darling of her parents. She had been admirably brought up by them, and had received advantages of education far beyond what they could give her, from the mother of the curate, who officiated in one of Sir Edward's livings. This excellent old lady had noticed Louisa from a child, and had seen so much to admire in her character, that she had spared no pains to bring her good qualities to perfection, and eradicate the only evil of her nature, which was an easiness of disposition which might prove most dangerous to her peace.

Louisa was an apt and grateful pupil; her preceptress sought not to give her ideas or accomplishments beyond her station in life, but she made her a good Christian, and an intelligent, intellectual woman. Louisa was the happiest creature in the creation; she believed that there was such a thing as sorrow in the world, because her kind friend, Mrs. Emmerson told her so, and because the books she read all talked so eloquently of it, and above all, because her blessed Bible held out so many

consolations to the afflicted and bereaved; but for her own part she had never tasted its bitter draught, and she feared it not.

How does the imagination of those who have suffered much, love to repose on such pictures of careless happiness! Perhaps they can remember a time far, far back in their memories, and dim as a shadow, when they too half doubted the existence of sorrow; a time when a flower, the song of a bird, a bright day, a kind parental kiss, brought bliss to their fresh and young hearts; a time when hope was unalloyed by a single fear, and when the future was one sunny path of roses! Oh! the heartlessness, and scorns, and disappointments of maturer life are wearisome and sickening to bear, and the memory of our sweet spring but enhances their burthen and smart!

No one had ever called Louisa Brown beautiful, but there was a peculiar interest in her countenance which attracted every one at once. Her eyes were dark blue, and expressed everything that was charming by turns. When she

prayed they were holy and serene, when she gazed on her father and mother, they spoke of devoted affection, when she tended the sick and indigent, they beamed with angelic pity, and when she encountered any one suddenly, they danced with joyousness.

All the surrounding country people loved and blessed her, and held her up as a model to their own children, and she in return was continually doing little offices of kindnes to her neighbours.

It is not to be supposed that so sweet and gentle a girl as Louisa Brown excited feelings of friendship alone; there was one being in the world besides her fond parents to whom she was dearer than life.

Mrs. Emmerson's son Henry, the curate, had known Louisa from infancy, and had always been treated by her with a frank cheerfulness which stole his affections ere he was aware of the loss. Henry Emmerson was not calculated to win the love of a young, thoughtless girl. He was reserved in the extreme in his manners,

and although his nature was one of melting tenderness, no one could guess it from his almost stern deportment; he possessed to a great degree that extreme sensitiveness to ridi cule, so common with superior minds, and rather than expose the hoarded and rich treasures of his heart to the vulgar eye, he bore the stigma of apathy or severity. Yet in the pulpit did he give full vent to his repressed benevolence and love towards humankind; he dwelt with eloquence on all those portions of Scripture calculated to heal and soothe poor, weak mortality; then would his dull eye light up, and his sallow cheek glow, and his whole frame assume the dignity of his calling, as a minister of comfort and peace to the sinful and weary. But in descending from the pulpit, he would relapse into his wonted coldness, and the countenance, which a few instants before had beamed with more than beauty, would lose its transitory interest.

With his mother alone he could discuss the inmost feelings of his soul, and with that most

precious of earthly friends he shone in his true colours, as a man of high intellect and original genius.

With a man of Henry Emmerson's peculiar disposition, love was not likely to be a hasty or transient feeling. His attachment for Louisa Brown had grown so imperceptibly, that when he discovered it, and tried to date its commencement, he could remember no period of his acquaintance when it would have been less. than agony to lose her.

Associated almost constantly with her; knowing every thought of her innocent heart; witnessing her devotion to his mother, and her sweet affection for himself, how could he have avoided the dangerous feelings which had crept into his bosom?

Henry was convinced that he was incapable of inspiring such attachment as he felt, and this very conviction took from him the power of pleasing. Had he put forth his energies, and resolved to win Louisa's love, few could have rivalled him in the contest. It is an