It was soon settled, that I should spend as much of my leisure time as I found agreeable, at the house of my new friend. He gave me a sort of running history of what I might expect to encounter, of noise and confusion, in a castle populous with brats of all ages and sizes; but, concluded he, “good humor, like charity, hides all their failings, in my eyes, at least.” With these prepossessions, you will not be surprised to learn, that I found his family not only pleasant, but interesting. Mrs. Ashton was a lady, whose polished and dignified manners showed that she had moved in the select circle of society, which she still adorned by the charms of her conversation and the sweetness of her disposition. Her two eldest sons were settled in life, and the youngest daughter at a boarding school; but the six little rioters of grand-children were sufficiently _uproarious_, to show that the tranquillity of the house must not depend on silence. I had, on my first entrance into the saloon, remarked a PORTRAIT, which, with many others, adorned the room, but which, though it hung in a much less conspicuous light, had, from the first moment I beheld it, irresistibly attracted my attention. Its subject was a young lady, apparently not more than sixteen years old. Whenever the conversation flagged, or my thoughts {490} were free, my eyes insensibly turned to the charmed spot, and there they would rest, while with a strange delight, my mind would busy itself in trying to define, and to gift with “a local habitation and a name,” the deep, overpowering sympathies its beauty awakened in the mind of the beholder. I can speak of the effect on my feelings, but words would be inadequate to express its surpassing loveliness. In beholding it, I could only exclaim, in the celebrated words of Burke, “There surely never lighted on this globe a more delightful vision.” To describe the features separately, would give you no idea of the bewitching harmony of the whole expression. “Her eyes dark charm 'twere vain to tell.” Their light seemed as emanated from the celestial world, and while you were gazing on it, your soul appeared to catch something of the beatific vision. And yet this heavenly being seemed not sublimated beyond the affections of earth—No, the rainbow of hope and love looked as it were spanning a dark cloud, which might blot it out forever. This fascination continued from day to day, and yet no remark or inquiry was made as to the original of the portrait. I felt as if there were something mysterious or sacred about it, and that it would be intruding into the sanctuary of private feelings, to show any curiosity on the subject. None of the family ever alluded to it, though they must have observed the deep interest with which I regarded it.