He had named her right-she was indeed his guardian angel.

In the midst of all his reckless absence and waste of time, in the gayest hours of pleasure among his so-called best friends, there was still in his most inmost heart the pure image of one Christian, whose profession he knew was not a name,-whose walk he knew was consistent; whose life he knew was gladly submitted to a higher will than her own. And often did that image come up before him, rebuking the light irreverent talk of his companions, making false their assertions, and reproving him for even listening and looking on. His mother had indeed won his respect no less; but she was older-it seemed more natural, to his notion, that Christianity and years should come together. But his sister-young like himself-younger than he,beautiful, admired, complimented; and yet maintaining that pure elevation of heart and mind-that uncorrupted, untainted simplicity of aim, which not all his most unbelieving desires could find in those who are living without God in the world :-it vexed him sometimes, and sometimes it roused his pride and sometimes his discontent -yet on the whole it pleased him. There was a strange kind of fascination in seeing one who ought naturally to look up to him for counsel and strength, assume, almost unconsciously, so high a stand above him; and array herself not more gently than firmly against so much that he liked and followed. And though he often laughed at her, sometimes stopped her mouth with a kiss, and sometimes got excessively provoked,-if he could have thought her one whit more tolerant of the things which he tolerated, one jot more indulgent towards the company and the pursuits in which he wasted his life-Thornton would have felt that the best thing he had in the world was gone from him. He watched her-she little thought with what jealous eyes; and at every instance of her unwavering truth-not only in word, but in that uprightness of heart which pierces through error and fallacy like a sunbeam-he smiled to himself; or rather to the best part of his nature against the worst. And yet upon those very points he would argue and dispute with her till he was tired. But this consciousness of her secret influence

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31

made him the more shy of submitting to it openly. He was content to go on after the old fashion; thinking Rosalie a piece of perfection, and not much concerning himself whether she were a happy piece of perfection

or no.

CHAPTER VI.

Here she was wont to go! and here! and here!-BEN JONSON.

LITTLE Hulda had slept away all the early part of the New-year's morning, and it was not till after the rest of the family had long ago breakfasted that she sat up in bed and looked about for her stocking. For the doctor gave leave that she should go down stairs in the afternoon, only upon the easy condition of her keeping perfectly quiet all the morning; and now, bundled up in dressing-gown and shawls, she sat leaning on Rosalie and supported by her arms, to examine into the mysteries that had hung all night at the head of her bed. She was weak and pale still, and the touch of helplessness which illness had given her voice and manner went to her sister's heart. When Hulda was well and playing about, recollections came less readily; but now the season of itself brought enough-the filling of that stocking had been bitter work, and when from time to time Hulda's gentle and still weary-looking eyes were raised to her sister's face with a smile of pleasure, or her lips put up to receive a kiss; or her little thin hands were clasped round Rosalie's neck, while the childish voice spoke its thanks with such an earnest yet subdued tone,-Rosalie heard again that truth which she never could forget-they were both motherless. Not Hulda in effect-her whole love and dependence had been transferred; and she clung to her sister with a trust that perhaps was the strongest she had ever felt, for it was undivided. But Rosalie-she could love no one now as Hulda loved her, she had no one to look up to-no one to fall back upon in those times of weakness and weariness that stir the strongest

resolution. No one on earth; and though smile and word and kiss came at Hulda's bidding, her heart yearned for a more far-seeing sympathy, her head longed to lay itself down and rest, even as Hulda's was resting then. Bitterly she remembered that she was alone, and for a few minutes her mind bent down as before a tempest. And then, drawn like Æolian music from the very breath that made the whirlwind, came the words

My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee

rest."

"The rest that remaineth"-she thought with swimming eyes; "for surely our heaven lieth not here-away." "Hulda dear," she said presently, bending down to look at the languid eyelids that could hardly be kept open. "you are very tired. You must lie down and sleep again, and then by and by you shall be dressed and go downstairs."

"But you ought to be dressed," said the child, rousing herself a little," you won't be ready to see people." "I am not going to see anybody, love."

"You needn't mind about me," said Hulda, "I'm so well now. And Martha could stay here."

"Martha could not," said her sister as she laid her on the bed, "for I mean to have that pleasure myself."

"Oh, that's very good," said Hulda, closing her eyes with a satisfied air; "only it's a pity the people should be disappointed."

And so Hulda fell asleep, and Rosalie stood watching her; and the New-year's sun mounted higher and higher in the clear sky; but "under the sun" there was nothing new. Unless perhaps the hopes and resolutions, and they were but the tying of an old cord many times broken. It was New-year's day in name, but it was Old-year in reality. The same bright points—the same dark corners, the same strife of human passions and weariness of human hearts, the same trembling of the scales of that never-poised balance of society. There was more leisure taken, and more pleasure undertaken, than on ordinary days; but among all the host of pleasureseekers that now began to spot the streets, the beggar's hand was still held out; the doctor's gig went its rounds;

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33

and friends looked their last, that New-year's morning, at the faces of those to whom the new year had not come. "Is there anything whereof it may be said, See, this is new ?"

"Behold I create new heavens and a new earth; and the former shall not be remembered, nor come into mind.” "Even sorrow shall be forgotten then," Rosalie thought, as she stood watching little Hulda.

"Happy New-year and good morning!" cried a bright voice, while the door was pushed gently open. "How dost thou, fair Rosalie ?-fairest of all cousins, whether real or adopted. Here am I just arrived in time to dress for visitors, and that being done, I forthwith turn visitor myself. My dear, your cheeks are as soft as ever, and your eyes as grave; and your mouth-well I won't detail that combination."

"How pleasant it is to see you!" said Rosalie, as the young lady, after a variety of salutations, held her back within gazing distance.

"How pleasant it is to see you,-which proves me of a disposition neither envious nor jealous. What have you done to yourself, child ?-or have I been looking at the dark side of human nature till my eyes are contracted and cannot bear the light?"

Nothing has contracted your eyes since I saw them last," said Rosalie smiling. "I am in some doubt as to your judgment. Did you come here bareheaded in this weather ?"

"Had to, my dear, because of my hair-there wouldn't be time to dress it again when I get home, you know. Oh, I rode of course,-rumbled through the streets to the envy-or admiration-of all the gentlemen on foot."

"No doubt! But would their admiration keep you from taking cold ?"

"Oh yes-perfectly,-giddy heads never take cold,— you might as well talk of champagne's freezing. Some one of my elder friends is at this moment detailing to mamma- 'My dear madam, I saw Miss Arnet this morning in a most dangerous situation.'-Nevertheless here I am safe. This child is better, I hear. And how are

you, Alie ?"

D

"Well."

66 Well? you don't look it. I saw Thornton in Broadway with his troop-where was he going?"

"To have a salute fired for the Macedonian, I believe," said Rosalie. "A message came for him in all haste to say that she was just coming in.'

66

Oh, that Macedonian!" cried the young lady,— "there never was anything like it! You know they had a great naval ball at Washington for Captain Stewart and the rest; and I was there of course, and everybody else. And the room was dressed out with all manner of sea things-Ishould rather say sea-faring things-and with the colours of the Alert and the Guerriere on the walls. The city was illuminated too, that evening, because of the victory and everybody was in the best possible spirits. Well, about nine o'clock there was a stir in the room-we could not tell what about at first,-only the gentlemen began to rush down in the most extraordinary manner, and the ladies stood still and looked. Then suddenly came the most tremendous cheering outside the house!-one stream of cheers, that seemed to have no end; and word came up that Lieutenant Hamilton had just arrived with the Macedonian's colours !—it excites me even now to think of it." She drew a long breath and went on.

They all came back in a body presently, bringing Mr. Hamilton with them; for all his family were there at the ball. And then Captain Stewart and Captain Hull, and some others, brought in the flag,-with such shouts and hurrahs and waving of handkerchiefs-and Hail Columbia' from the band. And then at supper they toasted Commodore Decatur and his officers and crew, with ten times ten, it seemed to me—instead of three times three. My dear, you never heard people shout as we did."

"You among the rest ?" said Rosalie, smiling.

"I don't know-I'm sure I cried. And vos beaux yeux are sparkling even at my poor account. There go the guns!"

They both started up and stood listening; and while all the bells of the city rang out their gladness, the guns