of
great ingenuousness ; “ and, therefore,
if my going would be at all disagreea
ble to you, I ”
“It can only be disagreeble to me,
my dear Cora, interrupted her friend,
eagerly, “as depriving me of your com
pany. But the Holland family is a
most charming one, and I shall be hap
py to have you cultivate the acquaint
ance of every member of it. There is
one individual, however, of whom I
would have you beware.”
“ Who is that ?” asked Cora, with
surprise.
“ The youngest-son of the venerable
pair, Mr. Edward Holland, whom you
have always heard spoken of under
the familiar title of‘Uncle Ned,’ though
he is not yet. I believe, above five-and
twenty.”
“What, that handsome, silent and
blushing statue?” asked Cora, laughing.
“ The same; and though so silent,
woe be to poor Sir Philip, should he be
of your party.”
“ It will be the same to Sir Philip
whoever may he there. But though
convinced, both from the report of Mr.
Holland’s nieces, and many of his let
ters, that they have shown me, that he
is a man of splendid talents, I believe I
am not sufficiently imaginative, for so
impassive a being to make much im
pression on my heart.”
“ You cannot but think him very
haudsome,” said the mistress of the
house.
“ Oh, exceedingly so,” was the reply.
“And that when those full line orbs
of his are permitted to appear from un
der their long lashes, they bespeak a
soul noble and elevated.”
“ 1 admit all that, but though he nei
ther appears reserved nor sheepish, he
is clothed in so unique a coat of mo
desty, that I am always disposed to
laugh when I look at him. Indeed, I
did once commit that sin, for happen
ing one day to make referenc toa piece
of wit of his, that 1 had read in one of
his letters to Mary, never dreaming
that he would not he as ready to join
in the joke as any of us, to my infinite
surprise, his eyes dropt in an instant,
and he looked as downcast and modest
as a young girl of fifteen. I was so
struck with the novelty of the sight,
that I burst out a-laughing, and his face
immediately became a perfect crim
son. I hope and trust he will not be
of the party, for 1 shall certainly keep
the poor man in perfect perplexity by
my propensity to laugh at his girlish
sensibility.”
“ Let those laugh that win!” said
Mrs. Ilolben ; “ but if you return, af
ter being exposed to the danger, with
out having lost your heart, I shall have
much less faith in my own judgment in
future.” .
“ You may depend upon it then, that
you will receive a lesson in humility,
for, in addition to every other consider
ation, my heart is made of very invul
nerable materials.”
“A girl of nineteen is no doubt very
capable of judging of the material her
heart is made of.”
“ I have a very good right to know
that I have a hard one,” said Cora,
laughing, “ because I have been so often
told so.”
“On good authority, no doubt. Such,
for instance, as Sir Philip’s.”
“ Oh no, he says I have no heart at
all!”
“ Perhaps I may say that is the case,
too, when you return from Cheshire,”
said the elder lady with a smile.
“ I am not afraid,” replied the lively
girl. “M ine has withstood many much
bolder and more daring attacks than
are likely to be made upon it by any
one I shall meet there, even if there
was a disposition to assail it; but, in
stead of that being the case, Uncle Ned
never voluntarily spoke to me a dozen
times since 1 was first introduced to
him. But I must now go and answer
Mary’s letter.” And so saying, Cora
ran off, making the wide staircase ring
as she went carolling a favourite Italian
air.
Our heroine and her companions, con
sisting of Mary Holland, her young
widowed sister, Mrs. Florence, with her
little daughter, Lily, as her more ma
jestic name of Elizabeth was familiarly
rendered, and Uncle Ned (his eldest
brother—Mary’s father —being unable
to leave home), left town on the day
appointed, and found Mr. Holland’s
large family coach, drawn by four im
mensely large and fine, fat horses, wait
ing for them at the appointed station.
It was late when they arrived, and the
table for supper —that indispensable
meal in an English family—was al
ready set. They were received in the
most affectionate manner, for even Cora,
in consequence of being introduced by
their children, in addition to the claims
of hospitality, might have imagined
she had met unexpectedly with some
near relatives. After they had satis
fied their hunger, and thawed them
selves by an enormous fire in a huge
old-fashioned chimney-piece, our hero
ine was conducted by her two friends,
Caroline and Mary, to her sleeping
apartment, but not till she had been
affectionately kissed by the old lady,
after which her husband came forward,
and with a perfect air of gallantry, said
he thought an old man of ninety might
venture to claim the same privilege,
on which the lovely girl held up her
pretty mouth, as if to be kissed bv her
grandpapa. The bedroom was enliven
ed with a cheerful fire, whilst its bed,
with the thick damask hangings drawn
around it, and windows concealed by
curtains of the same material, together
with the rich velvety Turkey carpet,
gave it an air of comfort and elegance
that our young traveller had never be
fore seen equalled. Though the ruddy
fire gave out many a brilliant flame,
yet when once esconced within the thick
damask drapery, the light became so
softened that it offered no obstacle to
sleep, and Cora sank to repose, whilst
comparing the various manners and
customs w hich the different countries
she had visited in her tour through Eu
rope had exhibited.
At the first streak of dawn she heard
her chamber door gently opened, when
the housemaid stole softy in, and al
most noiselessly kindled up her fire
afresh, and then crept out again as qui
etly as she had entered, a ceremony
which was no unacceptible preparation
for the storms that Cora heard raging
with merciless fury. On drawing back
the curtains after she arose, she found
that the snow* and rain were beating
against the little thick panes of glass,
so as almost to prevent the passage of
light through them, whilst the winds
howled about the house like so many
angry giants.
These things, however, had little ef
fect on Cora’s happy temperament, for
she possessed a sunshine of the breast
that was proof against all external dark
ness; and she set about the business
of the toilet without feeling any alarm
at having to spend a dreary winter’s
day without any amusement but what
would be found within the gothic walls
of the hospitable mansion. She thought
with pleasure of again seeing the vener
able old gentleman who then called it
master, a tall and still a fine-looking
man, perfectly upright, with a firm and
steady step altogether independent of
foreign aid. His manners polite and
courteous, and his perceptions so clear,
that he could enter into a joke with the
readiness and vivacity of yourh. lie
was attentive and kind to all, but there
was a something so chivalric in his ad
dress to females, that it led the mind to
think of the times of knights and trou
badours. He was the hereditary pos
sessor of a very large and valuable
estate, which of course would descend
to his eldest son ; but though he had
brought up a numerous family, so well
had he manged his affairs, that his pru
dence, together with his unusually long
life, had enabled him to amass a large
fortune, to be divided amongst the
younger branches of his family. His
wife, too, had at various times become
heir to great wealth, and as that was
all unencumbered by entails, his chil
dren had each the prospect of large for
tunes. Mrs. Holland had evidently
been very pretty in her youth, and her
manners had all the lady-like attention
to politeness and good manners pecu
liar to the old school ; but it was easy
to see that her mind was neither origi
o
nally of so superior a cast as that of
her husband, nor yet cultivated with
the same care.
The house was still more antiquated
than its master and mistress, for it had
been the residence of a long line of an
cestors, who were all traced by their
youngest son, in the form of a tree with
wide-spreading branches, which was
handsomely framed and hung up to or
nament the usual sitting-room of the
venerable couple. The furniture w'as
in keeping with the age of its owners,
for the mania of new fashions had made
no innovation there.
The little Lily came to conduct the
young stranger through tne long gal
leries and winding staircases to the
breakfast-parlour, where she was re
ceived with the same embraces which
had been bestowed upon her at parting
the night before, whilst Uncle Ned, ta
king her hand to lead her to the break
fast-table, pressed it gently but kindly,
and said, “ It is enough to make me re
gret that I am not as old as my father,
to witness the honours to which he is
admitted !” Cora looked up with as
much surprise at hearing this com
pliment from him, as though it was the
first she had ever received in her life,
and then curtesying and laughing, said
she would be happy to receive the
same compliment from him on his nine
tieth birthday.
As they took their seats at the break
fast table, Mrs. Holland remarked that
the snow-flakes were falling thicker and
faster.
“They are our first snowdrops,” said
her son, “we ought, therefore to make
much of them.”
“Snowdrops,” repeated his mother,
“they are such as can grow in the midst
of water, then.”
“Or water-lilies,perhaps; rarer still,”
said Uncle Ned.
“ Nonsense!” said his mother, rather
impatiently ; why do you keep play
ing upon every word I say in that man
ner, Ned? It is a very bad trick you
have.”
“My dear mother,” returned the son,
“how does it happen that you are so
fond of hearing Caroline and Mary play,
and do not like to hear me ? ’
“Because they make sweet music,”
the parent replied.
“ Not half so sweet, nor what we any
of us like half so well to hear, as the
music produced by the instrument that
you say 1 play upon.” As the son said
this, he turned his fine eyes upon his
mother’s face, with a look of so much
sweetness and affection that she was at
once appeased.
“ Well,” returned she, “whether they
be snowdrops or lilies that are pouring
down at a great rate, I really w ish they
had stayed away, for 1 am sorry to have
the weather so bad, at the very cora
mencemet of our young friend’s visit
to Sandlebridge Hall.” Mary was, at
the moment the old lady spoke, in the
act of raising a cup to her mouth, but
putting it down, with an air of great
pretended seriousness, she said, “ La
dies and gentlemen, l find that my feel
ings are in the way of being frequent
ly and severely wounded to-day, by
hearing disrespectful remarks made
about the weather, which, as being very
good and proper weather, that is doing
its utmost to fulfil the purposes for
which it was sent, I am determined to
take under my especial protection. I
propose, therefore, that whoever shall,
in the course of this day, be heard to
say anything disrespectful of the said
weather, shall pay a forfeit, which for
feit shall only be redeemed by the
owner’s doing such an act of penance
as shall be determined upon by the
ruling authority. Grandpa,” she con
-1 tinued, turning to her aged relative
CHARLESTON. SATURDAY. SEPT. 21, 1850.
with a look of the most bewitching
playfulness, “ will you second my mo
i tion ?”
“Certainly, my dear.” replied the
venerable man,
Whose east/ presence checked no sober mirth.
“ I think it a motion well worthy of the
person who has brought it forward, and
therefore give it my hearty support.
“And you, grandma, what do you
say to it ?”
“ ()h, I approve of it highly, only 1
shall take care to hold my tongue, and
keep out of the scrape.”
“ And now, Uncle Ned,” continued
Mary, “ I appeal to you, as the most
likely person to have some quibble or
quirk of the law, by which to escape
punishment. Do you agree to my pro
i posal?”
“ I agree to it, provided, after I have
j paid one penalty, I may have the satis
faction of abusing the weather as much
as I like afterwards, without incurring
: another.”
“ Oh, 1 shall only exact it once, and
| hope your gratitude will be sufficient to
I guard you against a second transgres
sion. And now Cora and Caroline, I
I am sure I may expect implicit obedi
! once to the laws from you.”
“ Provided,” replied Caroline, “they
i are not like the laws of Lycurgus, only
| made to catch the little flies and let the
large ones escape.”
“ In that case,” addded Cora, “our
wisest way would be to try which can
sin the most.”
“ I see very plainly,” said our law
giver, “ that you mean to pass this mat
ter off as a mere joke ; but 1 intend it
to be most rigidly adhered to. Even
Lily here shall not escape,” she con
tinued, as she stooped down and kissed
her little niece.
“ What must I do. Aunt Mary ?“ —
I asked the child.
“ You must pay me a forfeit, when
I ask you for one. You understand
how to play at forfeits, you khow.”
“But you musn’t ask for this pretty
knife and fork that Uncle Ned has giv
en me!” replied the child, holding up,
as she spoke a very elegant silver knife
and fork that her uncle had brought her
as a Christmas present, and which she
was using to a very good effect.
This important subject, and their
meal, being alike discussed, the party
separated, according to the fancy of
each ; hut it was not long before they
were again assembled pretty closely
| around the large cheerful fire in the
breakfast-parlour; for though both the
music-room and library were warm and
ready for their reception, the young
people thought, as they were come to
be company to the aged couple, they
ought in the morning, at least, when
they were fresh and able to enjoy so-
I ciety, so devote the time entirely to
them. The walls of the house were so
exceedingly thick that the embrasure of
the windows were deep enough to ad
| mit a small table and a couple es chairs,
i and in one of these, in the vicinity of
the old lady’s chair, Cora and Mary en
sconced themselves. It had the double
advantage of enabling them to talk to
her whenever she wished them to do so,
and at other times of amusing them
selves with their own more lively sal
lies, without annoying her. Uncle Ned
had taken his station about half way
between his mother and them, some
times conversing with her, and at others
throwing a few words to the more ju
venile party, just sufficient to show that
they were not always words of wisdom
that fell from his tongue, when his
father entered the room and hastened
shivering to the fire.
“ 1 suppose, Miss Cora,” said he, as
he rubbed his hands before the grate,
“you scarcely know anything of such
weather as tins in your country. It is
generally of a more determinate char
acter, and either rains or snows, as if it
knew* what it meant to be about.”
“ I believe,” reDliedour heroine, “wc
have occasionally as bad weather as
either this, or any that you ever expe
rience. The only difference is, that our
bad weather seldom stays so long with
us as yours does. It is a common re
mark amongst our weather-wise people,
that any extreme, whatever it be, sel
dom lasts above three days.”
“We should sometimes be glad to
compromise for three weeks,” said the
old gentleman.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Holland,
“ whilst you are talking about the cold,
you forget that this is too bad weather
to admit of a door being left open.”
“ I suppose my father thought, by
admitting it into good company, he
might improve its manners,” said Uncle
Ned, laughing, as he rose and shut the
door.
“ Very well, good people,” exclaim
ed Mary, “you really proceed most
admirably. Here are no less than
four offenders all at once. My business
of apprehending the culprits will be
much shorter than I had dared to an
ticipate.” As each began to consider
; what had been said, a general laugh
was,set up, and Mr. Holland enjoyed
so heartily the manner he had drawn
all into the snare, that though he would
j not acknowledge having been em
ployed as an officer, he was strongly
suspected of having acted the part of a
i Vidocq.
“ 1 have only two more to watch
now,” said Mary, “and then for the re
deeming of your pledges.”
“ I hope,” returned Cora, “ you will
have the honesty to detect yourself,
should we not remember to do it for
you.”
“ Certainly,” replied the lively girl,
“if I sin 1 shall acknowledge it; but
you can hardly imagine I would de
tract from a character 1 am so anxious
to protect."’
The next business was to collect the
forfeits. She began with the first of
fender, her grandfather, and nothing
would serve her but a seal, which he
said had hung at his watch-chain up
wards of seventy years. He had him
self gathered the stone from the Cairn
Gorm Mountain, when only nineteen,
and had had it immediately polished
and set as it then was, She then took
* •
sssthe bracelet of her own hair from Co
ra's arm, and prevailed upon her grand
mother to give up her favourite snuff
box, fearing, as she said, if she took
any other, she would not care to re
deem it. There was then a pretty hard
scuffle, between the uncle and niece,
about what she was to have from him.
He had something in the pocket of his
waistcoat, that she was sure he prized
very highly, for she had more than once
caught him lookingat it,when he thought
no one observed him, and nothing would
satisfy her but this same paper. He
offered her a breast pin, a seal, or a
watch-key, all of which were highly
valuable, but nothing would do but that
identical paper. At length, after a se
rious promise having been obtained,
that she would neither look at it her
self. nor permit any one else to do so,
it was committed to her care.
• Why it is a lock of hair, I’m cer
tain,” cried Mary, as she took it, and
felt all over the paper. “ Ah, Uncle
Ned, I find you have been playing cheat
with us; for after declaring, as you have
done, twenty times, that you never yet
felt In belle passion, you have a lady
love snugly enshrined somewhere not
very far from your heart.”
Before she hud done speaking the
young man’s face had become perfectly
crimson ; and he said, in a tone of re
proach, “ I consider this very nearly al
lied to a breach of promise, Mary.”
Poor Mary was immediately stung
to the quick, and throwing her arms
around her uncle’s neck, “Ah, Uncle
Ned,” she exclaimed, “pray forgive me!
Indeed I only meant to joke with you a
little. I had no idea it was anything
but mere pretended mystery that was
attached to the paper.”
“ Well, you need not break your
heart about it,” he replied, kUsing her
cheek kindly as he spoke; “for after
all it can onlv a little sooner bring that
to light, which must before long he
known.”
This point being settled, and the
business of folding each article up, so as
to make all feel alike to the blindfold
goddes , each packet was sealed with
her own privy seal, as Uncle Ned call
ed it, and the whole put into a bag,
which was hung up to await the further
additions that were expected to be made
to it. So much time had been taken
up with joking, disputing, and arrang
ing, that dinner, which was never later
than three, was announced just as the
important bag was suspended.
“ If every hour escapes from me,
whilst here, as unconsciously as the last
five have done, I shall learn a very im
portant lesson before l leave, on the
shortness of life,” said Cora, as Mr.
Holland, with all the gallantry of a
young man, drew her arm within his,
to lead her to the dining-room.
“If your enjoyment has been so great,
what must ours have been, who have
had your sweet smiles playing upon us
all the time!"’ returned her flattering
companion.
“ Miss Cora’s must have been the
greater, in the proportion that ‘it is
more blessed to give than to receive,’”
said his son, who Cora found was fol
lowing close at their heels, with his
mother (to whom his attentions were
most dutiful) leaning on his ann. Oh,
could those young men, who imagine
they add to their own dignity, by treat
ing their parents with contempt, and
speak of “ The old man” and “the old
woman,” as they would of a pair of
worn out boots, become sensible of the
beauty of filial tenderness, how much
loveliness would they add to their char
acters, and how much pure unmixed
enjoyment would they impart to their
lives !
In the course of the afternoon, Cora
and Mary were again seated in the em
brasure of the window near Mrs. Hol
land’s chair, and Caroline and her little
Lily were at the opposite side of the
fireplace, for the weather was so exceed
ingly bitter that the child felt not her
usual disposition to run about, but
stood with an aim across her mother’s
lap, as if anxious to catch as much of the
heat from the fire as possible. Mary
was busy making a dress for a paste
board Fanny Elssler, which was to
dance upon the carpet, and Cora was
employed painting the face, arms, and
feet of the same. “ Come hither, Lily,”
said Mary, “ and see what a beautiful
dress this will be.”
“Oh, no! A’t Mary, it is such a bad
day beside that window, 1 don’t ’ant to
go there,” replied the child, pressing still
closer to her mother.
“ Then perhaps 1 may give this Fan
ny Elssler to some other little girl,” re
joined the aunt.
“ fell Aunt Mary,” said Caroline, as
she stroked down her little girl’s golden
locks, “that you like nothing so well,
in this bad weather, as to stay beside
mamma close to the fire.”
“ Thank you, Mrs. Florence cried Ma
ry, laughing; “that is all I wanted. 1
have got you and Lily hooked in, and
now my budget is complete.”
“ But your own tribute is not added
to it yet,” returned her sister, as she
unclasped one of her jet ear-rings, whilst
Mary took a coral amulet from her lit
tle niece’s arm and began immediately
to fold them up and place them with
the others.
“ Now it must be the business of all
of us to catch you,” said Cora.
“You may try,” said Mary, with a
look of great security.
“ 1 will watch her closely,” said Caro
line.
“Oh, I will trap her, by some means
or other,” added Uncle Ned ; who at
that moment came into the room, and
saw the fresh forfeits she was making
up. From that time they were all at
work, but in vain ; Mary was constant
ly on her guard, and all were in despair
about throwing her off it.
“ I am afraid we shall not succeed,”
saic! the young widow, on her sister’s
leaving the room for a few* minutes;
“she is constantly on the watch.”
“ Let her alone, said the old gentle
man, “and 1 will catch her before the
night is over.”
A.ll therefore agreed to make no fur
ther efforts, but leave the work to him.
The night closed in, and though thick
moreen curtains were dropped down
to the floor over the close shutters, the
wind was heard to blow, and the rain,
hail, and snow to beat as if only just
beginning their work. The tea-things
were brought in, and Mary went to the
table to make tea.
“Richard,” said Mr. Holland, going
to the table where the man stood wait
ing, “ is Michael getting ready to go t
Knutsford ?”
“To Knutsford, grandpa ? You sure
ly would not think of sending any one
to Knutsford to-night?” cried Mary,
stopping her operation of putting the
tea into the pot.
“ Why not, my dear? 1 know that
you were anxious about a letter before
you left home, and that your mamma
promised to forward it to you.”
“Oh, grandpa!” exclaimed the sweet
girl, •“ l beg you will not send him. —
However anxious 1 may be for a letter,
1 would not for the world have any one
to go so far, on so dreadful a night, on
my account.”
A loud laugh of exultation, and the
clapping of hands, soon explained to
Mary how she hud been taken in.
“Now, my lady,” cried Cora, as soon
as she could cease from laughing, “ 1
hope you will learn to be less self-con
fident another time.”
“ Who could help being caught,”
returned Mary, pouting her beautiful
lips, and pretending to speak in a pet,
“ when grandpa undertook to be the
catcher.”
All then began to busy themselves
about Mary’s forfeit, and her sister in
sisted upon a locket which she wore
constantly in her bosom, being surren
dered, in punishment, she said, for
having made Uncle Ned give up his
precious little packet; but the fright
ened girl deprecated the sentence so
earnestly, that the gentle Caroline
could not persevere, and at length a
broach containing her lather and mo
ther's hair, very beautifully set, was
taken instead.
As soon as the tea-things were re
moved, Mary, ever cheerful and active,
and anxious to keep the demon of dul
ness away from the hearth, began to
make arrangements for the redeeming
of the pledges. It was determined that
the bag should be hung over a chair
back, and that little Lily should per
sonify the goddess of fortune, and bring
out the pledges as they came to hand.
When asked, “ What shall they do
who owns this pretty thing?” the an
swer w r as to sing a song. It happened
to be the old gentleman’s seal, and he,
with an arch expression of humour, im
mediately declared his intention to sing
“ Chevy Chase,” from beginning to end;
then starting forthwith, he continued to
drawl on the interminable ditty, till
Mary tried to stop his mouth, first with
her hand, and then with kisses, and ab
solutely forced him to receive his re
deemed pledge.
Mrs. Holland was the next to do
penance, and as hers was to relate an
anecdote, she gave an amusing and
pleasing account of the commencement
of her acquaintance with Lady Anne
Lindsay (afterwards Bernard), the gift
ed authoress of “ Auld Robin Gray,”
on her first visit to Balcarras, the seat
of the Lindsays.
But our limits forbid our partitular
ising any further on the subject; neither
could we, were we even less restricted,
do justice to the. subject, were w*e to at
tempt to describe how Cora sang or
Mary danced—how the gentle and in
teresting Caroline repeated with ex
treme feeling and beauty the death
scene in Gertrude of Wyoming; or
even how r the little Lily, when called
upon to waltz, placed herself in a grace
ful posture, and moved round the room
with a light and measured step, true to
the music of her mother’s voice.
Uncle Ned was now the only remain
ing forfeit, and as there was no uncer
tainty about who was to perform the
penance, Mary declared that it should
not be lightly redeemed, and called
upon all to assist her in contriving
something that should test the young
man’s powers. Caroline proposed that
he should give them a specimen of his
improvisatorial powers, with which he
used so frequently to amuse them years
ago; Mary voted for the banquet scene
in Macbeth , he alone personifying each
of the characters ; his father was for
having varied specimens of at least half
a dozen of the most distinguished speak
ers at the bar ; his mother wanted one
of his comic songs, and Lily begged
that he would make a baby cry up
up stairs, and an old woman scold be
low', as he had done on her birthday.
Mary frequently urged Cora to give her
vote, but our heroine declined, on the
plea that she was almost entirely un
acquainted with the powers of the per
former.
Before the point was settled, how
ever, Michael, who had really gone to
Knutsford, but on an errand of his own
not his master’s, came in and presented
to Mary her expected letter. Immedi
ately all else was forgotten, and telling
Uncle Ned he must redeem his pledge
at some other time, she was hastening
out of the room, when the young man
called after her, “You must not be sur
prised, Mary, if my hand finds its way
into the bag before you return.”
“ I will trust to your honour,” was
the niece’s reply, as she closed the door.
“ She little thinks how hard a task
she is imposing upon me,” said he, in
rather a serious tone.
“ I belive I can help you,” said our
heroine, looking at him with one of her
gay, sweet smiles. “ Mary, without
asking my leave, took possession of my
bag for her forfeits; lam not, therefore,
bound, to allow anything to remain
there unless I choose, so I shall take the
liberty of emptying out all incum
brances.” So saying, she took the bag
from the chair-back on which it hung,
and emptied the contents, consisting of
the remaining forfeit and a few scraps
of paper, on the floor.
“ I wish I could be sure that you did
this out of pure sympathy,” said Uncle
Ned, as he took up the little packet
and slipped it into his pocket.
“ 1 believe, if we examined cur feel-
THIRD VOLUME-NO. 20 WHOLE NO 1201
ings very closely, we should seldom
find them of a purely unmixed nature,”
returned Cora,laughing; “and,perhaps,
a little revenge at Mary’s having made
me exhibit myself this evening, may
have some part in mine. ’
“ I should like much to know if you
are aware what this paper contains V
continued the young man, fixing his
fine penetrating eyes on Cora as he
spoke.
“ 1 know no more than what Mary
said when she received it, that it was a
lock of hair,” replied our heroine, with
an ingenuous look ; “and 1 presume it
is a very beautiful one, for though your
mother often calls you a hairbrain, 1
don’t imagine vou would treasure any
thing of the kind unless it was of extra
ordinary excellence.”
“It is, Indeed, beautiful !” replied he,
“ but that is not its only value.”
“ Oh ! I never supposed it was so,”
returned his companion, in a lively tone
of voice. “It no doubt derives its
value from a very different source. If
1 had not thought so, 1 would never have
taken the trouble of putting it out of
the bag.
“ I wish I might dare to hope you
would be equally ready to sympathize
with me on other occasions,” said the
young man, seriously.
“As there is little chance of my hav
ing an opportunity of proving my read
iness to serve you, 1 will not attempt
any professions,” replied Cora.
“ If your will should be equal to your
power, you will be able to do much,
very much,” returned he with earnest
ness.
“I read Mrs. Barbauld’s fable ot The
Little Dog to Lily this morning,” said
Cora, playfully ; “ and I have learnt
from it that the most insignificant, if
well inclined, may be enabled to serve
the mightiest.”
The conversation was here interrupt
ed bv Mrs. Holland calling upon her
son to render her some little service,
after which, the party being joined by
Caroline, who had withdrawn for the pur
pose of seeing her little girl to bed, it
became more general.
Uncle Ned, whom, every hour, Cora
looked at with more and more aston
ishment, conversed with so much ani
mation, discovering such a variety of
information and diversity of talent, that,
as she listened, she could no longer
wonder at his being the darling of his
family. “ Mary might well say,”
thought she, when at last she was seat
ed by tin* fire in her chamber, “that I
should never have any conception of
her uncle’s character till I saw him seat
ed by the domestic hearth. How pe
culiarly is such a character fitted to give
charms to the home circle! and what
a pity it will be should he fall into
hands not disposed to encourage these
heavenly virtues— these Lares and
Penates of domestic life! How I should
like to know the lady to whom that
lock of hair belonged, that I might
form some idea how far she is calcula
ted to make him happy —whether she
has a head to appreciate; or, what is
of far more consequence, a heart to
value his many inestimable qualities !
But why should I doubt it ? He has too
much depth of character to be caught
by a mere fluttering butterfly, however,
beautifully painted.”
With such reflections as these the
mind of our heroine was occupied, till
the decline of the fire roused her from
her reverie, and cautioned her that it
was time for her to seek in bed a de
fence from the cold. Still, however,
her busy fancy was employed passing
in review the most striking of the young
ladies whom she had met in her visits
to Mary ; but she rejected each in-turn,
as having some defect that appeared to
render its possessor unworthy of being
the chosen of the highly-gifted and in
teresting Uncle Ned.
Several days passed over, differing
from this first one which we have de
scribed only by the varying fancies of
the young and happy group. At length
Mary came into the room one morning
where her sister and friend were seat
ed, and said, with a smile of satisfac
tion, “ We shall have a chance of ex
acting a more severe penance ftom Un
cle Ned, though he has hitherto evaded
it; for 1 have just heard him tell grand
pa he shall be under the necessity of
returning to town to-day, and I am very
sure he would perform any feat either
mental or bodily, rather than leave his
amulet behind. So let us set our wits
to work and determine what he must
do. I want you, Cora, to see him in
the various phases of his genius, that
you may know how r diversified it is.”
“ I have no doubt of his being a pro
digy,” returned Cora, forcing herself to
speak with a degree of indifference that
she did not altogether feel; “but your
chance of display for this time, at least,
is lost, for the amulet is already*in his
possession.”
“What!” cried Mary ; “could he be
so mean as to steal it ?”
“ No ! 1 returned it to him.”
“And by what right did you do so?"’
asked the other, with well-acted seri
ousness.
“By the right I possessed of dis
placing that which had been put on my
premises without my permission,” re
plied the young lady ; and she then ex
plained the maimer in which the forfeit
had been restored, of the possession of
which Mary had considered herself so
sure that she had never looked into the
bag from the time that the other forfeits
had been taken out.
“ Could you really be so generous
to a rival beauty ?” asked Mrs. Flor
ence, looking with a mixture of sur
prise and scrutiny into Cora’s face as
she spoke. -
“There was no generosity in the case;
where there are no claims, there can
be no generosity exercised,” said Cora,
“but the fixed look with which Coro*
line’s eyes were set upon her made her
feel uncomfortable, and to her no small
mortification she felt her cheeks begin
to glow.
At the same moment, however, Airs.
Holland’s voice was heard calling,
“ Caroline !” “ Mary !” and availing
herself of the circumstance of being left
for the moment alone, she hastened to
her chamber. “ What can have come
over me ?” she exclaimed as a sort of
inward expostulation. “ 1 never before
found myself so easily deprived ot my
self-command. How often have I ex
ulted over the thought that no gentle
man had ever yet had power to cause
my heart to palpitate, but now, I find
myself blushing and looking foolish,
merely at the mention of one who has
not only discovered no wish to obtaiu
an ascendency, but who I have undoubt
ed proofs is devoted to another. Oh !
1 am truly ashamed of myself, and must
redeem my character.”
With this wise resolution she return
ed immediately to the sitting-room. —
Unfortunately, however, on opening the
breektast room door, she found the old
lady and her son sitting alone. Scarce
ly conscious what she did, she stood for
an instant hesitating whether to ad
vance or retreat, but in a moment Un
cle Ned was at her side, and taking her
hand led her forward, not to her usual
seat in the embrasure of the window,
where he had often declared he liked
so well to find her, but to a chair close
by his mother’s side, and then placed
himself at his parent’s other hand.—
Cora's sensitive feelings immediately
made her conscious that his motive for
such an arrangement was to set her
quite at ease ; but whilst she admired
the delicacy of the act, a feeling of bit
ter mortification arose from the convic
tion that he had discovered her weak
ness. lie soon, however, by the pow
ers of his fascinating conversation, con
trived to draw her away from herself,
and it was not long before she was the
same laughing, merry Cora, she had ev
er been.
After they had thus spent a couple
of hours, which had flown, with each
of the party, with inconceivable rapidi
ty, Michael came in and announced to
his young master that the carriage was
waiting for him. The gentleman rose
with evident reluctance, and turned to
his mother to bid her good-bye. “ Re
member, Ned,” said she, as she placed
her hand in that which her son held
out to her, “ you must not fail to be
back before Christmas day. Your
father and I have little right to calcu
late upon seeing a return of the season,
and would therefore wish to have as
many as possible of our children around
us on that day.”
“ I shall at least be back in time to
eat my Christmas! dinner with you,” re
plied the son.
“And 1 wish, Ned, you w ould try and
bring the owner of that lock of hair
with you when you come back,” con
tinued the old lady playfully, “for time
is so short with us, that if you do not
despatch matters quickly, it is not like
ly your father and l shall have an op
portunity of welcoming her into the
family, as we would wish to do, for
we are very well assured she is worthy,
or she would never have been your
choice.”
“ Os her worth,” returned the son,
whose lace wos now suffused with crim
son, “ there can be no doubt, but I am
far from feeling equally sure of her
willingness to fill the place you have
assigned her.”
“ There can be little doubt of that,”
said Cora, pround of the easy and un
concerned manner in which she found
herself able to speak, “ since she may
be considered to have already taken
possession in the form of a lock of hair.”
“ But remember The Rape of the
Lock,” returned the young man,smiling.
“Oh ! those things are not so easy
now-a-days, when there are neither
gnomes nor fairies to assist in the theft,
and when combs and bands are sta
tioned as guardians!” was Cora’s laugh
ing reply.
“It is difficult to tell how to guard
against those who act from such im
pulses as impelled me; and, on my re
turn, I will endeavour to make, you sen
sible of the favour you did me in as
sisting to recover my treasure.”
“I shall be highly flattered by such a
proof of your confidence,” said Cora,
curtseying playfully, as he pressed her
hand, and took his leave.
Cora remained chatting with the old
lady for some time after he was gone;
and, well pleased with herself for hav
ing recovered her self-command, she
felt in full spirits the rest of the day.
Much, however, as she admired the
venerable pair, and loved the two sis
ters, who were unfailing in their atten
tion and kindness, she could not but feel
that the house had lost its brightest or
nament, and often caught herselfcount
ing the days to Christmas day that was
to bring him back.
At length the day previous to its ar
rival had come ; and feeling more than
usually inclined to meditate on the ex
pected pleasure of the following dav,
she was often disposed to retire to her
chamber. After having made one of
those retreats, and employed herself a
considerable time in making many wise
determinations to maintain the most
absolute control over her feelings when
the being who occupied so much of her
thoughts should again appear among
them, she was roused from her reverie
by the sound of the piano ; and being
sure that none but one of the two sis
ters could touch the instrument with
such skill, she hastened to join the per
former, and advanced to the door with
a light and steady step. But, alas! all
her composure and self-command took
flight in an instant, when, on opening
the door, she found that, instead of
Caroline or Mary, their Uncle Ned was
seated at the piano. No one who at
that moment saw our heroine would
have recognized, in the fluttered and
blushing girl who then stood at the en
trance of the music-room, the gay, ani
mated, and self-possessed Cora Milford.
With an involuntary start, she stam
mered out something about not having
heard of his return, and having come in
to the room with the expectation of find
ing Mary there.
“ I used the piano as a decoy to al
lure you hither,” said the young man,
as he advanced with a beaming coun
tenance to meet her, “and must first
apologise for taking such a liberty; but