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ETHEL CHURCHILL.
271

very strong; and the artist had caught, with great felicity, the sweet expression, the purity and the fragility which were Constance's great charm. You believed in angels as you gazed upon her face. On either side of the hearth sat Lord Norbourne and Mr. Courtenaye; they had dined together, and the wine and fruit still stood on the small table drawn between them, where strawberries and cherries were not in strict accordance with the cheerful fire. But Lord Norbourne was greatly in advance of his age, and, as to the matter of that, of our own. He had no vague false notions of beginning fires in November, and ending them in May; but had arrived at the philosophical conclusion, that there are very few evenings, in all the year, that a fire is not a consummation of domestic felicity in England most devoutly to be wished.

Norbourne had been exerting himself to amuse his uncle, but with little success; and the conversation languished till the servants had left the room.

"I have seemed very ungracious," said