After a few moments she passed her hand over her forehead, and said in a low voice, "No, it is not possible!"

I could only repeat the same phrase :"Maurice D'Erval wishes to know if you will become his wife;" so as to accustom Ursula to this assemblage of words, which, as certain harmonious notes from a chord, sounded to the poor girl like a melody to which she was a stranger.

"His wife !" she repeated with ecstasy; "his wife!" Then hurrying to her mother's chair-"Mother," said she, "do you hear? He asks me to be his wife!"

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My daughter," replied the blind old woman, as she sought to take Ursula's hand-"my much-loved daughter, Heaven must sooner or later reward your virtues."

"Oh, Heaven!" exclaimed Ursula, "what a day is this for me! His wife! my muchloved daughter!" She then threw herself on her knees, her hands clasped together, her face bathed in tears.

At this moment a step was heard in the little passage.

"It is he," cried Ursula. "Oh, Heaven!" she added, placing both her hands upon her breast; "this then is life!"

I went out by the side door, and left Ursula, beautiful in her tears, her emotion,

and her happiness, to receive Maurice D'Erval alone.

From this day Ursula became another creature. Her spirit rose, she was reanimated, grew young again, under the sweet influence of happiness. She recovered even more than the beauty she had lost. There was about her a sort of radiancy from within, that imparted to her countenance an undefinable expression of joy under a veil. Happiness in her partook of her original disposition; it was silent, calm, enthusiastic, and mysterious. Thus Maurice, who had fallen in love with a woman sitting in the shade, pale and disenchanted of life, experienced little change in the colours of the picture that had taken his fancy, even though Ursula was happy.

They spent the long evenings side by side in the little parlour on the groundfloor, with no other light than the moonbeams that could just fall through the open window, speaking little, but often gazing on each other, and dreaming together.

Ursula loved with candour and simplicity. She said to Maurice,-"I am happy, and I have you to thank for it."

Their happiness required neither the sunshine, nor the open air, nor space. The little gray house was their only witness.

Ursula was constant to her work, and remained near her parents. But if her person occupied and did not move from the same place as before, her soul had taken to itself wings, was free, resuscitated, beaming from her; the walls of that narrow dwelling no longer confined it-it had taken its soaring flight. Thus does the gentle magic of hope not only embellish the future, but takes possession even of the present; and by its all-powerful glass, changes the aspect of all things! That house had been for twenty years mournful and sombre .. but one single feeling glided into the heart of a woman, and it became a palace! Oh, dream of hope! if ye must always be fleeting as the golden clouds across the sky, yet pass ye, pass ye over our life. He who has not known you is a thousand times poorer than he who has to regret you . So rolled on for Ursula a time of supreme happiness.

GRAND EXHIBITION OF CABINETWORK AT GORE HOUSE. [THIRD ARTICLE.]

WRITING APPARATUS.

To the best of our recollection, one of the Paston letters gives the earliest indication of the use of writing-desks among the nobility and gentry. "I pray you," says John Paston to his brother, "that Pitt may truss in a mail (trunk), which I left in your chamber in London, my tawny gown, furred with black, and the doublet of purple satin, and the doublet of black satin, and my writing-box of cypress, &c." This was written in the middle of the year 1475. The writingdesk of cypress-wood could not have been a common article at that period, for by far the greater part of the nobles still maintained the old prejudices in favour of the ancient mode of nurture, and preferred exercise of the body to mental endowment. Such was the opinion of a person of high rank, who said to Richard Pace, Secretary to Henry VIII., "It is enough for the sons of noblemen to wind their horns and carry their hawk fair, and leave study and learning to the children of meaner people." In earlier times there were other causes for the neglect of writing than the contempt expressed for it in the above quotation. "If a Northumbrian baron," says Sir F. Palgrave, in describing the state of nobility

in the middle ages, "wished to inform his spouse in Yorkshire of his joys or his sorrows, his weal or his woe, the message noted down from Romance into Latin by the chaplain of the noble, was read from the Latin into Romance by the chaplain of the lady, both the principals being ignorant of the language in which their anxieties and sentiments were clothed and concealed."

Under such circumstances it does not create our surprise that both news and knowledge were greatly retarded in the olden time; that the growth of commercial intercourse was stunted, and that the people were rendered incapable of acquiring the most common, yet necessary species of information.

The principal article in the Gore House Exhibition, which has called forth these few remarks, is a "Writing Table, with cabinet and pendule, in buhl" (No. 48). Its date is the latter part of the seventeenth century. It belongs to the Duke of Buccleuch. It is a very fine and imposing example of "buhl." The arms and cipher, M. E., and Electorial insignia, prove the piece to have been made for Maximilian Emmanuel, third Elector of Bavaria, born 1662, died 1726, and who was Elector from 1679 till his decease. Although some of the ornamental enrichments have a German character, there is no doubt but this noble piece of furniture is of Parisian manufacture. The two small vases, mounted in or-molu, are of oriental cracklin-china, the mountings being of most elegant French workmanship.

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No. 25 is a "Sécrétaire," or writingtable with drawers, ebony en marquetérie." Its date is about 1700. It is a good example of workmanship in inlaying. Another Writing-table, with drawers, in walnut and holly, is marked 26. The inlaid ornamentation of this piece of furniture is exceedingly elaborate. No. 33 is another "Sécrétaire" in ebony and or-molu. But the most remarkable piece is the writingtable (marked 69) belonging to her Majesty, and brought from Windsor Castle. It is probably one of the earliest specimens of genuine "Buhl" work extant; it is, moreover, specially remarkable in the point of view of art. It will be observed that the true capabilities of this style of metal inlaying has been perfectly understood, and intelligently carried out in this instance; the play of surface, and the variety of curvature

seen in different parts of the work are admirably designed to show off to advantage the rich materials employed; from whatever position the piece is regarded, we notice a brilliant and lustrous effect produced by the play of light on the polished metal; whilst the mingling of silver, brass, copper, tortoise-shell and enamel produces beautiful tones of colour. André Charles Boule (or Buhl), (born 1642, died 1732), the celebrated artist to whom we attribute this work, was a famous manufacturer of Meubles d'Art during the reign of Louis XIV., with the title of "tapissier en titre au roi," an office of some importance, which appears to have assumed an entirely honorary signification, having been previously held and ennobled by the celebrated dramatic poet Molière. There can be little doubt that the peculiar style of inlaid furniture in question was originally invented by Buhl, and it is equally certain that his manufactory was carried on for many years by himself, and his sons or nephews; indeed, it is probable that the greater part of the fine early specimens are the actual works of this family of industrial artists. A celebrated designer for this kind of work was J. Berain, "dessinateur des menus-plaisirs du roi," where style is to be recognised in many of the pieces in this collection.

There is but one more article belonging to the class of articles mentioned in this paper, and that is an Inkstand, in Buhl, sent by the Queen, from Windsor. Its date is about the year 1720.

Among the miscellaneous articles in the Exhibition, pre-eminent is No. 23. It is called in the catalogue, an "Artist's Colour Box;" and is said to have belonged to Rubens. Its present possessor is E. W. Cooke, Esq., A.R.A., of Kensington. From the style of the brass mountings it appears probable that this box is of Oriental origin; it has evidently been altered and converted to its present purpose at an after period, the brass escutcheons on the drawers being of European workmanship. An inscription engraved on a brass plate on the inside of the lid is as follows :-" This box came from Antwerp, and belonged to P. P. Rubens; it was purchased by R. Cosway, Esq., R.A., principal painter to H.R.H. the Prince of Wales; he used it for many years as his colour box. Maria Cosway, his widow, presents it to Sir Thomas Lawrence, prin

cipal painter to His Majesty George IV., President of the Royal Academy, &c. 1822.” No. 110 is a curious "Music Stand." It is in the Venetian Rococo style; and its date is about 1740. C. Baring Wall, Esq., is the owner.

A FAMILY COUNCIL.

HOW TO BE AMUSED.

"WHAT a stupid day I have had," said Charles Falconer to his elder sister, as the family circle assembled in the drawingroom after dinner. "It has poured the whole morning, and I never could get farther than the garden; we should have had a nice cricket match at Gordon's if it had not been for this tiresome weather. I wonder what you girls have been doing with yourselves?"

"I was engaged during my usual walking time, with a very pleasant old acquaintance," replied Jane, to whom the speech had been addressed.

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"Why, who could venture out to pay a visit, such a day as this?" asked Charles. "If I had known, I would have come in; any change would have been pleasant."

"I did not say that it was a visitor," returned Jane; "on the contrary, it is an acquaintance I can always see, when I want a change."

"Oh!" cried Louisa, a lively little girl of eleven; "I know what Jane means; it's a book-she recommended one to me when I was idle the other day, waiting for Fanny Desbrowe to come and spend the evening with me; she told me it was better than any live visitor, for that I could have as much or as little as I liked of it; that if it told me of any errors, I should not feel half as much ashamed as I do when I am reproved, and yet, that if I look the right way, it may help me as well as a friend to cure my faults."

"Capital!" said Charles, laughing; "capital advocate, indeed, for books. But, Janie dear, what have you to say when books are stupid?"

"Only that you do not look the right way, I suppose," said another brother, Edward, looking up from the volume he was reading.

"Not quite that," answered Jane. "I should tell you, Charlie, to think first of something you really want to know, and

then you are sure to feel a pleasure in searching it out.

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"I don't think I want to know any thing particularly," replied Charles; but this raised such a general laugh at his expense, that he added, by way of explanation, 'that is-I mean-I suppose I shall learn at school all that is necessary—I work there hard enough, and I do like to have nothing to do in the holidays-I can't read at home.' "Why not?" inquired his mother quietly. "Oh! because there's never any thing funny here."

"We must not confuse fun with amusement," resumed his mother; "both are well in their proper places; but you would not like fun always."

"Yes, I should," muttered Charles hastily; having a very strong suspicion he was wrong, but unwilling to acknowledge it.

"Oh, Charles,” cried Louisa, “don't you remember when I read you Ondine and the Vision of Mirza, after you had been ill, and you said how much they amused you? I'm sure there's no fun in them."

"And Shakspere's Tempest, or the Merchant of Venice; the enjoyment of them is not from the fun," added Jane.

Charles acknowledged this; and after thinking a moment, resumed: "We take all sorts of amusing books at school, and it is such a scramble when a new number comes out. It's capital fun."

"The new number, or the scramble ?" asked Edward.

"Both, perhaps," said Charles, laughing. "I know I never enjoy any books besides." "Is not this feeling a proof that they are not wholesome food?" said his mother, kindly. "You know I do not object to books of amusement, but can those be good for you which prevent your taking pleasure in any thing which those shelves can produce?" looking at a large and handsome bookcase, which ornamented one side of the

room.

"Oh, mamma! every one allows that they are very good," exclaimed Charles.

"So is honey, my dear; and yet there are many with whom it does not agree so is a whipped cream; but if it prevented you from eating any thing else at dinner, you would not much approve of it."

"But that's such a different thing," cried Charles and Louisa at once.

"Different, it is true, but the cases are

parallel," returned their mother. "Your mind and your body are two parts of you, and (it may be to prevent our making any mistake as to their management) they require to be treated exactly according to the same principles and rules."

The party pursued this subject with great spirit; some remarking the parallel, some starting difficulties, and others answering them. At last Charles exclaimed, "I've found a difference you cannot answer. There was a time when there were no books, and the mind was obliged to live without food. Now the body could not exist without a supply."

"True," said Mr. Falconer, who had hitherto listened in silence; "but at the time there were no books, there was a substitute -men lived to so great an age that they gave by word of mouth the information we receive from history. The food for the body was then as much less varied than the viands we now possess, as the food for the mind, I have no doubt; besides, we are not saying that the mind is only fed by books, any more than that the body only exists on what it eats; the breath is quite as necessary for the body's life as the meat; and other studies than that of books conduce to the health of the mind. We were only saying that the nourishment from books and from meat is very proper for the healthy growth of those parts of us to which they are adapted."

"I can't fancy myself living at a time when there were no books to look at," said little Louisa, "I liked the pictures long before I could read."

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"And what should you think, if, instead of a pretty book bound in scarlet, you had a great roll to unwrap and read all along it?" asked Edward.

"What! like my Stream of Time, or chronological chart, or the great map of England that hangs in the school-room? What an unwieldy uncomfortable thing it would be."

"Yet that is the first form of books that we know," said Mr. Falconer,

"I thought they were small narrow leaves made of the papyrus," said Jane. "It has often struck me as very strange, that almost the most fragile thing we know, a leaf we see decay every year, a reed shaken by the wind, should have been made capable of preserving all the ancient information we possess."

"There were, besides the rolls of papyrus, various kinds of books," said her father. "Herodotus mentions that the Ionians used skins when the papyrus was scarce; and he even suggested that books with leaves were known in very early times. In a life of Homer, ascribed to Herodotus, I believe, it is said that the Iliad was first called a rhapsody-which word is derived from two Greek ones, meaning, "I stick," or "sew," and a "song"--and it has been believed that the Iliad was sewn together as our books are; this, however, must be uncertain, as there are no remains of the kind. The ancients used also tablets of wax, which were written on by a metal instrument called a style; it was pointed at one end and flat at the other, in order to smooth down the tablet when any erasure was required. Pausanius relates that a book by Hesiod was written on leaves of lead; and Virgil tells of one made of the inner bark of the elm."

"I see in the newspaper," said Charles, "that in Germany they talk of printing books for children on linen."

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Yes," returned his father; "but this is no new thought. Pliny mentions linen books; and the Greeks of the middle ages had books of cotton, which they called Bombukine, and the Latins, Chartæ Bombicæ."

"Did they hang their books on the walls, as we do our maps?" asked Louisa.

"No; when the manuscripts were put on the roller, the outside was smoothed with pumice-stone, and painted, in order that it might present an agreeable appearance; the title was written on a label, in red letters if the subject was cheerful, and fastened to one end of the roll; it was anointed with oil of cedar, and placed in a box of cypress wood, to preserve from moths. A painting discovered at Herculaneum represents a muse, with such a box full of books, placed upright in the box, the labels exposed to view."

"I suppose, Charles," said Louisa, "if you were in one of these old libraries, you would read all those with red labels first ?" "I daresay I might look for some old Dickens in vermilion," replied he.

"Is not the word volume, which we still retain, derived from the rolling of these ancient books?" asked Jane.

"Oh!" interrupted Louisa ; "and I wanted to ask if style, by which we mean the form of expression, is derived from the

pointed pen used by the ancients. How droll that it should so change its meaning. "You are both right," said Mr. Falconer; "and if you seek you will find many words which have had the same fate. Writing, for instance, means both the hand-writing and composition; and rhapsody, which we mentioned before, is now only used for a composition stuck together without proper connection."

"I daresay books were called writings when people wrote all that was read," said Louisa "Before the invention of printing I sup pose you mean," interrupted Charles, somewhat sarcastically. "Some one still writes all that is read."

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Every book we read must have been once written, 'tis true," interrupted Jane; "but it is with a meaning far from literal that we now call books, writings. I sup pose," she added inquiringly, "that there were in ancient times regular scribes to copy works, in the same way as was done by the monks in the middle ages?"

"Yes. Charles will tell you that we may infer from an expression in Horace (Go, boy, and write this quickly in a book'), that servants were sometimes secretaries. Esop, we know, was at once an author and a slave; and Cornelius Nepos gives reason to believe that the slaves of Pomponius Atticus had a literary education."

"What are the oldest books known?" asked Charles.

"The oldest manuscripts preserved," said his father, "are those discovered in the Egyptian crypts, where mummies were deposited, and in Herculaneum and Pompe It was common to place books in temples to insure their preservation. There are (as you need not be told) many references in Holy Scripture to rolls or writings, and to their being placed in the Temple; but it is a fact worthy of note, that all those have disappeared, and that our most ancient specimens of writing have been found underground."

"That is because moderns go to the root of the matter," said Charles, laughing. "Well these books are vegetable productions," added Louisa.

"Perhaps," said Edward, "you will say it is as strange that our mineral books are often above ground."

"Mineral books! what can you mean?" cried Louisa.