is improved by all that gives variety and interest to the social union of two souls destined to find the principal portion of their happiness at home. The merely fashionable accomplishments can last only for a season, and that very season which least requires their aid, for youth and sprightliness are so full of elasticity and joy, that were music, painting, &c. banished from the world, there is a halcyon hour in the life of all, in which their aids would not be missed, because they are not wanted; but the summer-fly, which gaily flits in the warmth of a meridian beam, ought not to be our model. Life, like every four and twenty hours, has its morning and evening, then its night. Do not start, I am not going to give you a homily; I would only call an intelligent mind to a quiet investigation of truth, and farther ask, when time steals the bloom from beauty's cheek, and the song, which once charmed the ear has died away—when the fairy fingers have lost the ease,

When the nymph is changed into the matron, and the sylphid form of eighteen is transformed into the "mother of many children," pray what becomes of companionship which had rested its sole support on the evanescent perfections of youth, the very nature of which is to pass away like a morning dream? Would it not be wiser first to consider the human species as formed for a world beyond this, in which it is appointed 'to fret our little hour,' and to make a vital sense of our ultimate destination, the primum mobile in every scheme of existence? This is the grand, the principal, the master-link of all earthly union, because it does not end here, but binds the faster as terrestrial things wax nearer to a close. Upon this broad base would not rational creatures, who are expressly fashioned for each others' society in this world, naturally be led to cultivate in common the greatest degree of intellectual perfection? Do you believe that the ditinguishing, the ennobling boon of reason is granted to both sexes, to be only exercised by a very limited number of one sex, and lavished in thoughtless waste by all the rest? Never entertain such an idea of the Creator, who has made nothing without its end, purpose, and design. I do not expect you to become a convert in the twinkling of an eye, but I feel as if we should one day have you added to our ranks, a staunch partisan of better views than those which you have learned to advocate."

"Before you conclude," said I, "your introductory lecture upon Bluism, you must hear my creed, such as I brought it to Glenalta. Do not suppose that I think it possible for a society to be held together without the bond of religion. Whatever errors I might have been inclined to fall into, had I been left to myself, I have a friend, and that a youthful one too, who has kept such a watch upon my sayings, doings, and thinkings, as to preserve me at least from the grosser mistakes to which young men are liable who have no Mentor to guide their course. I am thoroughly convinced that religion is necessary in every community that aims at being well ordered, and that women ought to be considered as peculiarly its guardians; they are the nurses of young ideas, the first shoots of which are directed by female solicitude, and it would never do to have our ladies turn infidels."

"Very well," said Mr. Otway, "here are some strong admissions. You believe in the absolute necessity of religion in a well constituted state, and you are right; for if all the restraints which religion superadds to those arising out of mere moral fitness and utility, be quite inadequate to render men virtuous, a fortiori, they would not be better for increased latitude to do evil."

"You next admit that the most valuable of all things here, because that which best secures peace on earth and happiness in heaven, it is peculiarly the province of the female part of creation to protect with care, and distribute with zeal. Here is a high trust—here is a mighty office, and it would naturally follow from your acquiescence in reposing such confidence in a certain set of people, that you must admit the propriety of rendering them fit depositories for the sacred trust by some suitable preparation. Be assured, my young friend, that a fashionable education will not achieve this end. But you must not mistake me. I do not mean to assert that there is any necromancy in learning this language or the other. I would only be understood to say that during the early years of childhood there is time enough for much more than is usually taught to girls from five to fifteen; and while the memory is retentive, the curiosity fresh, and all the faculties ready for action, it is a pity that food for the mind should not be provided of a more substantial kind than is generally supplied. In learning the dead, we attain the principles of living languages; we become able to trace our own mother tongue to its source; we enlarge the field of knowledge and of comparison; we search the Scriptures with effect, because we are enabled to search them minutely; and why should these advantages be denied to one half of the creation? Woman's empire is peculiarly to be found in her Home. Whatever adds dignity to her dominion, and variety to her pleasures in the scene of them, I must ever maintain to be the best safeguard of national virtue. Barbarism and excessive refinement are extremes of a widely-extended series, and like all other extremes come to meet at last. The selfishness of the former, exercises the pre-eminence of animal strength in compelling the weaker sex to endure the fatigue of cultivating the ground, and performing every servile occupation, in order that the stronger may enjoy, without interruption, the coarse and sensual gratifications which constitute their happiness; while the equally selfish, but more elegant sons of modern luxury, exert a tyranny not less despotic, in reducing the female mind to that dull level best suited to their own inglorious apathy and sloth. The matter can never rest here. Providence has formed the sexes for each other; and the mutual attraction is too powerful to be resisted. To regulate the nature of this attraction is all that moral improvement can effect; and I see with grief a mighty change in progress. Our young men are (I speak not of all) cold, careless, rude, and covetous; our youthful females are bred up as if for the stage, and as, with all 'the means and appliances to boot,' the opera and the theatre will always supply more finished specimens of singing, dancing, and acting, than can be found elsewhere. We accordingly see that many of our present generation of men are not ashamed of seeking the companion of their lives, the wife of their bosoms, and the mother of their future offspring, on the boards of Drury Lane or Covent Garden: thus destroying whatever gives sweetness to domestic retirement. An actress may possess more worth than many of the audience who gaze upon her through their glasses from the surrounding boxes, but the charm of modesty can hardly belong to her who lives in perpetual exhibition; nor can the woman, whose sole profession is the study of fictitious and, generally speaking, unamiable characters, be expected to have much time for cultivating her own character to the profit of an immortal soul."

"But, Sir, you speak of the theatre. Our young women of fashion are not players; and supposing that they were, and that we must all select our partners in the school of Thespis, would the study of Homer and Simonides, of Virgil and Horace, be a remedy for the evils of which you complain?"

"No, my dear Howard. I attach no magic to these authors. On the contrary, there may be an overweening attachment to the ancients, and there are still a few scholars of the old school who value every thing that comes to them in Greek or Latin cloathing, and encumber their pages with quotations which have nothing to recommend them beyond the mere learning which they exhibit. But, returning to our argument, I deny your premises. You assert that our young women of fashion are not actresses: I maintain that they are."

"Aye, 'all the world's a stage,' now-a-days. Nature—beautiful, refreshing Nature—is dismissed from what is technically called 'good society.' Too many of our youth of one sex are become horse-jockies, and pugilists—idle at school, dissipated at the University, and ignorant of most things, except what contributes to animal ease and luxury, they issue from the academic groves in full-fledged folly, knowing little indeed of learning, either ancient or modern, but well skilled in sauces and French wines. They are well read in the last edition of Dr. Kitchener, they are connoisseurs in eating and drinking, they can break their heads in the fancy ring, and their hearts in a rowing match. But, alas! how comparatively small the number of those who commence the business of life well furnished with useful knowledge, learning, taste, discretion! with all those qualities in short which ought to distinguish man from the inferior creation! How often are we disappointed when we cast our eyes around, in this polished age of the world, in quest of the materials which are to supply our future strength in every department of the State! A youth governed by religious principle, his head stored with science and literature, while his heart expands to all the social ties of generous affection, is the only character to whom the interests of his fellow-men may be fearlessly consigned; because he alone feels what they truly are: and he only who has learned himself to bow with respect to the wisdom of experience, and conform to the discipline of moral rule may be trusted to watch over the happiness of others. Yet such a being as this is a rara avis in terris, while the degenerate race, which I before described, crowd our streets and highways; and hope one day, through the influence of rank, to take their seats upon our parliamentary benches, where they will vote away our liberties, or relax them to license, just as interest guides, or party governs. Believe me, my young friend, 'there is something rotten in the state of Denmark;' and in turning our eyes towards the other sex, the eye finds nothing on which to rest with more complacency, except amongst the few who have sense enough to perceive and courage sufficient to resist the tide of fashionable folly. In what is called the world, it would seem that there is a guillotine established, to which every intellectual energy is fitted by lopping off every germ that buds beyond the narrow limits assigned as the modern standard. The heart is forced to undergo a like operation; and all the young affections, timid respect, and blushing reserve, which would seem to be the indigenous growth of the female mind, are destroyed with as much zeal as the gardener employs in restraining the luxuriance of his espaliers. Dressed to a common model, both in mind and body, you pass from one automaton to another, in a London drawing-room, without being conscious that you change your place unless by the variety of glare in the colours that surround you. These effigies neither see, feel, hear, nor understand, except as machines may appear to do. Likings, dislikings, looks, words, and actions, all are artificial; and natural disposition is only displayed when it is too late to regulate its movements. Marriage, like the fifth act of a play, brings matters to a conclusion, and our young ladies drive off from the theatre to exhibit at home the materials which really compose their characters. It may be that vanity, only changing its diet, is still fed to repletion; but should circumstances deny what habit and education have taught to be the only good, disappointment will have its revenge, a hecatomb of domestic victims must expiate the crime of all who withhold the accustomed tribute that had been paid to the attractions of youth."

I could not restrain a sigh. The portrait was sketched with animation, and the features of it were familiar to me. Our Phil. proceeded:

"I do not insist upon any of the acquirements which excite such general terror. I see no specific for the evils which I have prescribed in Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Chemistry, Botany, or Mathematics. My only object is to deprecate ridicule, and to ask for a little portion of that liberality which even descends to cant at the present day, in favour of all women of whatever country, who are seeking mental improvement. Let us only have an end of nick-names, which terrify the timorous; and, with the enlightened policy which is beginning to operate in our financial and commercial relations, let us renounce our narrow ideas of monopoly, and open the way to a free trade of mind, unincumbered by the taxes which retard its progress. Let us look a little higher than Mrs. Montagu's formal soirées, and the quaint cerulean hosen of Mr. Stillingfleet.

"Apollo and the Aonian choir do not seem to have made any exclusions here. The blue and gold which are thus eulogized in Ariosto, may be permitted to decorate the softer sex; and we have no right to laugh them out of a costume which the gods themselves proclaimed as the livery in common of all their votaries. But you have been a patient listener to my inaugural lecture, and it is time to give you a writ of ease. You must breakfast with me to-morrow, and we shall find plenty of matter for more chat upon the world and its ways."

"Oh dear Phil.," exclaimed Fanny, "how delightful it will be, if Arthur, under your tuition, ceases to be woman-hater."

A burst of merriment at my expense, was the consequence. When I protested that nothing could possibly be farther from my character, and that I had rather the credit of being a lady's man; her reply was, "well it may be so, but if you wish to continue so vile a system as Phil. has been describing, you would sacrifice one half of the species to indulge the whims of the other."

Our little party now broke up; and after a very short interval we found ourselves re-assembled in the drawing-room. It was agreed upon that Mr. Otway's late illness rendered it imprudent for him to risk the effects of evening air; and the whole family who seemed actuated by one principle in renouncing self, immediately declared their intention to amuse their guest and relinquish the afternoon's ramble. We passed the evening, I cannot tell you how pleasantly. My aunt is a charming person, and I cry peccavi. Though her appearance is singularly striking, and the expression of her face quite heavenly, dignity is the natural character of both. Gentle as a lamb, there is no weakness about her. The mother shines pre-eminently in all her conduct, and after one hour's observation of her manners towards Mr. Otway, I felt as ready to contradict my own suspicion which had wounded Emily's feelings as she could possibly be herself.

You and I have often argued the point of second marriages, of which I was always the advocate; more, I confess because we see them every day in the first circles, than from thinking much upon the subject one way or the other; but though I hardly as yet know why, it would grieve me, were my aunt to marry again.

We had music, chess, and conversation, which never flagged, but I cannot detail any more of this day's history. Phil. staid to prayers, in which he joined with the appearance of genuine piety; and I retired to my room, shall I own it, in a state of mind very new, and by no means disagreeable. I felt excited without delirium, such as succeeds the whirl of dissipation in town. My mind seemed full, my heart glowed, and a sort of reality appeared connected with every thing around me at Glenalta, quite unlike what I have ever experienced before. Do you know that I was inclined two or three times this evening to turn hermit, and live in Kerry. However, the fit will not last. The arrival of a stranger is always met with something like a flourish of trumpets, which quickly subsides, to say nothing of old Oliphant's return, which will tie a log about our necks in a day or two.

As you will have exact accounts of all that we say, as well as do, I find that I must resume my narrative in another letter. This has swelled to an unconscionable bulk. Good night. In my next you may expect a description of Coelebs and his breakfast at Lisfarne, whither I must go alone as the cousinhood seemed determined on giving a welcome to old Squaretoes, the tutor, en masse. How primitive! Vale.

Ever your affectionate friend,
Arthur Howard.

LETTER VI.
THE SAME TO THE SAME.

My dear Falkland,

If this be true, as the old spelling books have it, and as I saw confirmed to day, by the authority of a village schoolmaster, who had a large class operating upon the above sapient apophthegm, which served as a copy in the school, and which I have adopted for the heading of my letter instead of an extract from some "old play," I may come out at last a goodly example of rosy cheeks, full pockets, and well-stored pericranium, for here I am living a life worthy of Hygeia herself. I was up at six o'clock this morning, and according to an arrangement with Emily, had an hour's walk with her before I set out for Lisfarne. When we were retiring last night, I heard her whisper to Frederick that she meant to visit "Susan" in the morning, and on inquiry, I found that the said Susan is a poor woman residing in the mountain, for whom some present had been prepared. Now, it occurred to me that before I saw Mr. Otway at his own house, and particularly as I was to encounter him alone, I should like to hear the sketch of his history, which Emily had promised me at a future day, so following her to the foot of the stairs, I told her how entirely I repented my error, and requested her perfect forgiveness, proposing that she should seal my pardon by allowing me to be her mountain beau; and moreover, that she should come to our morning's walk prepared to gratify my curiosity. My petition was granted; a brilliant sun-rise invited us to perform our mutual engagement, and we had not made much way in the rugged ascent towards Susan Lambert's wild abode, followed by Paddy, the running footman upon such occasions, who trotted after us with a large basket, well stuffed with I knew not what, when I reminded Emily of her task, and she gave me the narrative, which I shall try to convey as briefly as I can of Phil's Life and Character.

"Mr. Otway," said Emily, "was the dear friend of my father, and so devotedly were they attached to each other, that even at school they were always called Pylades and Orestes. At the University they lived together; and the same day saw them both embark in the same profession. For the character of that loved parent who was taken from us, before his children were of an age to appreciate his various excellences, his splendid talents, exquisite taste, and uncommon attainments, I must refer you to his friend, who, it is probable will one day describe your uncle, and tell you that he was indeed 'a man whose like we ne'er shall look upon again.' I could not hope to do justice to the portrait, and will therefore not attempt to draw his resemblance. My father and mother, who seemed to have been peculiarly formed for each other, met in early life, and became mutually attached, as one might naturally suppose that two such gifted beings would be. Pecuniary circumstances alone prevented their union; but while their happiness was retarded, their affection was tried in the furnace, and came out purified. Mr. Otway was the sole guardian of their secret, and the only support of their long deferred hopes. After years of devoted constancy, they were rewarded at last by such domestic felicity as I have heard from Mr. Otway falls to the lot of very few on earth, and was too perfect for continuance in a world designed by its Great Creator to serve only as a vestibule to more abiding mansions. The friends were separated by the tide of events, but never ceased to correspond. Once, and I believe but once, imagining that he had found a resemblance of my mother, Mr. Otway's affections were engaged, and he resigned himself to the fascination of such an attachment as only minds of lofty pitch are capable of feeling at once noble, disinterested, and devoted. The lady whom he loved was rich, while, he at that time, was a younger brother, and but slenderly provided for. The dread of being suspected of mercenary motives, sealed his lips; and a man of fortune making his appearance, the object of his thoughts proved how little worthy she was of such a being, by marrying this more opulent suitor after a very short acquaintance. So dreadful was the shock which our dear friend's sensitive nature sustained upon this unexpected event, that his life nearly fell a sacrifice to the conflicts which he endured. My father and mother were now his staff and solace in the hour of trial; and their tender solicitude, aided by time, restored to comparative peace that generous spirit which had nearly sunk under the pressure of disappointment. He travelled, and ere the expiration of many years, was recalled to England, by the death of his elder brother, which event was followed at no great distance of time by that of Mr. Stanhope, the husband of her who had so cruelly trifled with his happiness. Mrs. Stanhope was the mother of an only child, and the noble character of our friend overcoming every selfish retrospect, cast off the memory of past wrongs, and he stepped forward to offer the aid of his best services to the widow and the orphan, without, however, I believe, even for a moment, entertaining the remotest idea of renewing his suit. His lot had been cast; he had retired from what is called the world, and though so far from becoming a misanthrope that all his fine qualities appeared to expand when he obtained the means of making others happy; yet he never seemed to calculate upon any change in his own situation. Though delicacy and feeling prevented him from ever uttering a harsh sentiment, his friends were of opinion that he had arrived at a full conviction of having misplaced his affections in early life; and that conviction once attained, he never sought to hazard a new experiment.

But the care of young Stanhope became a favourite object, and no assistance which the most efficient friendship could bestow was withheld from the boy's mother. Lisfarne was part of the property which devolved to this invaluable neighbour of ours by his brother's bequest; and the retired beauty of the scenery determined him to make this his asylum. His next object was to induce the beloved companions of youth, who had shared the gladness of his brightest, and dispelled the clouds of his darkest days, to come and live in his immediate vicinity. He purchased Glenalta for my father, and by his good taste and activity, transformed its rude wilds into the little paradise which you see. Here resided the happiest family which, I believe, ever existed; but I cannot talk of home, I must proceed with the story which I promised you:—Mr. Otway received a letter from a Solicitor in London, to say that the interests of his young ward (not that he was legally so) required his immediate attendance in town. It was to him a most disagreeable undertaking. A recluse through long habit, and devoted to the society of Glenalta; active in the discharge of such multiplied duties at Lisfarne, as could ill spare his vigilant eye and beneficent heart, it was great pain to set out upon a journey without understanding its object, and plunge anew into scenes which he had abjured in idea for ever. But dear Phil. only hesitates till he has satisfied himself concerning what is right to be done, and there is no farther pause—he proceeds to execution. To London he went, and never shall I forget how much we longed for his return; and what blazing fires of heath telegraphed his approach upon our neighbouring hills. On reaching town, he only waited to refresh himself before he set forward to the Solicitor's, from whom his summons had issued, and the mystery was soon unravelled. Mrs. Stanhope had married a young fortune-hunter, and was endeavouring to prevail upon her son, then a child of fourteen, to make a settlement on his pennyless stepfather. Relying on the influence of her former attractions, she had prepared a scene, and desiring her Attorney carefully to abstain from giving Mr. Otway the least intimation of her new tie, she burst upon him in the moment of his entrance at Mr. Scriven's house, dressed in fashionable attire, which had succeeded in all the gay colouring of a London milliner's shop, to the garb of sorrow in which he had seen her arrayed in one personal interview after her husband's death. The only time of their meeting had been upon that occasion, when he begged permission to consider himself as guardian to her child, thus proving that, though he had ceased to love, he still felt the kindest and most sacred interest in her fate. Disgusted now beyond the power of controlling his feelings, he put a speedy termination to a conference, the manner, as well as the matter of which had excited his utmost indignation; and assuring her that if any undue advantage was taken by her influence over the minor, a suit should be immediately commenced against her and her husband, he took a hasty leave. Frightened by these menaces, the lady retired, and soon announced her departure to the Continent, where, about two years ago, she died of a broken heart. Mr. Otway's business completed, he quickly returned to his favourite retreat, and loved to wander alone along the beach which surrounds a part of his demesne. My dear father once caught him upon a rocky promontory with pencil and paper in his hand. The question of 'what is that? Has Otway secrets with me?' was answered by 'it is a worthless scrap; take it, but Henry touch not that chord again—it jars upon my ear, and spoils all harmony.' I will now read you the lines which my father obtained by this surprise. It is the only poetry which even mamma has ever seen of her friend's writing.—Here Emily read to me the following stanzas:—

On first seeing Stella in a coloured dress after her second marriage.

"These lines," continued Emily, "first taught my parents the nature and extent of those feelings which had outlived the blights of early hope. They appear to prove that, however shipwrecked had been his own happiness, Mr. Otway had respected a perfect freedom of choice, and, though Mr. Stanhope differed widely from him, he had tutored his unselfish soul to consider this rival as the successful candidate in an election, the honourable fairness of which he had no right to question. It would seem that, in the depth of his heart, Mrs. Stanhope's pardon had been sealed, and when the death of her husband released her from her first vows, a romantic mixture of affection, which borrowed a reflected glow from the memory of brighter days, and that high and delicate respect of which the most refined and exalted minds alone are capable, spread round the consecrated image a mantle of fond protective kindness, akin perhaps to love, as pity is said to be, but so beautifully tempered, that it would never have passed the sacred boundary of friendship pure as angels might have breathed. The unseen bonds which had silently preserved connection between our friend and a woman whom I can never believe to have been at any time deserving such attachment as he bestowed, was rudely severed by Mrs. Stanhope's late conduct; and, for some time, the impression which such levity as was discovered in her second ill-assorted marriage made upon a mind almost morbidly sensitive, threatened to impair the benevolence of a character formed to shed on all around an atmosphere of happiness; but a strong sense of religion, which is the pole-star of his every action, gained its second victory; and time gave him back, once more unshorn of his beams, to be the life and animation of that little society who enjoy the blessing of his presence. I must hurry you through the remaining part of my memoir, not only because we are arriving at Susan's cabin, but also because it is so interwoven with the sorrows of Glenalta, that I fear to trust myself with a theme too fresh in recollection to bear the light; suffice it to say, that Heaven has given us such a friend in Mr. Otway, as no measure of gratitude can ever repay."

Emily paused, and I expressed my warm interest in her narrative, and thankfulness for the eloquent sketch which she had thrown off; but as my evil genius never even dozes in the county of Kerry, what should I unfortunately add, but "Phil. indeed is a treasure, and I rejoice for you all in such a tower of strength as his friendship affords to my aunt and her family. Frederick too is, I dare say, his object, and will inherit his possessions."

Emily blushed scarlet; her eyes were instantly suffused with tears, and she seemed ready to choke; but, recovering herself in an instant, with a little effort she said, "Arthur, I will not attribute any thing of this sort to motives unworthy of you; I am determined to set down to the mode of your own education whatever may appear like want of feeling. You are mistaken in your surmises; but, while it pleases God to continue to us the happiness which we now enjoy, let us not embitter life by dreadful anticipations."

We reached the hut to which we were bound, and I had no time for reply: I could only remark, in my own mind, on the difficulty of accommodating the ways of the world to the peculiarities of these simple folks; yet, at the same time, no doubt it is a pleasanter sensation to be "Alcibiade ou le Moi," rather than cherished for the sake of one's money.—On entering the cabin, alias cottage, we found a boy of about twelve years old nursing a weeping infant, and vainly endeavouring with one hand to scrape together a few expiring embers, while a poor woman, apparently in the extremity of weakness, lay in a corner, upon a miserable bed. "Susan, how do you do?" was answered faintly by, "very ill, dear miss." "Where is Nancy?" "Gone to the fair to buy a bit of flannel for the child, and her father is gone with her to sell our slip of a pig."

"Arthur," said Emily, throwing off shawl and bonnet in an instant, "here is work to be done, and we must not be idle. You have taken Frederick's place this morning, and will kindly, I am sure, perform his duty: fly and bring me a good bundle of dry heath, or any thing else that you can find of which we can make a fire. Paddy, bring me a pitcher of water directly; and you, Tommy, give me your little sister, and settle the turf in a moment." So saying, she took the child, and soon set the poor thing at rest with some milk, which the basket contained, while I, glad to make the amende honorable by my alacrity, went off as if quicksilver were in my heels, to rummage up whatever combustible the mountain afforded. I was successful, and got credit for my speed. You never saw any thing like the magic of Emily's operations: as if she had been a peasant born, she broke up the sticks which I had gathered, and, blowing with her breath, for the cabin was unfurnished with bellows, she had a blazing fire in five minutes. Then, with a neatness and dexterity which would have done honor to a Welch inn, she washed an old sauce-pan, and put some meal into it to make gruel; hushed the baby to sleep, and, after laying it by the poor mother, and giving the latter a little weak wine and water, she desired Paddy to remain and stir the gruel till her return; then, taking my arm, hurried down the hill, and crossing a field which we had not come through before, tripped lightly up to a half-ruined gate, which was fastened by a twig to an old post, and disengaging this rustic band, lifted the frame, and we were in the adjoining space before I perceived that my fair cousin, to avoid interrupting our conversation, had performed the office of pioneer, which, according to all the laws of chivalry, should have fallen to my portion. I was going to apologize, when Emily pointed to a path, and turning into another herself, bid me fly, or I should be late at Lisfarne. We shook hands, and separated; and as I walked on alone, I could not help moralizing on the novelties which daily present themselves to my view. Lighting a fire, boiling gruel, sweeping up a cabin-hearth, and singing lullaby to a squalid infant in a dirty dress; and all this done and executed as if custom had rendered the whole business perfectly familiar, by a young lady of family and education; a scholar too, well read in Greek, Latin, Italian, French,—skilled in botany, chemistry, and I know not how much more; in short, a Blue to all intents and purposes. It is certainly neither more nor less than an anomaly which as yet I am unable to account for.

The Douglas girls are totally divested of affectation. Whatever they say or do, is said and done without the slightest reference to effect farther than this, that the best tact seems to regulate every word and action. The desire to impart pleasure makes them sure to please, and the dread of giving pain must, I think, render it impossible that they should wound one's feelings. Beyond this limit my cousins know no art. I fancy that I see a half-suppressed smile curling on your lip, as you exclaim, mentally at least, "What a revolution! Why here is Howard talking sense like a doctor of the Sorbonne!"

I confess to some very sober thoughts as I jogged on to Lisfarne; but as I was alone, I had nothing else to do except to muse and moralize; however, no triumph. I enter a caveat against any manner of rejoicing. I have not read my recantation, having a just dread of hasty judgments, and also of old Oliphant: he is the Mordecai sitting in my gate, and another week at Glenalta may bring out a very different story.

In four-and-twenty hours Kill-joy will have arrived, and then comes Sunday, as if at one blow to crush one's spirits to annihilation.

These were my lucubrations en chemin faisant, and just as I reached the hall-door at Lisfarne, the nine-o'clock bell ushered me in with eclat, though as little hinging upon my entrée, as the thunder and lightning which happened to synchronise with the poor Jew's carousal over a pork steak at Genoa. I was met at the threshold by Mr. Otway, who smiled a delightful welcome, and, taking me by both hands, accosted me with, "My dear Howard, I am heartily glad to see you at Lisfarne, and not the less so, because you are punctual. You should have had your breakfast at any hour; but I love to see young people recollective." I did not think it exactly honest to appropriate this compliment of the old school to myself, as I certainly never deserved it in all my life, and therefore expressed my happiness at not having kept him waiting; but handed over to Emily the whole merit of Cindarillaship in this my first visit at Lisfarne.

"Emily is a charming creature," answered mine host, "but that is nothing wonderful at Glenalta, where such a mother presides. Howard, you have the good fortune to reckon amongst your nearest relations, a little group whose virtues would save the universe from destruction, were the divine vengeance to over-take a guilty world, as in days of yore.—How do you like your aunt and cousin?" "Extremely, were I to judge by what I have seen; but we are new to each other, and they are very kind in excusing all the blunders which a man wholly unused to retirement is liable to make in a circle where a much higher standard of moral feeling prevails than that which governs what we call 'the world.'"

Mr. Otway looked benignly at me, saying, "Come, we must not get into a discussion now; you deserve your breakfast, and shall not be interrupted." And a capital breakfast we had.

A beautiful Newfoundland dog lay at his master's feet; a fine tortoise-shell cat purred upon the back of his arm-chair; and the windows were presently assailed by an army of supplicants in the shape of the finest pea-fowls that I ever saw.

"See what it is, Arthur, to be an old batchelor! I am obliged to keep my affections from becoming stagnant, you find, by practising them upon all these birds and beasts which you perceive are my companions as well as pensioners." After feeding the numerous host, we sallied from the breakfast-parlour, and Phil. escorted me to his study, a most comfortable apartment, and well lined with books. He has a beautiful collection of the classics, all the best modern works of science, and a rich assortment of history and Belles Lettres. While I was glancing over this, he pointed to a compartment in the far end of the room, desiring me to examine its contents. "There I keep my novels, reviews, and magazines; for you know, that 'all work and no play would make Jack a dull boy;' and as I suppose that you do not intend to read yourself into a consumption while you stay at Glenalta, I give you a letter of credit on whatever amusement these shelves can supply." In this Poets' Corner I found Scott's works, both in prose and verse; several other modern novels of good name; and all the early poems of Lord Byron. "I perceive," said I, "Mr. Otway, that you have not yet completed your set of Byron's works; you have not got Don Juan, nor—" "Nor never shall, my young friend," answered the sage of Lisfarne. "I cannot prevent people who have money to buy and inclination to peruse, from reading these works; but they shall not find them in my library." "Then, sir, you are, I presume, of opinion that one cannot separate the poison from the poetry, and avoid imbibing the one, while we enjoy the exquisite beauty of the other."

"No, my dear boy; these are idle notions. Wherever vice is an ingredient in any compound so mingled as to seize upon the passions, or delight the imagination, the draught will always be injurious more or less. Even those minds of finer mould than we commonly meet with, will not escape, though they hate the contact, they cannot shun its defilement; and that which is impure, must sully whatever it touches." "Well, I should have supposed that good taste would protect a man of refined education. In fact, such a man rejects whatever is coarse, and simply vicious: he reads Lord Byron, not because of his occasional deviations from religion and morality; but in spite of them he admires the splendid genius who of all modern writers best understands, if I may so express myself, the metaphysics of the human heart, while every man of feeling must lament the shipwreck of such talents. The broad-cast pollution which is necessary to season a mess for vulgar palates, must be pernicious in the highest degree; but I confess I have never felt in the same way of those polished compositions which are only read by people of superior attainment, and who are fortified against evil by knowledge of the world."

"Alas, Howard, these are nice distinctions, and lead but to delusion. Our morals are much like a taper lit at each extremity, they are consuming at both ends. You talk of coarse messes, seasoned to the taste of vulgar appetite: believe me, it is a melancholy fact, that there are cooks who undertake to cater for nicer stomachs, and who know how to insinuate their poisons with such skill as to secure the custom of all who are not proof against their temptation. That number, I fear, is small; and as to the difference between vice well and ill dressed, you will find that it is about the same with that which distinguishes Tilburina stark mad in white satin, from her confidante stark mad in white linen. Amongst the mal-contents of the present day, you hear the complaint continually repeated, that there is one law for the rich, and another for the poor: the charge is unfounded, and, generally speaking, known to be so by the men who bring it forward. It will neither do to have two sets of laws, nor of morals, in any country. The tendency of all ranks in the community is to imitate those who are placed above them; and this aspiring inclination is to be traced from the lowest grade in society, till having reached the throne, you can rise no higher. The self-same rule applies to religion. I was glad to hear you say yesterday at Glenalta that you felt the absolute necessity of its influence in a state for the preservation of order and virtue; and that you considered women as the natural guardians of its altars. This is all right; but you are egregiously mistaken if you suppose that women will, generally speaking, take pains to nurture and cherish what is despised by the other sex. There are a few, and very few, such beings as your aunt, who appear to have dropped into our planet from some happier sphere, and who adjust their principles of action to a model of abstract perfection, with which common-place mortals are unacquainted. Such beings only think of how to please God; but the mass of men and women dress themselves daily in the mirror of each other's approbation, and act reciprocally on each others' characters. Let one sex degenerate, it matters not which, you will find the other follow in the downward course."

"But, my dear sir, these authors whom you decry, do not create vice, they only exhibit it; and though I do not advocate the practice, yet after all it would seem that men need not be much worse for reading, than for hearing and seeing what is exceptionable. If infidelity and immorality were only propagated by books, your argument against such writers as Lord Byron would be unanswerable. But allow me to say, that the Bible itself, in the strongest terms, insists on the depravity of the human species, and offers the most flagrant illustrations in proof of human delinquency. The hardness of heart, and unbelief of man, are frequently held up to view in Holy Writ; and what does a Rochefaucauld in prose, or a Byron in verse, do more than represent things as they are?"

"If you consider the matter for a moment," replied my opponent, "I fancy that you will be at no loss to discover some striking differences which will sufficiently answer your question. The evil tendency of such writers as Rochefaucauld, and all the class of satirists, who represent man as a debased and hypocritical animal, does not proceed from the truth of the picture, but from the manner of the painter. The scriptures indulge us in no 'lying vanities;' they speak of the human race as born in sin and the children of wrath; and Conscience, when we attend to her voice, confirms the humiliating charge, with uncompromising fidelity. But while the Bible, and those who preach its doctrines, point out the disease, they likewise present the antidote. If they proclaim the deformity of the natural man, it is to shew how the crooked may be made straight; if they expose his weakness, it is to impart strength; if they display his corruption, it is but to invite him to wash in those waters which cleanse from all impurity. But such moralists as you support, if moralists they can be called without absurdity, would seem intent on excusing vice. The effect of their books is, as it were to legalize iniquity, by representing it as invincible, and to destroy all sense of shame by laying bare its concealments. Whatever produces this result by means of a pungent and sententious brevity, is doubly injurious; for the authority of a maxim is thus combined with the stimulus of evil: the form is thus rendered portable and adhesive; and truths conveyed in an epigrammatic shape at once flattering to our sagacity in an appeal to its accuteness, and soothing to our faults by pronouncing them to be universal, are not likely to be viewed as subjects for serious lamentation; and the danger is, that the generality of men will contemplate the moral sketches with feelings similar to those commonly inspired by a spirited cariacature; namely, a desire that the object of ridicule may continue to exist, rather than not be so strikingly pourtrayed. As to Lord Byron, who stands pre-eminent, like Milton's Satan, at the head of all the mischief-workers of the present time, his poison is of another kind: slow and penetrating, it is inhaled in the breeze, and absorbed into the circulation; its effects are of the morbid class; it seduces, it insinuates, and, like opium too freely used, destroys every healthful function of the mind, and substitutes the distempered energy of an over-wrought imagination for the wholesome exercise of reason and the sweet charities of the heart. His beautiful poetry, and an inexhaustible source of talents, rare as they were brilliant, operate as cords which draw all mankind after him in bonds of submission. Descriptions of nature or character, external to ourselves, however happy in their delineation, interest but feebly in comparison with what you justly call the 'metaphysics' of sentiment. This is the most fascinating of all possible studies; it requires no labour, it asks no preparation; and all people, whatever their pretensions in other respects, conceive themselves qualified for the school of mental analysis which Byron has instituted and endowed. A bad husband, a bad son, a bad father, has but to retire to some 'rose-leaf couch, where, nursing his dainty loves and slothful sympathies,' he may find, in a volume of this too-attractive bard, an apology for every sin of temper, every violation of duty; nay, so contagious is the influence of this Byron-mania, that our young men cultivate the failings of their chief, and seem to fancy that in becoming imitators of Childe Harold's eccentricities, they may slide into his unrivalled genius. Selfishness and egotism are to be found in the fallows of many a mind; but where are our youth to learn Lord Byron's recipe for compounding them?"

Though not convinced, I was excited, and ventured again into the field, by asking Mr. Otway whether good does not grow out of evil? "Surely," said I, "Truth, like a lazy corporation, would rely upon its charter, and have nothing to do but fatten on its revenues, were it not for opposition.