with looks of such excessive tenderness, that a strange pang of self-reproach darted through her heart, although it was instantly banished by the fancy, that if it was with a sigh her mother regarded her on such a night, how could she look for sympathy in the pleasure then occupying her mind.  At Oakwood every feeling, every anticipation would have been instantly imparted, but now she only longed to meet Annie, that to her all might be told without restraint.  Painful, indeed, was this unwonted silence of a child to the fond heart of Mrs. Hamilton, but she refused to notice it.  Much, very much, did she wish to say, but she saw by the countenance of her daughter it might be considered mistimed; yet to launch the beautiful girl she saw before her into the labyrinth of the world, without uttering one word of the thoughts which were thronging on her mind, she felt was impossible.  They might not have the effect she wished, yet she would do her duty.  Desiring Fanny to take her young lady’s shawl down stairs, she gently detained Caroline as she was about to follow her.

“Listen to me but for a few minutes, my love,” she said, in that affectionate yet impressive tone, which seldom failed to arrest the attention of her children, “and forgive me, if my words fall harshly and coldly on your excited fancy.  I know well the feelings that are yours, though you perhaps think I do not, by the involuntary sigh you heard, and I can sympathise with them, though lately you have refused to seek my sympathy.  Bright as are your anticipations, reality for a time will be still brighter.  Brilliant will be the scenes of enchantment in which you will mingle,—­brilliant indeed, for you are beautiful, my Caroline—­and admiration on all sides will be your own.  Why should you look on me with surprise, my child? that beauty on which perhaps my heart has often dwelt too proudly, is not my gift nor of your creation.  The Great Being who has given you those charms of face and form will mark how His gift is used; and oh, forget not for one moment His all-seeing eye is as much upon you in the crowded ball as in the retirement of your own room.  You will be exposed to more temptations than have yet been yours; the most dangerous temptations, adulation, triumph, exciting pleasures of every kind, will be around you.  The world in radiant beauty will loudly call upon you to follow it alone, to resign all things to become its votary; the trial of prosperity will indeed be yours.  Caroline, my child, for my sake, if not for your own, resist them all.  My happiness is in your hands.  Seek your God in this ordeal, even more than you would in that of adversity; there the spirit naturally flies from earth, here it clings tenaciously to the world.  Pray to Him to resist the temptations that will surround—­implore him to teach you the best use of those charms He has bestowed on you.  Forsake him not; Caroline, I conjure you, be not drawn away from Him.  Do not let your thoughts be so wholly engrossed by pleasure