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turn heartfelt thanks for your generous offer."
"Thou art right, undoubtedly," said the friend, "but I wish my path could have been thine."
Among the loads of gifts and keepsakes sent back by Mr. and Mrs. Thurston after they once more reached their home was a valuable case of books for Seymour, and one of more lady-like reading for Caroline; and with the latter came a dress so delicately fancied, that it would have done very well to "stand up in meeting" with, for one of the plainest of the drab sisterhood.
"I shall like to imagine thee dressed in it, dear Caroline," wrote Mrs. Thurston; "and I know it will suit friend Seymour's taste right well."
He did not find fault with it, certainly; for in a few short months after that time, it was worn as a wedding-dress, and, to Seymour at least, Caroline had never looked so beautiful.
A wedded life begun by an act of virtuous sacrifice can scarcely fail to be happy. Seymour is now Mr. Hay's right hand; and his influence, together with that of his fair Caroline, is a daily blessing to the younger members of both families. I feel assured that we shall be able to point to them half a dozen years hence, as a proof that cultivation and refinement are any thing but lost in the country.
"But fayrest she when so she doth display.
I HOPE the reader has not forgotten Mr. Sibthorpe. If he has, it must be because we have not succeeded in introducing him so meaningly as we intended. Our acquaintance with him and his family was one of those short-lived pleasures which so often gleam upon life's path only to disappear and leave it darker than before.
I shall give some account of their American experience, because their short story may be considered as a sketch of a class which is constantly becoming more numerous among us; and I think them worth describing, because they were entirely free from that silly arrogance of which some of their countrymen
who find it convenient to reside in the United States are justly accused.
Mr. Sibthorpe's person and manner, dress and ideas, were all so thoroughly English, that the dullest of my countrymen could not bid him good evening, as he passed him on the road in the twilight, without saying to himself, "There goes a John Bull!" Yet so universally popular did he become by his affability and kind demeanour, that, if he had remained a little longer within reach of our good-will, we should have unquestionably made him a justice of the peace at the very least, if not something still more dignified, in spite of himself.
One peculiarity marked our friend which I think was never noted of so stout a gentleman before. He was the most scheming and visionary of men. His round shining head was ever full of projects, great or small, for himself or others. He should (by rule) have been tall and slender, with all the indications of the temperament scientifically designated as "nervous sanguine," and a head whose developments should have formed
little hills and dales upon the cranium. But his kind easiness of disposition, or something else, had rounded out head and body, until there were no inequalities left to theorise upon. As a still further contradiction, though almost a Bacchus in contour, he is so stoical in his indifference to personal accommodation and indulgence, that we can heartily say, "May his shadow never be less!" since the substance gives him no sort of inconvenience.
When I first visited Mrs. Sibthorpe, I found her in a small and very inconvenient house, to which several workmen were engaged in building an additional part on a much more tasteful plan, although still in a cottage style. All was confusion and discomfort, as far as household arrangements were concerned. Every corner was strewed with boards, bricks, lime, and all the endless list of etceteras which carpenters and masons take care to scatter on all sides, to give an air of importance to their business. The floors were uncarpeted, and the windows were hung with paper curtains. The room