The arrivals were shortly announced; for strange to say, the two young friends arrived at the same instant.  John opened the parlor door, and ushered in “Miss Dora Leslie,”—­“Master Charles Dorning.”

These young people never having previously met at Mr. Wilton’s house, as members of his Geographical Society, it seemed necessary that there should be a formal introduction,—­at least, so thought George; and as he proposed it, they required him to perform the ceremony, which he did in a most facetious way, affixing the initials M.G.S. after every name.

They were all seated around the cheerful fire, laughing heartily, when again John threw open the door, and announced “Mr. Barraud.”  Immediately their mirth was checked, for to the younger folks this gentleman was a total stranger.  Mr. Wilton advanced to greet his friend, and Mrs. Wilton and Grandy both appeared delighted to see him:  they conversed together some time, until tea was ready, when the conversation became more general, and our little friends were occasionally required to give an opinion.

Before I proceed any farther, I should like to make you acquainted with Charles Dorning and Dora Leslie.  Perhaps if I give you a slight sketch of their personal appearance, you could contrive to form a tolerably correct estimate of their characters from the conversations in which they both figured to such advantage at the evening meetings held in the drawing-room of Mr. Wilton’s hospitable mansion.

Charles Dorning—­No!  We ought to describe the lady first.  Dora Leslie was fourteen years of age; a gentle, quiet girl, with a meek yet intelligent countenance, which spoke of sorrow far beyond her years; and a decided expression of placidity, which none but the people of God wear, was stamped upon her delicate features and glowing in her mild blue eye.  She had been in early childhood encompassed by the heavy clouds of worldly sorrow:  she had wept over the tomb of both her parents; but now that she could think calmly of her afflictions, she could kiss the rod which chastened her, and praise God for thus testifying his exceeding love towards a sinful child.  Her trials had indeed been sanctified to her; they had changed, but not saddened, her heart; for she was at the time of her visit to the Wiltons a cheerful, happy girl, delighting in the innocent amusements suitable to her age, though ever ready to turn all events to the advantage of her fellow-creatures, and the glory of her God.  But I am telling you more than I intended.  I was only to describe her person, and here I am giving a full, true, and particular account of the beauties of her mind also.  Well, I trust you will excuse me; for the mind and the body are so nearly connected, that it is impossible to give a just idea of the graces of one without in some degree touching upon the merits of the other.  I will now turn to Charles Dorning, as I think I have said enough of Dora Leslie to induce you to regard her with friendliness.