Night after night, old Mrs. Dormer coughed | able, or, at all events, make the most of a little moaning cough. If she spoke, it was what materials there are. Even a Maypole, generally to make some little, bitter remark. crowned and flowered and tastily ribboned, Every night she shook hands with her ne- is a pleasing object. And, indeed, the art phew and niece, kissed Cecilia's blooming of decoration seems to me a charming natucheek, and patted out of the room. She ral instinct, and one which is not nearly was a little woman with starling eyes. She enough encouraged, and a gift which every had never got over her husband's death. woman should try to acquire. Some girls, She did not always know when she moaned. like birds, know how to weave, out of ends of She dressed in black, and lived alone in her rags, of threads and morsels, and straws, a turret, where she had various old-fashioned beautiful whole, a work of real genius for occupations, tatting, camphor-boxes to their habitation. Frivolities, say some; waste sort, a real old spinning-wheel and distaff of time, say others, expense, vanity. among other things, at which Cecilia, when The strong-minded dowagers shake their she was a child, had pricked her fingers heads at it all, Mrs. Lulworth among trying to make it whirr as her aunt did. them; only why had Nature painted CeSpinning-wheels have quite gone out, but I cilia's cheeks of brightest pink, instead of know of one or two old ladies who still use bilious orange, like poor Maria Bowley's? them. Mrs. Dormer would go nowhere, why was her hair all crisp and curly? and and would see no one. So at least her were her white, even teeth, and her clear, niece, the master-spirit, declared; and the gray eyes, vanity and frivolity too? Ceold lady got to believe it at last. I don't cilia was rather too stout for her age; she know how much the fear of the obnoxious had not much expression in her face. And John and his wife and children may have no wonder. There was not much to be exhad to do with this arrangement. pressive about in her poor little stinted life. She could not go into raptures over the mahogany sideboard, the camphene lamp in the drawing-room, the four-post beds indoors, the laurel-bushes without, the Moorish temple with yellow glass windows, or the wigwam summer-house, which were the alternate boundaries of her daily walks.

When her great aunt was gone, it was Cecilia's turn to gather her work together at a warning sign from her mother, and walk away through the long, chilly passages to her slumbers in the great green four-post bed. And so time passed. Cecilia grew up. She had neither friends nor lovers. She was not happy nor unhappy. She could read, but she never cared to open a book. She was quite contented; for she thought Lulworth Hall the finest place, and its inmates the most important people in the world. She worked a great deal, embroidering interminable quilts and braided toiletcovers and fish-napkins. She never thought of any thing but the utterest commonplaces and platitudes. She considered that being respectable and decorous, and a little pompous and overbearing, was the duty of every well-brought-up lady and gentleman. Tonight she banged away very placidly at Rhodes' air, for the twentieth time breaking down in the same passage, and making the same mistake, until the dressing-bell rang; and Cecilia, feeling she had done her duty, then extinguished her candle, and went up stairs across the great, chill hall, up the bare oil-cloth gallery, to her room.

Most young women have some pleasure, whatever their troubles may be, in dressing, and pretty trinkets and beads and ribbons and necklaces. An unconscious love of art, and intuition leads some of them, even plain ones, to adorn themselves. The colours and ribbon ends brighten bright faces, enliven dull ones, deck what is already lov-| LIVING AGE. VOL. VII. 259.

Cecilia was not allowed a fire to dress herself by ; a grim maid, however, attended, and I suppose she was surrounded, as people say, by every comfort. There was a horsehair sofa, every thing was large, solid, brown, as I have said, grim, and in its place. The rooms at Lulworth Hall did not take the impress of their inmate; the inmate was moulded by the room. There were in Cecilia's no young-lady-like trifles lying here and there; upon the chest of drawers there stood a mahogany workbox, square, with a key, that was the only attempt at feminine elegance, a little faded chenille, I believe, was to be seen round the clock on the chimney-piece, and a black and white check dressing-gown and an ugly little pair of slippers were set out before the toilet-table. On the bed, Cecilia's dinner-costume was lying, a sickly green dress, trimmed with black, and a white flower for her hair. On the toilet-table an old-fashioned jasper serpent-necklace and a set of amethysts were displayed for her to choose from, also mittens and a couple of hair-bracelets. The girl was quite content, and she would go down gravely to dinner, smoothing out her hideous toggery.

Mrs. Dormer never came down before

dinner. All day long she staid up in her room, dozing, and trying remedies, aud occasionally looking over old journals and letters until it was time to come downstairs. She liked to see Cecilia's pretty face at one side of the table, while her nephew carved, and Mrs. Lulworth recounted any of the stirring events of the day. She was used to the life, she was sixty when they came to her, she was long past eighty now, the last twenty years had been like a long sleep, with the dream of what happened when she was alive and in the world continually passing before her.

thing that she only stared again, and, open-handwriting, answered her nephew's letter ing a wide mouth, popped into it such a by return of post: great piece of orange, that she could not speak for some minutes.

"Cecilia has certainly attained years of discretion," said her great aunt: "she does not compromise herself by giving any opinion on matters she does not understand." Notwithstanding her outward imperturbability, Cecilia was a little stirred and interested by this history, and by the little conversation which had preceded it. Her mother was sitting upright in her chair as usual, netting with vigorous action; her large foot outstretched, her stiff, bony hands working and jerking monotonously. Her father was dozing in his arm-chair. Old Mrs. Dormer, too, was nodding in her corThe monotonous Maria was stitching in the lamplight. Gray and black shadows loomed all round her. The far end of the room was quite dark; the great curtains swept from their ancient cornices. Cecilia, for the first time in all her life, wondered whether she should ever live all her life in this spot, -ever go away? It seemed impossible, unnatural, that she should ever do Silent, dull as it was, she was used to it, and did not know what was amiss. . .

ner.

So.

46

"MY DEAR NEPHEW, - I must acknowledge the receipt of your epistle of the 13th instant. By all means invite your son to pay us his proposed visit. We can then talk over business maters at our leisure, and young Francis can be introduced to his relatives. Although a long time has elapesd since we last met, believe me, my dear nephew, not unmindful of by-gone associations, and yours, very truly, always, "C. DORMER."

The letter was in the postman's bag when old Mrs. Dormer informed Mrs. Charles of what she had done.

Frank Lulworth thought that in all his life he had never seen any thing so dismal, so silent, so neglected, as Dorlicote Park, when he drove up, a few days after, through the iron gates and along the black laurel wilderness which led to the house. The laurel branches all unpruned, untrained, were twisting savagely in and out, wreathing and interlacing one another, clutching tender shootings, wrestling with the young oak-trees and the limes. He passed by Young Frank Lulworth the lawyer of the black and sombre avenues leading to mouldy family John Lulworth's eldest son it temples, to crumbling summer-houses; he was who had found it all out. His father saw what had once been a flower-garden,. wrote, that, with Mrs. Dormer's permission, now all run to seed, — wild, straggling, forhe proposed coming down in a day or two lorn; a broken-down bench, a heap of hur to show her the papers, and to explain to dles lying on the ground, a field-mouse her personally how the matter stood. My darting across the road, a desolate autumn son and I," said John Lulworth, "both feel sun shining upon all this mouldering ornathat, this would be far more agreeable to ment and confusion. It seemed more for. our feelings, and perhaps to yours, than lorn and melancholy by contrast somehow,. having recourse to the usual professional coming as he did out of the loveliest counintervention; for we have no desire to press try and natural sweetness into the dark and our claims for the present; and we only tangled wilderness within these limestons wish, that, in the ultimate disposal of your walls of Dorlicote. property, you should be aware how the matter really stands. We have always been led to suppose that the estate actually in question has been long destined by you for your grand-niece, Cecilia Lulworth. I hear from our old friend, Dr. Hicks, that she is remarkably pretty and very amiable. Perhaps such vague possibilities are best unmentioned; but it has occurred to me, that in the event of a mutual understanding springing up between the young folks, my son and your grand-niece, the connection might be agreeable to us all, and lead to a renewal of that family intercourse which has been, to my great regret, suspended for some time past."

Old Mrs. Dormer, in her shaky Italian

The parish of Dorlicote-cum-Rockington. looks prettier in the autumn than at any other time. A hundred crisp tints, jewelled rays, grays, browns, purples, glinting golds, and silvers, - rustle and sparkle upon the branches of the nut-trees, of the bushes and thickets. Soft blue mists and purple tints rest upon the distant hills; scarlet berries glow among the brown leaves of the hedges: lovely mists fall and vanish suddenly, revealing bright and sweet autumnal sights; blackberries, stacks of corn, brown leaves crisping upon the turf, great pears hanging sweetening in the sun over the cottage lintels, cows grazing and whisking their tails, blue smoke curling from the tall farm chimneys; all is peaceful, prosperous,

golden. You can see the sea on clear days from certain knolls and hillocks.

Out of all these pleasant sights young Lulworth came into this dreary splendor. He heard no sounds of life, he saw no one. His coachman had opened the iron gate. They doan't keep no one to moind the gate," said the driver; "only tradesmen cooms to th'ouse." Even the gardener and his boy were out of the way; and when they got sight of the house at last, many of the blinds were down and shutters shut, and only two chimneys were smoking. There was some one living in the place, however, for a watch-dog who was lying asleep in his kennel woke up and gave a heart-rending howl when Frank got out and rang at the bell.

He had to wait an immense time before anybody answered, although a little page in buttons came and stared at him in blank amazement from one of the basement windows, and never moved. Through the same window, Frank could see in to the kitchen, and he was amused when a sleepy, fat cook came up behind the little page and languidly boxed his ears, and seemed to order him off the premises.

nothing whatever about her, but she was very rich; she had invited him to come, and she had a kind face, he thought; should he, -ought he to embrace her? Perhaps he ought, and he made the slightest possible movement in this direction. Mrs. Dormer, divining his object, pushed him weakly away. "How do you do? No embraces, thank you. I don't care for kissing at my age. Sit down, there, in that chair opposite, - and now tell me about your father. and all the family, and about this ridiculous discovery of yours. I don't believe a word of it."

The interview between them was long and satisfactory on the whole. The unconscious Cecilia and Miss Bowley returned that afternoon from their usual airing, and. as it happened, Cecilia said, “O Maria ! I left my mittens in the drawing-room last night. I will go and fetch them." And, little thinking of what was awaiting her. she flung open the door, and marched in through the ante-room, — mushroom hat and brown veil, goloshes and dowdy gown, as usual. "What is this?" thought young Dulworth; "why, who would have supposed it was such a pretty girl?" for suddenly The butler, who at last answered the the figure stopped short, and a lovely, fresh door, seemed utterly taken aback, -no-face looked up in utter amazement out of body had called for months past, and here the hideous disguise. was a perfect stranger taking out his card, and asking for Mrs. Dormer, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The under-butler was half-asleep in his pantry, and had not heard the door-bell. The page-the very same whose ears had been boxed- -came wondering to the door, and went to ascertain whether Mrs. Dormer would see the gentleman or not.

-

"There, don't stare, child," said the old lady. This is Francis Lulworth, a very intelligent young man who has got hold of your fortune and ruined all your chances, my dear. He wanted to embrace me just now. Francis, you may as well salute your cousin instead; she is much more of an age for such compliments," said Mrs. Dormer. waving her hand.

"What a vault, what a catacomb, what The impassive Cecilia, perfectly bewil an ugly old place!" thought Frank, as he dered, and not in the least understanding, waited. He heard steps far, far away; then only turned her great, sleepy, astonished came a long silence, and then a heavy tread eyes upon her cousin, and stood perfectly alowly approaching, and the old butler still as if she was one of those beautiful beckoned to him to follow, through a cob-wax-dolls one sees stuck up to be stared at. web-color room, through a brown room, through a gray room, into a great, dim, drab drawing-room, where the old lady was sitting alone. She had come down her back stairs to receive him: it was years since she had left her room before dinner.

Even old ladies look kindly upon a tall, well-built, good-looking, good-humored young man. Frank's nose was a little too long, his mouth a little too straight; but he was a handsome young fellow, with a charming manner. Only, as he came up, he was somewhat shy and undecided, he did not know exactly how to address the old lady. This was his great-aunt. He knew

If she had been surprised before, utter consternation can scarcely convey her state of mind when young Lulworth stepped up and obeyed her aunt's behest. And, indeed, a stronger-minded person than Cecilia might have been taken aback, who had come into the drawing-room to fetch her mittens, and was met in such an astounding fashion. Frank, half laughing, half kindly, seeing that Cecilia stood quite still and stared at him, supposed it was expected, and did as he was told.

The poor girl gave one gasp of horror, and blushed for the first time, I believe, in the course of her whole existence. Bowley,