no human being alive to poetry, can view God's
fairest creation in its full perfection, and not feel a throb of
pleasure. It is not wisdom, but an absence of ideality, of taste, of
the highest of perceptions, the love of the beautiful, that can let
any one look unmoved upon a young and beautiful woman. Who would not
blush for themselves, and deny that they had walked through the halls
of the Vatican without delight? And will the same person rave about
the sculptured marble, and yet gaze coldly on the living, breathing
model? No! and if it is high treason not to worship the one, it is
false to human nature not to love the other; and the man, woman, or
child, who affects to under-value beauty, only proclaims the want in
their own mental constitution. To be without an eye for beauty, is as
to be without an ear for music, to be wanting in the refinement of the
higher and more delicate organization of our nature.

Mr. Grey was not a man who usually took much pleasure in society, but
his grave face lighted up as with a glance of sunshine, when he caught
a glimpse of his beautiful child, as the crowd opened from time to
time on the dancers in the thronged rooms, where, night after night,
he was now condemned to pass his evenings; and when he approached her
to tell her that the carriage was waiting, and her mother had sent to
summon her to her side, he could not restrain his smiles when the
young men crowded round to remind Pauline, one of a waltz, another of
a polka, and pleading with Mr. Grey for more engagements than she
could have fulfilled if they had staid all night; and his paternal
pride had its share of gratification in the homage that even his
presence could scarcely restrain.

Among the group of idlers ever hovering round Pauline, was one who
scarcely left her side, a Mr. Wentworth, a young man, and rather good
looking. He seemed mightily taken with Pauline, and she smiled her
brightest when she turned to him--but that she did when any one spoke
to her--for she was in such a gale of spirits, she smiled on all who
crossed her path.

"Who is that young gentleman dancing with your daughter, Mrs. Grey?"
asked a lady.

"I don't know any thing about him but his name, which is Wentworth,"
replied Mrs. Grey. "Mrs. Henderson introduced him to me at her own
house, and I introduced him to Pauline. That's all I know about him."

"Then I should say," replied the other, smiling, "that it was time you
knew something more, fo