immediately to fold them up and place them | but leave the work to him. The night closed with the others. in, and though thick moreen curtains were "Now it must be the business of all of us to dropt down to the floor over the close shutters, catch you," said Cora. the wind was heard to blow and the rain, hail, "You may try," said Mary, with a look of and snow to beat as if only just beginning their great security. "I will watch her closely," said Caroline. "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 constantly on her guard, and all were in despair about throwing her off it. "I am afraid we shall not succeed," said 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 gentleman, " and I will catch her before the night is over." All therefore agreed to make no further efforts, work. The tea things were brought in, and Mary went to the table to make the tea. I may be for a letter, I 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 had been taken in. "Now, my lady," cried Cora, as soon as she could speak for laughing, "I hope you will learn to be less self-confident 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 insisted upon a locket which she wore constantly in her bosom, being surrendered in punishment, she said, for having made Uncle Ned give up his precious little packet, but the frightened girl deprecated the sentence so ear nestly, that the gentle Caroline could not per- | tirely unacquainted with the powers of the severe, and at length a broach containing her father and mother's hair, very beautifully set, was taken instead. performer. Before the point was settled, however, 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. Immediately 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 surprised, 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 believe 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; I am not, therefore, bound to allow anything to remain there, unless I choose, so I shall take the liberty of emptying out all incumbrances." 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. As soon as the tea things were removed, Mary, ever cheerful and active, and anxious to keep the demon of dulness 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 the little Lily should personify 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 answer was to sing a song. It happened to be the old gentleman's seal, and he, with an arch expression of humour, immediately 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 absolutely forced him to receive his redeemed 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 gifted authoress of "Auld Robin Gray," on her first visit to Balcarres, the seat of the Lindsays. But our limits forbid our particularizing any further on the subject; neither could we, were we even less restricted, do justice to the subject, were we to attempt to describe how Cora sang or Mary danced-how the gentle and interesting Caroline repeated with extreme feeling and beauty the deathscene in Gertrude of Wyoming; or even how the little Lily, when called upon to waltz, placed herself in a graceful posture, and moved round the room with a light and measured step, true to the music of her mother's voice. Uncle Ned's was now the only remaining forfeit, and as there was no uncertainty about who was to "I know no more than what Mary said when perform the penance, Mary declared that it she received it, that it was a lock of hair," should not be lightly redeemed, and called replied our heroine with an ingenuous look; upon all to assist her in contriving something" and I presume it is a very beautiful one, for that should really 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 him to give specimens of at least half a dozen of the most distinguished speakers at the bar,-his mother wanted one of his comic songs, and Lily begged that he would make a baby cry up stairs, and an old woman scold below, 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 en "I believe if we examined our feelings 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," continued the young man, fixing his fine penetrating eyes on Cora as he spoke. though your mother often calls you a hairbrain, I don't imagine you would treasure anything of the kind unless it was of extraordinary 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 I had not thought so, I 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 having an opportunity of proving my readiness to serve you, I 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 earnestness. 66 "I read Mrs. Barbauld's fable of The Little Dog,' to Lily this morning," said Cora playfully; "and have learnt from it that the most insignificant, if well inclined, may be enabled to serve the mightiest." The conversation was here interrupted by 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 purpose of seeing her little girl to bed, it became more general. Uncle Ned, whom, every hour, Cora looked at with more and more astonishment, conversed with so much animation, 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 seated by the fire in her chamber, "that I should never have any conception of her uncle's character till I saw him seated by the domestic hearth. How peculiarly 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 calculated 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 revery, and cautioned her that it was time for her to seek in bed a defence 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 her to render its possessor unworthy of being the chosen of the highly gifted and interesting Uncle Ned. Several days passed over, differing from this first one which we have described 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 seated, and said with a smile of satisfaction, "We shall have a chance of exacting a most severe penance from Uncle Ned, though he has hitherto so often evaded it; for I have just heard him tell grandpa 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 diversified it is." "I have no doubt of his being a prodigy," 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! I returned it to him." "And by what right did you do so?" asked the other, with well-acted seriousness. "By the right I possessed of displacing that which had been put without my permission into my premises," replied the young American; and she then explained the manner 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. Florance, looking with a mixture of surprise 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 Caroline'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, Mrs. 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. "I never before found myself so easily deprived of my self-command. How often have I exulted over the thought that no gentleman 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 obtain such an ascendency, but who I have undoubted proofs, is devoted to another. Oh! I am ashamed of myself and must redeem my character!" With this wise resolution she returned immediately to the sitting-room. Unfortunately, however, on opening the breakfast-room door she found the old lady and her son sitting alone. Scarcely conscious what she did, she stood an instant hesitating whether to advance or retreat, but in a moment Uncle 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 her ease; but whilst she admired the delicacy of the act, a feeling of bitter mortification arose from the conviction that he had discovered her weakness. He soon, however, by the powers of his fascinating conversation contrived to draw her away from herself, and it was not long before she was the same laughing, joking Cora she had ever been. After they had thus spent a couple of hours, which had flown, with each of the party, with inconceivable rapidity, 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. "Remember, 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 calculate 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," replied the son. "And I wish, Ned, you would try and bring the owner of that lock of hair with you, when you come back," continued the old lady playfully, "for time is so short with us, that if you do not despatch matters quickly, it is not likely your father and I shall have an opportunity of welcoming her into the family, as we would wish to do, for we are well assured she is worthy, or she would never have been your choice." "Of her worth," returned the son, whose face was now suffused with crimson, "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, proud of the easy and unconcerned 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-adays, when there are neither gnomes nor fairies to assist in the theft, and when combs and bands are stationed as guardians!" was Cora's laughing reply. "It is difficult to tell how to guard against those who act from such impulses as impelled me; and on my return, I will endeavour to make you sensible of the favour you did me in assisting me to recover my treasure." "I shall be highly flattered by such a proof of your confidence," said Cora, courtesying 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 having 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 sisters, who were unfailing in their attention and kindness, she could not but feel that the house had lost its brightest ornament, and often caught herself counting the days to the Christmas day that was to bring him back. At length the day previous to its arrival had come, and feeling more than usually disposed to meditate on the expected pleasure of the following day, 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 revery by the sound of the piano, and being sure that none but one of the two sisters could touch the instrument with such skill, she hastened to join the performer, and advanced to the door with a light and steady step. But alas! all her composure and selfcommand 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 recognised, in the fluttered and blushing girl who then stood at the entrance of the music-room, the gay, animated and self-possessed Cora Milford. With an involuntary start she stammered out something about not having heard of his return, and having come into the room with the expectation of finding Mary there. "I used the piano as a decoy to allure you hither," said the young man, as he advanced with a beaming countenance to meet her, "and must first apologize for taking such a liberty; but I was most anxious to have an opportunity of speaking to you, and knew not how otherwise to procure it. Now that I have succeeded, let me beg of you to spare me a few minutes." "Not at present-you must excuse me-I want to see Mary!" stammered out the agitated girl as she attempted to withdraw her hand that he had already seized and held between both his. "I will not detain you long," said he, "but indeed you must have patience with me till I | beloved Cora, will you not accept a heart that open my heart to you, and tell you how completely my happiness is in your hands!" was never before offered to a human being?" At this moment the door opened, and Mary appeared, but seeing at a glance that her entrance was 'mal apropos, she was about to withdraw, but Cora, springing forward, threw herself upon her neck and burst into tears. "Has Uncle Ned been frightening you?" asked Mary playfully. "Let me hear what the naughty man has been saying!" The comic tone in which she said this, turned the "I thank you, I have no wish to see it," she thoughts of the agitated girl from herself, and replied coldly. "But I should like you to see it; I am sure you never saw any more beautiful;" and as he spoke, he took the little packet from his bosom, and unfolding the enclosure, held it out to her. "How is this,-where was this obtained?" exclaimed Cora in extreme surprise, for she saw at a glance it was a lock of her own hair. "Look on this side of the paper," returned her companion, and turning the envelope, she read in her own handwriting the words, "Cora Milford's hair," and immediately recollected it to be the same that she had given to Mary some time before, for a bracelet. "I found," said the lover, "that after Mary had got her bracelet, the remainder was allowed to toss about her work-table without any especial care, and therefore took the liberty of placing it near a bosom where you had already begun to reign pre-eminent. Say then, lovely and laughter succeeded her tears. "I know all about it," continued Mary, as her uncle, slipping an arm round the waist of each, led them to a sofa. "It is all my doing," she added, with a look of exultation; "I saw the hole you had made, Cora, in my poor uncle's heart, but was sure he would never succeed in making an impression on yours, whilst surrounded as you were in town by a host of more pretending admirers, and therefore, without explaining myself to any one, I contrived to bring you together here." "It's a complete take-in," said Cora, trying to look angry, whilst a smile curled round her beautiful mouth; "and if this is your hospitality, I will make haste and get home as fast as I can." "And I," said Uncle Ned, "in imitation of one of the greatest men of my profession, will hasten after you to Philadelphia, and bring back my wife!" THOU art so fair, oh Rose, so pure and tender, THE ROSE. Ah, freely pluck my bloom, oh Man, for thou Thou, of a truth, may'st suffer and may'st combat, But 'tis that striving after the eternal, I brightly bloom, and then-wither and die, If I have served thee, I have lived enough. Great Nature's Genius heard the noble contest And smiled; because she saw, in time to come, And blossom there anew in Eden's groves, A joy to man, well-pleasing unto God, |