“I’ll force you, then,” cried Minnie, seizing Kate around the waist. “Now look at Mr. and Mrs. Dobbs waltz together.” And round she spun, pulling Kate after her, until Lisa and Blanche were adding their peals of laughter to Rose’s hearty amusement. Away they went until Minnie whirled her sister out of the room, and soon after sat down to the Bamboula in sober earnest. Thus ended all attempts at controlling Minnie, and her task seemed that of creating merriment wherever she went and turning all reproof into a mockery. Indeed, she laughed too constantly, and there were times when Lisa shook her head gravely at this perpetual merriment. A woman’s duties begin so sternly and so positively from the hour she marries—the bridal wreath so quickly withers into one of cares and fears, that the sight of a creature like Minnie, full of thoughtlessness and glee, saddened the heart that knew something of them all; and poor Lisa, with her responsibilities, vainly warned her young sister to laugh less and reflect more. “I wish that you were married, Blanche,” said she one day, as they sat together. “We see so few strangers at home, and seem so much like equals, that Minnie will fly into the face of every thing and every body without ever being curbed into tranquillity.” “And what good would my marrying do, in the name of wonder?” said Blanche with a stare. “A vast deal, particularly if you were to bestow yourself upon a man like Mr. Stuart, for instance.” Lisa went on with her work, and the deep blush that suffused her sister’s fair face was unperceived. “Lisa!” said Blanche, after a pause, and her voice faltered; “Lisa! would you wish me marry?” “Not unless you are confident of being happy, dear Blanche,” was her reply, and she looked up. Once more the bright color mounted over the cheeks of her companion, and the tears stood in her eyes. She held out her hand, and Lisa pressed it affectionately as she remarked her unusual emotion. “My dear sister! what is it that affects you thus?” “Because, Lisa—I _have_ had thoughts of marrying, not for Minnie’s sake—but—for my own.” She covered her face and burst into tears. Lisa rose and clasped her in her arms, soothing her with pet names and kind words. “Dear Blanche—sweet dove! tell me all about it? Is it really so? and have you promised—” “I have promised nothing, Lisa,” replied Blanche, raising her head and leading her to a _causeuse_. “Sit down; and now that I can speak, listen and advise me.” Lisa obeyed, and turned her earnest sympathizing eyes upon her sister with a look that invited confidence, such as Blanche was about to give,—a pure and unrestrained avowal of her feelings.