It was, I own, exceedingly wrong to have taken the house, as it were,
by storm, when I knew they were in mourning for me; but I forgot that
other people did not require the same stimulus as myself. I begged
pardon; was kissed again and again, and forgiven. Oh, it was worth
while to offend to be forgiven by such lips, and eyes, and dimples.
But I am afraid this thought is borrowed from some prose or poetry; if
so, the reader must forgive me, and so must the author, who may have
it again, now I have done with it, for I shall never use it any more.
My narrative was given with as much modesty and brevity as time and
circumstances would admit. The coachman was despatched on one of the
best carriage-horses express to Mr Somerville, and the mail coach was
loaded with letters to all the friends and connections of the family.
This ended, each retired to dress for dinner. What a change had one
hour wrought in this house of mourning, now suddenly turned into a
house of joy! Alas! how often is the picture reversed in human life!
The ladies soon reappeared in spotless white; emblems of their pure
minds. My father had put off his sables, and the servants came in
their usual liveries, which were very splendid.
Dinner being announced, my father handed off Emily; I followed with
my sister. Emily, looking over her shoulder, said, "Don't be jealous,
Frank."
My father laughed, and I vowed revenge for this little satirical hit.
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