About thirty miles from Savannah, on the banks of the river of that name, is a pretty little village, which, with its small white houses nestled away in the thick green woods, is something like a hail-stone which has fallen in a cluster of green leaves. Scarce a quarter of a mile from the village is the modest residence of Mrs. Delmont, which is in itself a little paradise of beauty. Shaded by the stately sycamore, the magnolia, with its deep green leaves, the catalpa, with its silver blossoms, and the luxuriant orange-tree, it stands unrivaled for the romance of its situation for miles around; while the cape-jessamine, the japonica, the oleander, and many other rare and beautiful flowers lend their radiant hues to ornament the latticed piazza, which is covered over with the fragrant honeysuckle, together with jessamines of every hue. In this beautiful and peaceful retreat Mrs. Delmont had resided since the death of her husband, which had taken place when her children, of whom she had three, were very young.

William, her only son, was a sunny faced boy of eight years old. Rosa, two years older, had the blue eyes and golden hair of her mother; while Clara had her father’s dark eyes and shining hair, which clustered in dark brown ringlets around her fair face.

Clara had just completed her eighteenth year, and was a tall, graceful and beautiful girl; she had been carefully trained by her affectionate mother, and well did she repay that mother’s anxious care, for in her bereavement she was her comforter and assistant in many things, and in nothing more than in undertaking the education of her little brother and sister, a useful, although we cannot agree with the poet in styling it a “delightful task,” yet one that Clara was well qualified to perform, as she had herself received a finished education, although she had never left her native village: and she was thus occupied one morning, when Mrs. Delmont entered the room with an open letter in her hand, and addressed our heroine in the following manner:

“My dear Clara, your cousin Mrs. Cleveland writes that she, with Mr. Cleveland and their three children, will be here next Wednesday evening, to spend a fortnight with us, after which they wish you to accompany them to their city residence, and remain there for this winter.”

“Oh, mamma, that would be delightful,” exclaimed Clara. “I know I will enjoy my time with cousin Florence; and then, you know, the city is so gay a place. I would be too happy to go.”

“So I think, my dear,” replied her mother, “and therefore if you wish it I have no possible objection; but how can you leave Mr. Seymour?” added she, archly.

“Why, ma,” exclaimed Clara, blushing deeply, “what is Mr. Seymour to me?”

“Ah, Clara,” replied Mrs. Delmont, “I know what he is to you, better than you are willing to acknowledge to yourself. But seriously, my dear child, you must decide at once, so that I may write an answer to your cousin’s letter.”

“Of course, mamma, I should be delighted to go.” And Mrs. Delmont retired to write the letter, while Clara indulged herself in a long walk, in order to meditate on the news, and to anticipate the delights of a visit to the city.

On the appointed day, after assisting the cook to make a rich plum-cake, and some delicate tarts, she repaired to the parlor, which she had taken great care and pains to assist her mother in furnishing as handsomely as their circumstances would allow, and arranged with faultless taste the brilliant flowers which her little brother and sister, who were now entirely in the spirit of preparation, had gathered, and placed the nuts they had cracked in a silver basket on the carefully polished table, fastened back the snowy curtains, with white chrysanthemums interspersed with their rich green leaves, adjusting them so as to throw the most advantageous light on a beautiful painting which she herself had executed. From the parlor Clara proceeded to the apartment which she intended for her cousin: it opened on a grove in which were several rustic seats and boxes of flowers, and through an opening in the trees the broad river was seen to glide calmly on through banks now dressed in the brightest colors of an American autumn. The furniture of this room was Clara’s peculiar taste, and it well accorded with the simplicity and purity of her own mind. The counterpane, curtains and toilet were white as a snow-drift; the curtains being on this occasion looped up with crimson roses, and the toilet beautifully embroidered by Clara’s own hand, and on it were laid a handsome Bible and Prayer-Book; and she finished her preparations by taking a rich and antique China vase, frosted with silver, which she prized not a little, and placing it on the table, filled it with the choicest flowers the garden afforded.

“Oh, mamma,” cried Clara, “come here;” and throwing open the parlor-door, she exhibited the apartment; “come here and see how you like my arrangements for cousin Florence; are not those flowers beautiful?”

“And will not Cousin Florence admire our new carpet, mamma?” said little Rosa.

“I dare say,” said Clara, “it is handsomer than Cousin Florence’s, as it is in all probability so much newer.”

“Yes, my dears,” said Mrs. Delmont, smiling at the simplicity of the young girls, while she was careful not to destroy their pleasant anticipations by undeceiving them. “Yes, my dears, every thing looks very sweet and pretty; those flowers are really beautiful, and I give you a great deal of credit for your good taste. Come, daughters, and show me your cousin’s room.”

“Here, mamma,” said Clara, opening the door, “does it not look quiet and beautiful?”

“Oh, ma!” exclaimed Rosa, “look at those roses on the window-curtains. Sister Clara, how did you fasten them so prettily?”

“Really, my dear Clara,” said Mrs. Delmont, “I congratulate you on your success. I do not think you will see a prettier room in Savannah. Recollect, Rosa, to have some plates in the parlor to eat those nuts in, as I fear the children will soil the carpet with them.”

“Oh, Cousin Florence would not let them soil our pretty carpet, I do not think, mamma,” said little Rosa, as she tripped off for the plates.

The sound of wheels was now heard in the distance, and Clara and her mother hastened to meet their cousin, whom they had not seen for several years.

It was late in October, and the soft breath of summer was chilled, but not frightened away by the coming winter, and the vines that draped the windows still perfumed the air with the rich fragrance of their clustering blossoms. A gentle melancholy, peculiar to autumn, overspread the scene, which seemed the very habitation of beauty and happiness: when Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland drove up the long avenue, and alighted at the gate of Primrose Cottage, as Clara had called Mrs. Delmont’s house, in memory of one of her favorite books, the dear old Vicar of Wakefield.

Mrs. Cleveland was the wife of a flourishing merchant in the city of Savannah, where she had resided since her marriage, which had taken place about five years previous to the commencement of our story; and was an amiable though an exceedingly indolent woman, and indulged her children to such an extent that they were, in consequence, extremely annoying to every one by whom they were surrounded. As soon as Mrs. Cleveland entered the house complaining of excessive fatigue, she was ushered by Clara into her neat apartment, which, however, we are sorry to say, did not long remain so, for the lady immediately threw herself on the bed, caused her trunk to be unpacked, insisted upon the children’s dresses being changed, while the mother, the children, and their nurse, seemed to vie with each other in the attempt to fill every chair and vacant place with such articles as were not in immediate requisition, which gave to the room so disorderly and careless an appearance, that it would never have been recognized as the same sweet looking apartment which Clara had prepared that morning for their reception.

“Ma, I want something to eat,” whined George, the eldest boy.

“Well, my darling,” replied his mother, “Cousin Clara will get you some bread and honey;” and Clara immediately left the room in quest of refreshments for the children, who, when they were obtained, immediately placed them upon the new settee, which Clara had re-covered expressly for this occasion, an arrangement which did not tend greatly to improve its appearance.

“George,” said Mrs. Cleveland, “little Lucy has been teasing for flowers the whole evening, give her those on the table;” and the child, in his haste to hand the flowers, turned the honey over on the settee, and what was still more annoying, threw down Clara’s beautiful vase and broke it into twenty pieces. Tears filled the eyes of our unphilosophizing heroine at this unfortunate accident, but her cousin only remarked:

“There, now, you careless boy, you have broken the pretty vase, but don’t cry now pet; come kiss your mother; Martha, (to the maid) take up those pieces of broken china, I am afraid they will hurt the children’s feet; Cousin Clara, do you recollect who it is that says, ‘Crystal and hearts are only valuable for their fragility,’ quite true.”

Tea was now announced, after which the whole party adjourned to the parlor, where the children commenced throwing the nuts over the floor; regardless of the plates, a proceeding at which little Rosa was greatly scandalized; particularly as Mrs. Cleveland, instead of admiring the carpet, merely remarked, “Really, Johnny, it is well your aunt’s carpet is not a very elegant one, or you would soon spoil it.”

“How much better it is, Cousin Clara, to have a plain carpet, children are so ruinous, and yet they are so sweet one cannot scold them.” Clara thought that if the sweetness of such spoiled children, as they were, was their only protection, it was a coin that would not pass current with every one.

We will not linger over the remainder of Mrs. Cleveland’s visit to Primrose Cottage, nor describe the many annoyances to which her children subjected Clara and her mother, nor will we tire the reader with the many pleasant anticipations which the former entertained of her visit to the city, which, in her simplicity, she imagined to be the most delightful place in the known world.

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