a fascination to her person. "I do wish she would come, I do!" she
mutters, resting her hands upon the banisters, and looking intently
into the passage: "she thinks more of fussing over Annette's hair,
than she does about taking care of mine. Well, I won't get cross-I
won't! Poor Clotilda, I do like her; I can't help it; it is no more
than natural that she should evince so much solicitude for her
child: we would do the same." Scarcely had she uttered these words,
when the beautiful female we have described in the foregoing chapter
ran from her cabin, across the yard, into the mansion. "Where is
young Miss Franconia?" she inquires; looks hastily around, ascends
the stairs, greets Franconia with a fervent shake of the hand,
commences adjusting her hair. There is a marked similarity in their
countenances: it awakens our reflections. Had Clotilda exhibited
that exactness of toilet for which Franconia is become celebrated,
she would excel in her attractions. There was the same oval face,
the same arched brows; there was the same Grecian contour of
features, the same sharply lined nose; there was the same delicately
cut mouth, disclosing white, pearly teeth; the same eyes, now
glowing with sentiment, and again pensive, indicating thought and
tenderness; there was the same classically moulded bust, a shoulder
slightly converging, of beautiful olive, enriched by a dark mole.

Clotilda would fain have kissed Franconia, but she dare not.
"Clotilda, you must take good care of me while I make my visit. Only
do my hair nicely, and I will see that Uncle gets a new dress for
you when he goes to the city. If Uncle would only get married, how
much happier it would be," says Franconia, looking at Clotilda the
while.

"And me, too,-I would be happier!" Clotilda replies, resting her