who never lost an image of loveliness, linked them to the chariot of the Queen of Beauty!
"A swan," said Lady Marchmont, "always gives the idea of a court-lady,—stately in her grace, ruffling in her bravery, and conscious of the floating plumes that mark her pretensions. The peacock is a coquette; it turns in the sunshine, it looks round as if to ask the conscious air of its purple and gold; but the swan sails on in majestic tranquillity, it sees the fair image of its perfect grace on the waters below, and is content:
'It seeks not the applause of vulgar eyes.'"
"And which of these," asked Ethel, "do you consider to be your prototype?"
"Oh, a happy mixture of both!" returned the young countess, laughing: "it is the greatest mistake possible, to be always the same; I appeal to the high authority of Pope:—
'Ladies, like tulips, in the sunshine show,
'Tis to variety their charms they owe!'
The swan is a particularly well-bred bird, it
