"KATHARINE, Katharine-where is Katharine Ogilvie ?" This call resounded from the entrance-hall of an old family mansion, in which, between the twilight and moonlight of a December evening, a group of young people were assembled.

"Where is she?-why, staying to adorn herself, of course," said a young lady," the type par excellence of that numerous class; being pretty-faced, pretty-spoken, and pretty-mannered. "Was there ever a girl of sixteen who did not spend two hours at the least in dressing for her first evening party? I know I did.” Very likely," muttered a rather fine-looking young man who stood at the door. "You do the same now, Bella. But Katharine is not one of your sort."

The first speaker tossed her head. "That is a doubtful compliment. Pray, Mr. Hugh Ogilvie, is it meant for your cousin Katharine, or your cousin Bella ?" And Miss Isabella Worsley, shaking her multitudinous ringlets, looked up in his face with what she doubtless thought a most bewitching air of espièglerie.

But the young man was quite unmoved. He was apparently a simple soul-Mr. Hugh Ogilvie-too simple for such fascinations. "I wish some of you children would go and fetch your cousin. Uncle and aunt are quite ready; and Katharine knows her father will not endure to be kept waiting, even by herself."

"It is all your fault, cousin Hugh," interposed one of the smaller fry which composed the Christmas family-party assembled at Summerwood Park. "I saw Katharine staying to tie up the flowers you sent her. I told her how scarce they were, and how vou rode over the country all this morning in search of them," continued the wicked, long-tongued little imp of a boy, causing Hugh to turn very red and walk angrily away,-and consequently

B

winning an approving glance from the elder sister of all the juvenile brood, Isabella Worsley.

Really, Hugh, what a blessing of a cousin you must be !" observed the latter, following him to the foot of the staircase, where he stood restlessly beating his heel upon the stone steps. "Une quite envies Katharine in having you so constantly at Summerwood. Why, it is better for her than possessing half a dozen brothers, isn't it, now? And I dare say you find her worth a lozen of your sister Eleanor.”

Hugh made no audible answer, except beginning a long low whistle-sportsman-fashion.

"I declare, he is calling for Katharine as he does for Junonow very flattering!" cried Isabella, laughing. "Really, Hugh, this sort of behaviour does not at all match with that elegant evening costume, which, by-the-by, I have not yet sufficiently admired."

"I had

"I wish heartily I were out of it," muttered Hugh. rather a great deal put on my shooting-jacket and go after wild ducks than start for this dull party at Mrs. Lancaster's. Nothing should have persuaded me to it except

Except Katharine. But here she comes!"

At this moment, a young girl descended the stairs. Now, whatever the poets may say, there is not a more uncomfortable and unprepossessing age than "sweet sixteen.". The character and manners are then usually alike unformed-the graceful frankness of childhood is lost, and the calm dignity of womanhood has not yet been gained. Katharine Ogilvie was exactly in this transition state, in both mind and person. She had outgrown the roundness of early youth; and her tall thin figure, without being positively awkward, bore a ludicrous resemblance-as the short, plump Miss Worsley often remarked-to a lettuce run to seed, or a hyacinth that will stretch out its long lanky leaves with an obstinate determination not to flower. This attenuated appearance was increased by the airy evening dress she wore:-a half-mourning frock, exhibiting her thin neck and long arms, the slenderness of which caused her otherwise well-formed hands to seem somewhat disproportioned. Her features were regular and pleasing; but her dark-almost sallow-complexion prevented their attracting the notice which their classical form deserved. The girl had, however, one beauty, which, when she did chance to lift up her long lashes-a circumstance by no means frequent was almost startling in its effect. Katharine's eyes were magnificent; of the darkest yet most limpid haze. Therein lay the chief expression of her face; and often when the rest of the features were in apparent repose, these strange eyes were suddenly lifted up, revealing such a world of enthusiasm, passion,

and tenderness, that her whole form seemed lighted up into beauty.

"Come here, Katharine, and let us all have a look at you!' said Isabella, drawing her shrinking cousin under the light of the hall lamp. "Well, you are dressed tolerably to-night; your hair is neat and pretty enough."-It was, indeed, very lovely, of a rich purple-black hue, its silken masses being most gracefully folded round her small head. "But, Katharine, child, what makes you so pale? You ought to be delighted at going to this grand soirée; I only wish I had been invited in your stead."

"So do I, too. Indeed, Bella, it would have been much pleasanter for me to stay at home," said Katharine, in a low, timid voice, whose music was at least equal to the beauty of her eyes. "You little simpleton to say so! But I don't believe a

word."

"You may believe her or not, just as you like, Miss Bella, — nobody minds," answered Hugh, rather angrily, as he drew his young cousin's arm through his own. Come, Katharine, don't be frightened, I'll take care of you; and we will manage to get through this formidable literary soirée together."

She clung to him with a grateful and affectionate look; which would certainly once more have roused Isabella's acrid tongue had not Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvie appeared. After them followed a light-footed graceful girl in deep mourning. She carried a warm shawl, which she wrapped closely round Katharine.

"There's a good, thoughtful little Nelly," said Hugh; while Katharine turned round with a quick impulse and kissed her. But she only said "Good night, dear Eleanor,"-for her young heart had fluttered strangely throughout all this evening. However, there was no time to pause over doubts and trepidations, since her father and mother were already in the carriage; and thither she was herself hurried by Hugh, with an anxious care and tenderness that still further excited Isabella's envious indig nation.

"It is a fine thing to be an only daughter and an heiress," thought sne. "But one can easily see how the case will end. Hugh thinks, of course, that he may as well get the estate with the title; and uncle Ogilvie will be glad enough to keep both in the family, even if Hugh is not quite so rich as Croesus. I wonder how much money old Sir James will leave him, though. Anyhow, it is a good match for a little ugly thing like Katharine. But the husband she gets will make matters even,-for Hugh Ogilvie is a common-place, stupid boor. Iwould not have married him for the world."

Miss Worsley's anger had probably affected ner memory; sinco the came to pay this visit to her maternal grandfather with the B%

firm determination so to "play her cards" as regarded Hugh, that on her departure she might have the certainty of one day revisit ing Summerwood as its future mistress.

Let us-thinking of the fearful number of her class who sully and degrade the pure ideal of womanhood-look mournfully on this girl. She had grown wise too soon; wise in the world's evil sense. With her, love had been regarded alternately as a light jest and as a sentimental pretence, at an age when she could not understand its character and ought scarcely to have heard its name; and when the time came for the full heart of womanhood to respond to the mystic, universal touch, there was no answer. The one holy feeling had been frittered away into a number of small fancies, until Isabella, now fully emerged from her boading-. school romance, believed what her mother told her, that “a girl should never fall in love till she is asked to marry, and then make the best match she can." And until this desirable event should happen,-which, at five-and-twenty, seemed farther than ever from her earnest longings,-Miss Worsley amused herself by carrying on passing flirtations with every agreeable young man

she met.

But while Isabella's vain and worldly mind was thus judging by its own baser motives the very different nature of Katharine Ogilvie, the latter sat calmly by Hugh's side, enjoying the dreamy motion of the carriage, and not disposed to murmur at the silence of its occupants; which gave her full liberty to indulge in thought.

"It is very cold," at last observed Mrs. Ogilvie; trying to make the most original observation she could, in order to rouse her husband, who was always exceedingly cross after a doze—a cir cumstance which she naturally wished to prevent if possible. A humph" answered her observation.

.

"Don't you think you will get colder still if you go to sleep, Mr. Ogilvie ?" pursued the lady.

"Pray suffer me to decide that. It was very foolish of us to go to this party, all the way to London, on such a wintry night." But, my dear, you know Katharine must be brought out some time or other, and Mrs. Lancaster's soirée was such an excellent opportunity for her, since we cannot have a ball at home on account of poor Sir James. Mrs. Lancaster knows all the scien tific and literary world-her parties are most brilliant-it is a first-rate introduction for any young girl."

Poor Katharine felt her timidity come over her with added painfulness; and heartily wished herself on the ottoman at her grandfather's feet, instead of on her way to this terrible ordeal. But Hugh gave her hand an encouraging pressure, and she felt comforted. So, she listened patiently to her mother's enumera

tion of all the celebrated people whom she would be sure to meet. After which the good lady, oppressed by her somnolent husband's example, leaned her head back so as not to disarrange her elegant cap, and fell asleep in a few minutes.

The carriage rolled through the unfrequented roads that mark the environs of the metropolis. Katharine sat watching the light which the carriage-lamps threw as they passed,-illumining for a moment the formal, leafless hedges, until every trace of rurality was lost in the purely suburban character of the villa-studded road. The young girl's vision and the most outward fold of her thoughts received all these things; but her inner mind was all the while revolving widely different matters, and chiefly, this unseen world of society,—about which she had formed various romantic ideas, the predominant one being, that it was a brilliant dazzling compound of the scenes described in Bulwer's "Godolphin,” and Mrs. Gore's novels, passim.

It is scarcely possible to imagine a girl more utterly ignorant of the realities of life than was Katharine Ogilvie at sixteen. Delicate health had made her childhood solitary; and though fortune had bestowed on her troops of cousin-playfellows, she had known little of any of them excepting Hugh and his sister. She had seen nothing of society, or of the amusements of life,for her rather elderly parents rarely mingled in the world. Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvie were a pattern couple for individual excellence and mutual observance of matrimonial proprieties. United in middle life, their existence flowed on in a placid stream, deep, silent, untroubled; their affection towards each other and towards their only child being rather passive than active, though steady, very undemonstrative. So, Katharine, whom nature had cast in a different mould, became, as the confiding and clinging helplessness of childhood departed, more and more shut up within herself -looking to no other for amusement, seeking no sharer either in her pleasures or in her cares. A life like this sometimes educes strength and originality of character; but more often causes a morbidness of feeling which contents itself throughout existence with dreaming, not acting. Or if, at length, long-restrained emotions do break out, it is with a terrible flood that sweeps away all before it.

Katharine was by no means sentimental; for the term implies affectation, of which no stain had ever marred her nature. But her whole character was imbued with the wildest, deepest ro mance: the romance which comes instinctively to a finely-consti tuted mind left to form its own ideal of what is good and true. Her solitary childhood had created an imaginary world in which she lived and moved side by side with its inhabitants. These were the heroes and heroines of the books which she had read,—