ancient furniture, more modern comforts were not neglected. There was the toilette table, with its white muslin cover, lined with pale pink, on which stood a handsome mirror, various bottles of scent, and those numberless little articles which adorn a bed-room that is occupied by a person of taste. On the other side stood a handsome bookcase, containing small editions of the best English authors, and all materials requisite for writing.

"And is this really to be my own room all the time I am here?" exclaimed Catherine, in such ecstasies with all she saw, as scarcely to know what to do next. "You have, indeed, remembered all my fancies and whims, dearest granny, and have made for me a perfect paradise; and yet here is one thing I have not noticed -an oak wardrobe, I declare!" and on opening the door, another exclamation of delight burst from her." Oh! what a lovely dress! what roses!" and holding up the wreath, a piece of paper fell to the ground, with the following words written on it :-" For Kate's first ball, with her grandfather's love." Tears filled Catherine's eyes, as she read these few simple

words. That an old man, like Mr. Lyndsay, should think of her dress at all, appeared to her such great kindness, that she could hardly refrain from kissing the little scrap of paper which bore her grandfather's writing.

"And where is grandpapa, that I may thank him? for I must thank him this very minute."

"No, my love, you cannot thank him directly, for he is gone out to dinner" "To dinner; why, it is not six o'clock!" "No, my dear, I know that; but his old friend, General Legge, dines at half-past five; and we dine at seven, that you may have time to rest beforehand. Do not think of dressing for dinner; but lie down now, and at seven your maid will come to you."

"Oh, dearest granny, do not go away; I

would much rather talk and chatter with you."

66

"I know it, my dear," replied Lady Anne, smiling; so once more adieu;" and, kissing her own Catherine, as she fondly called her, with great tenderness, left the room.

"What a whirl of anticipated delight I am

in," thought Catherine. "I am not the least tired; and yet, if grandmama wishes it, I will rest. But lived there ever such a happy girl as I am?-everybody is kind to me. Papa, mama, brothers, and sisters, Sandford, and Elizabeth-all kind to me. If they were but here, I should have nothing left to wish for: but we shall soon meet again; and, besides, I shall write to mama every day, and to-morrow how much I shall have to tell her,—all about my ball to-night. I wonder if the gown will fit me. How I wish it was time to dress. Those little tunics - how pretty they are, looped up with roses, which look so real and natural! Well, well, the Stanleys may say what they like about London being dull, and London rooms being dark and dismal; where could one see a prettier room than this? I am determined to be pleased with everything and everybody."

CHAPTER II.

OUR youthful heroine had scarcely come to this desirable and wise conclusion, when, after a gentle knocking at the door, her maid came in to say that it wanted only a quarter: to seven,-if Miss Selby wished to make her toilet.

"Not till after dinner, Wilson, thank you. But do look into the wardrobe, and see what grandpapa has given me for a ball to-night."

"Why, miss, you are not surely going to a ball to-night! you will be dead, miss, with sheer tiredness." But the change in Mrs. Wilson's tone and manner when she saw the ball paraphernalia were so apparent, that Catherine, who had a strong sense of the ludicrous, could not refrain from laughing, saying, "Well, Wilson, do you think it pretty? Had I better go to the ball, or not?"

"Oh, yes, miss, go, by all manner of means: but there is the bell, miss, for dinner, and her ladyship does not like waiting."

"No more she does, Wilson, so I will run down if you will put out all my things for me, and I will come up between eight and nine."

At the drawing-room door Catherine was met by the old butler, Parker, who had often carried her mother as a child, and bore great affection to all her children. The goodnatured old man waited a moment till she was fairly seated, and then announced the dinner.

The dining-room had little to distinguish it from other large London dining-rooms, with the exception of some fine old family portraits and pictures of Mrs. Selby and her brothersall of whom had died very young-by Sir Thomas Lawrence. One of Mrs. Selby in her childhood was very pretty: a fair-haired boy, her youngest brother, was kneeling at her side, near the grave of their elder brothers; the attitude of the children was strikingly beautiful: it seemed as if they were pouring