"You own such a rose, my dear girl," said her uncle. "It is invisible, but I often perceive its fragrance. Each one of you carries such an indicator of character and feeling about with you, wherever you go. We may as well call it a rose as any thing else."
"But what can you mean, Uncle? do you mean our tell-tale faces?"
"Nothing else. It is one of the many proofs of beneficent design in the formation of our frame, than we can scarcely help giving a timely warning to others of the evil passions which may fill our breasts. The angry man becomes inflamed or livid with rage before his arm is raised to strike—just as the rattle-snake is heard before he darts upon his victim. And so with the gentle and kind emotions. Friendly feeling softens the eye and soothes the heart before the tongue utters a sound. Then take my advice, my dear nephews and nieces, if you wish to be attractive now, seek moral beauty, and the external will follow, in some degree here below, and completely in a better world. You can afford to wait."
CHAPTER IX.
NEW-YEAR'S DAY.—CHARACTERS, OR WHO AM I?—QUOTATIONS.—ACTING CHARADES.—RIDDLES.
"A very happy New-Year to you, Aunt and Uncle!" "The same to you, dear children! and may each one in your lives be happier than the last!" "As the Spaniards say, 'May you live a thousand years!'" cried Charlie Bolton. "I feel glad that wish is an impossible one," answered Mr. Wyndham, with a smile. "How tired the world would be of seeing me, and how weary I should be of life! No, no, my boy—I hope when my season of active labor shall be closed, and I can no more be useful to my fellow-men, that my kind Father in Heaven will grant me a mansion above, where time is swallowed up in eternity."
There was service in the morning in the pretty little country church. Strange that this beautiful and appropriate mode of commencing the New-Year, which is so general in continental Europe, should be frequently neglected here! It appears so very natural, upon entering upon a new division of time, to consecrate its commencement by acknowledgments of our dependence upon the Great Creator. At least, so thought the family party assembled at The Grange; and they were amply rewarded for the effort it cost them by the joyful, hopeful nature of the services, which were intended to lead the soul to repose upon God with unshaken trust for all future time.
In the evening, it was agreed that there should be no story, but that games and conversation should fill up the time. Mary proposed a new game she had heard of, "Characters, or Who am I?" While one left the room, the rest agreed upon some historical personage who was to be represented by the absentee upon his return. When he re-entered, unconscious whether he was a Nero or a Howard, they addressed him in a manner suitable to his rank and character, and he replied in such a way as to elicit further information in regard to the important question, "Who am I?" As he grew more sure of his own identity with the illustrious person whose deeds they alluded to, his answers would become more unequivocal, until at last he could announce that he had solved that difficult problem, "know thyself." An amusing state of puzzle—a dreamy feeling that you might be anybody in the world, was found to pervade the first replies. Cornelia, who led the way in assuming a character, declared that she felt like the little woman in Mother Goose's Melodies,