language as he was of mine, he looked upon my appearance as quite a case in point: Observe this young stranger-rich, free to do his own pleasure, healthy; but, to counterbalance these advantages, Providence has denied him a goître.""

CHAPTER IX.

66 Nobody dies but somebody's glad of it."
Three Courses and a Dessert.

For

WE differ from our ancestors in many thingsin none more than in cases of sentiment. merly, it was your susceptible school-girl," your novel-reading miss"-now, women only grow romantic after forty. Your young beauty calculates the chances of her Grecian nose, her fine eyes, and her exquisite complexion-your young heiress dwells on the claims of her rent-roll, or the probabilities of her funded property it is their mothers who run away- their aunts who marry handsome young men without a shilling. Well, the prudence of youth is very like selfishness, and the romance of age very like folly.

Mrs. Arundel was arrived at the romantic age; and Emily, on her return from a fortnight's stay at Norville, was somewhat sur

prised to hear from her own lips that her marriage with Mr. Boyne Sillery was to take place immediately. So soon! and was this all? A few months, and her uncle's memory seemed to have utterly passed away. Alas! oblivion is our moral death, and forgetfulness is the second grave which closes over the dead. In the same spirit with which a drowning man. catches at a straw, Emily hoped that perhaps Mrs. Clarke might be induced to listen to arguments against such indecorous haste, and that her influence might prevail on the impatient gentleman and yielding lady to let the twelve months pass-and then, thought Emily, "I shall be glad it is no worse."

This hope was not a very promising one; for she could scarcely flatter herself that her opinion would have much weight: she well knew Mrs. Clarke entertained a very mediocre estimate of her understanding; she had never asked her for a receipt, nor offered her a pattern,— those alphas and omegas with her female accomplishments. But, however deficient in these sciences of the spoon and the scissors, there was a sweetness, a gentleness about Emily which it was impossible to dislike; Mrs. Clarke, therefore, always spoke of her only pityingly. “Miss

1

Arundel might have been made a great deal of, but she had been so badly brought up."

The morning was raw and comfortless, as if Winter, just awakened from his sleep by an east wind, had started up in that unamiable mood which is the mood of most when untimely disturbed in their slumbers; and March, which, the day before, had seemed softening into April, was again chilled into January. Emily's health and habits were equally delicate; and a wet, cold walk was to her sufficiently distasteful, without the visit at the end: however, she summoned her resolution and her cloak, and set forth. She walked up the neatest of gravelwalks, edged by box, where there was not a leaf out of place, and a turf whose silken smoothness seemed unconscious of a tread: as Mrs. Clarke justly observed, "It was such a comfort to have no children to run over it." She paused on the cleanest of steps; a lad in pepper-and-salt livery opened the door; and she entered the hall and an atmosphere of most savoury soup, where she seemed likely to remain-for the boy stood debating between his right hand and his left, evidently quite undecided whether he was to shew her to the drawing or dining-room. This mental debate was,

however, decided by the appearance of his mistress, who had just taken a peep to see who her visitor was, her morning costume rendering such a precaution very necessary.

66

Bless me, Miss Emily, who would have thought of seeing you in the rain? Do come in. Doctor, go on with your soup, my dearit will do you no good if you let it get cold. Do take off that wet cloak- are your feet damp? Don't mind the Doctor- he is only an old married man-and there is no fire in the drawing-room."

With a shiver at the thought of the cold blue best room, always in papers and brown holland, Emily took the offered seat by the fire, almost glad she was wet, as it delayed her explanation. But time has a most feminine faculty of opposition-always hurries if we hesitate-and the Doctor finished his soup, and went out to hear the complaint of a man who applied to the justice because his wife insisted on giving him mint tea for breakfast. Mrs. Clarke arrived at the end of her apologies for being caught such a figure-but she had been so busy the whole morning pickling walnuts;—and Emily, finding speak she must, in a few words explained the object of her visit,