vehement desire to disclaim such an imputation.

The new curate was very handsome, and, what was better, he was very lively and agreeable. Nothing came amiss to him. He ran races with the children, went sketching with the young ladies, talked over the parish and "Convocation" with my uncle, wound my aunt's worsted, and seemed to do everything, but like poetry.

I could not discover the least trait of a poetic vein in him. He was matter-of-fact and sensible to the last degree, and I felt convinced would rather read a dry old homily than the finest sonnet in the world.

So Isabel and I felicitated ourselves upon hearing that another young gentleman was about to join our party, whose description answered every expectation we had formed. He was handsome, but of a refined appearance, unlike the robust and healthy curate; he was rich, and need not slave himself to death with schools,

He

clothing-societies, sermons, and old women. was literary (was it poetically so? an important question!) and had published something, but what, we could not learn. And above every thing, he had a very pretty name, Cecil Hamilton, very unlike the curate's, Richard Graham. We had absolutely heard my boy-cousins calling him "Dick."

When he came he nearly proved himself equal to the reports spread abroad, which showed he had some merit. He was not quite so handsome, that is he had a pretty little feminine face, but he was short, with a narrow chest, and weak legs. His eyes were beautiful, answering to the word spiritual; his feet and hands very small, his dress perfection, and his manners quite "loveable," to use Georgy's phrase.

He was not at all too literary, too rich, or too fine to associate with us, and won my aunt's heart by saying, "If Miss Glynne were not present, Miss Berrington would be the handsomest girl in the room."

We wanted but one assurance, to make us quite happy; for, girl-like, we had built a castle without the smallest anticipation of its being destroyed.

"One thing is certain," said Isabel to me, in high confidence, "we shall soon know; for I have always heard that poets cannot help talking of their own poetry, and running down other peoples'."

"That is rather a reflection upon the race, Issy; and though it may be applicable to Selina in the first sense, it not-so in the second, for she will think the greatest trash better than her's."

"Mr. Hamilton already admires her greatly. Oh! Nellie, if we only do succeed, then I shall think I have atoned for that dreadful business."

"It is a pity we did not know Mr. Hamilton before we saw Mr. Graham, because he would at once have taken care of Selina. Now it will be difficult to displace Mr. Graham, more especially as he is so strong and active, and can run by her pony, up hill and down dale, without fatigue. Now

Mr. Hamilton does not look strong enough for that. Besides, he is so slow; Mr. Graham has put her on her pony before the other is even aware it has come to the door."

"That is because he is so occupied looking at her, he can see nothing else. And how pretty and healthy she looks. I don't think she has thought of that, you know, once, or had a sighing fit."

It is just as Neale said. For three years she was thinking only of one thing, and it was abruptly forced from her, and nothing given her in its stead. And she had not strength of mind sufficient to bear up, and find amusement for herself. Perhaps, in her situation, you and I would have behaved worse, Isabel."

Perhaps," answered Isabel, sorrowfully. Isabel's prognostications, as to Mr. Hamilton's discovering his literary vein himself, proved

correct.

One lovely evening, as we all sat under the

VOL. I.

Q

trees, he, looking at Miss Glynne, but talking to Isabel, said,

"Your pretty friend has inspired me. Would you be kind enough to pass judgment on these poor lines, to see if I have done her justice. Perhaps you are aware I have published a few fugitive pieces-and may I present you with a copy ?"

As Isabel told us after, you might have knocked her down with a feather; and she had the greatest difficulty in refraining from some open and not quite maidenly act on her part to express her delight.

means

But she smothered it all, until we were alone; and then together we read, admired, and felicitated each other. Not but what I thought Mr. Hamilton's poetry very poor-by no equal to Selina's. However, Isabel would not hear any disparaging remarks, but at once we were to go and divulge the interesting fact to Selina.

Certainly she smiled with surprise and pleasure when she heard that Mr. Hamilton was not