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Well–whether, as with us, awaited in silence, or, as with the many, harbingered by the music of many voices–the grand event marched on; and a day was only wanted of its expected arrival when business called F–to London, from whence he was not to return till late at night. Soon after his departure, which followed an early breakfast, we left Emily, as we supposed, to the business of her little household, and repaired, as was our wont, to the library,–a small apartment which our friend F–had made the very bijou of his pretty cottage. It was tastefully fitted up in the gothic style, with a window of painted glass,–a window, by the way, especially suited to a book-room, not merely as pleasing to the eye but for a correspondence which has often struck us. The many-coloured panes, through which the light of day finds entrance, form no unfitting symbol of a library’s contents, whereby the light of intelligence is poured upon the mind through as many varied mediums, from the deep, cold, black and blue of learned and scientific lore to the glowing flame colour and crimson of poetry and romance. Having taken down a choice copy of the Faery Queen, we committed our person to an ebony arm-chair, and our spirit to the magic guidance of our author’s fancy. Obedient to its leading, we were careering somewhere betwixt earth and heaven, when a slight noise brought us down for a moment to our proper sphere; yet hardly,–for on looking up we beheld, standing in the wake of a coloured sun-beam, from which, on wing of gossamer, she seemed to have just descended, an unexpected apparition of surpassing grace and beauty. Titania’s self, just stepped upon the moonlit earth, could scarcely have stood poised on an unbroken flower-stalk, in form more airy, in attitude more graceful, with countenance more radiant than those of Emily F–, as, arrayed in likeness of the Faery Queen, she thus burst upon our view, and with an air half-archly playful, half-proudly triumphant, enjoyed our bewildered surprise, and received the involuntary homage of our admiration.

We saw in a moment how the matter stood; Emily was really going to the fancy ball; and this, of the Queen of Fays, was the fantastic and too bewitching costume she had chosen to assume. Knowing her kind heart, and having believed that its best affections had been gained by her estimable husband, if not bestowed on him at first, we were vexed and disappointed in our young relation, and felt it only right to give, if we could, a check to her buoyant vanity, by letting her feel the weight of our disapproval,–shown, if not expressed. “So I see, Emily,” said I, in the coldest tone, “I see, after all, that you are going to this foolish ball.”

The beaming countenance of the beautiful sylph darkened in a moment, like a cosmoramic landscape. “And why not?” returned she, pettishly; “I suppose, then, you don’t approve.”

“My approbation can be of very little import, if you possess that of your own heart, and that of your husband. Under what character, pray, does he attend you? I suppose he plays Oberon to your Titania?”

Emily’s face reddened. Some strong emotion heaved her bosom, and I saw that pride alone kept the starting tears from overflowing. “Charles,” said she, with an attempt at assumed indifference, “will not be there at all; I am to go with Lady Forrester.”

We felt more vexed than ever, and wished to say something which might yet hinder the young wife’s intention; but while considering what that something should be, or whether, indeed, our age and slight relationship gave a sufficient right to say anything, we looked down for a moment on our still open book. Of that moment Emily availed herself to effect an escape, and on raising our eyes we only caught a glimpse of her glittering wings as she glided through the doorway. Our first impulse was to recall her; our next thought, to leave her to herself. If her better nature still struggled, remonstrance of ours, we considered, might only serve to set wounded pride against it; and wounded passions, like wounded bravoes, fight most desperately. We saw no more of our young hostess till the hour of dinner, to which we sat down to a tête-à-tête. Emily’s sweet face had regained all its usual expression of good humour, and by almost an excess of attention, and an effort at more than ordinary liveliness, she strove to make amends for the slight ebullition of temper stirred up by the morning’s incident; but her sociability seemed forced, and we felt that our own was much of the same description.