at wooed to love with their ambrosial breath,
That, issuing through those dewy portals, showed
The pearly teeth within, like gems enshrined.--S.M.

What aileth thee this morning, young daughter, that thou lingerest so
long before the mirror, adjusting and re-adjusting the delicately-tinted
Provence rose-buds in thy dark flowing tresses? Art thou doubtful of thy
charms, or have the calm bright eyes of the young stranger made thee
diffident of the power of thy own surpassing loveliness? Those eyes have
caught thy young fancy, and made thee blind to all other objects around
thee. They have haunted thee through the long night; thou couldst not
sleep; those dark eyes looked into thy soul; they have kindled upon the
hidden altar of life the sad and beautiful light of love. Thou no longer
livest for thyself; another image possesses thy heart, and thou hast
wonderingly discovered a new page in the poetry of thy nature.

"Yes, love--first love--is a sad and holy thing; a pleasure born out of
pain, welcomed with smiles, nourished by tears, and worshipped by the
young and enthusiastic as the only real and abiding good in a world of
shadow. Alas! for the young heart, why should it ever awake to find the
most perfect of its creatures like the rest--a dream!"

And poor Juliet's love-dream was banished very abruptly by the harsh
voice of Aunt Dorothy.

"Miss Whitmore, the dinner waits for _you_. Quick! you have been an hour
dressing yourself to-day. Will you never have done arranging your hair?
Now, do pray take out those nasty flowers. They do not become you. They
look romantic and theatrical."

"Ah, aunt, you must not rob me of my flowers, God's most precious gift
to man."

"I hate them! They always make a room look in a litter."

"Hate flowers!" exclaimed Juliet, in unaffected surprise. "God's
beautiful flowers! I pity your want of taste, my good aunt."

"Nay, spare your commiseration for those who need it, Miss Whitmore. My
judgment is certainly not inferior to _yours_; and I never could
discover the use or beauty of flowers. What! not satisfied yet?" as
Juliet cast another hurried glance at the mirror. "The vanity of girls
in our days is quite disgusting to a woman of sense."

"I look so ill to-day, aunt, I am ashamed of being seen."

"It is matter of little consequence, I dare say; no one will notice how
you look. A few years _hence_, and there would be some excuse for
spending so much time before a looking-