It was gratifying to see the respectful affection of her children. It told that the endeavours of her life had not been spent in vain.

There were two young ladies present, of country charms; that is, healthy, handsome, and ignorant. They were daughters of what are termed gentlemen farmers, residing in the neighbourhood.

It was curious to see the difference of manner in the brother and sister: she was complacent to all, promoting the comfort of all, dividing her attentions equally; while he, unable or perhaps unwilling, to devote himself to a service of idle gallantry, stretched himself on a sofa part of the time, walked backwards and forwards at another, and seemed wanting in all that politeness demands.

But he was not blind to any thing that was passing. At first, while the party were new to each other he had jested them into freedom; if the conversation languished he would stay his promenade,

and, leaning over the back of a chair, give it a new impulse: in little arguments, he would help the weaker side.

But that gallantry, that changeable devotion, which some men pay, sometimes to one woman in a party, sometimes to twenty, he disclaimed. To hand a lady to a chair, to supply her little wants, to praise her looks, he would not practise. If he did see a want, a quiet intimation to a servant made it supplied, without his seeming interference.

But one exception he made, and that was in favour of his mother. Her he would lead to her dinner, fetch her foot cushion, pay her every little attention.

If he saw her on her sofa, taking no share in conversation, he would go, and, seating himself by her side, draw her into the society; and then, satisfied with his success, again leave her.

But it was not in a circle such as this that Mrs. Rochford could be appreciated. To a mind of masculine superiority, she

It

joined extensive reading. Her son was deservedly proud of her; yet without his help she might have passed unnoticed in the most observant society; for she had no spirit of display. To be appreciated by her children, to be their companion and friend, was all her ambition; and highly cultivated as her son's mind was, he still looked up to her with reverence. was not exactly agreeable to him to see his mother, whose superiority he so well knew, listening to unmeaning conversation, without once herself interfering. Her own ill health was perhaps partly the cause of this indifference to the opinions of her neighbours; or it might be occasioned by the misfortunes that had overtaken her family.

. Both Mrs. Davenant and Eliza were highly pleased with their reception at the Lodge, and returned, after an agreeably spent day. Mr. and Mrs. Davenant both rejoiced on Eliza's account, at the acquisition they had made in their new

you love us come back well and happy. You know that we cannot live without you. You must be happy, or we can never be so."

66

Ah, my dear Lizzy, a thousand blessings on you! you sha'n't stay long! I'm sure I'm sorry I let you go. Gracious me, how could I! what in the world. shall I do without you! and now you are ill, and who is there to nurse you."

"Trust me, dear madam," said Miss Rochford, "I will do my best to supply your place. No attention that I can pay, no care that I can take, shall be wanting."

"Oh, dear Miss Rochford, I'm sure you're very kind. I know you'll take care of her; but now that it comes to the point, I can't help being sorry.”

Eliza kissed the wet cheek of her kind aunt, lingered reluctant, but was obliged at last to go.

Mr. and Mrs. Davenant followed the

chaise with their eyes till it was lost in the

turnings of the road, and then entered their little parlour: that parlour which Major Douglas had so lately apostrophized, as being the temple of happiness. Ah, now how changed! Mrs. Davenant looked around. Eliza had but that morning ornamented it with flowers, the best that the declining season afforded; she had made all those little arrangements, she was wont in the hours of their joy, on purpose that it might not look desolate when she had gone; that it might the less remind them of departed happiness. She had anticipated their feelings, had shared them, and had done all in her power to soften them.

Mrs. Davenant lifted her eyes to some scripture pieces which, according to her own wishes, Eliza had embroidered in her childhood. There was the parting of Jonathan and David. Ah, thought Mrs. Davenant, she was more to me than friend; she was as my child! She looked at the piano-forte; at her own footstool,