Constance raised that hand to her lips, a warm tear fell on it. The amiable lady looked at her for a moment, her own eyes filled, and she embraced the sweet girl with maternal tenderness. "Adieu, my child!" she said. "You were an unconscious instrument in the hands of heaven for good to us: the blessing of a wife and a mother will rest upon you!"

Before their departure from the metropolis of France, the lovely Beatrice de Visconti received their congratulations as the Comtesse de Beaumanoir. The parting between her and her friend was not without tears; but the promises they made to continue a constant correspondence, and to meet again in after years, were both faithfully kept.

Beatrice passed her happy existence in the fulfilment of domestic duties, as well as those of social life. Her days were divided between the château of her father on the banks of the beautiful and romantic Lago di Como, which eventually became that of herself and her descendants, and her husband's residence in the Faubourg St. Germain. The exercise of her pure and youthful tastes always afforded her more pleasure in the bosom of home, than she ever experienced in the world.

The friendship formed between Madame Laval and her pupils remained undiminished, though they were so widely separated, and their mutual affection and interest were manifested whenever an opportunity was presented of renewing and strengthening those kind feelings.

Antoine and his family emigrated to the western world, where his industry and fidelity met an ample

recompense. Even after an abundance of worldly goods had succeeded a modest competency, he exercised his talent in ornamental gardening, and the evidences of his taste may yet be seen in those places where he resided, before he was established in a home of his own. His children, trained in sound principles and to useful labor, followed in his footsteps, and well merited the favor they found in their adopted land.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

CONCLUSION.

SPRING in its early freshness found the family reestablished at their own loved and quiet home, and amid "showers of roses," Reginald received the hand of his lovely bride.

Mr. Bloomfield tied the irrevocable knot in the handsome country church elsewhere commemorated, and the many kind friends, who obeyed the signal of the bell that rung out a cheerful peal, assembled afterwards at Avonmore to offer their hearty congratulations.

A bright and happy day it was.-Bird-voices and spring bloom coming in gushing sweetness from without, and kind and loving hearts exchanging sympathies within.

To enter into the details of that occasion would be to repeat our description of the bridal of Vivian and Evelyn, with only the difference between city and country life. Mr. Walsingham, if he did not, as on the former occasion, give away the bride, bestowed on her a kiss and a blessing almost paternal. The white-robed nymphs were as lovely, the wedding presents and wedding-cake as abundant.

It may be a circumstance worthy of remark that there was some sweet music on the occasion, and that Mrs. Fowler and Miss Kezia did not favor the company with a song. The doctor resigned his pretensions to art and the modern tongues, at least when any of Mr. Melville's family were present, and returned to his old friends, the ancients, with whom he was more at home.

Uncle Tom offered an immense nosegay of his choicest flowers to "Miss Constance" on her weddingday, and as she graciously and gracefully received them, he declared, with tears in his eyes, that "she looked jest like an angel, and moved about like a weepin' willow."

Mammy became an oracle. She always spoke of the toilette whenever the subject of dress was alluded to, and was consulted on all matters relative to that important science. With her, a milliner was never mentioned but as a modiste, and a mantuamaker as a couturière. "When I was in Paris," always silenced any differences of opinion in matters of taste between her and her numerous friends and satellites. A slight feud arose between herself and Uncle Tom, but one which was easily accommodated. He was one day seriously offended because he averred that mammy had called him a jardinière, and he did not consider it respectful to him to call him names. But when assured that a jardinière only signifies a fanciful little table designed to contain flowers, he became reconciled to the appellation, which, in defiance of grammatical rules, was constantly applied to him.

It will be naturally asked if this family were as

happy at home, as they had been in the world? The reader may answer the question, having seen both sides of the picture. It must not be supposed that they lived in perfect seclusion, after the events occupied by the short period of their lives recorded in these pages. They went sometimes into the world, but it was to enhance the beauty and value of home, where their days were passed "amid grass, and flowers, and charitable deeds."

Years have flown by, and groups of beautiful children are seen sporting beneath the shades of the old home. Time passes on, and the golden links of that circle are still unbroken. Time with them is not the common enemy, whom they unite in a conspiracy to destroy, nor do they seek to abridge their days and moments, that those days and moments may glide by unperceived. They do not paint him with scythe and hour-glass, sprinkling hoar frost on their heads, or laying icy fingers on their hearts. They love rather to represent him on a fleecy cloud, surrounded by the rosy hours, while the early morning scatters dewy flowers in his path.

And so they move on together, loving and loved, in faith and in hope that they will thus and for ever be united, when "time shall be no longer."

THE END.

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