still. She was
of a good family too; with a comfortable independence, and had lovers by
the score. Yet, she fell in love with the ugly fellow, and married him,
though he had neither fame nor fortune to offer her in exchange. Nothing
but the mental treasures he had hid away from the world in this rough
casket. My daughters are elegant, accomplished girls; not beauties, to
be sure, but pleasing enough to be courted and sought after. Yet, they
are proud of being thought like their ugly old father. That picture must
be a likeness; it is pourtrayed by the hand of love. My dear girl there
drew it with her own pencil, and rejoiced that she had caught the very
expression of my face. To her, my dear lady, it is beautiful--for love
is blind. She does not heed the ugly features; she only sees the mind
she honours and obeys, looking through them."

"Ah, dear papa, who that knows you, as we know you, could ever think you
ugly?" said Mary W., laying her hand on the old man's shoulder, and
looking fondly and proudly in his face. "But I have forgotten all this
time to introduce you to Mrs. Lyndsay."

"My old friend Lyndsay's wife? I ought not to be pleased with you,
madam, for you disappointed a favourite scheme of mine."

"How could that possibly be?" said Flora.

"I loved that man of yours; I wanted him for a son-in-law. Of course,
neither I nor the girls hinted such a wish to him. But had he asked, he
would not have been refused."

"Mrs. Lyndsay!" broke in Mary W., "you must not mind papa's nonsense. He
will say just what he likes. Mr. Lyndsay was always a great favourite
with us all; and papa would have his joke at our expense."

"Well, my young friend has thought fit to please himself, and I am so
well pleased with his wife, that she shall sit by the ugly old man;
'an' I will ha' a spate o' clatter wi' her to mine ain sel.'"

The more Flora saw of the eccentric old man, the more she admired and
respected him. In a little time, she ceased to think him ugly--he was
only plain and odd-looking; till at length, like all the rest of Mr.
W.'s friends, she almost believed him handsome. When did genius ever
fail to leave upon the rudest clay, an impress of its divine origin?

It was with feelings of mutual regret that our emigrants took leave, and
for ever, of this talented family. Before the expiration of one short
year, that happy group of kind faces had passed out of the world! The
sudden death of the younger Mr. W., who was the