called it, but it had now been
two years since he had seen any member of it. There was an engagement
between him and his cousin, though Alice was but fifteen when it was
formed. They had been associated from the earliest period of their lives,
and Arthur declared that should he return home on a visit, he would not be
able to break away from its happiness to the routine of a college life: he
yielded therefore to the earnest entreaties of his father, to remain at New
Haven until he graduated.

Mr. Weston will stand for a specimen of the southern gentleman of the old
school. The bland and cheerful expression of his countenance, the
arrangement of his soft fine hair, the fineness of the texture and the
perfect cleanliness of every part of his dress, the plaiting of his
old-fashioned shirt ruffles, the whiteness of his hand, and the sound of
his clear, well-modulated voice--in fact, every item of his appearance--won
the good opinion of a stranger; while the feelings of his heart and his
steady course of Christian life, made him honored and reverenced as he
deserved. He possessed that requisite to the character of a true gentleman,
a kind and charitable heart.

None of the present members of his family had any lawful claim upon him,
yet he cherished them with the utmost affection. He requested his brother's
widow, on the death of his own wife, to assume the charge of his house; and
she was in every respect its mistress. Alice was necessary to his
happiness, almost to his existence; she was the very rose in his garden of
life. He had never had a sister, and he regarded Alice as a legacy from his
only brother, to whom he had been most tenderly attached: had she been
uninteresting, she would still have been very dear to him; but her beauty
and her many graces of appearance and character drew closely together the
bonds of love between them; Alice returning, with the utmost warmth, her
uncle's affection.

Mrs. Weston was unlike her daughter in appearance, Alice resembling her
father's family. Her dark, fine eyes were still full of the fire that had
beamed from them in youth; there were strongly-marked lines about her
mouth, and her face when in repose bore traces of the warfare of past
years. The heart has a writing of its own, and we can see it on the
countenance; time has no power to obliterate it, but generally deepens the
expression. There was at times too a sternness in her voice and manner, yet
it left no unpleasant impre