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you so much credit," said the Colonel, pitying her confusion. "Dear papa, it was cruel to betray me," said Juliet, the tears of mortified sensibility filling her fine eyes. "Colonel Hurdlestone, you will do me a great favor by never alluding to this subject again." "You are a great admirer of nature, Miss Whitmore, or you could never write poetry," said Godfrey, heedless of the distress of the poor girl. But he was tired of sitting silent, and longed for an opportunity of addressing her. "Poetry is the language in which nature speaks to the heart of the young," said Juliet. "Do you think that there ever was a young person indifferent to the beauties of poetry?" "All young people have not your taste and fine feeling," said Godfrey. "There are some persons who can walk into a garden without distinguishing the flowers from the weeds. You have of course read Shakspeare?" "It formed the first epoch in my life," returned Juliet with animation. "I never shall forget the happy day when I first revelled through the fairy isle with Ariel and his dainty spirits. My father was from home, and had left the key in the library door. It was forbidden ground. My aunt was engaged with an old friend in the parlor, so I ventured in, and snatched at the first book which came to hand. It was a volume of Shakspeare, and contained, among other plays, the Tempest and Midsummer Night's Dream. Afraid of detection I stole away into the park, and beneath the shadow of the greenwood tree, I devoured with rapture the inspired pages of the great magician. What a world of wonders it opened to my view! Since that eventful hour poetry has become to me the language of nature--the voice in which creation lifts up its myriad anthems to the throne of God." An enthusiastic country girl could alone have addressed this rhapsody to a stranger. A woman of the world with half her talent and moral worth, would have blushed at her imprudence in betraying the romance of her nature. Juliet was a novice in the world, and she spoke with the simplicity and earnestness of truth. Godfrey smiled in his heart at her want of tact; yet there was one near him, in whose breast Juliet Whitmore would have found an echo to her own words. The gentlemen rose to depart, and promised to dine at the Lodge the next day. "Two fine young men," said the Captain, turning to his daughter, as the door closed upon his guests. "Which of them took your fancy most, Julee?" "T
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