Mary, of whom she is so remarkably fond. Well, it was owing to Miss Mary that poor Ellen's secret was found out; for several weeks Ellen has employed herself in that delightful art in which I am proud to say she so eminently excels, and has finished some pictures in a style of excellence, one of which it appears she had concealed from the observation of all but Mary, when that little sly puss, when we were all assembled one morning at breakfast, suddenly asked her sister if she had not made the complexion of her Adonis too dark, considering he was so fair a subject; to which she maliciously added, with a sly glance at her cousin Sedley, Besides, you know, Ellen, the original is much fairer, almost as fair as Sedley Clarendale, from whose features I should actually think you have drawn those of your pretty Adonis.'

"Henry, had you seen the blushes which mounted to the cheeks of the conscious pair, you would never have forgotten it, as my poor little flutterer tremblingly pronounced,—

"I am sure, Mary, that I never thought of my cousin Sedley when I drew that picture; it was by mere accident alone that I-I-I-that I attempted to copy it from another.'

"The lovely eyes of my Ellen were at this time cast down in the most modest confusion; her glowing cheeks were flushed with the deepest colour of the brightest carnation, when Mary, seizing a chain which was suspended on her bosom, drew it forth, while she exclaimed, in the archest tone that was possible,

"Oh fie, Ellen, to tell such aand pray was it by mere accident that you placed it in your bosom?

Look here, papa, she says when she paintea this ste never once thought of Sedley Clarendale, and I wil. be judged by the whole company if it is not the very image of him.'

"And so it was, Henry-it was actually the picture of your Sedley that my Ellen had drawn and places round her neck; however, you may be certain that none of us pretended to acknowledge it as such, and that I really took the audacious Mary very severely to task for the momentary punishment she had inflicted on her sister.

“It was wrong, Mary,' cried I, looking very seriously in her arch gipsy face, 'excessively wrong, whatever you thought, of exposing the feelings of poor Ellen and your cousin Sedley before the De Montfords. 1 am really angry with you,-what occasion had you to mention the picture of Sedley at all?' "Now what do you imagine was the little hussy's reply?—

"What does it matter, papa, who I mentioned it before, when every body must know it at last? Ellen told me long ago that she loved Sedley, and Sedley has often said how much he loved Ellen, and they did not know how to tell you and mamma of it,-so I thought of the picture, and popped that and the secret out both together; and where is the harm, I wonder, in telling the truth? It is over now, you know, and they will be married the sooner for it, and I dare say feel themselves very much obliged to me,-I have saved them a great deal of trouble.'

"For the life and soul of me, Clarendale, I could not feel angry with this bewitching little slut, and

from this day I have paired my Ellen with your Sedley When I arrive in England, you shall let me know what you think of this family arrangement.

"The account you give me of the De Valmonts delight me and Rosa exceedingly. So little Rosalvie is really grown a prodigious fine fellow,-so much the better, I will take him in training as soon as I am again settled in England; though I am sensibly hurt that De Valmont will yet madly pursue authorship. For Heaven's sake, Henry, persuade him from it, if it be possible. A play, too, of all things,-how can the man be so frantic? He does not know that he is plaguing himself with difficulties not to be imagined, for of all species of composition this is the least likely to succeed; for, next to the caprice of the manager, which is intolerable, he has also to encounter that of the performers, and often their impudence and ill nature too into the bargain, which they do not exert a little when they know that it is an author's first attempt. Then there is the public at large to please, which, though confessedly the most liberal part, yet the success is doubtful-next to having written to no purpose but that of tantalizing his own feelings. I implore you, Clarendale, once again, to deter him from following so false a meteor, which, like an ignus fatuus, will only bewilder and the more certainly lead him into darkness.

"Dear Lady Honoria Belmont !-and so the benevolent gift which she sent to relieve the wants of this suffering and distressed family was actually the sum of five hundred pounds!-excellent, amiable creature! Oh, Henry, were there more such women, few men would prove unworthy of the blessings for which the

lovely sex were alone designed; they would not, they could not be insensible to such persevering and such matchless virtues.

"We all rejoice that the lovely Jean has at last bestowed her hand on her faithful and accomplished Edwin.

"My saucy Mary will not let me see the letter she has written to Lady Wyndham, by which I judge she has been indulging in her usual vein of sarcastic humour. You ask me how our quaint tutor (for still we call him so) likes India ?—truly not at all, and is impatient to behold old England once again, which I believe is the exact counterpart of the present feeling of us all. Tell your Mary not to make any saucy comments on this prodigious long epistle, but to recollect that when we write expressly from the heart, we forget that the head or the hand has any thing at all to do with the contents.

"Farewell, dear Clarendale, and believe me "Unchangeably yours,

"TANJORE EDWARD TRELAWNEY."

"Bravo!" exclaimed Lord Wyndham, “this is most excellent news, Clarendale;" and glancing at Lady Beauverie a look highly intelligible, he smilingly added, "and what with Mary's marriage, and other approaching events, I think we stand a very fair chance of having the finest collection of Family Portraits that were ever beheld in Great Britain,-what say you, my Lord Beauverie ?"

On which his Lordship replied,—

"And which I trust will be the ornament of a rising generation-the Descendants of Trelawney, Clarendale, Wyndham and Beauverie.”

"Though last, not least loved, I am sure, my Lord," cried Lady Wyndham; and his Lordship bowed to so elegant a compliment.

The happy party, made still happier by the pleasing communications which they had that morning received, passed the day together in the most delightful and rational manner. Mr. Clarendale called in Berkeley Square, at the request of Mr. Trelawney, to inform his steward that he might shortly be expected in England, and to put the house in immediate preparation for the reception of his family, which was accordingly done, Lady Wyndham herself giving such orders as she thought necessary.

Time now lent odours to his wings, for every day was replete with anticipated hope and joy; and the lovely Lucy had been three weeks the mother of a beauteous boy, when the family of Mr. Trelawney once more arrived safely in their native land, accompanied by the De Montfords, where the meeting which took place in the now united and happy families exceeded all description. Lady Wyndham, folded in the arms of her beloved mother, wept and smiled alternately, while the gipsy Mary (now Mrs. Lionel De Montford,) more lively and animated than ever, contrived to steal a glowing kiss from the lips of her dear sister, after which they all set off for Cavendish Square, to Lord Beauverie's, where the same affectionate meeting took place between Sedley and his parents. He was then conducted to the chamber of his dear sister, and at the sight of her lovely little infant Sedley burst into tears, but they were tears of joy, and quickly dispersed by smiles,-unlike those which he had shed at the parting hour, yet they