with this Sir Harry Tressel, is it not natural that I should desire to learn somewhat of the personal attractions and mental acquirements of my intended? Pr'ythee Cis., an' thou knowest aught of the gallant, and canst but trace a lineament of the lover, and paint me the colour and complexion of the unknown and unseen, do so quickly and quaintly, that my heart being forewarned of his irresistible exterior, may not fall suddenly in love with him at first sight!"

"Oh, a rare gentleman, and a fine knight !” quoth Cicely, smiling, " and moreover a wealthy relative of mine."

"Indeed?"

In truth is he; yet wot we little of his consanguine love. Albert knows him; but to him, he is a distant relative, cold and cutting as his own rapier, and my brother's too proud to conciliate his favour, and so they pass each other with somewhat less ceremony than common strangers."

"What age owns he?" asked Emmeline.

"His tongue says six and thirty, more or less', and if there be truth in repetition he speaks truly, for who can doubt what he hath sworn to daily for these last twenty years; that by the mass! I verily believe the gay knight credits what his wrinkled face belies, in the very legible lines which time's finger hath inscribed thereon."

"Most worthy knight! Most veritable coxcomb !"

exclaimed Emmeline," and thinkest thou he will prefer his suit to me?"

"Aye, that will he, and boldly, as he doth prefer his own sweet self to all the mighty lords of the creation." Nay, then I vow I will not encounter him. I cannot abide the idea of listening to a love-tale from a wheezing old suitor, who windeth up his trim, digressive periods by a half-stifled cough, strangling himself for the 'sake of courtesy. Heaven preserve me from the penance of such an interview. I would rather be wooed by a wooden effigy than such a man; who oweth all his appearance of humanity to the dextrous bolsterings and ingenious paddings of his tailor-the taste of his perruquierthe skill of his dentist, and the cosmetics of his perfumer!"

"What," cried Cicely, "and wilt thou prove disobedient to thy father's will, decry the man of his choice and election, and deny Sir Harry Tressel the favour of thy speech? Oh gossip, would that mine aunt Abigail were now living!—I have heard her so bepraise this ancient gallant, and tell such tales of his feats and conquests, and talk so loudly of what he had been in her time, that it were impossible for woman's heart to escape the contagion of her warm admiration, so glowing was her description. In truth (were it not scandal to speak it), I think the good old maid did die of love for him!" "And must I meet him!"

"Nay, thou hast given thy father to think so, by thy silent acquiescence, when he informed thee of the knight's coming, and his intentions,” replied Cicely.

"Alack! what can my father mean?" said Emmeline, "I would not disparage his wisdom, but is it meet to send his daughter such a suitor ?"

"Sir Alleyne, remembering him only what he was, overlooks the old beau in the unforgotten fame of the young gallant. He hath, as it were, grown up with him, and time flies on so swiftly, that our fathers only count years, in the retrospect, as days. Trust me, sweetheart, thou hast nought to apprehend from Sir Harry. He is a true knight-errant, and would rather choose to protect than oppress any maiden in Christendom, and setting aside the fringe of his foppery (which hangeth upon him like a gaudy knot upon an ancient blade), he is a worthy old gentleman, who hath a kind heart, that is only too prone to dissolve in the warm sunshine of beauty. His life hath been one long and happy courtship, and his heart still remaining unsoured by care or trouble, beats with unabated vigour and youthfulness, beneath the antique covering of his exterior."

"I begin not to dislike this knight quite so much," said Emmeline.

"That is encouraging, however," replied Cicely; "but listen," holding up her finger, "Hear'st thou that air? hark! there's a cadenza! there's a turn! an irresistible flourish !"

"A guitar and voice; is't not?" answered Cicely, "or my senses deceive me. Hark! As certain as love, gossip; the gay Sir Harry! he is in yonder room fingering

and a-hemming, and assuredly intends to prelude his discourse and his declaration, like a gallant troubadour, with a set air and words of his own composition. Now, mark his gallantry, and if thine heart resist him, thou'rt no woman! But the door moves-I will conceal myself, or I shall die of suffocated laughter," and away the maiden tripped, leaving Emmeline with a palpitating heart to encounter her ancient lover.

Sir Harry Tressel stepped forth from the music-room to the terrace, at the extremity of which stood the expectant girl.

He was in every particular point and feature the veritable original of the portrait Cicely had so admirably depictured.

He was habited in a rich and fashionable garb, only worn by the youths of the day, with a trim flowing wig of the newest mode.

He held Emmeline's guitar in his hand, which his long, white, and delicate fingers (displaying valuable rings and gems, the boasted tokens of requited love), ran over with a facility and lightness of execution, that proved him well-skilled in the use of that instru

ment.

He stepped forward with a gay, easy air, assuming a musing absent countenance, pretending not to observe the lady until he advanced close upon her, when affectedly starting as from a reverie, he grasped the guitar in his left hand, and doffing his plumed cap, bowed with

the easy grace of an accomplished courtier, to the curtseying Emmeline.

"Sweet lady," quoth he, "the day hath been sad and gloomy with me; the sun did not shine until I beheld thee; Fame spoke thee fair, and even the fame of thy beauty was winning-but here hath she failed in her description, and yet most pardonably, as mine eyes do testify, seeing thou art fairer than fairest words can speak thee."

"Sooth, Sir Knight," replied Emmeline, "I fear no injustice to my deserts while I own so discerning and gallant a champion as Sir Harry Tressel."

The beau, flattered by this reply, proudly drew himself up, and then gradually curved his body in a gracious bow for her compliment.

"Fair Excellence," said he, drawing a scented paper from his laced doublet, and presenting it, "favour me by perusing the simple inspirations of my muse. A sonnet to the peerless lady Emmeline, written by moonlight in a sequestered grove."

Emmeline received the verses; while Sir Harry, folding his legs in attitude, and gracefully holding the guitar, commenced playing while she read.

"Methinks," said he, "this will not be an inappropriate air to the complaining and penseroso strain of the humble composition."

She listened with breathless attention till the conclusion, when expressing her satisfaction (and hoping to