Page:Romance & Reality 2.pdf/240

238 and one also of show and ceremony;—the soft white satin robe, in its fashion about a century back, was looped with jewels; and the hair, lovely in itself, spared not the adornment of gems;—flowers stood beside, in an alabaster vase—exotics, that say, "our growth has been precious." A lute leant against the ebon stand; but the face of the lady wore the expression of deep and touching sorrow. "The Bridemaid, by Parris;"—she who has that day lost the companion of her childhood—who looks on her lute to remember the songs they sang together—who turns from the flowers which were the last they gathered—and who sits alone in her solitary apartment, to think that that morning has broken one of affection's nearest and dearest ties—the love between two sisters—which can never again be what it has been, in unreserved confidence and entire companionship. The beholder turned away, as if it were unkind to "leave her to her sorrow." Portraits seem singularly beautiful by lamp-light—the softness gives them an air of so much reality. Landscapes are better by day—they require sunshine to bring out their own sunny greens. Mr. Morland now took them across the