so spoils it?

Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts--ay, and even
cousins--sometimes put in their oar to disturb that stream which is
troubled enough without their interference, and, as the Bard of Avon
says,

"Never did run smooth."

And so it was in the case of Fanny Dawson and Edward O'Connor. A piece
of innocent fun on the part of her brother, and blind pertinacity--indeed,
downright absurdity--on her father's side, interrupted the intercourse
of affection, which had subsisted silently for many a long day between
the lovers, but was acknowledged, at last, with delight to the two whom
it most concerned, and satisfaction to all who knew or held them dear.
Yet the harmony of this sweet concordance of spirits was marred by
youthful frolic and doting absurdity. This welding together of hearts
in the purest fire of nature's own contriving was broken at a blow by a
weak old man. Is it too much to call this _a sin_? Less mischievous
things are branded with the name in the common-place parlance of the
world. The cold and phlegmatic may not understand this; but they who
_can_ love know how bitterly every after-hour of life may be poisoned
with the taint which hapless love has infused into the current of
future years, and can believe how many a heart equal to the highest
enterprise has been palsied by the touch of despair. Sweet and holy is
the duty of child to parent; but sacred also is the obligation of those
who govern in so hallowed a position. Their rule should be guided by
justice; they should pray for judgment in their mastery.

Fanny Dawson's father was an odd sort of person. His ancestors were
settlers in Ireland of the time of William the Third, and having won
their lands by the sword, it is quite natural the love of arms should
have been hereditary in the family. Mr. Dawson, therefore, had served
many years as a soldier, and was a bit of a martinet, not only in
military but all other affairs. His mind was of so tenacious a
character, that an impression once received there became indelible; and
if the Major once made up his mind, or indulged the belief, that such
and such things were so and so, the waters of truth could never wash
out the mistake--stubbornness had written them there with her own
indelible marking-ink.

Now, one of the old gentleman's weak points was a museum of the most
heterogeneous nature, consisting of odds and ends from all parts of the
world, and appertaining to all subje