imprint a kiss-a chaste kiss upon its delicate surface! "O, Arethusa, peerless nymph! why fear Such tenderness as mine ?' But you don't fear me? now do you-do you ?" A tender squeeze was the only reply Miss Rice was capable of making. "There now, I knew there was sympathy between us, a responsive chord ready to be awaked at a gentle touch, and to think that it is my blissful lot to have aroused slumbering echoes in that heart. What is your name? Arethusa, now isn't it? it must be Arethusa." "No, my name is Constantia.” "Constantia, bless me! named after that delicious wine; well now, if anything was wanting to complete the measure of my admiration and adoration, it was the knowledge of that sweet name Constantia !' how many delicious sips that recalls!" and again he kissed her hand as he murmured in the language of Keats "My river-lily bud, one human kiss! One sigh of real breath-one gentle squeeze you must be mine, Constantia; 'pure as yon sky's celestial blue,' as the song beautifully expresses it, 'my love shall be—my love shall be;' tender, constant, true, you'll ever find me, and when happy years have rolled by, we shall be able to exclaim in the words of another sweet ballad-We've lived and loved together" "And now you must dance together," cried the voice of Honest Hal,' "for they're clearing away the tables, and it is expected that every man this night shall do his duty.'" At this moment, a number of wax candles suddenly lighted up the building, and Mr. Barleycrop made a discovery of a nature not the most gratifying. What that discovery was, the reader may easily imagine. Miss Rice also became aware of a rosiness of complexion in Mr. Barleycrop, which she had not observed before, and thinking to pay him a very pretty and elegant compliment, she ventured, though her knowledge of the French language was somewhat limited, to tell him that she adored his "beautiful couperosé complexion," which made the poor man very uncomfortable, and inclined him to wish his flatterer in the depths of the Red Sea. VOL. II. CHAPTER XVII. “Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions matched with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine." LOCKSLEY HALL. As we sat in the library the next morning, we discussed the events of the previous day, and we all agreed that we had been exceedingly amused; so much so, that we should like a repetition of the affair before the weather set in with severity, and rendered it impossible. Presently Lord Ravensden exclaimed, while looking over the county paper. "Here's something for you, mother—' Review of the Yeomanry-ball at the Town Hall afterwards."" "Hurrah!" cried the old lady, "just what I should like, nothing could have happened more à-propos-want something of the sort to enliven us; we shall go, of course." 'Give me the paper, George," said the young countess; her husband complied, and she forthwith turned to the announcement of the ball, with the list of stewards, &c. "Will your ladyship honour it with your presence ?" I asked. "No! I think not, I hate these stupid provincial affairs, hum-drum things; it's a long drive too." "But we can drive over in the morning," said his lordship, "dress there, and as we shall sleep at the hotel, it won't be such very great fatigue; I thought you wished the monotony of your life here, varied a little." "No! I'm resigned to my fate, there's no use in battling with life, and I'm content to remain quiet till we go to Paris." 66 Well, my dear, do as you like, I don't wish you to do anything which would be disagreeable or fatiguing, but your name's down among the lady patronesses, I hope." o 2 |