who had more than once implied her doubts of the wisdom of the system adopted by Lady Mansel in bringing up her daughters) to be satisfied with the result of my system-two more brilliant illustrations of its success could not be looked for, than are found in the Countess of Westonville and the future Marchioness of Dunkeld."

Emily was led to the hymeneal altar, nothing loth, four months after her lover's accession to his title, and is now the happy mother of two boys, and as many girls, who she has decided shall never be brought up on Lady Mansel's system; and Lady Westonville has become an agreeable and rational companion to a kind husband, and an affectionate and judicious mother to a boy and two girls, who enjoy all the blessings of a careful cultivation, without the drudgery and confinement to which her childhood had been exposed.

"Oh! we do all offend

There's not a day of wedded life, if we

Count at its close the little, bitter sum

Of thoughts, and words, and looks unkind and forward,
Silence that chides, and woundings of the eye-

But prostrate at each other's feet, we should
Each night forgiveness ask,"

"AND this is no dream, and we are at length in Naples!" said a very lovely woman to her companion, a tall, handsome man of about twenty-eight years of age, and evidently not less than ten years her senior, on whose arm she lent, as they ascended the stairs of the "Grande Bretagne," on the Chiaja, marshalled by the landlord of that excellent hotel, and escorted by their courier.

"Yes, Ellen, here we are at last! Are you satisfied with the premier coup d'œil?-does it really answer your expectations?"

"Satisfied! Oh! Henry, what a word! Satisfied-I am delighted. What an inexpressive face mine must have been not to have told you so fifty times, while we have been descending the hill whence we first caught a view of Naples! The beauty of the buildings, the strange mélange of architecture grouped together, the exuberant animation and gaiety of the people, the oriental aspect of many of those we havemet, allall, have delighted me; and the more so, that it is unlike any thing that I have ever seen, though not unlike what I had imagined. The people look as if their blood was heated by the burning lava that bursts from Vesuvius; so flashing are their eyes and so glowing their faces."

The attentions of the host of the "Grande Bretagne" interrupted the animated description of the Lady Ellen Meredith. He led her and her husband through the suite of comfortable rooms selected for them by their courier, a couple of hours before; dwelt with due emphasis on their agréments, and only retired to urge the cook to serve quickly the light, but recherché supper prepared for them. A small room, divided from the saloon by a glass door, attracted the attention of Lady Ellen Meredith. It contained an ottoman, that surrounded it, with a table in the centre, and commanded an extensive view of the beautiful bay.

"What a delightful little boudoir!" exclaimed Lady Ellen. "It positively looks as if formed for the purpose of transcribing

some of the countless romantic histories connected with this place!"

"How like you, Ellen, to have thought so," replied il marito, placing his arm round her slender waist. "You always fancy a romance in every place that looks a little more inviting than ordinary, for the scene of an adventure."

"I have no patience with you, Henry; you are really as matter-of-fact and prosaic as my good uncle Mortimer, who can see nothing out of the common in the most romantic incident, and who laughs at even the most touching story founded on la belle passion."

"He jests at scars who never felt a wound,' Ellen; for uncle Mortimer, it is asserted by his contemporaries, never experienced a preference but once in his life, and that was not pour les beaux yeux de la dame de ses pensées, mais pour sa rente de dix mille livres par an.”

"Poor uncle Mortimer! I remember that when mamma once reproached him with this little episode in his life, he defended himself by quoting the lines,

" 'What dust we dote on when 'tis man we love!'

6

'If man be dust,' said he, woman being part and parcel of him, must be similarly composed; and gold dust being more to my fancy than any other sort of dust, am I to be blamed for my preference for it?"

"He is not the only one who has a similar taste, though he is perhaps one of the very few who would acknowledge the fact."

"But to resume, Henry; you really grow callous.

"I deny it, Ellen; give me a single proof in support of your assertion ?"

"I could give you innumerable ones, Henry, but will confine myself to the last instance-your accusation of my fancying a romance in every place that holds out an inviting aspect for being the scene of one. Time was, and that not more than six short months ago, when you were as much disposed to believe in romance as I am, Henry; but marriage is a sad enemy to such belief, and when we return to England, I shall not be surprised to see you ensconced in a corner with, and joining in the dry laugh of uncle. Mortimer, when he chuckles over some tale that has excited the mournful sympathy of all the rest of the family circle.

"As you are so severe on me, Ellen, I may be permitted to predict that while I am laughing with uncle Mortimer, you are listening, for the hundredth time, to aunt Beauchamp's narrative of the death of her husband; which, though it occurred a quarter

of a century ago, is repeated with all the demonstrations of sorrow that a recent calamity of that nature is calculated to produce."

"How can you indulge in plaisanteries on such a subject, Henry?"

"And how can you listen with dewy eyes and pensive brow to her lamentations?"

"You pain me by exhibiting this want of sensibility. You may smile, and look incredulous, but you really do."

"Well, she shall not be vexed, there's a good child, and so let us kiss and be friends ;" and suiting the action to the words, Mr. Meredith drew his beautiful wife towards him, and pressed his lips to her fair cheek.

The pair thus introduced to our readers, had been married only six months, five of which had been passed on the continent. Theirs had been what is called a love match, and had been preceded by a passion of more than a year and a half; the family of the Lady Ellen having for several months rejected the addresses of Mr. Meredith, on the plea that neither his station nor fortune entitled him to her hand. During this period of doubt and trial, Mr. Meredith displayed every symptom of a devoted attachment. He followed the Lady Ellen like her shadow, in spite of the angry looks of Madame sa mère, and the cold ones of Monsieur son père. He might be seen every day hovering near her, as she rode, escorted by her brother, through St. James's Park, looking defiance at every young man who presumed to ride by her side; and at every scene where the elite of fashion congregate, there might he be met, his eyes ever fixed on her face, as if unconscious that any other woman was in the room. Nor was the lovely Lady Ellen regardless of his devotion to her charms. Her eyes were often turned towards him; and it was observed that she replied only by monosyllables to the animated remarks of the beaux who flocked round her ; a peculiarity which served as an indubitable proof of her preference for Meredith, when the politeness that induces young ladies to converse readily with every young man who shows them attention, is taken into consideration.

Various were the modes adopted by the Lady Ellen to testify her sympathy with the attachment she inspired in the breast of Mr. Meredith. A flower from her bouquet was often seen to drop as he stood near her, and nearly at the same moment, by some strange chance, he was seen to let fall his glove at the same spot. At operas and concerts they looked unutterable things during the progress of any passionate words wedded to sweet music. Many were the suitors rejected by the Lady Ellen, nearly as much to the discomfiture of the earl and countess, her

papa and mamma, as of theirs. She had been talked to, and talked at, in the home department; had been reminded of the folly of refusing a coronet with strawberry-leaves, and an offer of pinmoney to the tune of one thousand a year; yet still she persisted in declaring she would marry only Mr. Meredith.

The earl affirmed she was a fool, and the countess denounced her as an unnatural daughter not to sacrifice her own absurd predilection, for the reasonable one indulged in by herself for a coronet. Uncle Mortimer laughed more than ever, and swore it was all sheer obstinacy on the girl's part; while aunt Beauchamp wiped her eyes, and said her dear Ellen's attachment reminded her of her own to her poor lost Sir Evelyn, whose death she should never cease to deplore.

"Nor I neither, I can assure you sister," replied Mr. Mortimer.

“I was not aware of your sympathy, brother; but though tardy, I am nevertheless grateful for it."

“Oh! hearing the same lamentations for five and-twenty years must create an impression; and hang me, sister, if I would not prefer to have Beauchamp alive, and quarrel with him every day, as I used to do, rather than have to listen to your regrets for his loss. Why, there is your poor friend, Mrs. Effingham, how much more to be pitied she is!"

"Pitied, brother! She who has her husband-the lover of her youth-the-"

"Yes, sister, the indifferent, neglectful husband of her maturity, and the hater of her old age!"

"Old age, brother! Why Mrs. Effingham is only my age.” "I thought she was a year or two younger."

"Really, brother, I must say that you have very extraordinary notions."

"But to resume, sister, how glad poor Mrs. Effingham would be to change places with you, and to have only the fictitious sorrow founded on an erroneous reminiscence of a dead husband's qualities, in the place of a real one-based on the daily experience of a living one's defects!"

"How can you imagine that the dear departed Sir Evelyn would ever have behaved unkindly to me? He who was all love, all tenderness-who lived but in my smiles," and here the good lady drew forth her cambric handkerchief, and wiped the tears that dimmed her eyes.

"But remember, he was a husband only two months, sister; the honeymoon was scarcely over when he died. It was too soon to show his temper, or to engage in those discussions, from which, I believe, no ménage is exempt."

"Spare my feelings, brother. He had the most faultless