the simplicity and wondering admiration of a child. He
was probably comparing the beautiful drapery, that seemed like the azure
robe of night with its stars of glory gleaming through, with the plain
green curtains that shaded the windows of the academy, the graceful and
luxurious divan with the high-backed chair which was my village throne.

"Beautiful, charming!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands slowly and
gently. "You remind me of the queen of a fairy palace. I shall not dare
to call you my child or little girl again. Scherezade or Fatima will
seem more appropriate."

"Oh no, Mr. Regulus! I had rather hear you call me child, than any thing
else in the world. It carries me back to the dear old academy, the
village green, the elm trees' shade, and all the sweet memories of
youth."

"One would think you had a long backward journey to take, from the
saddened heights of experience," said Ernest; and there was that
indescribable something in his voice and countenance, which I had
learned too well to interpret, that told me he was not pleased with my
remark. He did not want me to have a memory further back than my first
meeting with him,--a hope with which he was not intertwined.

"You may call _me_ child, Mr. Regulus, as much as you please," cried
Madge, her eyes sparkling with unusual brilliancy. "I wish I were a
little school-girl again, privileged to romp as much as I pleased. When
I did any thing wrong then, it was always passed over. 'Oh! she's but a
child, she will get sobered when she is grown.' Now if I laugh a little
louder and longer than other people, they stare and lift up their eyes,
and I have no doubt pray for me as a castaway from grace and favor."

"Margaret!" said I, reproachfully.

"There! exactly as I described. Every sportive word I utter, it is
Margaret, or Madge, or Meg, in such a grave, rebuking tone!"

"Perhaps it is only when you jest on serious subjects, that you meet a
kindly check," observed Mr. Regulus, with grave simplicity; "there are
so many legitimate themes of mirth, so many light frameworks, round
which the flowers of wit and fancy can twine, it is better to leave the
majestic temple of religion, untouched by the hand of levity."

"I did not intend to speak profanely," said Margaret, hastily,--and the
color visibly deepened on her cheek; "neither did I know that you were a
religious character, Mr. Regulus. I thought you were a very good sort of
man, and all that; but I did not thin