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The old Greek proverb says, call no man happy till he dies. A week after their arrival in Fitzroy Square, Miss Amelia Bridget thought it good for her health to walk every morning before breakfast. "A very fine thing," observed Mrs. Higgs; "I am sure it used to be Job's own job to get her out of her bed."

One morning, however, Fitzroy Square must have been more than usually delightful: there was an east wind

"Amid whose vapors evil spirits dwelt ;"

the poor little daisies and crocuses,

"Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,"

seemed to implore their mother earth to receive them into her bosom again; the smuts, those "fairy favors" from the gnome queen of coal fires, fell fast and thick; and the laburnums looked so many practical Rousseaus, denouncing the progress of civilization.

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"Why, I declare it spits," said Mrs. Higgs, gazing on those watery drops on the windows, which indicate what the Scotch call mist, and the English rain. Timothy, do go and tell your sister that the tea's quite cold, and we've eat all the prawns."

"I'm sure, ma'," replied the boy, "you might send Jack-I've got my theme to do about being obliging, and I sha'n't have no time."

“Indeed,” said Jack, who was what is called a fine manly boy, "I sha'n't go; my stomach always tells me when it's breakfast time-and Miss Biddy has got as good a clock as I have."

"What wicked boys you are!" exclaimed the irritated Mrs. Higgs;" all this comes of your edication."

"I am sure," rejoined Jack, "I don't want to be educated-I hate going to school."

"Ain't you ashamed of yourselves, you little ungratefu rascals? Don't you cost us a mint of money, that you may have the blessing edification?”

"I do n't care," returned Jack.

"Don't care? you undootiful wretch, do you know that Don't Care came to the gallows?"

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Well, ma', if it's my fate to be hanged, I shall never be drowned."

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"I'll be the death of you, Master Saucebox!" said VOL. II.-19

Mrs. Higgs, rushing wrathfully forward; but the box on the ear was arrested by the sudden entrance of Miss Bridget Amelia and Signor Giulio Castelli. The young gentleman made his escape; but Mrs. Higg's store of indignation was not so instantly to be assuaged, even by the oil of courtesy; though, by dint of eating two lozenges, getting her a glass of brandy during a gale, and seeing to the safety of a bandbox, Signior Giulio was rather a favorite. As to Mr. Higgs, he hated all those foreigneering people.

"A pretty time this is to come in to breakfast. muffins are quite cold, I can tell you, Miss Higgs."

The

"Not Miss Higgs, but the Countess di Castelli," said Giulio, stepping gracefully forward.

The countess took out her handkerchief."

"Our felicity asks but the paternal blessing to make it complete. Kneel, my Amelia."

"Lord, father, do n't be angry, and begin to swear; but I've been and got married this morning."

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"Not to that damned jackanapes of a Frenchman," cried the father.

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"Married, and got never no wedding clothes!" said the mother.

“I'll lock you up on bread and water for a year,” said Mr. Higgs.

"To think of you going and getting married before your eldest sister. But you never had no manners," said Mrs. Higgs.

"Miss Biddy's in for it now," whispered Jack.

Signor Giulio began an eloquent speech about his noble blood, his country's wrongs, and his fair countess; and his lady began to cry. Tears did more than words. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Higgs could ever abide the sight of crying: their anger melted like barley sugar exposed to the moist air-the young couple were forgiven-and the whole family spent the wedding day at Greenwich.

At dinner, a dish of stewed eels, made Mr. Higgs a little pensive, and he remarked, "that the fair sex slipped through your fingers just like eels." This innuendo was, however, all that disturbed the enjoyment of the day, whose hilarity, as the newspapers say of a public dinner, was prolonged to a late hour.

But all this in advance; and Miss Bridget and the Italian professeur des varietes are leaning over the side of the vessel. At length a dark line appeared on the horizon

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-it widened-assumed a broken outline, like an evening ridge of clouds-gradually the bold coast became defined -an element seemed restored to creation—and the green glad earth was visible to the gaze of the voyager.

Beatrice stood at the little cabin window, her heart in her eyes, watching, but not for the beauty of the scene. No, though the steps of morning were even as angels' on the sea which grew bright beneath;-no, though the night had left the blush with which she rose from her pillow behind her on the clouds;-no, though the white cliffs stood out before her-stainless portals of earth's most glorious land; she gazed upon it because it was the country of Edward Lorraine. Edward, my own beloved Edward!" said she in English; and then hid her face in her hands, as if to shut out every object but that now present to her thoughts.

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A slight noise in the cabin aroused her. She blushed to think how forgetful she had been of time. The coast was now distinctly visible: the town glittered in the sunshine the castle reared its head proudly on the heighta hundred ships floated in the Downs-a hundred flags were rising in the breeze.

“Oh, Emily, come!" exclaimed the Spanish girl, "and see your own beautiful country."

Emily, whose arousing from sleep had attracted Beatrice's attention, rose from the sofa, and leaning on her companion's shoulder, shared the cabin window. Once, only once, she looked almost as if with envy in the Spaniard's face-it was but for a moment, and she too turned to gaze eagerly on the shore. Her cheek colored, her eye brightened, as she marked how rapidly they were approaching the land. Almost unconsciously, she stretched her arms forward, like a child to its mother. "Home at last-how I have pined for my home!"

CHAPTER XXVI.

"Sad and deep

Were the thoughts folded in thy silent breast."
MRS. HEMANŞ.

"Many a pang of lingering tenderness,
And many a shuddering conscience fit."

MONTGOMERY'S Pelican Island.

ARUNDEL HOUSE was scarcely a day's journey from the seaport where they disembarked; and the voyagers easily yielded to Emily's entreaties that they would, for the present, take up their abode with her.

"How very beautiful!" exclaimed Beatrice, as, at the end, they wound through the shodowy lane so peculiarly English. Truly, as the old proverb says,

"March winds and April showers

Had brought forth May flowers."

The first flush of the hawthorn blossom had given place to the luxuriant vegetation of the green leaves, amid which the red shoots of the wild honeysuckle twined, and from which hung a profusion of its fragrant tubes, like fairy trumpets. The dog rose was decked with its delicate bloom, and a hundred frail but most fair roses contrasted the darker hedge. High above stood the ash tree, its boughs covered with the toylike bunches called "locks and keys;" and beyond spread the meadows, knee deep with the verdant grass. At one turning in the road, the air became suddenly fragrant: the dew of the evening was falling on a portion of the fence entirely composed of briar, whose leaves are sweeter than the flowers of other plants.

The shadows fell long and dark from the antique house as they entered the court yard; and an old man, candle in hand, querulously asserted "that the young mistress was abroad."

Emily had, partly from fatigue, partly from thoughtsuch thought as never yet sought language-been leaning back in the carriage; while Don Henriquez and his daughter conversed in whispers. She now roused herself; and, looking from the open door of the chaise, said to an elderly woman, who had come forward, apparently to countenance her husband's denial, "Have you forgotten me, Mary?" "God bless her sweet face, it is herself!" "Our young mistress come home!"

Little explanation was needed. The ancient servants were, with the usual effect of pleasurable surprise, quite bewildered. With a strong effort, Emily conquered whatever feelings might be struggling within; and bidding her guests welcome, took Beatrice's arm and led her after the old housekeeper, who mingled her exclamations of delight at seeing "Miss Emily again," with lamentations at having been taken "all unaware:" turning with an apologetic tone to Beatrice, to whom, as the stranger, she deemed some explanation due for the honor of the house. "The room does look mighty bare and cold, but you see, ma'am, the curtains are taken down, and the chairs covered up: tomorrow you sha' n't know the place."

They entered the room, and the lights fell full on Emily's face. "Oh, Miss Emily!" ejaculated the poor faithful creature, who now saw the alteration a few months had produced. A glance from Beatrice-for nothing is so electric as the kindness of sympathy-stopped the tide of bewailings that were gushing forth. "Poor child!" muttered the housekeeper; "but it's no good telling her."

"You must let me help you to nurse Miss Emily," said Beatrice: "I must resign my office by degrees; but being at home will do wonders for her."

"Nay," said Emily, smiling, "I shall want very little nursing now-I feel so well this evening."

Even sorrow for "the dear child" gave way before the "hospitable cares" on which the housekeeper was "intent." A bright fire blazed in the grate, the armchairs were wheeled round, a white cloth laid on the table-rather sooner than was necessary, but the delight of the old domestic's heart was the damask. Supper was brought in with apologies, thick and threefold as those that arrive on the morning of a ball when the hostess has been experimental in her invitations.

"If I had but known, Miss Emily, you were coming

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