etite we may.

For the time, indeed, the ecstasy of this delusion is boundless. Who has
not, at some one moment or other of his life, experienced the entrancing
delight of thinking that the world is full of his friends and admirers,
that good wishes follow him as he goes, and kind welcomes await his
coming? Much of our character for good or evil, of our subsequent
utility in life, or our utter helplessness, will depend upon how we
stand the season of trial. Kate Daiton possessed much to encourage this
credulity; she was not only eminently handsome, but she had that species
of fascination in her air which a clever French writer defines as the
feminine essence, "plus femme que les autres femmes." If a very critical
eye might have detected in her manner and address certain little
awkwardnesses, a less exacting judgment would have probably been
struck with them as attractions, recalling the fact of her youth, her
simplicity, and the freshness of her nature. Above all other charms,
however, was the radiant happiness that beamed out in every word and
look and gesture; such a thorough sense of enjoyment, so intense a
pleasure in life, is among the very rarest of all gifts.

There was enough of singularity, of the adventurous, in the nature of
her position, to excel all the romance of her nature; there was more
than enough of real splendor around her to give an air of fact and
truth to the highest flights of her imagination. Had she been the sole
daughter of the house and name, flatteries and caresses could not have
been lavished on her more profusely; her will consulted, her wishes
inquired, her taste evoked on every occasion. And yet, with all these
seductions about her, she was not yet spoiled not yet! Home and its dear
associations were ever present to her mind; her humble fortune, and
that simple life she used to lead, enforcing lessons of humility not yet
distasteful. She could still recur to the memory of the little window
that looked over the "Murg," and think the scenery beautiful. Her dear,
dear papa was still all she had ever thought him. Nelly was yet the
sweet-tempered, gentle, gifted creature she worshipped as a sister; even
Hanserl was the kind, quaint emblem of his own dreamy "Vaterland." As
yet no conflict had arisen between the past and the present, between the
remembrance of narrow fortune and all its crippling exigencies, and the
enjoyment of wealth that seems to expand the generous feelings of the
heart. T