It may be that in your dreamy speculations about the future of your children, (for still you dream,) you think that Will may possibly become the husband of the sedate and kindly Madge. It worries you to find Nelly teasing him as she does; that mad hoiden will never be quiet; she provokes you excessively: and yet she is a dear creature; there is no meeting those laughing blue eyes of hers without a smile and an embrace! It pleases you however to see the winning frankness with which Madge always receives Will. And with a little of your old vanity of observation you trace out the growth of their dawning attachment. It provokes you to find Nelly breaking up their quiet _tete-a-tetes_ with her provoking sallies, and drawing away Will to some saunter in the garden, or to some mad gallop over the hills. At length upon a certain summer's day Will asks to see you. He approaches with a doubtful and disturbed look; you fear that wild Nell has been teasing him with her pranks. Yet he wears not so much an offended look as one of fear. You wonder if it ever happened to you to carry your hat in just that timid manner, and to wear such a shifting expression of the eye, as poor Will wears just now? You wonder if it ever happened to you to begin to talk with an old friend of your father's in just that abashed way? Will must have fallen into some sad scrape.--Well, he is a good fellow, and you will help him out of it! You look up as he goes on with his story;--you grow perplexed yourself;--you scarce believe your own ears. ----"Nelly?"--Is Will talking of Nelly? "Yes, sir,--Nelly." ----"What!--and you have told all this to Nelly--that you love her?" "I have, sir." "And she says"-- "That I must speak with you, sir." "Bless my soul!--But she's a good girl;"--and the old man wipes his eyes. ----"Nell!--are you there?" And she comes,--blushing, lingering, yet smiling through it all. ----"And you could deceive your old father, Nell"--(very fondly.) Nelly only clasps your hand in both of hers. "And so you loved Will all the while?" ----Nelly only stoops to drop a little kiss of pleading on your forehead. ----"Well, Nelly," (it is hard to speak roundly,) "give me your hand;--here, Will,--take it:--she's a wild girl;--be kind to her, Will." "God bless you, sir!" And Nelly throws herself, sobbing, upon your bosom. ----"Not here,--not here now, Nell!--Will is yonder!" ----Sobbing, sobbing still! Nelly, Nelly,--who would have thought that your merry face covered such a heart of tenderness! III. _Grief and Joy of Age._