flowers which Rose loved to cultivate, when the unusual sound of carriagewheels roused her attention, and, with no ordinary emotion, she saw Sir Thomas and Ernest Heathwood enter the wicket gate, and take the path leading to the cottage. "I told you, Miss Sunderland," commenced the old gentleman, with more agitation, but less embarrassment, than he had shown at their former interview," that I had need of twenty thousand pounds to support my credit, and save my family from distress. I told you, that I wished my son to marry a lady possessed of that sum, and I now come to claim you as his bride." "Sir !" "Yes, Madam: I was your father's largest creditor; and though I had no fraud, nothing dishonourable to allege against him, yet I did not, I confess it, like the idea of my son's being united to his daughter. He was always speculative and imaginative, and I feared that you might be the same. The sum you have so nobly repaid me, I looked upon as lost, and you must therefore suffer me to consider it a marriage portion; it has saved me from ruin, without the sacrifice of my son's happiness." "How is this?" exclaimed Margaret, fearful of trusting the evidence of her own senses; "I cannot understand the name -" "Our original name was Simmons," exclaimed Ernest, eagerly; "but knowing all the circumstances I never told you I knew how my father would feel at your disinterested conduct; and now that your trials are past, you will, I trust, no longer doubt me." "Who said I doubted ?" inquired Margaret. "Even the pretty Rose; and here she comes to answer for her apostacy." "Nay, dearest sister," exclaimed the laughing girl, "it was only last evening that I saw Ernest, and I have kept out of your way ever since, lest I should discover my own secret. Without my frivolity, and the thoughtlessness of another, who, for all that, is dear to us both, Margaret's virtues would never have shone with so dazzling yet steady a light. "True, Rose, spoken like an angel; I never thought you wise before; it is to be hoped that when your sister changes her name, her mantle may descend upon you," said Ernest. "I think she had better share it with you; and I only hope that Margaret She may want it for herself," she continued, archly; "who knows but the most bitter trials of Margaret Sunderland may come after marriage?" Ernest did not reply to the unjust suspicion, for he had not heard it; his sense, his thought, his heart, were fixed only upon her who had thrown so bright and cheering a lustre over that truth, usually so dark, even in its grandeur: "The good things that belong to prosperity are to be wished, but the good things that belong to adversity are to be admired." In the saloon of a large and antique house, of the Elizabethean era, two ladies were seated, enjoying the cool evening breeze that entered through an open window. The dwelling had been altered and realtered, to meet the tastes and improvements of the various masters into whose hands it had passed from century to century. Here and there fragments of turrets were propped up by modern buttresses, the modern and the antique appearing in perfect contrast; one beautiful arch still marked the old entrancegate. The former strength of the place was intimated by the remains of a moat, now nearly filled with rubbish and portions of broken and mouldering stone, from which the flaunting wall-flower, and various creeping plants, sprang up, and mocked at the decay -- which, alas, poor blossoms! was soon to render them far more contemptible than that over which they triumphed. The windows of Leslie Abbey - for so was the dwelling called- -were of every order, and every size-from the small loop-holes to the spacious and modern French casements, that led out upon a lawn of matchless colour and beauty. It was near one of these the ladies were seated and if we do not longer descant upon the richness and variety of the landscape, the extent of the wood, whose dark girdle of mingled oak and platanas clasped the green meadows, and shadowed the river that wandered and murmured beneath its protecting foliage, it is because we admire the living more than the material world, and would make acquaintance with that noble-looking woman whose countenance is turned towards the setting sun, and whose every attitude expresses dignity. How firmly, yet how gracefully, her head is raised above her polished shoulders! What richness, yet propriety, in her dress! the folds of her velvet robe descend to her feet, that so delicate are their form hardly indent the crimson cushion with their slight presHer companion is of other, though, it may be, of more winning beauty. The childish golden hair, that clusters over her expansive brow in such redundancy of freedom, harmonizes well with the cheek of palest rose, and a form that, we could imagine, might rest upon a bed of violets without crushing a single petal. sure. Her voice is like the breathing of a soft lyre, when awakened by the spirit of joy; her blue eyes are full of hope-that perfectly unsaddened hope, which dwells with youth as a companion, and calls innocence its sister. They are both children of the same parents, though many years passed before Annette was bore, to be the playmate and friend of the stately Lady Leslie. As they sat together in that great chamber, there was a feeling of quiet and solitude around them which darkened the shadows on Lady Leslie's mind, and sobered the smile on the lip of her gay young sister. They had both recently suffered from that fell disease which has been the bane of so much beauty. But, while Annette escaped unscathed, the blight had fallen upon her sister, and the mistress of Leslie Abbey arose from her bed with the marks of the pestilence written on her once beautiful countenance too strongly to be ever effaced. It is not to be denied that the noble lady had as large a portion of personal vanity as usually falls to the lot of woman. Of high birth, and large possessions, she had consequently a sufficient number of flatterers to praise and fawn. Had she been as dark as Erebus, and as deformed as sin, they would still have sung of and praised her loveliness. But its character and brilliancy had been such that she could not move without receiving the homage of eyes- -so rarely paid without being sensibly felt and duly appreciated. She had been feted and sung, painted and sculptured, until her exquisite head whirled upon its pedestal, and, what was still worse, her heart, naturally kind and benevolent, became careless of the wants or wishes of her fellow-creatures. Prosperity drives pity from the bosoms of the wealthy it is good to feel disappointment, and even adversity, at some period of our lives; for practical experience is a benefit to ourselves and others. It was Lady Leslie's beauty that steeled her heart; she thought of it -- acted upon it-dreamed of it. It had gained her the affections of the only man she ever loved. One whom wealth and title could not purchase was nevertheless caught by the matchless face that now!--- but she could not bear to think of it. To look upon it a second time, thus scarred and disfigured, was impossible! Her husband had been abroad; and the letter, which lay open on her lap, told of his hopes of an immediate return; and spoke much of anticipated happiness in meeting again (so ran the words)" with his bright and beautiful wife." : Annette had watched, with all the earnestness and anxiety of her affectionate nature, the effect produced by the perusal of that letter upon her sister's mind. She had longed for the return of her brother; for she felt that now was the time, when Lady Leslie's proud spirit was bowed by mortification, to lead her from the vanity of her ways, and teach her to mount far, far above the world's mean and sordid enjoyments. 'Why should such as she," thought Annette, "trifle away the essence and energy of soul, that God has given her, upon those whose wonder is cankered by envy and to whose lips blessings are unknown! Her heart is touched and softened by affliction; she valued the casket more than the jewel it contained for she lived among those who could appreciate the first, but not the last; the roses of her cheek were more lovely in her sight than the blossoms of her mind, that would have furnished forth such glorious fruit, had the one been cultivated with half the care bestowed upon the other. But it is not too late; she is yet in the summer of her days; and who knows that if Leslie comes not, it may be given to me- to me, her youngest and unworthy sister to show her better things. When the old Roman soldier was blind, he was led by a stripling boy-as one child would lead another: not that the old man was less wise than before, but he wanted sight, and the youth lent him the only faculty he lacked. On the same principle, may not I give unto her, who is ten times greater than myself, the one quality she needs, the only one that I possess, and so render her loss a gain?" Having thought so much, Annette looked into Lady Leslie's face; it retained the traces of recent tears, and was more than usually pale. "I will not speak yet," thought her sister; and, without saying a word, she took her lute, and, striking a few wild chords, began that beautiful song of the witty and accomplished Carew: — She paused, for a moment, at the conclusion of the first verse, and stole a quiet glance at her companion; but there was no expression that could induce her either to continue or forbear another stanza. She again sung: "But a smooth and steadfast mind, Where these are not, I despise "You are fond of the lays of the olden time," said Lady Leslie with a sigh; "but I care not for either the modern or the ancient rhymesters; why should I care for anything, when nothing cares for me?" "If you care for nothing, dear sister, that same nothing shows marvellous wisdom in caring for you. I wish I could imitate it! But will you not read me Leslie's letter?" she continued; "or at least, tell me what he says? Here have I sat, the perfect picture of maidenly patience, singing and sighing, from fair curiosity to know what writes my lordly brother." "O, you may see it all!-but stay, I will read you this passage myself! "Since you have so long enriched the abbey with your presence, I fear I can hardly hope you will continue there after my return; tell me, dearest, do you not pant for the court, of which your beauty was so bright an orna ment ?' "You hear, Annette," continued the proud lady, rising from her seat, and pacing the apartment with the grace of a Mary, and the irritation of an Elizabeth: "You hear! - Did he know of the evil I have suffered, it would be ill talking of beauty; perhaps he would not think of returning." "And have you not told him, then ?" "Told him, Annette! Oh, no, silly girl! Do you think I did not want to see him once more! Him I have so loved! -But your childish nature cannot understand such love: you love linnets, and doves, and wild roses, and "You, sister!" Forgive me, Annette, forgive me!" said Lady Leslie, with one of those sudden transitions of temper to which petted men, women, and children are so often subject: "some allowance would be made for a king who had lost his crown- for a-" "You have not lost your crown. It is now my turn to be forgiven, for again interrupting you. I have read of a virtuous woman being a crown of glory to her husband; and do you know what I fancy should be a married woman's crown?-Her husband's love." -more than "Granted; my husband's love was what I prized on earthearth's all earth's other treasures:- it is for him I would be beautiful!" "My dear sister!" "What mean ye, girl?" inquired Lady Leslie, with returning haughtiness of manner. "That you deceive yourself: I grant he was your principal, but not your only, object. Admiration was your food-your existence depended on it! If he were not present to give the necessary supply, you took it from other hands. Nay, do not look so sternly on me. I own that from him it was sweeter than from any; but, sister, it was sweet from all." Lady Leslie gazed upon her young sister with astonishment. She had only considered her an affectionate kind girl; she had not sought to penetrate her character; vain people seldom care for others sufficiently to scru tinize their minds. And now, astonishment at her boldness was blended with veneration for her truth. Annette continued - -"If my beloved sister would throw open the rich storehouse of her mind, and cultivate the affections of her heart, she would be more beloved than ever by her husband, and command the respectif, indeed, it be worth commanding of those who flattered: and, better still, of those who never soiled their lips by flattery or falsehood." "Annette Feversham, the philosopher!" exclaimed the lady, contemptuously. "Annette Feversham, the naturalist, if you will!" replied her sister, playfully: "May I tell you a little tale? it is very short, and very true. You know that when you were engaged in the business of fashionable life, your boy was turned over to his childish aunt, as companions well suited to each other. Well, sister, I have learned from children more wisdom, more of that natural wisdom which comes direct from God, than I ever learned from men. Their goodness is so active, and their thoughts given with so much honesty! I love to hear them prattle of their miniature hopes and fears, before deceit has taught them mystery or concealment. Do you remember, the first day you ventured to your dressing-room, you ordered Edward to be brought in? I was well long before, and had seen him frequently; but some weeks had elapsed since he had been permitted audience of his mother. Sister, you took him in your arms kissed his fair brow a thousand times, and wept salt yet sweet tears of joy; they were brighter to my eyes than the gay jewels of your coronet; for they were nature's tears." 66 Perhaps they were tears of pride, shed at my own sad change." "I'll not believe it! - he, too, had suffered the disease, but 'scaped without a blemish. Ah, good my sister! you wept for joy-to see his brow unstained." "I did! I did!" "I knew you did. I took him to his chamber; and, after a grave pause, he looked into my face, and, clasping his tiny hands, exclaimed, 'I am so happy that mamma has grown ugly: shall I tell you why, dear aunt? —It has taught her to be kind-she never kissed me so before. Shall I pray to-night that she may continue always ugly?'-Trust me, dear sister, Ned was the true philosopher: he knew that people, though they may be admired for beauty, are never loved for it." 'My poor boy!" said the lady, after a painful pause. "My poor, dear boy-he is a noble child! and I may thank you for it, Annette: I trusted him to menials; you saved him from contamination." "I am not yet come out," retorted Miss Feversham, with her own peculiar archness of manner; "when I am I shall have other employments, I dare say, like other young ladies." 66 Annette, do not trifle now. My child might think those seams of little consequence; but my husband! then those women- those beauties whom I have so long eclipsed!" "Ah, there it is! I will not believe it is on Leslie's account you sorrow - he is but one of the many! If I have wronged you by my frankness," she continued, seeing the cloud again gathering on her sister's brow, "study |