living object in whom you have embodied that vision." Miss Elton laughed again, and saying she must dress for the ball at Lady Marlay's, left her more prudent friend in doubt whether she was in joke or in earnest. A very short time after the above conversation, Miss Elton married Lord Herbert, the handsomest man of his time, with a fair fortune, a great reputation for good temper, and much liked by his own circle of intimates. According to usual custom, "the happy pair" (for that is the designation with which every pair sets forth on their matrimonial pilgrimage) set off for Moreton Park, and in the beauty of its scenery and the romantic aspect of the place, Lady Herbert beheld every accompaniment to the felicity of the state which she had chosen in preference to a thousand more brilliant alliances. Lord Herbert was delighted with the admiration she expressed and the interest she took in every thing that pertained to him. But three weeks of that dulcet moon, of which so much is said and sung, had not passed away, when Lord Herbert proposed their returning some of the visits of which a magnitude had been received from all the neighbourhood far and wide. A sudden shock, like that of being immersed in cold water, came over the youthful bride; and she thought, What! he wants company already! but she only said, "If you please, love."-"Well then,go, dear Mabel, prepare your toilet, while I proceed to the stables and see that the barouche is got ready (it was the day of barouches), I must have every thing in nice order, for Sir Philip Gregory is a knowing one, and I should not like him to be able to find fault.Make haste, love." And he looked so beautiful as he ran out without his hat, his fine hair waving about his brow, that Lady Herbert stood in admiration of him till he was lost to her sight; then she thought, and she sighed as she thought, "I wish he had not proposed these tiresome visits." Her preparations were made long before her husband's, and while she waited for him, she took up "Thomson's Seasons," and opened at that part of spring where it is written, speaking of married lovers, "What is the world to them, Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all! "Ah!" she exclaimed, kissing the page," that happiness is ours." At the instant, Lord Herbert, driving four in hand, appeared standing up, like another Phaeton, and gracefully managing his high-mettled steeds: he circled round and round the area before the window at which she was placed his eye fixed upon the horses, who, indeed, did seem to require all his skill and attention; and, having breathed them, he at length stopped before the door, and sent in to say he waited for Lady Herbert. She flew out; but paused at the step of the carriage, and looking up to her husband, said, "Francis, love, are you not coming in ?" "No, dear, I would not allow any one to drive you but myself; these horses have not been properly exercised, and they are rather hot." Lady Herbert therefore got in-alone. "Are you cold, Mabel?" said her conductor, seeing her look rather pale, "wrap these cloaks round you, which I had put in for you; I was afraid you might feel chilly coming home." "Yoi ho, yo ho there; softly, my lads!" he said to his horses; and again he turned his attention to them. Lady Herbert thought she would rather have had it turned upon herself; and she continued for a long fourteen miles drive, to ruminate on the pleasure of being alone in a barouche; one's husband personifying coachman. At length they came to a high ground, overlooking the sea, and as the sun sank low in the horizon, surrounded by the gorgeous tints of his setting rays, she felt a burst of admiration which she could not control, and, rising up from her seat, and touching her husband's shoulder, she exclaimed, "Francis, Francis, look at that! is it not fine?" "You forget, dear, that a coachman must look at nothing but his horses. It is no easy matter, I assure you, to conduct mine." Lady Herbert sank down again. There was a sort of indescribable blank in her sensations, for which there is no name; and from this she was only roused by arriving in the grounds of Mount Easton. Mount Easton was an old brick house, with long windows and white stone facings around them; it was not without its own peculiar character of beauty, had that character been preserved; but it was not, and so the whole thing was incongruous. Immediately opposite the entrance door the broken line of what had once been a fine avenue, and in its original intention afforded the visitant a speedy arrival at the house, was now exchanged for a circuitous road which turned off to the left, and, after going at least a mile out of the way through a dull park, conducted to the house. Sir Philip Gregory was standing on the steps which led to the entrance door, his hand shading his eyes to admire the |