of Miss Fanny's thoughts and fancies, and were destined to carry to divers quarters all those varied sensations, and paroxysms of confidence, that tear the breast of the feminine letter-writer. The young lady appeared to have at length brought to an end a painfully-becrossed epistolary effusion; for she had folded up a letter into its envelope, and had lighted a taper, which—according to that truthful imitation of nature that distinguishes the generality of "Art-utilities,"—was inserted into the upright mouth of a blue-bell, obligingly held by a Parian Cupid, who was already encumbered with a gilt quiver and a sheaf of arrows; and there was an odour as of the burning of scented sealing-wax, as Percie was ushered into the room by the affable Canary.
Fanny was so engrossed with her occupation, that she had not heard the footsteps of the approaching visitor—muffled as they were by the moss-like carpet of the front drawing-room—and she was not aware of his entrance until the words, "Mr. Percival Wylde, Miss!" fell gratefully upon her startled ear. She started round as the affable Canary placed Percie's card upon the table, and ushered its late proprietor into the room; and, in another moment, her hand was clasped in that of her lover's. Then—the affable Canary having discreetly closed the door—a little pantomimic performance was gone through, which, though brief, was doubtless amusing and satisfactory, notwithstanding that it was accompanied by the exclamations: "there!—don't!—you rude thing!—suppose some one should come in!"
"Why! can it be you?" at length said Miss Fanny Douglas, when the pantomime had been brought to an end.
"Oh dear, no!" replied Percie; "it is n't me! it 's a
