The laughter-loving girl took his hand, and putting on an _awful_ look, she began—“Where grow the tall elms greenest, lies hid a vine-covered cottage. Ha! you start, brother mine. I am right! That we will take for granted. We will also take for granted that the said cottage is a paragon of a cottage. Within—ah! there’s the charm. What! blushing, Frank! Am I not a good diviner? Let me see—oh! she is beautiful! A Peri come down on earth to live. A fairy—for naught but a fairy—no mortal maiden could be fashioned fair enough to suit my _perfectionist_ of a brother. Here is a line I do not quite comprehend. Ah! I see—there is some difficulty: it only proves what the great bard said—‘The course of true love’—you know the rest. The fairy maiden does not look kindly on you. See! these lines cross one another: but the cross line is short; after that all is clear. Her eyes will yet look love on you. Her home will yet be in your heart. So, courage, brother!” All were now eager to hear their fortunes, but the capricious girl turned to the piano; before she had half finished her song she abruptly asked,— “Mamma, what is love?” “Love, my dear?—why it is a principle inherent within us. The feeling I have for you is love. God is love, and all his creation is ruled by the laws of love.” “Cousin Edward, what is _your_ definition of love?” “Love,” said Edward, looking into the depths of her laughing blue eyes, “love is love.” “Good!—that will do for you. So now, Frank, it is your turn Francis—brother.” “What, Clara?” “Where are you wandering?” “To the vine-covered cottage you were telling me of.” “Well, come back from there, and tell me what love is.” “Love? Love is the devil! An angel of light—madness—gladness! Gladness in the presence of the loved one, and—” “And madness away from the dear one. Is that it? Yes, you _are_ in love.” Miss Linwood was appealed to for _her_ opinion of what love was. “Never having experienced the mysterious influence of the blind deity,” said she, “I feel myself totally unprepared to give an opinion on the all important subject.” Miss Laura Linwood giggled and said nothing. Mr. Ralph Linwood gave it as his belief that love was animal magnetism. Much more he said by way of illustration; hardly worth repeating however. Kate and George agreed with Edward, viz., that _love was love_. Another cousin, little Lilla, they called her, a sister of Kate’s—a child—a very pretty one, too, said that love was the son of Venus, and that he was named Cupid—for her Heathen Mythology said so; and that he always kept a bow and arrow to shoot into the hearts of mortals. The child was right. One maintained that love was friendship continued, the allegory of a metaphor. “Love is like a dizziness, confound it, ’t wont let a fellow go about his business,” said George. And so the merry party kept rattling on;—nonsense, to be sure—but what is this world good for without some nonsense?