books he liked, or the escritoire he had occasion for, gave Louisa the most delightful moments life had hitherto afforded her; and could she have shown her sisters her pretty dwelling, her clever contrivances, and communicated to them her own felicity in the smile of her beloved husband, so complete, or rather so overflowing, would she have considered her happiness, perhaps she would have been alarmed for its continuance, and, like Philip of Macedon, prayed for a small misfortune to counterbalance her excess of joy.
This necessary counterpoise, the affectionate and simple-minded will readily conceive, would arise to Louisa from the absence of those "dear familiar faces" which had hitherto constituted her world. The love of sisters is not only a pure and holy thing, but there are situations in life when it is rendered an intense affection. Such was the case with the Granard family—they had no father whom "to love, honour, and obey;" mother was to them
"A word of fear,
Alarming to the daughter's ear:"
and they had no brother on whom they could lavish the confiding tenderness of their hearts, exult in his success, mourn in his disappointments, and follow him in imagination through the bright and busy world, from which they were otherwise excluded. No! to the sisterhood, exclusively, was every sister attached, in all the joys and sorrows, wants and wishes, which
