This last remark, being in a degree ungenerous, causes a sensation. A young man, stepping out from the confusion, says, very earnestly,—,
The man who manages the farm generally—and is a plague and a blessing at the same time to his master—appears round a corner, and declares, respectfully, that he will be ready in a "jiffy" to accompany Miss Mona, if she will just give him time to "clane himself up a bit.",
Castles within the fire grow grand and tall, and then crumble into dust; castles in Mona's brain fare likewise. The shadows dance upon the walls; silently imperceptibly, the minutes flit away..
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