Mr. Pluribusi seemed amused, for he laughed as Harry continued to give utterance to his admiration. “Why she is a perfect beauty—how like a fairy-shape she flits among the roses—can any thing so glorious be earthly? Oh! how I wish I knew her.” Never, indeed, was there a more beautiful picture than that young girl as she glided about, with the mellow sunlight falling around her sylph-like form. Her hair, which was a rich and shining black, was gathered into a knot behind, and laid in soft bands over her pure and polished brow. Her eyes were of that deep, full blue which is so rare, large and bright, and full of fire and spirit. The star of intellectuality beamed from her animated countenance, and spoke of a soul within that admitted of no influence to thwart its loftiness of purpose, or sully its innocence and purity. She was twining a garland of rose-buds, heliotrope and mignonette, and more than once was she seen to press the flowers to her ruby lips, while a peculiar witchery played over her features. “Would that I knew her,” repeated Harry. “Well, I will introduce you, for, to tell you the truth, I came here for that very purpose,” replied his companion; “but beware!” he added, shaking his finger, “for I begin to suspect that wicked urchin, Cupid, intends playing some of his mischievous pranks here.” “Indeed, the place seems a fitting one for his votaries,” returned Harry, earnestly, as they entered the gateway. Miss Bryarly, who was introduced to our hero as the niece of Mr. Pluribusi, received him with a soft, enchanting grace, which completed his fascination. This passage of Moore came into his mind, for he felt— As if his soul that moment caught, An image it through life had sought; As if the very lips and eyes, Predestined to have all his sighs, And never to forget again, Sparkled and smiled before him then.