MRS. DASHWOOD’S PARTY.

The toilet of the fair Julia, for this eventful evening, was made under the tasteful eye of Mrs. Hazleton herself, who wished her daughter to look her loveliest—to eclipse all other stars in that brilliant galaxy of youth and beauty. Next, the adornment of her own person was her chief care—upon Alice she bestowed not a thought. Julia would fain have had the dress of her friend as beautiful as her own, but this Alice rejected as unsuitable, and made her appearance in the dressing-room of her aunt in a simple white muslin, her only ornaments a set of corals, the gift of her uncle. Mrs. Hazleton enrobed in crimson velvet, and Julia radiantly lovely in white satin and blonde, offered a striking contrast to the unpretending Alice.

“Well, child, you really look quite well—don’t she, love?” was the careless remark of Mrs. Hazleton, “but only see what a rich color Julia has!—I think I never saw her look so perfectly lovely—quite mature, don’t you think so?—more like me! Why what have you got on?—white muslin over a plain cambric! Mercy, had you not a silk skirt? Julia’s tunic is magnificent—I paid one hundred dollars for the lace at Levy’s. Corals are too warm, child—but they will do very well for you—they won’t be noticed. Come here, Julia, and let Alice examine the chasteness of that beautiful aquamarine bracelet—now the ruby—and look at her pin, Alice, is it not superb!”

But a brighter jewel was in the breast of Alice—a heart free from envy!

And now over the tessellated floor fair and lovely forms are gliding—music pours its enchanting strains, and voices scarcely less sweet float on the perfumed air—jewels flash, feathers wave—there are smiles on the brow of beauty, soft speeches on the lips of manhood.

But why, amid this joyous scene, is the brow of Mrs. Hazleton clouded? Admiration can find no higher aim than the charms of Julia; nor does her own ear drink in unwelcome the flatterer’s whisper—yet still the cloud is there. Would you know the reason? Herman Wallace makes not one of the festive throng. She is almost angry with Julia for being so carelessly happy—with Alice for her composure. Suddenly her eye brightens. Ah, the game’s in view! And in a few moments Mrs. Hazleton, now all smiles, presses on to the gay circle of which Wallace seems to be the attraction. She soon fastened upon him, and led him off triumphant to the spot where she had a moment before seen Julia—but Julia was gone, and Alice alone remained, quietly viewing the scene before her. Mrs. Hazleton, however, took not the slightest notice of her, but continued a ceaseless strain in the ears of Wallace. Did not Mr. Wallace like waltzing? Mr. Wallace did not. The polka? Decidedly not. Was Mr. Wallace fond of music? Not in a crowded room.

Mr. Wallace now turned his eye upon Alice. Could Mrs. Hazleton tell him who that interesting looking girl was?

“O, a niece of my husband’s—poor child! You know, my dear sir, every family cannot look back upon a pedigree like yours—like mine, I was going to say—a very good sort of girl, though, but poor, and all that sort of thing.”

Yet the descendant of a “noble pedigree” asked for an introduction to that “good sort of a girl,” which, with a very ill grace, was granted. Julia now joined them, and a lively conversation ensued, which Mrs. Hazleton with great chagrin saw interrupted. The fair hand of Julia was claimed for a dance, and away she tripped. Mrs. Hazleton, too, soon followed, to bring her back the earliest moment, leaving Alice and Wallace alone.

There was a pause of a few moments, when, with some embarrassment, Wallace said,

“The interest I feel, Miss Churchill, in a very dear friend, must be my apology for what I am about to say. He is a noble, generous fellow, but I fear has recklessly given his affections where they are but too lightly prized. You look surprised, Miss Churchill—I allude to Francis Reeve. I think you can be no stranger to the relationship existing between him and Miss Ketchim.”

“I have frequently heard Julia speak of her cousin, Mr. Reeve,” replied Alice.

“And no more! Has she never told you they stand in a far nearer light than mere cousins?”

“I will be candid with you, Mr. Wallace. Julia has confessed to me her affection for your friend.”

“Her affection! Then you think she does love him?”

“Most sincerely.”

“Is it possible! And has she a heart—she who seems to be the mere sport and puppet of fashion!” exclaimed Wallace.

“Indeed she has, and a warm one, too,” replied Alice. “You must not judge of her as you now see her—that she is very volatile I acknowledge, but most affectionate and sincere.”

“I rejoice to hear you say so,” answered Wallace. “You know not, Miss Churchill, the ardor of my friend’s attachment. True love is always jealous—and you surely then cannot blame poor Frank, when, on his return from a long voyage, he hears of her only as the gayest among the gay, receiving with apparent pleasure the flatterer’s insidious praises!”

“She is not alone to blame, Mr. Wallace. Believe me, with all her seeming indifference, she is worthy the love of your friend,” said Alice.

“I surely can no longer doubt her worth when I find her so ably defended, and by so amiable a champion,” answered Wallace, bowing. “May I then ask you to deliver her this note, with which poor Frank, in an agony of jealous doubts, has entrusted me?”

Ere Alice could reply Mrs. Hazleton and Julia joined them. What could have brought such a glow to the cheek of Alice? thought her aunt—and Wallace, too, how animated! whose eyes were bent on the plain country-girl with an expression of admiration which caused the heart of this worldly woman to swell with envy and mortification. But dressing her countenance in well-feigned smiles, she exclaimed?—

“Really, you seem to be having a very interesting discussion—I have been watching you some time. Come, I am dying to know what it is—and here is Julia, too, all curiosity.”

Wallace made some cool reply to Mrs. Hazleton, and then, turning to the latter, began conversing with her so entirely different from his former manner, that she was astonished. He was no longer the “petrifaction” she had pronounced him, but animated and agreeable. She little thought how much she was indebted to the praises of Alice for this change. Mrs. Hazleton noticed this also, and her jealous fears subsided. The deer is wounded at last! was her exulting conclusion.

That may be, my good madam—but the shaft may have sped from another source, nevertheless!

“Do come into my room,” said Julia to Alice, upon their return from Mrs. Dashwood’s party. “For mercy’s sake! let me get away from that Scotch bag-pipe ma’ma is ever sounding! One would think she was in love with Herman Wallace herself—but I’m sure I am not—though, just as plain as looks can speak, she tells him, ‘Here she is—you may have her for the asking.’ If this is Ninnybrain dignity, I beg to be excused from sharing it. I wonder what poor Frank would say? But how happy you look, Alice—what is the matter? After all, I believe poor ma’ma’s trouble has all been thrown away.

Ah, ah! Alice—now confess—has not this descendant of heroes been saying tender things to you?”

“He has, indeed, talked of love!” said Alice, laughing.

“Oh, excellent!” cried the giddy girl, clapping her hands.

“But alas for your theory, you were the object,” continued Alice.

“Me?”

“Yes, you—and one other—and that other was—can’t you guess?”

“No, Ally dear, you talk in enigmas.”

“Which perhaps this may solve,” and kissing her blushing cheek, Alice placed the note in her hand.

Julia screamed with surprise and pleasure, as she recognized the beloved handwriting. When she looked up her friend had left the room.

There was a light tap at the door of Alice’s chamber, and Julia entering threw herself upon her neck, covered with tears and blushes.

“Oh, my dear Alice, he has come! Frank is here—in this city! How happy I am—and—and, oh dear, what shall I do? He wishes to come and see me! Ma’ma will be so angry—I dare not—what shall I do? Dear Alice, do tell me.”

Alice advised her to accede unhesitatingly to the wishes of her lover, urging her no longer to have any concealment from her mother. Perhaps, after all, her fears were groundless, and she might sanction her choice. In any event, this clandestine intercourse must not continue, and Alice, “severe in youthful beauty,” endeavored to point out the great fault she would be committing against her parent by allowing it to proceed further. Julia was overcome by the serious manner in which Alice spoke. She had never before allowed herself to reflect upon her error in its true light—her mother’s anger had been her only fear—but she now resolved to break the subject at once to her mother, and ask forgiveness for her fault.

——