Soon they loved and soon were buckled-
None took time to think or rue;
Youth and worth and beauty coupled,
Love had never less to do!

BALLAD OF WILLIE AND JEAN.

HE interview in the library, so important and interesting to the parties concerned, was protracted till it was too late for any

explanations: consequently a certain degree of awkwardness was pretty generally felt when the party assembled at dinner. That something had been going on, was evident, but what was a mystery: and not less so, was the manifest transformation of Alfred: his eye was so radiant, his manner so animated: there was such an excited flush upon his cheek; his mother, who watched him narrowly, knew not whether to hope or fear whether this was to be attributed to the exhilaration of success, or to the feverish exertions of wounded pride. To solve the doubt she stole frequent glances at Miss Armadale, but the unusual quiet gra

vity of her features served but to increase her perplexity. So oppressive was the mental atmosphere, that every body felt it a relief when the children came in, to give their company and their prattle in exchange for almonds and raisins. They were full of the wonderful story of Nurse Wilton's nephew: curiosity being excited, Mrs. Crawford told it at length, even as Wilton had related it to her that afternoon and every body extolled Margaret's kind and generous heart, which seemed to have the effect of making her sadder than before.

"What a good thing it was," said Rory, looking full in her face, "that you were so cold that morning!"

"What morning, Rory?" asked Cecilia.

"Oh! the first morning she was here; when she was Esther, you know: we were all at breakfast, and in she came, so cold and shivering: and nursey gave her some tea and nursey says they made friends then, and that is how she got her nephew back, you know. But oh, mamma! it is so droll! do you know, we kept talking about Miss Armadale that morning, and about what you and sister said of her, and how rich she was, and who she could marry, and all! didn't we, Esther? I mean Miss Armadale ?"

Margaret seemed not to hear, but Uncle Sym, who sat next to her, delighted to have an opportunity of making her uncomfortable, observed, "Miss Armadale is too wrapt in meditation to answer foolish

questions. I should be glad to know the subject of her musings. Is it the poet race, Miss Armadale ? "

To his great surprise, Alfred flung himself into the breach. "The poets are safer with so mild a judge

than with you, Uncle Sym."

Mr. Barton smiled complacently. "I am severe, I know I cannot help it: it is almost a misfortune I may say, to have a taste so sensitive, that anything not first rate is perfect torture to me."

"Shakespeare, for instance, said Alfred, zealously continuing the conversation, in hopes to distract his attention from Margaret.

"Well, Shakespeare, if you like: I could show you page upon page of absurdities, that because he wrote them, every one reads and admires: Miss Armadale does, doubtless, but if I had written them, she would have torn them into ribbons, of course."

"Pray attend to this, Miss Armadale !" cried Nel

son.

"Uncle Sym is at such a loss for absurdities, he is reduced to look for them in Shakespeare."

"Indeed!" said Miss Armadale, turning to Uncle Sym with a look of demure astonishment, that even he could not fail to understand, "I should have thought you might have met with them nearer home, Mr. Barton. I find them at every step."

"You create them, madam," said Uncle Sym, angrily, "by placing yourself in peculiar positions: of which, permit me to remark, you have already reaped some unpleasant consequences."

To his great satisfaction, Margaret appeared embarrassed; and hoping she was silenced at last, he launched out into a prolix criticism on the bard of Avon, worthy of the astute Fadladeen himself: occasionally stealing glances at his fair neighbour, to see how she endured her defeat.

For some time he had it all his own way-Alfred was too wise to interrupt him, and Margaret too preoccupied to listen: but she was roused at length by the exulting tone in which he concluded.

"Talk of originality! why, not one of the plots was his own: never was such a plagiarist born: look at Romeo and Juliet-common place sentimental nonsense tacked to an old Venetian romance- -(let me give you some more wine, Miss Armadale :) and then his comedies, they may make you laugh, perhaps, any buffoon may do that but as to there being any nature in them, in such ridiculous conceptions as Sir Andrew Aguecheek, or Dogberry, for instance-I can only say, I have never seen such people."

"I have," said Miss Armadale, drily.

"Indeed, madam!" said Uncle Sym, provoked by Nelson's smile, "then permit me to say, you must have fallen into very unprofitable society."

"Very unprofitable, sir, indeed: it was more my misfortune than my fault."

“Well, madam, well; you are so bigoted to your favourite author you think whatever he says must be right. Perhaps you have met with Caliban too, in your travels ?”

"I grieve to say I have;" said Margaret, "people who treat Shakespeare as Caliban did Prospero: receiving all his instructions, and giving him only bad words in return."

Uncle Sym grew very red, and turning sharply to John, asked him what he was laughing at.

"I was going to ask Miss Armadale," said John, "if she had ever come in contact with Shylock ?”

"You have, Jack, if no one else has," said his father, good humouredly, "pass the wine, my boy. Good play, the Merchant of Venice-uncommon good play-don't know much about such things myself, but I must say I think it a capital play. Splendid character, Portia: by the bye, Miss Armadale, among your many disguises, did you ever dress up as a doctor ?"

66

"I have heard Miss Armadale repeat the speech on mercy," said Nelson smiling, so I can bear witness as to her capabilities for the part."

"And no great compliment either," muttered Uncle Sym; "well, fair Portia, here is your good health— and-a speedy arrival of Bassanio!" Margaret coloured, the ladies that instant rose, but Mr. Barton had the joy of securing the last word.

Mrs. Crawford took Margaret to her dressing room. "My dear," she said, in her most winning accents, "you look flushed and tired to-night: has anything happened to annoy you? or do you not find yourself comfortable here after all your adventures ?"