Clara had just completed her eighteenth year, and was a tall, graceful and beautiful girl; she had been carefully trained by her affectionate mother, and well did she repay that mother’s anxious care, for in her bereavement she was her comforter and assistant in many things, and in nothing more than in undertaking the education of her little brother and sister, a useful, although we cannot agree with the poet in styling it a “delightful task,” yet one that Clara was well qualified to perform, as she had herself received a finished education, although she had never left her native village: and she was thus occupied one morning, when Mrs. Delmont entered the room with an open letter in her hand, and addressed our heroine in the following manner: “My dear Clara, your cousin Mrs. Cleveland writes that she, with Mr. Cleveland and their three children, will be here next Wednesday evening, to spend a fortnight with us, after which they wish you to accompany them to their city residence, and remain there for this winter.” “Oh, mamma, that would be delightful,” exclaimed Clara. “I know I will enjoy my time with cousin Florence; and then, you know, the city is so gay a place. I would be too happy to go.” “So I think, my dear,” replied her mother, “and therefore if you wish it I have no possible objection; but how can you leave Mr. Seymour?” added she, archly. “Why, ma,” exclaimed Clara, blushing deeply, “what is Mr. Seymour to me?” “Ah, Clara,” replied Mrs. Delmont, “I know what he is to you, better than you are willing to acknowledge to yourself. But seriously, my dear child, you must decide at once, so that I may write an answer to your cousin’s letter.” “Of course, mamma, I should be delighted to go.” And Mrs. Delmont retired to write the letter, while Clara indulged herself in a long walk, in order to meditate on the news, and to anticipate the delights of a visit to the city.