compensate for the loss of the sparkling
spirits of a younger day; they pale their ineffectual fires beside the
fresh and joyous spirit of Catherine Aubrey! You sigh----

"Now, I'll sing you quite a new thing," said Miss Aubrey, starting up,
and turning over her portfolio till she came to a sheet of paper, on
which were some verses in her own handwriting, and with which she sat
down again before the piano: "The words were written by my brother, and
I have found an old air that exactly suits them!" Here her fingers,
wandering lightly and softly over the keys, gave forth a beautiful
symphony in the minor; after which, with a rich and soft voice, she sang
the following:--

PEACE.

I.

Where, O where
Hath gentle PEACE found rest?
Builds she in bower of lady fair?--
But LOVE--he hath possession there;
Not long is _she_ the guest.

II.

Sits she crown'd
Beneath a pictured dome?
But there AMBITION keeps his ground,
And Fear and Envy skulk around;
_This_ cannot be her home.

III.

Will she hide
In scholar's pensive cell?
But _he_ already hath his bride:
Him MELANCHOLY sits beside--
With her she may not dwell.

IV.

Now and then,
Peace, wandering, lays her head
On regal couch, in captive's den--
But nowhere finds she rest with men,
Or only with the dead!

To these words, trembling on the beautiful lips of Miss Aubrey, was
listening an unperceived auditor, with eyes devouring her every feature,
and ears absorbing every tone of her thrilling voice. It was young
Delamere, who had, only a moment or two before Miss Aubrey had commenced
singing the above lines, alighted from his father's carriage, which was
then waiting at the door to carry off Lord De la Zouch to the House of
Lords. Arrested by the rich voice of the singer, he stopped short before
he had entered the drawing-room in which she sat, and stepping to a
corner where he was hid from view, though he could distinctly see Miss
Aubrey, there he remained as if rooted to the spot. He, too, had a soul
for music; and the exquisite manner in which Miss Aubrey gave the last
verse, called up before his excited fancy the vivid image of a dove
fluttering with agitated uncertainty over the sea of human life; even
like the dove over the waters enveloping the earth in olden time. The
mournful minor into which she threw the last two line