—the other asleep, with a blue riband round her neck; and all as still and quiet as the Princess Nonchalante—who, during her lover's most earnest supplication, only begged he would not hurry himself—could have wished.
The quiet was not very lasting, for the fire was stirred somewhat suddenly, the chairs pushed aside somewhat hastily, the cat disturbed, but without any visible notice from either reader or sleeper. "My aunt asleep—my uncle as bad!" exclaimed Emily Arundel, emerging from the corner where she had been indulging in one of those moods which may be called melancholy or sullen, out of temper or out of spirits, accordingly as they are spoken of in the first or second person; and Emily was young, pretty, and spoilt enough to consider herself privileged to indulge in any or all of them.
The course of life is like the child's game—"here we go round by the rule of contrary"—and youth, above all others, is the season of united opposites, with all its freshness and buoyancy. At no period of our existence is depression of the spirit more common or more painful. As we advance in life our duties become defined; we act more from necessity and
