The Duchess of Rosemary Lane

ce of her lover, who, suddenly and unexpectedly, has brought her joyful tidings. The titlark and the whitethroat, and other feathered visitors of spring, are flying

they fly hither and thither, and when they rest from their labour of love on the sprays of the common beech, they seem to be sitting in be

tate, at present in the possession of Lady Josephine Temple, who lies sick in the quaint old house yonder, built in the Elizabethan style, the designs for which are said to have been prepared by John of Padua. But John of Padua and all the historical associations of the house are as dead letters to Lady Temple, who has sufficient food for contemp

windows in the laughing sunlight, with diamond drops of ra

her eyes; it i

showers to b

s hand some loose flowers, and a small bouquet of lilies of the valley, arranged in good taste, and looking, with their white petals and their background of exquisitely green leaves, like turrets of ivory carved out one above another, built up on emerald m

er you the

eart, which, indeed, he was ready an

she selects two or three of the lilies, and places them in her brown hair, where they rest like white doves in an autumn forest. John's heart is full as he sees his flowers

lately come to Springfield, and who had taken his heart captive the moment his eyes rested on her fair face. A thrill actually runs through

augh sweeter to the young fellow than the sweetest chime of bells, or the swee

n, it's good for hay and

gfield very dull. Every soul in it, with the exception of the mistress, is a servant, and Lady Temple, a childless widow, is not remarkable for cheerfulness or lively manners. Ther

the spring hedges, because it reminds me of the time when I was a little un, and when me and the other

s lords-and-ladies

at's what we used to call it. It

ckoo flower, of course, but never of the cuckoo-pin

ghted and palpitating John. "I'll pick

son, John, always wanting to know thin

xcept, perhaps, that it change

-and-ladie

girl's hand, and in doing so, touches her fingers. The contact of her soft flesh with his is a concentrated bliss to him, and sets his sensitive soul on fire. "You see, I p

un of parsons, John.

everently inclined, is instantly imbued with a deeper r

to liken them to medicine bottles, now, with the white labels tied rou

ness of medicine bottles to th

n. I must go in now. Don't forget to

t forget

ges for this particular species of the arum. Be sure that none but the very finest specimens will meet with h

s pied, and

ocks, all s

-buds of y

e meadows w

ful girl by the old house at Springfield, she with white lilies and cuckoo flowers i

sing with him, had she not seen a maid approaching he

ers, "and wondering where you were. What have you in your hand? Flowers! Send them away. You know I

valley, Lady Temple, that

that the gardener's son gave you! And

the cuckoo pint, rather. Lor

you have been gossiping with the gardener's

e, "during her lifetime, always spoke of you with respect and affection. I shal

arston. I am not strong enough for sc

oors. Spring is come in real earnest.

iness in my life, never! Shall I never rise from this horrible bed?" She gazes at Nelly Marston, envious of the girl's youth

emple. I should not

y. "One thing. Love! That is what your

s how deeply she resents the words of her mistress, "before her daughter? She was your friend, remember. You sa

good creature, and no one's enemy but her

ong time this morning, watching them. They

oh, yes, very much just now, when they think I have not long to live! But only one shall darken my doors. My nephew, Mr. Temple, will be here in a few days; you

slipped from the envelope.

ot annoy me any longer. When I am asleep, go softly, and see to Mr. Temple's rooms. He will have

lly Marston sits quietly by the window, stealthily raising a corner of the blind now and then,