to banish from her mind the hidden sorrow

which oppressed it.

Cathleen was the first to regain her composure. With a mournful smile, she raised the dear friend of her childhood, who still wept upon her bosom. Kissing off the tears that stole down her blooming cheeks, she reminded her that the duties of the toilet had yet to be performed.

"Thou shouldst have left thy sorrowful looks at home to-day, my sweet sister," said Miss Belville, as she seated herself before the glass. "I sent for thee in haste, hoping that with thy skilful aid I might appear passable in the eyes of my father's ward, and now thy dull talk has made a fright of me! What will the gay, the dear Harry Mordaunt say, when he sees the vaunted daughter of General Belville enter the drawing-room looking like some naughty child that has just been whipped?"

"The dear Harry Mordaunt!" repeated Cathleen, in a tone of surprise, at the same

time enquiring if he were not a perfect stranger at the villa.

"Thou art right in thy conjectures, Cathleen," replied the lovely girl, who had now recovered her own accustomed gaiety; "he is indeed a stranger to all within these walls, my father excepted."

"It is impossible to love what we have never known or seen," said Cathleen.

"But I have seen him we speak of," cried Miss Belville; seen him, my sweet Cathleen, constantly in my dreams: through the gloom of night he is ever with me; there is not a scene of pleasure, whether the ball, the concert, or the theatre, that I do not fancy him by my side. In my imagination, for the last three years, I have laughed, danced, sung, quarrelled with him, every hour in the day

ay, and loved him too, better than any thing in the world. From the description that my dear father gave me of him, I am certain that Harry Mordaunt is every thing that is delightful, good, and amiable. His gay, independent spirit, his kindness to those who are in distress, the General frequently mentions in conversation, with evident pride and satisfaction. My dear father is an excellent painter, and the picture he has given me of his young ward is one of such surpassing excellence, that it is no wonder I should long to behold the original."

"I trust he is equally prepared to love and esteem you, my darling sister;" said Cathleen. "Thy hours, unclouded by care, will pass swiftly in the presence of one so amiable, and who is already dear to you."

"But I hope that he may not yet have

wasted a thought on me," replied Mary laughing. "You forget how delightful will be the task of convincing him that I am really necessary to his happiness. I have also heard from my father, that he is as great a lover of pretty mischief as myself; so far all will run smoothly; but now comes what will give me a great deal of trouble."

"And what is that, pray?"

"Henry is a professed admirer of the fair sex," said Mary with a sigh; " and yet the tormenting monkey has never been known to acknowledge that any woman possessed the power to retain his undivided affection. Do you not think that it would be a very meritorious action to convince him of his folly?"

Cathleen, with a gentle smile, put her finger on the ruby lips of the fair and happy girl, whose light and buoyant spirits gave to her

fairy form and face almost a childish appearance. "I will place a single flower in the bright ringlets of thy hair," she said, and taking up the bouquet she had brought from her own garden, Cathleen drew from thence a moss-rose, and placed it on the snowy brow of her foster-sister.

Mary fastened in another beside it, observing, with an arch smile, that it should be her first gift to Harry Mordaunt; "that is," she added playfully, "if he does not object to the thorns."

"There is nothing bright or beautiful in life," said Cathleen, mournfully, "without its thorns, and far more dangerous ones than these; for till they have wounded, we dream not of their existence. These are visible to

the eye, and, therefore, more easy to guard against."