Thus passed the days till Christmas time drew nigh, with its promise of turkeys, roast beef, mince pies and plum puddings. Mrs. Dale “on household thoughts intent,” spent many an hour in superintending the preparation of mince meat, sausages, and other delicacies, for country folks make all these luxuries at home. Of course your humble servant was pressed into the service, but our heroine, who detested the details of the “ménage,” (for which she was always and with reason scolded by her mother), continued to practice her harp and her singing, and to write her foolish, romantic thoughts in her journal, utterly heedless of all sublunary matters, and alike inattentive to the maternal rëproofs and to the more gentle remonstrances of her Mentor. At length the long-expected and anxiously desired day dawned bleak and cheerless in appearance, but fraught with sunshine to the now cheerful party at the Vicarage. Our usual two o’clock dinner was postponed to the hour of half-past five to suit the more aristocratic habits of the young officer. Even Mr. Dale fetched from the cellar a bottle of his oldest port, and the whole house wore an air of unaccustomed festivity. Precisely at half-past four, the roll of a carriage and a loud ring at the door-bell, announced the much desired arrival. The usual kindly greetings over, the visitor was ushered to the guest-chamber. I had just completed my toilet, and wishing to ascertain if Evelyn had done the same, entered her apartment. I was quite struck by her extreme beauty. She was robed in an exquisitely-fitting dinner costume of blue silk, which suited well with her delicate features and bright but soft complexion. A scarf of white tulle was gracefully flung around her shoulders, I may add, in the words of Byron, “Her glossy hair was braided o’er a brow Bright with intelligence—”