just as dear to us all, as if the ties of blood existed between us. We claim a right, and we discharge no more than a duty, in doing what my aunts propose. You dis appoint and grieve us, by your refusal."

"Oh, cousin Hugh, spare me! spare my feelings, for mercy's sake! you drive me to distraction-I can support it no longer! Dear aunt Rose, come with me to your room. I am unwell-very unwell."

Aunt Rose conducted her in all haste (for she was pale as ashes) to her room, and Rosine threw herself on the bed in the most violent agitation.

Aunt Rose remained at her side, endeavouring to compose her." My dear Rosine, for Heaven's sake, calm yourself. Surely this is childish, to treat the matter so seriously. Come, come, have done with your weeping-it distresses me."

But the poor girl could not command her emotion any the better. Her heart was touched; and her gratitude, bound

VOL. I.

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less

less as it was, appeared to her to be too poor, too limited, to repay such generous benefactresses. A crowd of agitating reflections and recollections were struggling in her bosom. She thought of the devoted tenderness of her aunts, their anticipation of all her wishes, their maternal solicitude for her happiness, their constant watchful care over a poor orphan and a beggar, and then this last overwhelming act of munificence-it all seemed like a load upon her heart which it must sink under. She tortured herself with the thought that all these obligations must go for ever unrequited; and, with her face hid from observation, she only felt herself less miserable, as the pillow was moistened with her tears.

Suddenly she ceased to weep, and looked up; a new thought struck her." This last act of generosity was the suggestion of cousin Hugh. He must have proposed it to his aunts." And the moment the idea flashed across her mind, it was adopt

ed

ed with all the confidence of feminine intuition. She started up, and catching aunt Rose by the arm, exclaimed, eagerly, "Ah! I know it-I see it all now: this is cousin Hugh's scheme. Tell me."

After pretending not to understand what Rosine meant, aunt Rose was at last obliged to acknowledge that Hugh had started the project; and finally, she gave him, after a severe questioning, the entire credit of having carried it into effect.

Rosine shed not another tear. But in the place of that gratitude which had melted her heart, she now felt for the first time in her existence, that indescribable, delicious flutter, which is the first movement of love in the heart of an unconscious lover. Alas for our heroine! Rosine, your heart is gone; it is all over with you, though you do not dream of it yet. She thinks it is nothing but gratitude that produces that new emotion. She even tries to be angry with him for his officious

ness, and resolves to reproach him with it at the first opportunity.

We have before mentioned that it was evening; and it was one of those charming moonlight eves, which have been, from time immemorial, sacred to lovers and poets, and which, therefore, we need not further describe. Rosine was left alone, for she did not dare to return to the parlour until she had mastered her feelings more completely; and she could not let aunt Rose stay away from the family on her account. The windows were open, and the air seemed so balmy and fragrant, and so refreshing, that she rose and took a seat at one of the windows which looked into the garden. How was it that the scene around seemed to be invested with some new and brighter aspect, some novel charm which she had never felt in gazing on it before? And yet she had gazed a thousand times on the same scene, when the moon shone as lovely; a thousand times before she had seen the

silvery

silvery tops of the trees wave as gently and as beautifully to the zephyrs that fanned her a thousand times before had heard the leaves rustle with as low and sweet a murmur as on that very eve. But never had that scene touched her heart as it then did. In a few moments, however, the scene, with all its charms, lost its power over her. She gazed on it still; but her thoughts were fixed on one, who now appeared to her to realize all her ideas of what was noblest and most perfect."Ah!" thought she, "if he but knew how much pain his generous plan has cost me, I am sure he would renounce it. I would not have caused him so much for the whole world. But I shall persuade him to give it up. He won't refuse me, when he sees how much unhappiness it costs me."

Our hero may speak for himself, for there he comes. Just then he sallied forth from the house into the open air, to take a moonlight walk, alone-probably to indulge

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