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Bluebell A Novel   By:

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BLUEBELL

A Novel

BY MRS. G.C. HUDDLESTON

1875

[Transcriber's note: These images were taken from Early Canadian Online and there are several pages where the text is missing on the images. These have been marked "unreadable."]

Yet we shall one day gain, life part, Clear prospect o'er our being's whole, Shall see ourselves, and learn at last Our true affinities of soul.

Acknowledgment

The Publishers have to acknowledge their great indebtedness to MR. DAVISON, President, and MR. DAVY, Secretary, of the Toronto Mechanics' Institute, who, on being applied to, kindly gave to them for publication the only copy of this Work, which, so far as they knew, was in Canada at the time, and which the Directors of the Institute, with a commendable spirit of enterprise, had secured for their Library.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. SWEET SEVENTEEN

II. BERTIE

III. GENTLE ANNIE

IV. SATURDAY AT HOME

V. A WOODLAND WALK

VI. VISITORS

VII. THE GARRISON SLEIGH CLUB

VIII. FIXING UP A PRANCE

IX. CROSS PURPOSES

X. TOBOGGINING

XI. EFFECTS OF TOBOGGINING

XII. THE LAKE SHORE ROAD

XIII. NORTHERN LIGHTS

XIV. THE TRYST

XV. AN ENIGMATICAL LETTER

XVI. DETECTED

XVII. DID YOU PROPOSE THEN?

XVIII. LYNDON'S LANDING

XIX. CALF LOVE

XX. THE PRINCE PHILANDER

XXI. A PERILOUS SAIL

XXII. AT LAST

XXIII. LOLA'S BIRTHDAY

XXIV. LITTLE PITCHERS

XXV. CHANGES

XXVI. CROSSING THE HERRING POND

XXVII. HARRY DUTTON

XXVIII. ROUGH WEATHER

XXIX. BLUEBELL'S DEBUT IN THE OLD COUNTRY

XXX. NO CARDS

XXXI. BROMLEY TOWERS

XXXII. THE SPRING WOODS

XXXIII. LORD BROMLEY INTERVIEWS DUTTON

XXXIV. HARRY GOES TO THE BALTIC

XXXV. A DISCOVERY

XXXVI. IN DEATH THEY WERE NOT DIVIDED

XXXVII. AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE

XXXVIII. OLD HEAD ON YOUNG SHOULDERS

XXXIX. THE LOAN OF A LOVER

XL. THE MINIATURE

XLI. A LOCK OF HAIR

BLUEBELL

CHAPTER I.

SWEET SEVENTEEN.

I see her now the vision fair, Of candour, innocence, and truth, Stand tiptoe on the verge of air, 'Twixt childhood and unstable youth.

It was the "fall" in Canada, and the leaves were dying royally in purple, crimson and gold. On the edge of a common, skirting a well known city of Ontario, stood a small, rough cast cottage, behind which the sun was setting with a red promise of frost, his flaming tints repeated in the fervid hue of the Virginian creeper that clothed it.

This modest tenement was the retreat of three unprotected females, two of whom were seated in silent occupation close to a black stove, which imparted heat, but denied cheerfulness. The elder was grey and tintless as her life, harsh wisdom wrung from sad experience ever on lips thin and tight, as though from habitually repressing every desire. The younger, a widow, was scarcely passed middle age, small of stature, but wizened beyond her years by privation and sorrow.

A smell of coal oil, that most unbearable of odours, pervaded the interior of the cottage, revealing that the general servant below in lighting the lamp had, as usual, upset some, and was retaining the aroma by smearing it off with her apron.

Presently a quick, light step tripped over the wooden side walk, a shadow darkened the window, and a vision of youth and freshness burst into the dingy little parlour.

A rather tall, full formed young Hebe was Theodora Leigh, of that pure pink and white complexion that goes farther to make a beauty than even regularity of feature; her long, sleepy eyes were just the shade of the wild hyacinth; indeed, her English father always called her "Bluebell," after a flower that does not grow on Transatlantic soil... Continue reading book >>




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