Geraldine, strange to relate, had seen eyes she liked better. Fanny thought it absolutely incredible. "Were they not fine, dark, and penetrating?" Geraldine conceded all this; but there was something restless and wild in their expression. Fanny pronounced this to be bright, beaming genius, enough to kindle animation, even in marble. "As to his voice," continued she, "did not I see you rivetted to the spot when he sung? Did not you pause when it was over, just like the Lady of the Lake, as if again, "You thought to catch the witching strain, Geraldine acknowledged, that it was very delightful to hear him sing. "And still more to hear him talk,” said Fanny. Geraldine demurred a little. She thought it rather more delightful to hear Montague talk. Fanny was seized with a second fit of wondering. Montague was only a man of taste; Mr. Spenser a man of genius. The one pleased, the other inspired you. Geraldine wondered in her turn, and blushed indignantly, in defence of Montague. "That blush is very becoming, and as eloquent as you can desire it to be," said Fanny. I advise you by all means, my dear child, to cultivate that species of eloquence. It is always admired, and is certainly prodigiously comprehensive; it may be so prettily, so variously interpreted. The gift of tongues is not more valuable." "It only means," said Geraldine, hesitat ing. "Oh! make no comment on it, pray," returned Fanny; "a bungling interpretation of a fine text is not endurable. I perfectly understand it; and there is one point, my dear little angry girl, we shall certainly agree in," continued she," that it is a great deal too provoking to be obliged to waste one day out of the two that remain, on fat, smiling Mrs. Wentworth, and her two silent, insipid daughters." "Oh! Helen's manners are certainly very engaging," said Geraldine. "She is an angel of light compared to her sister, to be sure," replied Fanny; "but then, you know, she never reads any thing but Thomas à Kempis, nor says any thing but her prayers. As to that stiff, stoney Miss Wentworth, she has so exactly the look of a statue, that I am always in a state of astonishment when she walks across the room. I expect some day, her feet will become rooted to the earth, and she will turn into a pillar like Lot's wife." "Montague says that they are very benevolent, and do a great deal of good," observed Geraldine. "Very likely," replied Fanny, carelessly, "They may be remarkably fit for heaven; but they are, without exception, the dullest people I ever met with on earth." "What time do they dine?" asked Geraldine. "At four o'clock," returned Fanny. "Did you ever hear of such Gothic hours? The business of dinner will be over by six; and then Mrs. Wentworth will smile and nod, and the ladies will adjourn to the drawing-room, and gape, and bestow their tediousness' upon each other for about three hours, till the ceremony of tea begins. I dare say Mrs. Wentworth would think it high treason against decorum, if any of the gentlemen attempted to join us before the regular summons went forth. "At length, by the time we are half stupified by ennui, and they are quite stupified with wine, the party will meet again: then there will be a temporary revival; the old men will try to be witty, the young ones to look degagés, and the ladies affect to be nonchalantes, and absorbed in each other, quite unconscious of the approach of the gentlemen, though they have been thinking every minute an age til they appeared. "After this farce has been enacted some little time, the card-tables will appear, and before there is time to arrange what game is to played, the carriages will be announced, and the courtesies and adieus performed :—and this is the history of an English country dinnerparty. So, good night, my dear. No wonder, it has almost sent you to sleep." CHAPTER XX. A MORE striking contrast could not be found, than that which existed between Miss Wentworth and Fanny Mowbray.-Light and shade, summer and winter, were not more opposed. Dissimilar by nature, education, and habit, they usually met with regret, and parted with an increased repugnance to each other. Miss Wentworth's education had been diametrically opposite to that of Fanny. It had been conducted by a woman of rigid principles and genuine piety, but of narrow views and feeble judgment; wholly destitute of a taste for general literature, which she considered not merely as useless, but pernicious. Contracted, gloomy, and intolerant, her own peculiar view of Christianity was the standard by which she measured all around her; and those who differed from her, either in faith or practice, were condemned without hesitation or reserve. No recollection of the possible fallibility of her own judgment ever occurred to qualify an opinion, or soften a decision. The modest and moderate were astonished and disgusted by the oracular and dogmatical tone in which she pronounced judgment. No one could be a Christian according to her acceptation, who did not enter into a frequent discussion of doctrinal points; and interweave in their conversation a certain set of peculiar phrases. If they abstained from this, she denounced them, with a shake of her head, as worldly persons, and nominal Christians, forming part of the numerous class who were called, but not chosen.' She could never be brought to acknowledge, that there might be good taste and right feeling in such silence. She could not comprehend, and would not believe, that it might originate in deep and affectionate reverence,-in a reluctance to profane, by familiarity, things holy and precious. She remembered, indeed, the one thing needful;' but forgot many things that were 'lovely and of good report.' With such qualifications and deficiencies, Miss Vincent was received into Mr. Wentworth's family, as preceptress to his daughters. She was in reduced circumstances; an orphan, and distantly related to him. Either of these claims would have made its way to the heart of Mr. Wentworth; but when united, they induced him to treat her with peculiar kindness and consideration. He very soon discovered, in |