Though utterly unlike, it would be difficult to conceive of two more beautiful creatures than Faith Armstrong and Anne Bernard.  The dark hair of Faith, the large black eyes, the nose slightly aquiline, an expression of countenance ordinarily composed, though not sad, but which could be lighted up into enthusiasm, and a graceful dignity that marked every action, while it seemed only a necessary part of herself, forcibly reminded one sometimes of the heroines of the ancient Scriptures.  So in her youthful years, before her eyes were fully opened to the vision, and before to the sound of the clanging timbrel her voice responded to the triumph song of the children of Israel, might have looked the prophetess, Miriam.

No contrast could be stronger than that presented by sweet Anne Bernard.  Light colored hair fell in graceful curls around an oval and perfectly regular face, of the most delicate complexion.  So thin, so almost transparent was the skin, that the veins seemed hardly hidden, and a very slight emotion was sufficient to suffuse it with a tint that needed to fear no rivalry with the rose.  No heaven could be bluer than the soft eyes that seemed “to love whate’er they looked upon,” and whether dimmed with the tear of pity, or flashing with mirth, revealed a pure, but not a timid spirit.  But among features which all were beautiful, if one could be called more beautiful than another, it was the mouth, and white as snow were the regular and perfectly formed teeth which the crimson lips concealed.  Her figure was rather below than above the ordinary height, and its roundness indicated the most perfect health.  Let not this description be deemed a picture of romance.  Those acquainted with the beautiful daughters of New England will acknowledge its truth, or, at least, confess, it errs not on the side of exaggeration.

The intermediate time between the arrival of the company and the serving up of dinner, was spent by them in such conversation as usually takes place on occasions of the kind.  Somebody has said, that two Americans cannot meet without talking politics, but we can vouch for the fact, that although Mr. Armstrong, the doctor, and divine were federalists, and the Judge a democrat, having spent several of his early years in France, where he was supposed to have imbibed his sentiments, not a word on the subject was uttered.  A reference or two was made to the minister’s discourse; the flourishing condition of the country and its prospects adverted to; and some items of domestic news and village anecdotes narrated.  Such was the conversation of the elders:  as for what passed between the young people, we know there was some laughing, but have forgot what they talked about.  We regret this irreparable loss, and promise to be more attentive for the future.

Al length, the ebony disc of Felix’s face, rising pleasantly above a snow-bank of neck-cloth, appeared at the door, and announced dinner, when Mr. Armstrong offering his arm to Mrs. Bernard, preceded his friends into the dining-room.  Faith accepted the Judge’s escort, and Pownal tried to wait on Anne, but somehow or other (and we suspect her of complicity in the affair), the divine secured the prize.