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w yf TffITOTD) apw rp a wtiwto &IW JJII MifiMKl Mll iliruiliia UnMiifii 1111Jk ]■).;[[JlS, $2,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. 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