BERNERS OF THE BURNING HEARTS.

"Their love was like the lava flood
That burns in Etna's breast of flame."

Near the end of a dark autumn-day, not many years ago, a young couple,
returning from their bridal tour arrived by steamer at the old city of
Norfolk; and, taking a hack, drove directly to the best inn.

They were attended by the gentleman's valet and the lady's maid, and
encumbered besides with a great amount of baggage, so that altogether
their appearance was so promising that the landlord of the "Anchor" came
forward in person to receive them and bow them into the best parlor.

The gentleman registered himself and his party as Mr. and Mrs. Lyon
Berners, of Black Hall, Virginia, and two servants.

"We shall need a private parlor and chamber communicating for our own
use, and a couple of bedrooms for our servants," said Mr. Berners, as he
handed his hat and cane to the bowing waiter.

"They shall be prepared immediately," answered the polite landlord.

"We shall remain here only for the night, and go on in the morning, and
should like to have two inside and two outside places secured in the
Staunton stage-coach for to-morrow."

"I will send and take them at once, sir."

"Thanks. We should also like tea got ready as soon as possible in our
private parlor."

"Certainly, sir. What would you like for tea?"

"Oh, anything you please, so that it is nice and neatly served," said
Mr. Berners, with a slightly impatient wave of his hand as if he would
have been rid of his obsequious host.

"Ah-ha! anything I please! It is easy to see what ails him. He lives
upon love just now; but he'll care more about his bill of fare a few
weeks hence," chuckled the landlord, as he left the public parlor to
execute his guest's orders.

The bridegroom was no sooner left alone with his bride than he seated
her in the easiest arm-chair, and began with affectionate zeal to untie
her bonnet-strings and unclasp her mantle.

"You make my maid a useless appendage, dear Lyon," said the little lady,
smiling up in his eyes.

"Because I like to do everything for you myself, sweet Sybil; because I
am jealous of every hand that touches your dear person, except my own,"
he murmured tenderly as he removed her bonnet, and with all his
worshipping soul glowing through his eyes, gazed upon her beautiful and
beaming face.

"You love me so much, dear Lyon! You love me so much! Yet not too much
either