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CHAPTER XX.

"The billows on the ocean,
The breezes idly roaming,
The clouds' uncertain motion,
They are but types of woman."

Burns.

Ir is probably well known to most of our readers, that Lebanon is a favourite resort during the hot months. It lies on a post-road from Boston to Albany-is of easy access from NewYork-and from the beauty of its scenery, the salubrity of its air, and its proximity to Saratoga springs, attracts, for a short time at least, the throng of visitors to those celebrated waters. The mineral spring that is nominally the chief attraction of the place, should not be forgotten; if not as efficacious as its neighbours would fain believe, it is at least innocent-no one can forget it who has seen the bright waters for ever bubbling up from the bosom of the earth, and admired the sycamore tree that stands beside the sparkling fountain like its guardian genius, and drops its protecting branches over it.

Our travellers were fortunate in the time of their arrival: large parties had left the place the

preceding day, and they were able to obtain two apartments in Mr. Hull's well-known house; one was assigned to Ellen, and the other Emily shared with her relation and true friend Deborah.

Ellen, wearied as she was, did not retire to bed until she had written a note to the elder sister,' containing all the particulars of Emily's distressful experiences and providential rescue; nor till she had obtained a promise from her landlord that he would despatch it with the first ray of light. The commission was faithfully executed, as might have been expected from his obliging character.

Even after Ellen had performed this duty, it was long ere she could compose her mind to sleep. Relieved of all anxiety concerning Emily, her thoughts reverted to the friends she had left at Eton; hovered about Mr. Redwood with an undefinable interest, and finally concentrated on Charles Westall. All the circumstances of her brief intercourse with him passed in revision before her; and she dwelt on each particular over and over again, as a miser counts his treasures-the cherished recollections of memory gave place to the (perhaps unbidden) visions of hope, and all at last faded away like the bright tints of the evening cloud, and she sunk into profound repose.

Deborah's weariness prevailed over the force of long habit, and neither she nor her protegées awoke till a late hour in the morning, when in compliance with Ellen's persuasions, she ordered

breakfast in her room: after partaking it with her usual appetite, she left her less enterprising companions, and sallied forth to reconnoitre the premises, and to try the effect of bathing on her rheumatism.

Neither Ellen nor Emily felt any disposition in the present state of their minds to remain at Lebanon. Emily's affections, released from the captivity of an imaginary duty, had bounded forward to their natural destination; and Ellen was impatient to accelerate her return to Mrs. Harrison, to whom alone she could unburthen her heart, but they both knew that Deborah had resolved to remain at the springs for some days, and that her resolution once formed, was quite as immutable as the laws of the Medes and Persians. They felt too that after the great inconveniences the good woman had endured, and the essential services she had rendered them, there would be a species of ingratitude in opposing her wishes. Ellen had not a nature to resist the persuasion of such a motive: the gentle Emily never resisted any thing, and they both prepared to appear with the best grace they could before the gay and the fashionable under the conduct of Miss Deborah. Emily's life had been too retired and humble to expose her to any mortification from the appearance and manners of her chaperone, yet she shrunk with natural timidity from the possibility that her history might be known, and that she might therefore be exposed to the curious gaze and free remarks of stran

gers. But Ellen encouraged her with the assurance that as they were all strangers, there was no clue to the discovery that she was the little runaway shaker, and having made her doff her shaker dress, and put on a simple mourning frock which she had provided for her, she remodelled her hair— formed some becoming curls on her temples-and imparted such a worldly tastefulness to her appearance, that the simple girl confessed herself so completely metamorphosed, that she hardly recognised her own image.

As neatness and simplicity were the presiding graces at Ellen's toilette, its duties were very expeditiously despatched. Happily for her, since she did not possess the gifts of fortune, the loveliness of her face and figure made her superior to her favours or arts, at least so thought Deborah, as well as more competent judges, for when she re-entered after her perambulations, she said (the only speech of hers on record that betrays any femality,) she did not believe the United States could produce two girls prettier to look at.' Ellen felt some consternation when she added, that though she was not much of a dresser, she liked to rig out suitably to her voyage; and as she had observed by the ladies she had met, that Lebanon was a dressy place, her young folks should not be ashamed of her.'

She then proceeded to unpack her trunk, and drew from its stores, a 'lutestring changeable,' a manufacture of the olden time, in which the colours.

were skilfully combined, to produce a constant alternation from one hue to another; the fancy of Deborah's youth had been orange and purple, and as it was her pride and boast that she never altered her apparel in subservience to the whims of fashion, the 'changeable' that had remained through all chances and changes unchanged, and always “like a robe canonical, ne'er seen, but wondered at," was once more dragged forth to the light of day, and its antique and unbending dignity exposed to the levity of modern gossamer belles.

Ellen watched Deborah with dismay, while she drew on the closely fitted sleeve, and laced the formal waist, and adroitly placed her gold beads over her 'kerchief that their light might not be hid. After her first and brief sacrifice to the graces, turning to Ellen, she said, with a complacency that her young friend could not but pity, "now I think I am fit company for any body-what do you say, Ellen?"

"Fit company for any body you always are, Miss Deborah," replied Ellen, "without any outward adorning-but I think your dress admits of one improvement;" and while she made an effort to restrain the smile that in spite of her hovered on her lips, she persuaded Deborah that a lace shawl, which she dexterously threw over her shoulders, improved her appearance. Deborah assented, and the dinner bell ringing, our heroine, with the courage of a martyr, slipped her arm into one of Deborah's, while Emily, in happy VOL. II.

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