CHAPTER VII.

The wing of time has brush'd away
The hopes that once were fair and bright;
Sweet flow'rs that lasted scarce a day
Clos'd ere the sun had set in night.

Hope was the life-breath of my heart,
But ah! her magic charms are fled :
Take back thy promises-we part,

Thy rosy wreaths are wither'd-dead.

H. K. WHITE.

ALL the fashionable world of London thronged one beautiful moonlight night to Lady Sedley's splendid mansion in Grosvenor-square. She gave a ball and it was long on record as one of the most unexceptionable fêtes of the season.

Many and various were the passions, the hopes the fears, the joys, and the sorrows, which

swelled in the bosoms of this smiling crowd, for nearly all did smile, though in some it was but a poor piece of acting. In gazing on some of the young and lovely girls, whose countenances beamed with the delight of unsuspecting innocence, one could scarce repress a sigh at the thought of the fearful contrast a few years might exhibit. Those earnest, loving eyes which now so fondly dwell on them, and call up such sweet hopes of shadowy bliss in their guileless hearts, may haunt them with agonizing tenacity, even long after their reality has flown away. Those gentle tones of interest which now steal so deliciously into their charmed ears, and seem to speak of the devotion within,those tones, alas! may one day be changed into the killing harsh words of cold indifference.

In one of the dances there stood a lovely girl, on whom many a glance of admiration rested; and one stood beside her endeavouring to arrest her attention by his senseless prattle; but though she sometimes smiled, even laughed, and though she attempted to answer him in

necandy de siam: viaever sie dd was perirnei with a grace and charm zivalled.

Tal dercut of heart herself, Louisa Sedley debi lincet minted sway over the minds of a ticse who were much associated with her; avi & her aimiters were treated with equal starity, and keps in good humour with her and with each other. She had bland smiles, and sch woes, and gradices words for every one sare ber own husband-for she was a married

She had sworn at God's altar to love, honour, and obey one man beyond all the world, and this one man was precisely the person who possessed the least of her regard.

name.

Yet with all her frivolity and coquettishness, the voice of scandal had not as yet attacked her In the present corrupted state of society, the worthless coquette who flirts indiscriminately with every man, and sets the opinion of the world at defiance, will escape censure far sooner than the woman of comparative principle and feeling, whose nam

may unfortunately be coupled with that of a libertine, however unjust may be the imputation. On this night Louisa Sedley was the queen of the revels; the ball was planned and given by herself, and radiant with beauty and spirits, elated by admiration, and regardless of appearances, she laughed, talked and danced with unwearied vivacity.

Louisa was a perfect English beauty; the fair, long ringlets, the dazzling complexion, and large

blue

eyes, were all thoroughly Saxon; but her animation and surprising powers of conversation were quite exotic. She could assimilate herself to every age and character, and was alternately grave, or arch, pensive, or playful; naive or witty, as she thought would best suit her companions. Many envied the young Lady Sedley, and thought how blessed she must be, with fortune, beauty, talents, and a husband who had been angled for by many a noble beauty, previous to his marriage.

Leaning against one of the door-ways was a

young man of about twenty-six, who seemed

his own strain of unmeaning raillery, yet her wandering eye, flushed cheek, and quivering lip betrayed some powerful inward emotion. Alas! this evening was doomed to witness the uprooting of long-cherished hopes. The handsome and distinguished being on whom her anxious glances rest in their wanderings, and who is so evidently devoted to the fair girl near him, is the mortal on whom she has lavished her first affections; he had easily won her guileless heart, and disdaining his conquest, lightly transferred his treacherous attentions to another victim.

Whenever we see a travelling carriage enter London at the commencement of the season, we picture to ourselves some young and beautiful girl innocently panting for the opening campaign; and when, at the season's close, the same carriage bears her back to her flowers, and birds, and poor pensioners in the country, does she welcome them with the same delight as formerly, or has the world done its accustomed work?