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daily, nay hourly dread, lest she, Florence, should circumvent her favourite scheme of marrying Lord Glenorme to the only daughter of the Duke of Ulcaster, is a problem we care not to solve. Florence, like many very young ladies, had a vague notion that marriages were made in heaven-it entered not into her philosophy that they were ofttimes planned on earth. Seventeen years had rolled over her head, and the passion of love had never quickened the pulsations of her heart. She attached little meaning and no importance to the admiration with which Lord Glenorme evidently regarded her. She was pleased with his attentions, amused with his lively sallies, ready to talk and laugh with him— wherefore not ?-until she discovered that a tête-à-tête with his lordship invariably exposed her to the displeasure of Lady Wentworth. Miss Dudley was puzzled "I am so little accustomed to les convenances that I am always blundering," was her secret thought. "I suppose Lady Wentworth is right, but she is very cold and cutting in her sarcasms. Mrs. Gerald Herbert was right; I am unformed and unsophisticated.

Que sais

je, moi?-how I detest that woman!-I will do my very best, and consult the wishes of my hostess-how I I wish I was at home!"

In pursuance of this commendable resolution, our heroine adopted, from time to time, an air of quaint decorum, which gave additional zest to her gayer moods; in short, had she studied the art of pleasing for its own sake, she could scarcely have proved a more accomplished adept. Her downright simplicity, her native wit, above all, her rapid changes of manner, were piquant enough to Lord Glenorme, who was unutterably weary of the stereotyped airs and graces of the fashionable belles of the day. Lady Wentworth felt, intuitively, that the untutored grace and sparkling beauty of the mountain-maiden might prove fatal to her long-cherished plan; above all, she had a presentiment that Lord Wentworth entertained a romantic partiality for Miss

Dudley, which might induce him to sanction the extravagant predilection of his son. Lady Wentworth saw, with secret bitterness, that the cruel inuendo she had thrown out to Florence did not produce the desired result. True, the poor child, with provoking simplicity, obeyed her ladyship's commands to the letter: she eschewed the society of all gentlemen, Lord Wentworth included; but the more she retreated, the more Lord Glenorme appeared inclined to advance. Where would it end? Lady Wentworth waited, and bided her time. In the meanwhile, Florence felt very unhappy, at times, under the influence of the altered eye of her hostess. Passive distaste to her ladyship, speedily ripened into active dislike; a trifling incident contributed to lower the haughty Countess in the eyes of our heroine. One day, Lady Evelyn, the youngest daughter, broke a vase of rare old china, to which her mother attached great value. In short, it was an heir-loom, a bit of Sèvres, presented by the Grand Monarque to the twelfth Earl of Wentworth, then ambassador at the court of France. Lady Evelyn, although terribly alarmed at the catastrophe, had the moral courage to confess, nay to volunteer, the truth. This confession did not screen her from a severe reprimand, which, perhaps, her carelessness merited. Lady Illington, who chanced to be present, made a good-natured but injudicious effort to intercede for the culprit,-"My dear Lady Wentworth, pray excuse Evelyn; remember she has told the truth."

Florence opened her eyes; she did not see why an act of gross carelessness (for the little girl had been repeatedly cautioned not to touch the vase) should be pardoned, because it was not covered by a lie. Lady Wentworth's reply converted our heroine's astonishment into disapprobation, bordering upon contempt,"I trust, Lady Illington, my daughter will never be so unladylike as to tell a lie."

Florence stared in utter dismay. Is this Lady Wentworth's standard of morality?—Conventional politeness !

Does she recognize no higher tribunal, no loftier rule of action? "How can I commit this great wickedness, and sin against God?"

Was our heroine correct in her surmises, or did Lady Wentworth's definition of good-breeding rise to the standard of the ancient Abbess: "Christ was the first true gentleman."

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CHAPTER XVI.

RING, joyous chords !-ring out again!
A swifter still, and a wilder strain!
And bring fresh wreaths !-we will banish all
Save the free in heart from our festive hall.
On! through the maze of the fleet dance, on!-
But where are the young and the lovely gone?
Where are the brows with the red rose crown'd,
And the floating forms with the bright zone bound?
And the waving locks, and the flying feet,
That still should be where the mirthful meet ?—
They are gone-they are fled-they are parted all :
Alas! the forsaken hall!

MRS. HEMANS.

THE gala-night, so joyously anticipated, arrived in due season. Florence, standing before a superb chevalglass, gazed with unequivocal symptoms of admiration (forgive her, kind reader, she was seventeen, and passing lovely) at her own fair image reflected on the polished surface. If her father and Mary, Dr. Leicester and Lucy Jones, could have seen her at that moment, she would have been perfectly happy. Alas! she was "alone in her glory!"

Her dress, a present from Lord Wentworth, was in exquisite taste. A robe of silver gossamer floated over a skirt of rich white satin. Bouquets of blush-roses and frosted lilies adorned the corsage and skirt. A veil of silver gauze, a wreath of roses and lilies, a pearl necklace and bracelets, completed the toilette. A magnificent bouquet of rich-hued exotics relieved the insipidity of the white and silver drapery.

M

We have said that our heroine was beautiful; it is true her features could not boast the classical purity of Lady Geraldine's, but what they lacked in faultless contour, they gained in the higher beauty of expression. The soul, which shone in the dark blue eye; the evanescent gleams of intelligence, of feeling, which swept athwart the open brow, betrayed a cultivated intellect; better far, a generous heart.

was fair-the mind was fairer.

The casket

Miss Dudley was startled by the unceremonious invasion of Lady Cecilia upon her territory.

"Félicie pronounces you charmante, ravissante," said her ladyship, gaily, as she entered the room. "Félicie is right," she added, after a long pause, during which she examined our heroine from head to foot. " Toujours charmante, à présent, vous êtes ravissante!"

Florence laughed. "Do not borrow Monsieur de Livernois' fine speeches, Cecilia. There is nothing so wearisome as a twice-told compliment."

"Halte-là! Mamma was not displeased with the elegant tribute he paid to her beautiful hands, and yet it was not original. 'Toute ma vie j'ai commis des folies pour les belles mains.' Look in the first volume

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Cecilia, I am ashamed of you.' Bellissima! Anima mia Cecilia, you alarm me. pronounce you fey."

66

Eschew English, and I

Lady Cecilia made a profound curtsey. "Most critical Florence, have you no word of encouragement to bestow upon your hand-maiden?" She spread out her robes as she spoke; she was attired in the graceful costume of the good Queen Claude. Florence expressed warm admiration of her friend, and of her friend's character. Cecilia cut her short,-"Come, Florence, we must go to mamma."

"I hope Lady Wentworth will approve of my costume," said Florence, anxiously.

"Papa ordered the dress; mamma must approve.

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