But, hush! little Mary is singing; a simple plaintive melody, as natural in its pleasant notes, as the dropping of the withered leaves around her absent brother, in yon far American forest. There is a charm in these old songs which far surpasses more artistic music, for scarce is there a single ear on which they fall that has not many remembrances and associations awakened, or recalled, it may be joyful, it may be sorrowful, connected with their simple measure and well-known words, and in such, and in no other, does Mary Melville delight. There is one sitting by Mary’s side who seems to comprehend what few of the listeners do, or care to do, the singer’s delicate and sweet expression of the feeling of her well-chosen song. He has never seen her before to-night, but he seems to have made wonderfully good use of the short time he has spent beside her; and Mary has already discovered that the gentleman-like stranger, who devoted himself to her all through the evening, is a remarkably well-informed, agreeable man, and quite superior to the frivolous youths who generally buzz about in Elizabeth’s drawing-room, and form the majority of her guests. He has brilliant conversational powers, this stranger, and the still more remarkable art of drawing out the latent faculty in others, and Mary is half-ashamed, as she sees herself led on to display her hoards of hidden knowledge, adorned with her own clear perceptions of the true and beautiful, which, unknown to herself, she has acquired. It is a strange, an unusual thing with Mary to meet with any mind, save Christian’s, which can at all appreciate her own, and she is rejoicing in her new companion’s congenial temperament, and, in a little while, there is a group of listeners collected round them, attracted by something more interesting than the vapid conversations which are going on in this large room. Mr. Forsyth’s accomplishments are universally acknowledged, and he shines resplendent to night; and one after another, dazzled by his sparkling wit and still more engaging seriousness, join the circle, of which Mary is still the centre. “Who would have thought,” say we, with Mrs. James, as she gazes wonderingly over the heads of her guests on the animated face of her young sister-in-law,--“who would have thought that Mary knew so much, or could show it so well!”