fierce sun-shine, and unenvious of roses, cherries, apples, damsons, and mulberries; their selfdefended, and more aristocratic cousins. Sir Henry stopped unseen at the gate of the orchard, and for some minutes looked on the almost fairy group, whose voices had led him thither. Lying on the bank, which enclosed the orchard, was a blue-eyed rosy-cheeked little girl;-the ground ashes had been cut down; and her laughing face was pillowed on the violets and oxlips, that burst from between the roots. She was pre paring to take another roll into the clayey ditch. below. Another little girl was gazing at the child from within the orchard; half doubtful whether she should encourage or check her. One pale-blue slipper and her little sock were half sunk in the clay, while the veiny and pink-soled foot, the large lids half closed over her deep blue eyes, the finger thrust between her red and pouting lips, her bonnet thrown back and hanging by the strings round her swelling throat, her hair dishevelled and stuck with oxlips, primroses, cowslips, violets, and daisies; and wreathed with the spring-holly, or butcher's-broom-made her a perfect picture of English beauty, and of childish anxiety and indecision. Beside her stood a boy older than herself, and evidently as perplexed. There was Julia perched cock-horse on the bank-there was Emily, her hair undone, her bonnet crushed, with one shoe and stocking lost-and yet he had promised Mamma, that if she would but once trust his sisters to him, that he would bring them home, "with such a pretty basket of spring-flowers." The beautiful blossoms of the cherry hung around the boy-the bees buzzed in its bells-the apple and pear blossoms shook their fragrance in the warm air-and the shadows of the flying clouds hurried like wings over the bright green grass. The boy had dropped his basket of fresh-blown flowers at his feet-tears were trembling in his eye-lids, as he gazed on his sisters. His look was that of George. "Childhood too has its sorrows," said Sir Henry, half aloud, "even when seeking joy on a bank of primroses. Why should I then repine?" The boy started as he heard and saw the stranger-he involuntarily put one foot forward in an attitude of childish defiance: but children are keen physiognomists, and there was nothing but affection beaming from that mournful face. My boy!" said Delmé, and his eyes were moist, "did you ever hear of your Uncle Henry?" "Emily! Emily! Julia!" exclaimed the little. fellow, as he rushed into Sir Henry's arms, "here is Uncle Henry, my god-papa, and he will help us to reach the blackberries." We need follow the wanderer no further. It is true that in his youth he had not known sympathy; in his manhood he had experienced sorrow; but it is a pleasure to us to reflect, that despair is not the companion of his old age. THE END.. |