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CHAPTER XII.

Be not amazed at life; 'tis still

The mode of God with His elect

Their hopes exactly to fulfil

In times and ways they least expect.

COVENTRY PATMORE.

CONNINGSLEY was a very pretty place—a good-sized village, with thatched cottages, each possessing a strip of garden where roses bloomed to perfection. There were several handsome shops, also, and a large, old, grey church almost covered with ivy, hideous gurgoyles peeping out here and there, one or two holding little mossy bird's nests in their gaping, stony mouths. The churchyard was beautifully kept; roses climbed over the graves, the shrubs were trimmed, the grass was neatly mown, and the walks were free from weeds.

Conningsley, besides its ancient church, boasted some extensive woods and fields, a distance of only three miles from the sea, and a noble range of hills. There were also some famous springs in the neighbourhood, and hence Conningsley was called a watering place. The great beauty of the spot, the proximity of the sea, and the strengthening property of the cool, clear waters, proved attractive during the summer months, and June generally found the lodging-houses, and the four large hotels, well filled with visitors. The venerable sexton, Chrysostom Smith, had much ado to cram them into the old church on Sundays. Conningsley did not possess among its other accommoda

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tions a Dissenting chapel of any description, so bigots had to betake themselves to the wild woods, or drive sixteen miles across the hills to find a sanctuary.

The largest of the four hotels stood like a castle on a fir-clad mound. To the south and east rose the hills; to the north lay the grounds and croquet lawn; to the west, the village. This was the hotel par excellence, where all the élite stayed during their sojourn at Conningsley. Here were the best views, the best air, fare, and accommodation; here Colonel Maxwell thought proper to fix his summer quarters, and here he accordingly brought his sister and daughter, after a hot London May and June.

The six windows opening to the ground and facing north, belonged to six private rooms, and the Colonel had taken one of these in order that his ladies might have a quiet place of refuge all to themselves, wherein to read, write, sew, &c., and three days after their arrival at Conningsley, here they were to be found. Miss Maxwell's hands were quietly busied with what was usually supposed to be almost exclusively the occupation of old maids, namely, knitting stockings, a sensible employment, now becoming general among young ladies, and let us hope that it may prove more than a mere interesting mania." By the window, in an enormous arm-chair, sat Laura, beautiful as ever, her magnificent golden hair coiled gracefully round her finely shaped head,-two little proud lines. slightly curling her lips. Her spotless morning dress was made of simple material, but covered with innumerable frills and flounces, the "getting up" of which, must have been a sore trial of patience to even the most accomplished of laundresses. She was trying to wade through a chapter. in one of Miss Maxwell's favourite works Thomas's "Life of Napoleon," but her splendid violet eyes would

keep catching sunbeams out of the window. Some stray roses lay within her reach; she listlessly gathered two, which fell to pieces, and a whole family of earwigs immediately appeared. Down went earwigs, leaves, and Napoleon. Miss Maxwell gave a little scream, and commenced a wholesale massacre with one of her satined feet. Earwigs were highly obnoxious to her, and she was vexed with herself for giving that little scream-it was contrary to the calm dignity of demeanour she was wont to display on all occasions. When however order was restored, the earwigs slaughtered, and the book and rose-leaves picked up, she relieved her mind by commencing a little lecture.

Wrath had

"My dear-you know I dislike earwigs." "So do I auntie-I can't bear them." been gathering all the morning, and Laura knew it.

"And now Laura," continued Miss Maxwell in a low, severe voice, "I may as well tell you, that this sort of conduct is not becoming in a young lady of your age; you will be getting talked about."

"What for, auntie-letting a rose fall to pieces accidentally?"

"No my dear, no; you are obtuse this morning. I am referring to your conduct in church last Sunday, which was to say the least of it, unladylike. It is not proper to stare about in such a manner."

"I was not staring, aunt Bessie. I only turned round to look at that pretty girl dressed in pale mauve silk, with delicate white muslin over it—she looked so lovely. I must really get Grey to fall in love with her, for she is staying at Conningsley I believe. I like a pretty woman almost as much as the gentlemen do. This is a famous place for pretty women, auntie, and oh, how hideous the men look in comparison Auntie, I don't like men,"

"Gentlemen are often very silly about beauty," remarked aunt Bessie smiling sarcastically, and unheeding Laura's three last observations.

"Well auntie, physical beauty was certainly made to be admired."

"Yes, but not supremely, above the higher qualities of the mind, and in church, my dear, you should be thinking of something else."

"I was," replied Laura, strongly possessed with the spirit of mischief; "I saw four young men, and I was comparing them. One was very devout, knelt, bowed, and turned diligently to the east during the creeds. I saw him again yesterday driving from Goblin Caves, in a state of decided inebriation; No. 2, behaved very badly, but I saw him also, yesterday, picking up a filthy child in the village, that had fallen down and hurt itself. He gave it a penny, telling it to dry its tears: how I did respect him for it. No. 3, was rather restless: I think he was trying to get a glimpse of the pretty girl, but there was a stout stone pillar in the way, which aggravated him. No. 4, wore salmon-coloured gloves, and had a gold-rimmed eyeglass, which he now and then raised in our direction. I think he must have been struck with your new mauve bonnet, auntie."

"Perhaps :" said Miss Maxwell stiffly, "that leads me to another subject on which I intended to make a few remarks, namely, dress. Things are come to a pretty pass, when the public papers find occasion to comment on the ladies' dress as for that unbecoming bonnet you had on your head last Sunday, Laura, I should be ashamed to be seen in such a thing if I were you."

"I think it extremely pretty, auntie,-so dainty and simple. I can pray just as well in a pretty tulle bonnet,

as a Sister or a Quakeress in her neat, severe poke, and perhaps with as little danger of falling into the sin of vanity." "I consider the present style highly unbecoming,” continued Miss Maxwell; "look at my attire-can you find any fault with it?"

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No, but I should not look nice in laces, a cap, and an apron like yours, auntie."

“Then again,” pursued Miss Maxwell, "the way girls idle their time away now, is to me perfectly astounding : dress and flirtations-dress and flirtations, with a senseless, and often depraving novel to wile away ennui hours— 'tis all they seem to live for."

"It is chiefly the fault of parents and guardians," said Laura, with more truth than politeness; "I cannot find anything to do here; there are no poor people in Conningsley."

"Of course I do not expect you to visit the poor here, my dear, but you might study."

"I do study, and practise: am I not reading this ponderous work entirely to please you, auntie? Sometimes I wish I were poor-then I could not be idle. Oh for a vocation-oh for a mission in life!"

Miss Maxwell smiled.

"Don't expect work to come ready to your hand," she said, putting away her knitting; "you must look for it, and make it, or you will be idle all your life."

There was truth in the remark, and Laura thought so, as she placed Napoleon on a bookshelf, and went to prepare for luncheon. It had been a dull morning for her, but, once seated by her father, she forgot her dulness, and her spirits rose.

"And how have you passed your morning, lassie?" he asked, after seeing her every little want attended to.