ng the graceful outline of her form. The gentleman who gazed so
admiringly upon her, who wrapped her cloak around her with such tender
care, and even insisted, kneeling gracefully before her, on fastening
himself the warm, furred overshoes upon her slender foot, seemed a fit
attendant at the shrine of beauty. Philip Oswald had been only a few
weeks at home, after an absence of four years spent in European travel.
The quality in his appearance and manners, which first impressed the
observer, was refinement--perfect elegance, without the least touch of
coxcombry. It had been said of him, that he had brought home the taste
in dress of a Parisian, the imaginativeness of a German, and the voice
and passion for music of an Italian. Few were admitted to such intimacy
with him as to look into the deeper qualities of the mind--but those who
were, saw there the sturdy honesty of John Bull, and the courageous
heart and independent spirit of his own America. Some of those who knew
him best, regretted that the possession of a fortune, which placed him
among the wealthiest in America, would most probably consign him to a
life of indolence, in which his highest qualities would languish for
want of exercise.

By nine o'clock Caroline Danby's preparations were completed, and
leaning on one of Philip Oswald's arms, while the other was given to his
mother, she was led out, and placed in the most splendid sleigh in New
York, and wrapped in the most costly furs. Philip followed, the weary
coachman touched his spirited horses with the whip, the sleigh-bells
rang merrily out, and Mary Grayson was left in solitude.

The last stroke of three had ceased to vibrate on the air when Caroline
Danby again stood beside her cousin. Mary was sleeping, and a painter
might have hesitated whether to give the palm of beauty to the soft,
fair face, which looked so angel-like in its placid sleep, or to that
which bent above her in undimmed brilliancy.

"Is it you, Caroline? What time is it?" asked Mary, as she aroused at
her cousin's call.

"Three o'clock; but wake up, Mary; I have something to tell you, which
must not be heard by sleepy ears."

"How fresh you look!" exclaimed Mary, sitting up in bed and looking at
her cousin admiringly. "Who would believe you had been dancing all
night!"

"I have not been dancing all night, nor half the night."

"Why--what have you been doing then?"

"Listening to Philip Oswald. Oh Mary! I am certainly the most fort