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CHAPTER XXVI.

MRS. MULSO'S PARTY.

It was a very long time since Jessy had risen with a happier heart than on the morning of the 16th of April. It was the day of Mrs. Mulso's party, and busy preparations had been making by every person connected with the kind-hearted old lady, to aid in the success of the entertainment. To Jessy seldom had a party of the kind appeared in a less unwelcome aspect, she sincerely did not enjoy society of that kind, and when she said that she had much rather not go out in an evening, she really meant it-very few do. She had many reasons for not enjoying society, which are common to some like her; she did not feel she had either ability enough or information in reading sufficient to give a return to society for what she received from it; she had not the power of conversation, and therefore she did not enjoy conversation. We all enjoy what we can do easily; and when we know that another is pleased with us, we are pleased with ourselves: thus we all work round in a circle of a certain selfishness.

"It is so selfish," Cicely used to say, "to retire from society, and live only in and for yourself."

"My dear," said Mr. Loraine, “I think you are rather harsh on your mother and Miss Seymour owing to their not wishing to go out. There may be, as far as I can see, as much selfishness in going out as in staying at home; after all, many of these ladies, who talk of going out to please others, would be vastly disap

pointed if these others were not pleased with them. All life, my dear Cicely, is a reciprocation after all. But really we are getting very deep, and I am no philosopher. You must go and ask your uncle Robert about the philosophy of the question; all I know is about its practical bearings, and I have often said about Miss Talbot, when I have seen her in society, it is all very well for her to blame poor Mrs. Allen for not going out as much as she does, and then look like a martyr to self-sacrifice, but I should very much like to know what Miss Talbot would do, if she had as little chance of making an impression in society as Mrs. Allen has. I doubt if we should see her so often in the sphere of her self-sacrifice."

"Dear papa, how very severe you are!" said Cicely.

"Oh, my dear, I didn't intend to be severe, I am delighted to see you enjoy society as you do, but I don't want you to be judging Jessy Seymour harshly. But I have done."

And then there was another reason why Jessy never cared much to be out, she loved to centre all her interest on one point, and that one point was Leonard ; she could not scatter her interests or her affections; the love and interest of many people is like the ray of the noonday sun, widely diffused over a thousand objects. Her love was like one single ray of moonlight, which finds its way between the boughs of a still wood by night, and, settling upon some mossy bank, reposes there amid surrounding shadows, giving light and life, and still, quiet, happy joy to a hundred beings, which

make that bank their home for life, and know and want no other. It was a grief, if grief could ever penetrate a spirit like Leonard's, that Jessy did not love society more, for he was born for it, made for it, and Jessy tried to overcome and conquer her aversion. To-day she had succeeded more than usually, and determined to go and enjoy the party at Mrs. Mulso's. Cicely was to come at one o'clock, to arrange about her dress, for she had promised to dress as Cicely wished; and Grace was to come at eleven to go with her to old Mrs. Tilley's, to take her a basket of good things which Leonard had sent the money to buy through Jessy. Jessy's heart was lighter and gayer than it used to be owing to her conversations with Mrs. Thorburn, which had tended to give her a more just estimate of herself, and enabled her to take more bold and resolute steps in life.

She had come down to breakfast earlier than usual, and Mr. Seymour found her busily engaged arranging the hyacinths in the window and singing to herself, as she placed them.

"Jessy, my love," said he, "what is to be the order of the day at your good aunt's, do they have dancing, or what?"

"I don't know, dear papa, they always have, you know; anyhow, it will be a very merry party."

"Why, what is going to happen ?" said Mr. Seymour, "my solitary little nightingale seems all on a sudden converted into the lark, and to be courting the busy path of life, instead of the solitary boughs, which she used to make her home,-you must have had some

unusually good news from the Crimea, that you have not told your old father of."

The breakfast passed off cheerfully and happily, and Mr. Seymour had no reason any more to doubt the accuracy of his judgment as to Jessy's more relieved spirit. Jessy retired to her room to wait for Grace, and to do what young ladies seem never to have finished doing, write letters. A figure rapidly passed the window and in the next moment she heard Maxwell's voice shouting, "Jessy, Jessy, where's Jessy? She heard his footstep in the passage, and the next minute he was in the room. "News, Jessy! news! cried Maxwell; "glorious news!" The colour came and fled from Jessy's face, showing that what Maxwell, Cicely, or the world would call good news might be no good news to her.

"Now, don't look so frightened," said Maxwell, "there's nothing happens but what you young ladies always think that you must be frightened." Had he been speaking to Alice or Cicely he would probably have put his opinion in stronger terms, but Jessy had a strange influence over Maxwell, and did more, in her own quiet way, to soften down his boyhood, and bring out the points of his character, than any one in the world; and that is the province of a girl.

Maxwell held a letter in his hand, in a tantalizing manner; but she had seen quite enough to feel sure that the news, whatever it was, had reference to Leonard; "Oh, do not tantalize me, dear Maxwell, what is the news?" for by his laughing eye she had told already that, whatever it was, it was not bad.

"Well, you are a good Jessy," said Maxwell, "and you do deserve to hear good news, as did any of those faithful lovers in the Arabian Nights, although it isn't a fairy or one of the genii that brings it to you, but no other but plain honest Maxwell; I will keep you no longer in suspense, but tell you the news of your good knight, borne upon the wings of rumour; but now, to drop all Eastern allegories, Jessy, look here." So saying, Maxwell showed Jessy a paper he held in his hand, containing an account of an exploit of great danger and hazard lately achieved in the quarries round Sebastopol, in which Leonard had signalized himself and for which he had received an expression of praise from the commander-in-chief, and been mentioned in the military despatches at home, (and what was, shall I say, more than all to Jessy? no, reader, I will not tax even your good nature so far as that, for you are perhaps already more than half inclined to be provoked with Jessy,) Leonard was one of those appointed to come home with despatches from Lord Raglan, and was likely to set out in a week from the day of the date of the letter. Jessy read over and over again the paragraph before she could quite comprehend its intelligence could it possibly be that Leonard could come back? would she again see Leonard sitting in that arm-chair, and hear him again reading in her little room? She stood gazing at the intelligence, while Maxwell seemed lost in admiration of the lovely face before him. "How soon?" said Jessy, looking up at Maxwell as she spoke, "how soon?" when at that moment, a knock was heard at the door, and Cicely

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