This was rather a philosophical opinion for a griffin, but one which I have always held, though young blood at that time and since has often capsized the philosopher. “Well, Mr. Gernon,” continued she, “you have my best wishes for your happiness and success in life; all is _couleur de rose_ with you now; may it ever so continue! Already,” said she, and the tear glistened, “the clouds of life are beginning to pass over me.” As she said this, she crossed her fair white hands on her lap, and the widow’s eyes sadly dropped on her wedding ring, the little golden circlet type of eternal fidelity. I understood it, and was silent. Silence is preferable on such occasions, perhaps, to the commonplaces of condolence. We both continued mute for some moments; she looking at her ring, I out of the window. At length, I ventured to say, “Dear madam, do not deem me impertinent, I pray; but cheer up; remember, as my Irish half-countryman beautifully expresses it, ‘every dark cloud has a silver lining,’ and there are doubtless many, many happy days yet in store for you.” I should have premised, that Mrs. Delaval had lately lost her husband, a fine young fellow, who fell in the storm of a small Polygar fort on the coast, and Time had not yet brought that balm with which in due course he heals the wounds of the heart, unless the very deepest. I was certainly waxing tender, when the idea of Olivia, my poor abandoned Olivia, crossed my mind. “What would Mrs. Grundy say,” thought I, “if she knew of it?” The widow gave her auburn locks a toss, made an effort at self-possession, smiled through her tears, and was herself again. “By-the-bye, Mr. Gernon,” said she, “though but a recent acquaintance, I will assume the privilege of an old friend, and give you some little information whilst we are alone, which may be of some advantage to you in your intercourse with this family.” I looked alarmed, not knowing what was forthcoming. She perceived what was passing in my mind. “You need not think, Mr. Gernon,” and she smiled, “that you have come amongst giants or ogres, who are likely to form designs against your life and liberty. Nothing quite so bad as that—no. What I wished to say is, that my father is a man of warm and generous impulses, but violently passionate and eccentric; and I entreat you to be cautious in what you say before him, and do not press any subject if you find him evincing impatience. If he likes he may serve you; but if he takes a prejudice, he is exceedingly persecuting and bitter: a warm friend but an inexorable foe. Mrs. Capsicum, to much vulgarity adds all my father’s violence and irritability, with none of his redeeming qualities. You must be submissive, and prove yourself a ‘good listener,’ or you will have little chance of standing well with her.” This was said with some little asperity of manner, plainly indicating that the step-mother was not more popular than step-mothers generally are.