Turns of Fortune, and Other Tales

eal as on the morning that Helen Marsh was married to the handsome and Honourable Mr. Ivers. He was young as well as handsome-honourable both by name and nature-rich in possessio

o the disappointment of as many, or perhaps a greater number of mothers than daughters, inasmuch

of an eldest son rested on its threshold. Mrs. Myles was of course in an ecstacy of delight; her prophecy was fulfilled. Helen, her Helen, was the honourable wife of a doubly honourable man. What triumphant glances did she cast over the railings of the communion-table at Mr. Stokes-with what an air she marched down the aisle-how patronising and condescending was her manner to those neighbours

ion-there's happiness. Why, sir, if his brother dies without children, his own valet told me, Mr. Ivers would be a

e d

cester, 'Don't be puffed up, my good woman, because your niece has what folk call a pretty face, nor don't expect that she's to make a good market of it-it's but skin deep; remember our good rector's sermon, 'All flesh is grass.'' Ah, deary me! people do need such putting in mind; and, if you believe me, sir, unless indeed it be Rose, poor child, who never had a bit of love in her head yet, I'll

ak to her, she is a sad girl-Rose Dillon, I say-so silent and homely-like-ah, dear! Why, granddaughter-now, is

Moat, and which commanded an extensive view of the high road. There was a good deal of brushwood creeping up the elevation, and at one side it was overshadowed by several tall trees; in itself it was a sweet, sequestered spot, a silent watching place. She could hardly hear the carriage wheel

every word of it! She is quite, quite gone now-another's bride-the wife of a gentleman-and so best; the ambition which fits her for her present station unfitted her to be my wife. I say this, and think this-I kn

him, but she could not; she dared not. He continued-"Did she l

"that she hoped you would be hap

pell once broken, the charm once dispelled, that is enough!" And yet it was not enough, for Edward talked on, and more than once was interrupted by Rose, who, whenever she could vindicate

against. He had found one, who while she listened sweetly and patiently to his complaints, vindicated, precisely as he would have desired, the idol of his heart's first love. What we love appears so entirely our own, that we question the right o

miserable existence! And if he does," questioned the maiden, "and if he does, what is that to me?" She did not, for a moment or two, trust herself to frame an answer, though the tell-tale blood, first mounting to and then receding from her cheek, replied; but then she be

rs. Ivers, up to the skies. Like all persons whose dignity and station are not the result of inheritance, in the next epistle she was even more anxious to impress her humble relatives with an idea of her consequence. Mingled with a few epithets of love, were a great many eulogiums on her new station. She was too honest to regret, even in seeming, the rural d