answer for at the time in which she spoke, and her thoughts were gay, and all those around seemed to share in the happiness she felt.
Lord Avondale one day reproved Calantha for her excessive love of music.—"You have censured work," he said, "imputed to it every evil, the cold and the passionless can fall into:—I now retort your satire upon music." Some may smile at this; but had not Lord Avondale's observation more weight than at first it may appear. Lady Avondale often rode to Glanaa to hear Miss St. Clare sing. Gondimar sung not like her; and his love breathing ditties went not to the heart, like the hymns of the lovely recluse. But for the deep flushes which now and then overspead St. Clara's cheeks, and the fire which at times animated her bright dark eye, some might have fancied her a being of a purer nature than our own—one incapable of feeling
