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Catherine was beside herself with delight. She was fondly attached to her sister, and had not seen her for many long years.

The wished-for day arrived, and Catherine was clasped to her sister's breast. Very shortly afterwards she wrote to Teresa, saying, that her sister wanted a governess for her little girl, and intreating her (Teresa) to accept the situation ; everything was speedily arranged, and Teresa became an inmate with Mrs. Bolton, in Portman Square.



“But O my heart-truth would not seal
The flatt'ries of life's early day;
And sanguine hope and youthful zeal,
And promis'd joys have flown away.

Yet, though my earthly hopes are dead,
And storms upon my pathway rise ;
Though peace has long this bosom fled,
Faith points a way to yonder skies.”


WINTER and spring passed, and summer returned again, and Teresa was now happier than she had been for years. She was treated with the most considerate kindness by every member of the family, and allowed as much leisure as she could wish.

Mr. and Mrs. Bolton were a truly happy and well-assorted couple. There was no frowning,

quarrelling, or bickering between them, and their behaviour to each other was the same in private as before strangers.

Mrs. Bolton was a lively, brilliant creature, very much resembling her sister Catherine, with this difference, that Catherine was subject to fits of low spirits, and Mrs. Bolton's gaiety never deserted her. She became almost as fond of Teresa as her sister was, and strove by every kind attention to soften the cares of her situation. Teresa's pupil, Lucy Bolton, was just fourteen, and the exact image of her Mamma, -gay, thoughtless, affectionate, and generous.

But still Teresa declined appearing in the drawing-room when any society assembled there, and her seclusion was almost as great as it had been in Wales. Catherine passed much of her time in Teresa's room, and was continually lamenting the non-appearance of Farquhar in London.

One day Catherine Brand came into the school-room, exclaiming, “Oh! Teresa, you must positively oblige us to-night. We are going to the Opera to see the début of the far-famed singer,

and we insist on your accompanying us. With your fine taste for music, you will fully appreciate her performance, and we will take no refusal."

Teresa was obliged to consent to this kind proposition; and Catherine compelled her to wear one of her own dresses, and gazed in admiration on her beauty when the toilette was completed.

There had been a drawing-room in the morning, and the coup-d'ail of the Opera-house was quite dazzling to Teresa, as she entered the box.

Many a proud matron was there, her majestic style of beauty suiting well with the waving court-plume, and the splendid jewels.

In one box sat a stately, aristocratic dame, in rich apparel, whose eye dwelt fondly on a young girl seated near her, and who now was what her mother had been. She also was in courtcostume, and that day had witnessed her first introduction to the great world. Majesty had smiled graciously and approvingly on one of the

loveliest flowers in the court parterre, and had spoken flattering words, which were treasured in the heart of the proud mother.

In another box was a faded beauty, whose plume overshadowed a weary, aching brow. Disappointments, mortifications, neglect, wounded feelings, had all set their marks on her altered countenance; and there she sat with her anxious parent, meeting cold, indifferent glances, where once she had encountered the long gaze of warm admiration. Many a happy hour had she passed in that house, many were the associations connected with it, only serving to embitter the contrast offered by the present.

There were beautiful eyes rivetted on the stage; and reflecting all its passing events as in a bright mirror.

There were restless glances roving in search of admiration; there were cold, scornful looks of hacknied indifference ; there was the haughty, unflinching stare of aristocratic impertinence, and the shrinking modesty of conscious beauty.

There were legislators of the nation, busily

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