kind Louisa in her heart.

"This is the very gentleman she was so anxious to be introduced to-and now he seems quite inclined to get acquainted!"

Her sister, however, was too far off to be summoned by any becks or winks that she could set in action, and all she could do was to return his civility in the most obliging manner, which she did by curtsying to him three times successively.

Miss Beauchamp, meanwhile, from the unexpected suddenness of Mr. Egerton's address, or from some other cause, perhaps her extreme dislike of him, coloured violently, but soon recovered both from the laughter he had interrupted, and the slight agitation he had produced. And then her manner became again as cold, as distant, and as disdainful as it had ever been when conversing with him. It is not very easy for a gentleman to keep up a conversation under such circumstances, especially when so large a portion of contempt and dislike mixes with his own feelings; but, with a sort of pertinacious obstinacy, Mr. Egerton was determined that he would talk to Miss Beauchamp. It might be that he hoped to plague her, or it might be that he hoped to amuse himself by her transatlantic idiom; but let the reason be what it might, he was very steadfast in his purpose, and on seeing the young people preparing to dance, actually proposed himself to her as a partner.

Annie looked at him with considerable surprise, and certainly her first impulse was to decline the offered honour; but she was very fond of dancing, and if she refused him, she could not dance with another, without a degree of rudeness which nothing but a fresh outbreak on his part, in praise of his own country, could have given her courage for. She therefore, after a little delay that was just long enough to be uncourteous, bowed her consent, and he presented his arm. She looked at him as American young ladies always do look on such occasions (before they have visited Europe), and walked on beside him in silence, but without accepting it. And hereupon Mr. Egerton passed judgment upon her with a spice of European unjustice-for totally ignorant of the law which forbids young ladies to walk "lock and lock" with young gentlemen, he conceived her rejection of this ordinary piece of civility to be only an additional proof of her determination to be rude to him.

They had not, however, proceeded three steps in advance, before Annie, inexpressibly provoked at herself for her thoughtlessness, which really surprised as much as it vexed her, turned suddenly back again to poor Louisa, and kindly taking her hand, which she drew under her arm, she said,

"My dear Miss Perkins! I don't know what I was thinking of to

leave you in this way. I expect you must think me the very rudest person you ever saw. Let me take you to your party before I begin dancing. Shall we look for your sister, or for Mrs. Allen Barnaby?" "Thank you, my dear young lady! You are very-very kind to me always," replied the really grateful Louisa. "If you can find out Mrs. Allen Barnaby for me, I shall be very glad, because, do you know, I should like to ask her if she thinks it would be possible to get a partner for my sister Matilda."

"Will it please you, Miss Perkins, if she gets a partner?" [said Annie.

"Please me, my dear Miss Beauchamp? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I should be so delighted-I really can't tell you how delighted I should be."

"Then just stay here one moment, will you, with your countryman, Mr. Egerton? and I will see if I can manage it without troubling Mrs. Allen Barnaby."

And so saying, she glided away, leaving the not too-well-matched compatriots side by side.

66

"You seem to have become already extremely intimate with that young American lady, Miss Perkins," said the gentleman. Do you find her very agreeable?"

"I find her, sir, the very sweetest, kindest, young creature I ever met with in my whole life," replied the grateful Louisa, with a degree of emotion that communicated itself to her voice. "I really do think that if I saw much of her I should grow to love her a great deal too well-she being an American foreigner, which would make it seem almost wrong and unnatural, I am afraid."

"Why, really Miss Perkins, if you feel thus strongly already, I should be apt to think that you might carry your partiality rather farther than was reasonable, for you can have seen but very little of her."

"And that is quite true, sir, certainly-but very great sweetness, and very great kindness, will go to one s heart, I believe, without taking a great deal of time for it."

The handsome, gallant, gay young Egerton looked in the pale face of the still dismal-looking old maid with a considerable approach towards good fellowship.

"Perhaps, Miss Perkins, you patronize pretty young ladies ?” said he, smiling. "And I won't deny that Miss Beauchamp is very pretty, though she is so thoroughly American."

66

Pretty, sir? Is that all you can say? I do think she is the most perfect beauty that ever was looked at.'

"Yes, yes," he replied, laughing, "she is quite sufficiently beautiful, and I see I was right in supposing that this is the reason you have taken such a fancy to her."

"Then without wishing to be rude, sir," she replied very earnestly, "instead of being right, I must tell you that you are quite wrong. I don't believe at all that I have any particular liking for beauty. There's my sister's particular friend, Miss Patty-Madame Tornorino, I mean; I have heard that she is considered quite a complete beauty, and I do assure you, sir, that since she has been fully grown up, I have sometimes taxed myself with being very ill-humoured and unamiable about it for the handsomer she seemed to get, the more I seemed to dislike looking at her."

Again Mr. Egerton laughed, but by no means impertinently; and though he did not think it discreet to tell the lady how very well he understood, and how very much he sympathized with her, he did offer her his arm to conduct her to a seat, saying, that he would watch for the return of Miss Beauchamp. But before Miss Louisa could express her

sense of his obligingness, or do any thing more than wish that it was her sister Matilda instead of herself that he was so polite to, Annie returned, bringing the glad tidings that she had got one of the best partners in the room for Miss Matilda.

"And now tell me," she added, "where I shall leave you?"

"Oh! just there, if you please, my dear-where this gentleman was going to get me a seat before you came back."

"But shall you not like better to be with your party?" said Annie. Mrs. Allen Barnaby has got all the grandeur of New Orleans round her. Should not you like to get a place near her? I am sure I can manage it."

"No, thank you, my dear," replied Miss Louisa, rather hastily. "I would a great deal rather sit here by myself if you please."

Again Mr. Egerton felt a strong movement of sympathy towards the old maid, and it seemed as if he thought not of his beautiful partner till he had conducted her to the seat she desired to occupy. Then, however, he returned with no very lingering step to the spot where he had left Annie conversing with some of her acquaintance, whom he heard entreating her, as he came up, to get them an introduction to the celebrated Mrs. Allen Barnaby.

By this time the gentlemen dancers were all leading their partners to their places, and Mr. Egerton perceived that the manner in which this ceremony was performed, was by the gentleman's taking the hand of the lady, in the good old Sir Charles Grandison style, and so parading her to the place she was to occupy. They took their station at the side of the quadrille, which gave time for a little conversation before the figure of the dance called upon them to begin.

"Your antipathy towards the degenerated inhabitants of the old country, Miss Beauchamp, seems to have relaxed in one instance at least. You are exceedingly kind and attentive to that poor unhappylooking Miss Perkins."

"I don't think she is unhappy-looking at all," replied Annie, evasively. "Not, at least, when she has any thing in the world to make her look cheerful. I never saw any one more easily pleased in my life."

"And you really appear to take pleasure in producing this metamorphosis from grave to gay," returned Mr. Egerton. "And I could understand this very well if she were not an Englishwoman. But, as it is, I confess to you that I am somewhat puzzled to understand why you have so decidedly taken her into favour."

Annie looked at him for a moment as if doubtful how to answer; and then said, with a little air, as if she had at length made up her mind

"I will tell you the reason, Mr. Egerton. Miss Perkins is the only person I have ever heard of (I will not say conversed with, though it would sound better-but I have scarcely conversed with any)-Miss Perkins is the only English person I ever heard of, who did not think him or herself vastly superior to every body else in the world. She, poor thing, is exactly the contrary, for she has every symptom of believing herself inferior to every body, and that is the reason why I think her the most interesting individual of the English party at Mrs. Carmichael's."

"The English party at Mrs. Carmichael's," muttered Mr. Egerton to

himself. And then he and his fair partner were called upon to perform their part in the dance.

Meanwhile the happiness of Miss Matilda was almost greater than any thing she had ever dared again to hope for at a ball. When endeavouring to obtain a partner for her, Miss Beauchamp had not scrupled to hint that she was, as it were, part and parcel of that celebrated Mrs. Allen Barnaby who was come from England to New Orleans on purpose to write a book in praise of the United States, and in defence of the slave system. Not only was this enough to procure the gentleman to whom it was addressed as a partner in the first quadrille, but no less than three others solicited the honour of her hand before the first set was over, for the subsequent dances.

Those who know any thing of Miss Matilda Perkins, can be at no loss to imagine her feelings. Nor was her friend and patroness less happy. Senators, Members of Congress, lawyers, writers, and statesmen, all crowded round her, and seemed to vie with each other in demonstrations of esteem and admiration. The heart of my heroine whispered to her

"This is what I was born for. This is my real vocation!"

Her well-pleased husband lingered near her long enough to see how admirably well she bore her honours, and then giving her, unseen by all, one very little wink of satisfaction, turned away, confessing to the honourable Judge Johnson, who at that moment made the inquiry, "That he had no objection whatever to a rubber."

The fair Patty was, in short, the only one of the party who did not think this visit very delightful; but being absolutely obliged to give up her husband to her papa, who had become so attached to him as to resolve upon never playing a game of cards of any kind without having him near his person, she found very little fun even in dancing, because of course now, as she rather pettishly muttered to herself," Nobody could dare to make love to her for fear the Don should snap his nose off."

Before she left the room, however, she, too, came in for a share of the honours of the evening; for a certain Mrs. General Gregory, a lady very richly dressed, and having every appearance of being a person of great consequence, made acquaintance with her by admiring her gown. This led to other subjects; and as Patty was not disposed to dance much, Mrs. General Gregory had so advanced the acquaintance before they parted, as to promise to come aud call upon her and her mamma at the boarding-house. This greatly revived the spirits of Patty; for the lady talked of her carriage, and her horses, and her servants, and occasionally of the General, her husband, so that our young bride again felt that she too was somebody. But, after all, it was Mrs. Allen Barnaby herself who was in truth the well-head and spring of all these honours. She was herself fully aware of this, and enjoyed the glorious prospect opening before her with all the native energy of her character. The last words she uttered to her husband before wishing him finally good night," will show the acuteness with which she read the causes that had produced such agreeable effects.

"I say, Donny-do you think I shall find a word or two to say in praise of slavery? Won't I, my dear? That's all."

ON THE PERCEPTION OF DANGER.

But still, where danger was, still there I met him.

SHAKSPEARE.

Ir it be true that the conservation of self is the eldest law of nature, and if it be undeniable that every thing by which our safety is compromised tends to our destruction, it surely follows by all the rules. of Aristotle that a keen perception of danger is the most precious quality that a man can be gifted with.

The first consideration of human life is safety; the second safety; the third safety. To be in danger is to be in misery. Danger is the brother of destruction, the poison of existence, the sword hanging by the single hair that makes life's most delicious banquet comfortless, and the most exquisite dishes served up by fortune indigestible. Transport there can be none, where security does not twine with it. No sooner does danger show his grisly face than enjoyment vanishes, quiet takes to flight; there is no flavour in wine, no perfume in the rose, no charm in beauty, no repose upon the couch.

Spenser has drawn the picture of "Daunger" with the hand of a Salvator.

With him went Daunger, clothed in ragged weed

Made of beare's-skin, that him more dreadfull made,
Yet his own face was dreadfull, he did meed
Straunge horrour to deforme his griesly shade :
A net in th' one hand, and a rusty blade
In th' other was; this mischief, that mishap;
With th' one his foes he threatened to invade,
With th' other he his friends meant to enwrap;

For whom he could not kill he practised to entrap.

Now the worst of man's lot here below is, that he is not only condemned to see this terrific spectre at every turn he takes, whether in the highways or bye-ways of existence, but he is under an imperative necessity, and even obligation, to keep continually on the look out for the apparition. Odious and formidable as danger is in all its shapes, we can never see too much of it; our safety depends upon keeping it as much in view as possible, and that we may not be reduced to meet it face to face, we must sharpen our perceptions and learn to discern it while, like the little black speck that predicts the tempest in oriental seas, it is yet "afar off," and no bigger than "a man's hand."

Fortunately the perception of danger is capable, like our other faculties, of being improved by cultivation. Different men pass their days in different degrees of security, in proportion as they possess more or less apprehension. He is safest who is never for a moment off his guard; who spies danger at all times and in all situations; who apprehends squalls from all points of the compass; who recognises the presence of the great enemy in every thing above him, beneath him, and about him, and whose mental powers are most constantly engaged in the solution of the vital and everlastingly recurring problem of escape. To shun peril, we should never cease to think of it; or when it ceases to occupy our waking thoughts, we should make it the subject of our