ardency of youthful feeling, alike poignant in sorrow as in joy, she contrasted, in thought's utmost rapidity, with the dreary present, where each day glided like its predecessor down the stream of time, uncheered by the converse of a kindred mind, unblessed by the smile of affectionate love. To hide her emotion she rose to ring the bell, apparently for the purpose of ordering a luncheon, which it was the etiquette of the neighbourhood to present to every morning visitor. The greater part of the family were, at that moment, at breakfast, and therefore the summons was not quickly obeyed; but at length a tray was brought in, glittering in all the luxury of china, plate, and glass, and loaded with cold meat, fruit, and a variety of confectionary, at the names or contents of which Mrs. Martin's utmost knowledge of cookery could not enable her to guess. However as she did not consider ignorance in this instance as bliss, she immediately commenced her acquaintance with them; and the whole party, having done ample justice to the repast, prepared to depart; and it was settled that as steps could not easily be procured, the arrangement of the vehicles should be changed, Miss Lucas resigning her place in the post chaise to Mrs. Martin. Miss Wildenheim had scarcely made her farewell curtsy at the door, when as the carriages drove off Mrs. Martin exclaimed, "What a sweet young lady Miss Wildenheim is." "Oh!" said Mrs. Crosbie, "those French misses have always honey on their lips." "I wonder how she happens to speak such good English, for her eyes, complexion, and accent are quite foreign," observed her spouse. "And I hope you'll add, her manner too," returned the lady: "I was quite ashamed of her when she first came to Webberly House, she used to have so many antics with her hands; now she is something like; but though we have improved her, still her countenance has never the exact same look three minutes together; and if you say a civil thing to her, she grows as red as if you had slapped her in the face." "Mr. Temple told me," said Mrs. Martin, "that she grieved more after Mr. Sullivan, when he died last January, than all the rest of the family put together. He told me one day, poor man, that she was the daughter of a German baron." "Ah, Mrs. Martin," interrupted Mr. Crosbie, laughing, "I'm afraid there was a mistake of gender and case there; a _Baronness_ perhaps she might be daughter to, as an action might lie against me for defamation, I won't say by whom." "You are both wrong," said his wife, "for _Mrs._ Sullivan's _maid_ informed me, (and she knows but every thing) that Miss Wildenheim was Mr. Sullivan's natural daughter by a German _Princess_ (God forgive him), when he was a general in the Austrian service. I dare say she is a papist, for he was a papist, and they are _all_ papists in foreign parts." "Papist or not," replied Mrs. Martin, "I'm sure she practises the Christian virtue of