her timidity, he said, from her bearing, as she rode so gracefully, and seemed to have her horse quite under command.

"I know," she said, "there is nothing to fear, yet I cannot sometimes restrain a fluttering tremor in my breast. Here I feel quite safe, except when some of those spirited horses pass me at full gallop; and then, as my pretty creature, though he is very good, gets excited, it is as much as I can do to avoid feeling frightened. But papa will insist on my riding, and says I shall soon learn to conquer my timidity. Do Do you think so?"

Confidence," he answered, "is usually gained by practice. Do you ride much in the country?"

"Very little," she get off

walking, and I

we are in town; I

through the streets.

said; "I much prefer

my rides except when

find it dreadful to go

The noise of the carriages keeps my head in a perpetual whirl, and often makes me positively ill."

if

"You should practise in the fields in the country," Tremore returned, "and then, even you got a tumble, you would sustain no damage. I have been thrown more times than I can recollect."

She laughed a little at this advice, and then said seriously

"I have a great dread of falling, and that is the cause of my alarm, I think. I once had a fall in my childhood, and it was found necessary to perform some operation on my skull. It has never been perfectly well, I think. Cavendish always said that the feeling of heat had nothing to do with the injury, but arose from fulness of the brain. What should you think?"

"Cavendish was likely to know best,” he replied, "as he was intimate with you. Have you ever had advice-medical advice, I mean?"

"Yes," she answered, "until I am quite weary of doctors and their physic, and have resolved to have no more to do with either. They do not understand me, and can do me no good; for indeed I believe I am very well. Do you know when Cavendish returns?"

She made this enquiry with downcast eyes, and in a voice that trembled too slightly for the careless ear to mark it.

"Every one is asking me that question," he replied; "but really I know nothing of his plans. I understood him, that he intended to be absent for a year."

"For a year!" she said, and her bosom heaved with an inaudible sigh. "That is a long time to be absent. Surely he will write to you occasionally?"

"I rather think not. He means, I believe, to seclude himself entirely from the world. and his friends."

She paused a moment, and then said

"That is unkind. I feel disposed to be very angry with him. Do you know what reason he had for his sudden departure? To tempt you, perhaps, as you are just of age, I hear, and discover the bent of your disposition and temper. He is fond of such trials; but they are very cruel.”

"I have reason to believe, that the wish to leave me free from control was in some way connected with his departure. But, I dare say, you know he was always reserved. I fear I shall fill his place very ill. His friends must necessarily think so."

She looked into his face with moistened eyes, to see if more was meant by that remark than met the ear, and she caught the youth's glance, fixed with an expression of ardent sympathy on her face. Instantly her long lashes shaded her eyes, and a flush of colour rose to her temples.

"I see some of our friends making for us," she said. "My father, I know, will be glad to see you whenever you may call—and I,” she added, looking up, with all the former sweetness of her beaming smile returning, "I shall be glad to see you, too; for I am very solitary, and know scarcely any one who cares for me."

CHAPTER XIX.

How oft I've watch'd sweet faces, wan
With midnight rout and ball,
Here gather roses, trotting on,

And looking love to all.

And serious statesmen I have seen

Upon their cobs sedate,

Here take the air, and muse serene,

Upon the night's debate.

Punch.

WHEN all pleasures are new to us, that one which occupies us for the moment seems the most delightful, and we wish we could retard the flight of time that it might be prolonged. At a later period, we think most of those joys which are in anticipation, and we are impatient to hurry from one novelty to another. At last satiety brings lassitude, and we easily accustom ourselves to a life of routine, that we may avoid the exertion which produces nothing but a feeling of disappointment and weariness.

66

Let us take another turn," cried Florian,