up, to leave them any power of refusing to abide by them; besides, the elder is now dying of a broken heart, and the younger is going to seek his fortune with the South American insurgents, so there is no fear that either of them can disturb my dear departed husband's generous bequest."

Here a few broken sobs made a very judicious termination of the widow's speech-while excellent man!" magnificent legacy!" "charming sensibility!" was repeated at proper intervals by the chorus.

At length all the company departed, except M. de Chambeau, who, as soon as he was alone with the lady, began a long tirade on his long nourished passion for her on his fears-on his hopes on his desperation. The lady heard him at first with frowns and reproaches at last her grief for the husband who was departed, was succeeded by compassion for the lover who was present; and M. de Chambeau threw himself on his knees before her, exclaiming, "O! ever be loved creature, let me not languish out my life in hopeless expectation; at least permit me to look forwards to a period that may terminate my sufferings, and put me in possession of all I love on earth."

The lady was silent, but he marked the relenting of her eye, and continued," Allow me to name this day fortnight for our happy nuptials."

"This day fortnight, Sir!" exclained the lady, "consider the respect I owe to the memory of the deceased, to the world, to myself, consider my excessive grief, consider -a fortnight! impossible! at least let

it be three weeks.'

At this moment I became too much occupied by my own misfortunes to observe how much farther the contest proceeded; for in the moment of agitation, the widow had suffered me to fall on the floor, where I became the prey of a mischievous little French lapdog, who amused himself with tearing me to shreds. I cannot say that my sufferings under this operation were acute, though they were very distressing, and were succeeded by a faint ness and insensibility, which rendered my existence for a time a total blank.

At length a return of sensation began to creep over me, consisting at first in little else than an extreme pressure. On the removal of the pressure, I started suddenly into the knowledge of a great improvement in my order of being, and perceived myself to be no less a person than the Morning Post of January 31, 1820, and that I had a deep black edge round my margin, as an expression of grief for the news I contained of the death of the good old King George III. I had no time for making farther observations, as I was seized instantly by a dirty boy, who, with haste and importance in his looks, hurried me and several others like myself through the streets of London. After leaving many of my companions at different places, it was my luck to be left at a large house in Square.

After being examined and well commented upon by the porter and a bevy of footmen, I was taken up stairs, and laid on the breakfast-table of a very elegant apartment.

Here I was left alone, and had time to look about me, and consider my situation. My attention was soon rivetted by a full length portrait of a young female. The candour and innocence of youth sat upon the brow, cheerfulness beamed through every feature, and the beautiful lips that were a little parted, seemed to be saying: "Look at me, for I am good and happy."

I was so much absorbed in contem❤ plating this lovely picture, that I was scarcely aware that a lady and gentleman had entered the room, and were seated at breakfast, till the lady took me up. I then immediately saw that she was the original of the portrait I had been admiring; but O how changed! Instead of that sweet and happy expression of countenance, she wore the haggard, dissipated look of a thorough votary of fashion-restlessness and anxiety were visible in her eye, peevishness and discontent in her mouth. The same delicacy of complexion and regularity of features remained, but all their charm was gone.

I turned from this painful contrast, to examine the gentleman. His air and figure were strikingly dignified and elegant; his face might, perhaps, be called plain, but was highly pleas ing, from the expression in it of sound

to"

The gentleman made no reply.

"What I have to say, Madam," replied he, "will not please you-but I should be most unjust to you and to myself if I did not say it."

"The old story, I suppose," said Lady Mary, seeming to case-harden herself with a look of callous indiffer

ence.

"You very well know," resumed Sir William," that I have long disapproved of your allowing that foolish young Guardsman to accompany you everywhere. Do not suppose that I am jealous of him. I would not think so ill of you, nor so ill of myself, as to suffer that baleful passion to harbour in my breast; but to see you loved, and honoured, and respected by others, by the wise and good, as you are by me, is the wish nearest my heart; and how can you be so, while your conduct in public is both childish and indiscreet?"

I saw she was touched, but pridelittle, contemptible, female pride kept down the more worthy emotion; and, with the tone of a person highly affronted, she retorted,

--

Well, Sir, and am I not respected? What woman of quality can bé more noticed and admired than myself?"

"Your rank," replied he, "gives you place, your elegance and beauty gain you admiration; but is there not something more than this which a wise and virtuous woman would desire? Is not the respect of all good people, the approbation of her own

"It is extremely hard," said the lady, interrupting him, and rising with an air of resentment; "it is extremely hard, Sir William, that you should presume to find fault with my conduct, considering the fortune and consequence you have acquired by marrying me.'

"It will be well, Madam, for us both," said Sir William, with a tone of great solemnity, "if I acquire no disgrace. It is my duty, though a duty I should be gladly spared, to admonish you of your errors; and no consideration upon earth shall ever make me forego what I believe to be my duty."

Saying this, he left the room, and Lady Mary, retiring also, and taking me with her, threw herself on a sofa in an adjoining apartment. She attempted to read, but I saw she could not comprehend a word. I saw rising in her mind regret and dissatisfaction with herself, and an increased respect for her husband. I thought again of the lovely picture-of what she had once been, and what she might be again-and my heart palpitated, (for I have said before that I had a heart,) and, by an almost supernatural effect, I contrived to upfold to her view one of my columns, in which, in giving a picture of the deceased King's character, were dis played the happiness and the dignity of a virtuous married life; and gladly did I receive a tear of regret and compunction on the page.

At that moment a lady entered, whom I perceived, by her tone of servility, to be a sort of satellite.

"In tears, my sweetest Lady Mary! what can be the matter?"

O, nothing!" said her Ladyship. "But something must be the matter-I never before saw the radiance of those brilliant eyes so dim," said the other.

"Well, then," said Lady Mary, "if you must know, Sir William has been plaguing me again about Colonel B- and wants me to forbid his attending me in public."

66

My dearest Lady Mary," exclaimed the satellite, "I never heard anything so intolerable; but I hope you did not make any concessions.'

No, indeed," replied Lady Mary;

"I can assure you I kept up my own dignity admirably."

That was quite right, my sweet creature," said the other; "it is most unreasonable in any husband to dictate to his wife on the choice of her acquaintance; but, depend upon it, they are all alike. If you once begin yielding and submitting, there's no end of it. If you will take my advice, you will invite Colonel B

here to-day, to show Sir William you won't submit to be a slave to his ridiculous whims."

I can assure you, gentle reader, I would, if I could, have wept tearsnot of blood, but of ink-at this weak and wicked advice; but I had no opportunity to know if it was taken, for Lady Mary had folded me round a small volume, and, ringing the bell, ordered the servant to take the parcel to Mrs Mordant's.

CHAP. III.

The distance to Mrs Mordant's house was not great, and I was immediately taken into the drawingroom, where a lady of a most engaging aspect was sitting, reading. As she continued to proceed with her book without taking any notice of me, I had leisure to observe her physiognomy. At first I thought her extremely handsome, but, on examination, I found that her chief attraction consisted in the expression of her illuminated countenance-an expression fraught with goodness and benignity. After some little time, a gentleman entered. There was something very prepossessing in his appearance, though his brow was evidently clouded by chagrin. Mrs Mordant perceived that something had vexed him, and, laying aside her book, said, in an affectionate manner,

"My dear Mr Mordant, I am a fraid something has occurred to distress you-May I not know what it is ?"

"I own," said he, "I have been greatly disturbed by a letter I have just received."

"I hope nothing very seriousPray let me know what it is-Perhaps it may not be so bad as you apprehend," said Mrs Mordant, with earnest solicitude.

"It is nothing, my love, that need distress you, and ought not, perhaps, to distress me. Still I cannot help

feeling excessively hurt. I had intended not to have mentioned it to any body-however, I will to you, and to you only. I have received an anonymous letter, telling me that that poor unhappy woman is now with her wretched seducer in the most abject poverty. For two years after her divorce, they subsisted on the money and jewels she took with her when she eloped from this house, and abandoned every”—

Here his voice became so indistinct, I could not hear his next words; but, becoming more composed, he resumed," And I find that he has now been obliged to sell his commission, and is in momentary expectation of being put in prison for debt, whither she, having no other resource, must accompany him. I know it is weak, it is wrong to feel as I do; but, when I recollect how much she was the darling of a doating father,—all her early self-indulgence, her helplessness, her delicacy,-I cannot picture her reduced to be the inmate of a common prison, of a receptacle for the lowest vice and want, without feeling, great as have been her injuries to me, an agony I cannot suppress."

After a short silence on both sides, Mrs Mordant took the hand of her husband in both hers, and said,"Let us consider what can, what ought, to be done."

"I know," said Mr Mordant, "what ought to be done. She ought to suffer the misery she has brought upon herself. She has poisoned her own cup-she ought to drink to the last drop the bitter dregs of it."

"And has she not," said the gentle advocate," done that already?"

"No," said the agitated husband, "I have had my share of it; her innocent, her injured child, she has her portion yet to come. How must she feel when she comes to know that her mother forsook her, forsook her for an abandoned profligate! The disgrace of such a mother will cling to her all her life. O Selina," he continued, " had I but seen you before I had consigned my affections and my honour to one so unworthy of the trust, how unclouded would then have been our lives, for not all the happiness I now enjoy with you can prevent my life from being embittered by cruel remembrance!"

"We should then," said the gentle

Selina," have been too happy. We have each had our trials, and I believe they have improved our characters. This world, you know, is a state of trial, and our chief, perhaps our only business in it, is to do our duty. Let us then consider what, as Christians and fellow-creatures, it is our duty to do for these unfortunate people."

"I think," said he, "it is our duty, for the sake of example, that they should be left to their miserable fate." "As for him," said Selina, "I agree with you, but for her.-You have owned to me yourself that she is weak and helpless. She is also beautiful; may not poverty and want drive her into a state still more horrid to think of? O think of that, and if we can but save her."

Mr Mordant shook his head, and said, "It must not be. I could not bear that that wretched man should think that he still continues to make a dupe of me. I must not."

"Well, but," said Mrs Mordant, "though you cannot, may not I? You know you allowed me to call the little money my god-mother left me my own. May not I appropriate something from that source for this poor creature just enough to save her from the peril I dread?-If it does not save her, I promise you to withdraw it."

Mr Mordant was silent.-She con tinued," If you will allow me to mention the subject to my brother, he would, I am confident, keep the secret faithfully, and by his means I could contrive to have the money sent quarterly, without its being possible for them to discover where it comes from."

"Well," said Mr Mordant," I will consider of it, but I believe," added he tenderly, "I believe it will end in your having your wish."

At this moment a servant entered to say a person was come from the glove shop to take Mrs Mordant's directions about some gloves. Mrs M. looked exceedingly vexed at this un seasonable interruption, and said has tily, "Desire the man will call again to-morrow. Stay, I have no right to trifle with his time,wait a few mo ments, and I will send the answer." She then took some gloves, and, un folding the parcel that had been brought from Lady Mary, wrapped them up in me, and said to the servant, "Desire the man to take these

back to the shop, and I will call there myself during the morning, and give my own directions."

Thus was I in an instant, and when I was least prepared for it, hurried off from people to whom I found myself becoming every moment more attached. To confess the truth, (and I hope I may be pardoned for attempting to make a resistance against my destiny,) when I discovered what Mrs Mordant was going to do with me, I made myself as stiff and intractable as I could, in hopes she would suffer me to remain upon her table, and find for the gloves some more yielding envelope.

But it was in vain; and I was, as I have already said, hurried off to a shop in Oxford Street, where, after the gloves had been given to the mistress of the shop, I was carelessly thrown on the floor of a little dark back parlour, where I was in danger of being trampled upon every moment.

CHAP. IV.

I did not continue long in this ne glected situation, for a good-natured girl picked me up, and threw me on a table that stood near a little window that looked into the shop. From hence I could see every thing that passed there, and I was exceedingly amused by the busy scene that was going on: for, on account of the ap proaching general mourning, the shop was crowded by great numbers of peo ple, who came in to buy love ribbands and black gloves: and I could write an essay on physiognomy, from the observations I had thus the oppor tunity of making. I could write a whole chapter on the expression of one poor girl's countenance, who came to buy a ribband for her bonnet. Her wishes were instantly fixed on a fine broad one, with a double stripe; but on hearing it was a shilling a yard, she heaved a sigh, counted her money, shook her head, and bought a narrow one at sixpence; but turned back once or twice as she left the shop, to look at the double stripe.

I could write another long chapter on the sharp visage and eager eye of a little thin old lady, who had evidently come on foot to a cheap shop to buy bargains: for I saw, as soon as she entered, the people of the shop winked at each other; and when she asked the price of the before men