ness very different from the dry brevity of Mr. Marchmont's usual communications, and announced the singular satisfaction he felt in being able to communicate the marriage of his son Phillip with the young and beautiful Miss Ainslie. He went off into a long genealogical digression upon her family and antecedents. The main fact appeared to be, that her father had been the son of Sir Jonas Sefton, of Launston Hall, in Kent; but he was dead, and her mother, left with three daughters, had brought them up in the greatest elegance and gentility. One of the sisters was married to a rich colonel in India. None of them appeared to have much money, but were moving, according to his account, in the best society. Miss Ainslie had been much sought after, had received distinguished offers of marriage, but had refused them all for the sake of Phillip. There had been much opposi

tion at first, on the part of her own family, who looked higher for her, but the`mother at length had yielded to the united entreaties of the young people, &c. &c.

Then followed an account of the amiable condescension of her uncle, the Baronet, who, unable to be present at the ceremony, sent the bride an elegant silver inkstand, and an invitation to visit him at Launston Hall.

Mr. Marchmont's satisfaction and pride in this connexion were evidently genuine, but it was only an introduction to the real gist of the letter. He could not so far forget his natural instinct for business as not in some way to bring in his own interest.

There was a postscript, in which he announced that he proposed running down to the Chauntry for a few days at the beginning of the week, as he wished to consult Charles upon a certain affair of im

portance. Also, he added, that if quite agreeable to Miss Constance, Phillip and his bride would spend a couple of days with her on their way to Launston Hall.

The marriage of Phillip had been the foundation of all her day-dreams for many months, and yet, now that it was come to pass, her heart contracted with a pang. It was a hard, sharp reality that she could no longer invest with romance; she had loved Phillip's wife dearly in her imagination, but she felt an instinctive antipathy to the

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young and beautiful Miss Ainslie" of flesh and blood. The sudden announcement of his marriage revealed to her how much she had cherished the idea that she still held the first place in his heart. All these emotions resolved themselves into a flood of bitter tears, to conceal which she hastily retired to her own room.

Her father allowed her to remain there in peace for at least a quarter of an hour; he felt very sorry for her, and began, as usual, to reflect upon the evil fate that had pursued him from his youth up, in the course of which he forgot all about Constance, who indeed seemed to him only one more item in the cruelty with which destiny had uniformly treated him.

His thoughts gradually reverted to present matters to the extreme annoyance of having to receive visitors-the ruinous expense it would be to feed and lodge so many persons; also, he did not like the thought of seeing Mr. Marchmont, from whom, however, he determined strictly to conceal his secret, if he could. Mr. Marchmont, as he knew from experience, had a mesmeric power of attracting secrets, and making the person he was conversing with reveal them in spite of himself. He then

began to wonder what could keep Constance so long; and falling readily back into his long-indulged habit of worrying, he called her, and as she did not answer, he went upstairs to knock at her door, and desire her to come down directly.

Poor Constance stopped crying as quickly as she could, bathed her face, and after waiting a few moments in the hope that the traces of her tears would grow fainter, complied at last with the reiterated calls that were made for her.

"Really, Constance, I cannot think why you shut yourself up in your own room so constantly, especially when there is so much to advise about. I am sure I do not know how we are to afford to entertain so many people at rack and manger. It will be a terrible expense."

"Oh, no, papa; aunt Margaret never used to make any difficulty when you and Mr.