All were in a hurry to get home lest my aunt should be kept waiting a moment; and so quick were the subsequent operations, that Frederick has assisted the two damsels from their donkies, the riding costume was _doffed_, as if by magic; and ere it seemed possible to have gone through half the preliminary work of preparation for breakfast, a bell tingled, and hastily pocketing my sketch-book, I quitted my station near the house, where I had lingered to make a memorandum of the spot, and was met at the door by Fred. who stopped my entrance, saying, "Arthur, my mother fears it may not be agreeable to you to attend family prayers; and, as you are an invalid, I am desired to say, that you are not to consider yourself bound to our hours, or observances; therefore, my dear fellow, as you have of course said your own prayers, do not think it necessary to join us; but Lewis has been asked, and as it is pleasant to be _sure_ of religious instruction for the servants, I came to mention the circumstance, lest you should want your _valet_." Now the fact was, that though you know I _do_ say my prayers generally, and think the practice a right one, I had not knelt down on that morning. The stimulus of a new place, the vexation of the preceding evening, and a sort of restless curiosity to look about me, and make my observations while I had an opportunity of being alone; all excited me to quit my room as fast as I could, and I did so without a syllable of devotion: behold me, then, again caught in the trap; and having blundered out something of being "very happy, &c. &c." Frederick led the way, and in a small room where there was no appearance of eatables, I found Mrs. Douglas and her daughters. My aunt, who is about forty, is a heavenly looking being, without being handsome in the _common_ sense of the word. Her character of countenance, manner, dress, is entirely and exclusively _her own_, without conveying in any thing the idea of eccentric. Her smile is lovely, and seems to warm into life and serenity whatever it rests upon. "At length her sorrows drew a line of care Across her brow, and sketch'd her story there. Years of internal suffering dried the stream That lent her youthful eye its liquid beam; A mild composure to its glance succeeds, The gayest look still spoke of widow's weeds."