“Which two letters I must see, for I suspect she has slighted you.  As to you, my dear Mrs. Cameron, what can I ever say to you and your worthy brother, or the kind Mrs. Sherman, I meant to have had the Doctor with me; but just as we were leaving his door, he was called away to somebody taken suddenly ill.  Helen, there is your mother’s portrait, which was taken for me, but I sailed before it was completed.  I gave the order myself and a pattern; Sherman received it last night, and this led to my discovering you.  Though I was much struck when I first saw you, by your strong likeness, to your mother, I never expected, to see any of you.”

“But why, dearest uncle have we heard, nothing of you for so long a time?”

“That my child is a long story, which time will not allow me to go into now:  you shall have it some of these days; as I see George coming, whom I desired to follow me here, as I recommended him to consult you about his proposing to Miss Falkner.”

“Me!” said Helen, “consult me?” and she colored deeply.

“Why not, you are second or third cousins; and he has a great opinion of your judgement.”

“Well sir,” said the Baronet to Mr. Mortimer, as he entered, “the hour has not yet expired:  however you have given me time to tell Helen, how nearly she and I are related, for her mother was my own sister!”

“Is it possible!” cried the astonished George.

“Yes, and I told her you were coming to consult her upon several matters.”  As he spoke this, he stole his hat and slipped off giving a significant look at Mrs. Cameron, who followed the old gentleman to the garden, and there learnt what he had gleaned from George Mortimer’s letter, to Mr. Emmerson, viz., that he was much attached to Helen—­and added he had no doubt but they should soon have a job for Mr. Montgomery, to marry them.

“At any rate we must have him here.”

The remainder of my tale, is soon told, viz.:  that Helen and Mortimer, were united, and Mrs. Falkner, insisted on removing to a place where she would be more likely to settle her girls.  Sir Horace bought the villa which still retained its name.

IDLE WORDS.

  “My God!” the beauty oft exclaimed,
  In deep impassioned tone;
  But not in humble prayer, she named
  The High and Holy One;
  ’Twas not upon the bended knee,
  With soul upraised to Heaven,
  Pleading with heartfelt agony,
  That she might be forgiven.

  ’Twas not in heavenly strains
  She raised, to the great Source of Good,
  Her daily offering of praise,
  Her song of gratitude. 
  But in the gay and thoughtless crowd,
  And in the festive Hall,
  ’Midst scenes of mirth and mockery proud
  She named the Lord of All.

  The idlest thing that flattery knew,
  The most unmeaning jest,
  From her sweet lips profanely drew,
  Names of the Holiest! 
  I thought how sweet that voice would be,
  Breathing this prayer to Heaven,
  “My God, I worship only thee,
  Oh be my sins forgiven!”