For the Ladies' Casket.

THE GUARDIAN'S DAUGHTER.

BY CAMILLA.

"WHAT troubles you, Herbert? you seem especially despondent just now! Has your tailor presented his bill, with an alarming sum total, and the cash not forthcoming? Do you want any thing which money can procure? If so, I hope I need not remind you that my purse is as much yours as my own."

"I thank you, Edmund; believe me, were I in want of the 'filthy lucre,' I should not scruple to apply to you. But my income, though small, has as yet been sufficient for my wishes."

"What then-annoys you? Herbert Carlton should not conceal his troubles, more than his joys, from Edmund Conway. Were it not impossible, I would guess that the bright eyes of some fair demoiselle have bewitched you, and that the course of your true love will not run smooth. What a conscious look! By the goddess of Love herself, I believe I am right!"

"Partly; inasmuch as my annoyance is occasioned by a young lady. You remember my guardian, Mr. Irving. After I lost my own parents, he was like a kind father to me, and to his care I owe whatever virtues I may possess. I am very grateful to him, and would willingly do any thing in my power to gratify him, and herein lies my difficulty. He has one child,— a daughter; and feeling that he cannot live long, he is desirous of seeing her settled in life of feeling that he leaves her with some one who will cherish and protect her."

"And knowing all your good qualities, Herbert, he has se lected you to be the said protector?"

"Laugh, if you will; but methinks it is no laughing matter to be forced to take a wife whom one cares nothing for, just to please an old man.”

"Forced! you surely have the power to decline?"

"Certainly; but I hate to seem ungrateful to one who has done so much for me. I had hoped that the young lady she must be eighteen or nineteen, by this time-would have fixed

her affections elsewhere; but having suggested the possibility that the union might be displeasing to his daughter, Mr. Irving writes me to-day that he has 'conversed with Louise upon the subject, and she assures him that the connection will be perfectly satisfactory, so far as she is concerned.' A fine specimen of the lady's delicacy, truly! Was ever man in a worse predicament!"

"Faith, Bertie, it is not so bad. Miss Irving must be an heiress of no small expectations; and if she is tolerably agreeable and good-looking, you can swallow even the pill of matrimony, well gilded."

"I know nothing of her; I have not seen her since she was quite a child, fifteen or thereabouts. She She may be beautiful as Venus herself, and as fascinating; though, to be very pretty, she must have altered greatly. I have heard that she is very accomplished."

"I do not see your trouble, then. As you do not know her, you may find her on acquaintance, the very beau-ideal, or belle-⚫ ideal, perhaps I should rather say, of your wishes, and yield your heart most willingly."

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'Ay, there it is, Ned. I have no heart to yield, and if I consent to marry the young lady, she must be content with cold respect and attention. Now such are not the feelings with which I would regard my wife, and a union formed under such circumstances cannot be a happy one for either party."

A shout of laughter from Edmund interrupted him. "Herbert Carlton in love! Excuse me, but the idea is too absurd for belief! You, the grave, the sedate, the dignified-you, who could never find a woman perfect enough to suit you you in love! and so desperately, that you cannot even think of another maiden with patience! Pray, who is your Dulcinea?

"Be quiet a while, Conway," said Herbert, impatiently, "and if you love me, do not laugh, for I am in no mood for raillery. I will give you the whole account, and you shall advise me."

Edmund Conway threw himself on the turf, beneath a spreading walnut, and with a gravity of tone which his laughing eyes proved was but affected, desired his friend to proceed. Herbert