frowned-the earl smiled-saluted his niece-hoped she had recovered from the fatigue of the journey— remarked it was very cold, and then turned to a parrot, humming, "Pretty Polly, say," &c.

Such was Mary's first introduction to her family; and those only who have felt what it was to have the genial current of their souls chilled by neglect, or changed by unkindness, can sympathise in the feelings of wounded affection-when the overflowings of a generous heart are confined within the narrow limits of its own bosom, and the offerings of love are rudely rejected by the hand most dear to them.

Mary was too much intimidated by her mother's manner towards her, to give way, in her presence, to the emotions that agitated her; but she followed her sister's steps as she quitted the room, and, throwing her arms around her, sobbed, in a voice almost choked with the excess of her feelings, "My sister, love me!-oh! love me!" But Adelaide's heart, seared by selfishness and vanity, was incapable of loving anything in which self had no share; and, for the first time in her life, she felt awkward and embarrassed. Her sister's streaming eyes and supplicating voice spoke a language to which she was a stranger; for art is ever averse to

recognise the accents of nature. Still less is it capable of replying to them; and Adelaide could only wonder at her sister's agitation, and think how unpleasant it was; and say something about "overcome," and " eaude-Cologne," and "composure; composure;" which was all lost upon Mary as she hung upon her neck, every feeling wrought to its highest tone by the complicated nature of those emotions which swelled her heart. At length, making an effort to regain her composure, "Forgive me, my sister!" said she. "This is very foolish-to weep when I ought to rejoice-and I do rejoice-and I know I shall be so happy yet!" But, in spite of

the faint smile that accompanied her words, tears again burst from her eyes.

"I am sure I shall have infinite pleasure in your society," replied Adelaide, with her usual sweetness and placidity, as she replaced a ringlet in its proper position; "but I have unluckily an engagement at this time. You will, however, be at no loss for amusement: you will find musical instruments there," pointing to an adjacent apartment; "and here are new publications, and portefeuilles of drawings you will perhaps like to look over:" and so saying, she disappeared.

"Musical instruments and new publications! repeated Mary, mechanically, to herself: "what have I to do with them?-O, for one kind word from my mother's lips!-one kind glance from my sister's eye!"

And she remained overwhelmed with the weight of those emotions which, instead of pouring into the hearts of others, she was compelled to concentrate in her own. Her mournful reveries were interrupted by her kind friend Lady Emily; but Mary deemed her sorrow too sacred to be betrayed even to her, and therefore, rallying her spirits, she strove to enter into those schemes of amusement suggested by her cousin for passing the day. But she found herself unable for such continued exertion; and, hearing a large party was expected to dinner, she retired, in spite of Lady Emily's remonstrances, to her own apartment, where she sought a refuge from her thoughts, in writing to her friends at Glenfern.

Lady Juliana looked in upon her as she passed to dinner. She was in a better humour, for she had received a new dress which was particularly becoming, as both her maid and her glass had attested.

Again Mary's heart bounded towards the being to whom she owed her birth; yet, afraid to give utterance to her feelings, she could only regard her with silent

admiration, till a moment's consideration converted that into a less pleasing feeling, as she observed, for the first time, that her mother wore no mourning.

Lady Juliana saw her astonishment, and, little guessing the cause, was flattered by it. "Your style of dress is very obsolete, my dear," said she, as she contrasted the effect of her own figure and her daughter's in a large mirror; "and there's no occasion for you to wear black here. I shall desire my woman to order some things for you; though perhaps there won't be much occasion, as your stay here is to be short; and, of course, you won't think of going out at all. Apropos, you will find it dull here by yourself, won't you? I shall leave you my darling Blanche for a companion," kissing a little French lap-dog, as she laid it in Mary's lap; "only you must be very careful of her, and coax her, and be very, very good to her; for I would not have my sweetest Blanche vexed, not for the world!" And, with another long and tender salute to her dog, and a "Good by, my dear!" to her daughter, she quitted her to display her charms to a brilliant drawing-room, leaving Mary to solace herself in her solitary chamber with the whines of a discontented lap-dog.

Chapter xxxvij.

-il ne

C'est un personage illustre dans son genre, et qui a porté le talent de bien nourrir jusques où il pouvoit aller ;semble né que pour la digestion.-LA BRUYERE.

IN

N every season of life, grief brings its own peculiar antidote along with it. The buoyancy of youth soon repels its deadening weight-the firmness of manhood resists its weakening influence—the torpor of old age is insensible to its most acute pangs.

In spite of the disappointment she had experienced the preceding day, Mary arose the following morning with fresh hopes of happiness springing in her heart.

"How foolish I was," thought she, "to view so seriously what, after all, must be merely difference of manner; and how illiberal to expect every one's manners should accord exactly with my ideas! but, now that I have got over the first impression, I dare say I shall find every body quite amiable and delightful."

And Mary quickly reasoned herself into the belief, that she only could have been to blame. With renovated spirits, she therefore joined her cousin, and accompanied her to the breakfasting saloon. The visitors had all departed, but Dr Redgill had returned, and seemed to be at the winding-up of a solitary but voluminous meal. He was a very tall corpulent man, with a projecting front, large purple nose, and a profusion of chin.

"Good morning, ladies!" mumbled he, with a full mouth, as he made a feint of half-rising from his chair. "Lady Emily, your servant-Miss Douglas, I presume -hem! allow me to pull the bell for your ladyship," as he sat without stirring hand or foot; then after it was done―" 'pon my honour, Lady Emily, this is not using me well. Why did you not desire me?-and you are so nimble-I defy any man to get the start of you."

"I know you have been upon hard service, doctor, and therefore I humanely wished to spare you any additional fatigue," replied Lady Emily.

"Fatigue! pooh! I'm sure I mind fatigue as little as any man. Besides, it's really nothing to speak of; I have merely rode from my friend Admiral Yellowchops' this morning.

"I hope you passed a pleasant day there yesterday?" "So so very so so," returned the doctor, drily.

"Only so so, and a turtle in the case !

Lady Emily.

"exclaimed

"Pooh!—as to that, the turtle was neither here nor there. I value turtle as little as any man. You may

be sure it wasn't for that I went to see my old friend Yellowchops. It happened, indeed, that there was a turtle, and a very well-dressed one, too; but where five-and-thirty people (one half of them ladies, who, of course, are always helped first) sit down to dinner, there's an end of all rational happiness, in my opinion.'

"But at a turtle feast you have surely something much better. You know you may have rational happiness any day over a beef-steak.”

"I beg your pardon—that's not such an easy matter. I can assure you it is a work of no small skill to dress a beef-steak handsomely; and, moreover, to eat it in perfection, a man must eat it by himself. If once you come to exchange words over it, it is useless. I once saw the finest steak I ever clapt my eyes upon completely ruined by one silly scoundrel asking another if he liked fat. If he liked fat !-what a question for one rational being to ask another! The fact is, a beef-steak is like a woman's reputation; if once it is breathed upon, it's good for nothing!"

"One of the stories with which my nurse used to amuse my childhood," said Mary, "was that of having seen an itinerant conjurer dress a beef-steak on his tongue."

The doctor suspended the morsel he was carrying to his mouth, and for the first time regarded Mary with looks of unfeigned admiration.

"'Pon my honour, and that was as clever a trick as ever I heard of! You are a wonderful people, you Scotch-a very wonderful people-but pray, was she at any pains to examine the fellow's tongue?"

"I imagine not," said Mary: "I suppose the love