THE SURPRISE. 13 intolerable. Upon second thoughts, however, came agreeable visions of cancelled bonds; paid mortgages; eligible speculations, &c. &c.; and after hesitating for a quarter of an hour, he gave his consent to the proposed match, and hastened home to inform his son of the good fortune which awaited him. To his surprise, Edward angrily refused obedience; and after the father and the son had almost quarrelled, Louisa was despatched as a mediator; and certainly she used all her feminine tact in order to induce her brother at least to think on the subject. To his impatient speech she replied :— "You do me injustice, Edward. I do not wish you to marry Miss Harrison against your decided inclination. I only wish you to think of her more reasonably, and with less prejudice. See her; and if you find her disagreeable, I will urge the matter no more." "Oh," replied her brother, "it is all very well to talk in this way; but suppose we wished you to marry the coachman's son, I am sure you would object to it most strenuously. Now this Miss Harrison, coming of such a low-bred stock, must be vulgar. No doubt she will exhibit all her boarding-school graces and fascinations, and perhaps favour me with a little French that would be perfectly unintelligible in France." "But papa says she is really beautiful," persevered Louisa. (( In her way, very likely," answered Edward, coldly and sullenly; "there is a dairymaid style of beauty, and a city style too, I dare say; but neither would suit my taste. Besides," he continued, growing more and more angry, "I am not such an unprincipled sordid being as to wish to make this young lady my wife, just because her money would clear our embarrassed estates. I should think every bank-note savoured of tallow." "You are ridiculous, Edward," exclaimed Louisa; and becoming herself rather annoyed, she hastened from the room. Several weeks elapsed, and no more was said about Miss Harrison. At the end of that time, Edward accompanied his sister to the sea-side. Three days after his arrival, being overtaken on the beach by a tremendous storm, he sought refuge in a pretty isolated cottage sheltered by surrounding wood. The cottage was occupied by an old lady rather quaintly dressed; a very beautiful young girl, whom she called her niece; and two servants; one, an aged serving-man, the other, a town-bred maid. As the storm was of long continuance, Edward made considerable progress in an intimacy with his courteous hotesses. Rosamond, the young lady, played, at his request, on her harp, and sang some beautiful melodies. Her voice was the richest and sweetest he had ever heard, and she executed the most complicated passages with singular facility and precision; her playing was perfection; and he ascertained, before he left the cottage, that she spoke Italian with the pure accent of a Florentine. Then she was so graceful, yet so queen-like in every movement; and Edward had never seen such luxuriant dark hair, and such perfectly lovely and classical features. Day after day he sought this lone cottage. The idea of Miss Harrison was now more hateful than ever; and, before long, he confessed his love to the beauteous Rosamond, and assured himself that his affection was returned. Louisa was the confidant of his passion; but, strange to say, she resolutely refused to visit Mrs. Harewood and her niece. One afternoon Edward returned from the cottage in a peculiarly happy state of mind; for Rosamond had smilingly promised, that she would, that evening, narrate to him the events of her life; and she had expressed her certainty, that when the Hon. Mr. Talbot knew her history, he would not object to her union with his son. Edward reached home in an ecstasy of joy, which, however, was considerably damped by a letter which Louisa put into his hand. His father, Mr. Harrison, and his daughter, were coming that very evening; and he was to meet them at the hotel. His resolution was quickly taken. He would ask Miss Harrison for a private interview; tell her that his affections were engaged; and beg her to intercede with his father. Finally, he determined, that, come what might, he would marry Rosamond Harewood. During his solitary walk to the hotel, (for Louisa had gone thither before him,) he felt perplexed and annoyed; nor had he quite settled how to behave to Miss Harrison when he found himself at the Marine hotel, and, a moment afterwards, in a drawing-room, where sat Louisa alone, looking most provokingly happy; which he thought extremely unsisterly on her part. The folding-doors which opened into the back drawing-room were closed; and Louisa gravely informed her brother, that Mr. and Miss Harrison were in that apartment. In a few minutes Mr. Talbot appeared, and requested his son to follow him. The doors which divided the rooms were thrown open; and to Edward's utter astonishment, there sat Mr. Harrison, (whom he had often seen before,) with his arm round the waist of no other than his own Rosamond! Edward started back with amazement, while Louisa stood enjoying his infinite surprise, and saying, in a low, mischievous tone, "she must be vulgar, you know;" and it was not till Rosamond and her father advanced towards him, that Edward became sufficiently composed to believe in the reality of his own happiness. The affair was soon explained. Louisa had planned the innocent stratagem. Rosamond Harrison had, for a time, assumed the name of a great aunt, with whom she resided; and, in her cottage-home, Edward Talbot had wooed and won the cityheiress. When Rosamond had been for some years the happy wife of Edward Talbot, they revisited the scene of their romantic courtship; and spent some hours in the room in which Louisa had planned and executed THE SURPrise. CHILDREN OF THE LADY ELIZABETH AND CHARLES SCRASE DICKINS, ESQ. HEAVEN bless ye! happy children, So merry at your play! Your tiny boat upon the stream, With pennons waving gay. Among the floating lilies, Your bark glides calmly on, The stream of life is flowing, And ye are barks thereon; The waves are smooth, the storms, asleep, It cannot be so ever; The strong wind must awake; Yet fear not, though the tempest Fear not, although the lightnings gleam, Have ye not heard the story Of ONE in days of yore, Who trod the ocean's heaving breast And to the dark sea swelling Its proud unfetter'd tide, He spake the word; said, "Peace, be still;" And winds and billows died! |