You would have thought she was going to kill him; her head reared itself again and again like a crested snake's, and again and again and again and again plunged down upon the child, and she kissed his little body from head to foot with soft violence, and murmured, through her streaming tears, "My child! my darling! my angel! oh, my poor boy! my child! my child!" I will ask my female readers of every degree to tell their brothers and husbands all the young noble did: how she sat on the floor, and had her child on her bosom; how she smiled over it through her tears; how she purred over it; how she, the stately one, lisped and prattled over it; and how life came pouring into her heart from it.
Before she had had it in her arms five minutes, her pale cheek was as red as a rose, and her eyes brighter than diamonds.
"Bless you, Rose! bless you! bless you! in one moment you have made me forget all I ever suffered in my life." "There is a cold draught," cried she presently, with maternal anxiety; "close the panel, Rose." "No, dear; or I could not call to Jacintha, or she to me; but I will shift the screen round between him and the draught.

There, now, come to his aunt--a darling!" Then Rose sat on the floor too, and Josephine put her boy on aunt's lap, and took a distant view of him.

But she could not bear so vast a separation long.

She must have him to her bosom again.
Presently my lord, finding himself hugged, opened his eyes, and, as a natural consequence, his mouth.
"Oh, that will never do," cried Rose, and they put him back in the cradle with all expedition, and began to rock it.

Young master was not to be altogether appeased even by that.