THE VICARAGE. 285 



was, indeed, one of those beings whom it is al- 

 most impossible not to love. There was such a 

 total abstinence of all selfishness about her, such 

 a wish to make others happy at whatever sacri- 

 fice to her own feelings and wishes, such a 

 sweetness of temper and complacency, and so 

 much animation sparkled in her eyes when she 

 heard those praised whom she loved, that she was 

 looked up to by her family as a being almost too 

 perfect for this world. Less handsome than her 

 sister, and perfectly aware that this was the case, 

 she was indebted to the expression of her counte- 

 nance for that admiration she generally excited. 

 Born in a sphere of life which, from its seclusion, 

 tranquillity, and peace, scarcely admitted a thought 

 of ambition, Mary went on in the even tenor of her 

 way, as retired and as quiet as the little brooklet 

 which meandered at the foot of the Vicar's garden. 

 Mary was, however, formed to love and to be loved, 

 and her parents knew that whenever she bestowed 

 her heart it would be with an intenseness of no 

 common kind. Such was Mary, a character sel- 

 dom met with in the haunts of gaiety and fashion. 

 After the first greeting was over, Mary gently 

 took the basket containing the trout from her 

 father, and after looking into it, and giving him a 

 smile of congratulation, she walked with it to the 

 house in order to give the necessary directions to 



