POPLAR HOUSE ACADEMY.

BY

THE AUTHOR OF "MARY POWELL."

"In every village, marked with little spire,
Embowered in trees, and hardly known to fame,
There dwells, in lowly shade and mean attire,
A matron old, whom we schoolmistress name."

SHENSTONE.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL I.

LONDON:

ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE, & CO.,

25, PATERNOSTER ROW.

1859.

249. t. 174.

POPLAR HOUSE ACADEMY.

CHAPTER I.

Somewhat back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat;
Across its antique portico

Tall poplar trees their shadows throw;
And, from its station in the hall,

An antique time-piece says to all,

'For ever! never!

Never! for ever!'

LONGFELLOW: The Old Clock on the Stairs.

OW well I remember that evening! My

HOW

two sisters sat looking into the fire, and I could see that Jacintha's heart was swelling; while tears silently rolled down Marian's cheeks. "Yes, I suppose that must be it," said Ja

B

cintha reluctantly at last. "We need not have troubled ourselves to consider whether we could consent to receive my father's protection, since he has placed us beyond the pale of it."

"And thereby relieved us of a difficulty," said I; suggesting a comfort that I felt was a very poor one.

"The only thing is the disgrace," said Jacintha, knitting her brow a little.

"Oh, there's the sin!" ejaculated poor Marian; and tears at the same moment streamed so fast from her eyes, that ours sympathetically burst forth.

"This won't do-" said Jacintha at last, after crying very heartily.

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'Any good,'" added I, as if she had not finished her sentence. "No, that's quite certain. Come, let us all cheer up a little."

"How can we?" said Marian, trying to smile, and lapsing into tears again.

"Marian, you're eighteen.

Jacintha and I

are old women in comparison. Indeed, I am an old maid really, and have been ever since I was born; and Jacintha will be, if she lives to be old enough."

"Well, what then?"

"What then?

Why, Jacintha and I not

being quite so young and tender as you, do not feel things quite so keenly-though we do feel them bitterly, too."

"That's one comfort-I mean it is a comfort that you don't feel them so keenly," said Marian, drying her eyes; "because I know very well that I do feel things too much, and I will cure myself if I can, and when I can— only I can't do it all at once"—with a sweet, April smile.

"Of course you can't. But, as I'm the eldest, you know it is my province to preach a little. Now, let us all compose ourselves, and