and to preserve my fortitude, which seemed on the point of deserting me, for the approaching interview. A beautiful whole-length portrait of Adelaide hung over the fire-place, so like, so very like her when I last saw her, that, as I gazed upon it, I almost believed the years that had passed an illusion. I was awakened from my reverie by a beautiful little girl running into the room, apparently about five years old, with a little basket of flowers in her hand. I had scarcely time, however, to I left her. A tear trembled in my sister's eye, however, when she spoke of Adelaide. || Sir James, she told me, was then on the continent; but neither my mother nor herself had seen Adelaide for the last two years, though they yet corresponded. Sir James had looked on them as unwelcome visitors; and they, in their turn, could not conceal the disgust they felt at his neglect of Adelaide, nor bear to witness her dejection, the cause for which she sedulously abstained from speaking of, and they were too delicate to mention, as she seemed to wish to avoid it. Their cir-look at her ere I heard Adelaide's voice; cumstances were no longer flourishing; for Sir James's debts of honour had dissipated the greater part of his fortune. Adelaide was said to be in ill health; and there were rumours abroad that the Baronet's conduct was exceedingly harsh and unfeeling. Three children had died || in their infancy, and one only was now living-a girl. and she advanced to meet and welcome me as an old friend. I looked at her, but, gracious heavens! what a change was there! Had it not been for her voice, I could scarcely have believed that it was || Adelaide who stood before me. She was very thin-alarmingly so. I looked for the sunny smile which I remembered, but it was gone; the rose had fled from her I will not endeavour to paint my feel-cheeks-they were very pale, but her hair ings when I listened to this melancholy recital. Adelaide was unhappy! and I could offer no consolation; but I could see her, and my friendship might yet be of service to her. This resolution I resolved immediately to execute; and a few trifling matters, relative to the fortune which my uncle had left her, formed a sufficient excuse for my soliciting an interview. was still soft and beautiful, and her voice as sweet and gentle as ever. Adelaide saw in a moment the cause of my emotion. "Ah, Mr. Morton !" she said, with a melancholy smile, "I see you have forgotten the years that have passed since we met, and you find me sadly changed.” My heart was too full to speak. "I am far from well at present," she continued ; 66 my spirits, too, have left me sadly of late; but I have a little antidote here, which seldom fails to restore me in my melancholy moods;" and she drew forth her little girl and presented her to me. She was a lovely child, the very image of Adelaide herself, when she first came under my mother's protection, save that there was a shade of thoughtfulness over her sweet face, which her mother, at her age, had not. I placed her on my knee, and, encouraged by my caresses, she began prattling to me with all that bewitch It was the season of spring when I arrived at Lee Priory, a small estate of the Baronet's in the county of Dorset, || and the only one, I believe, which his propensity for gaming had left him. Ade- || laide had resided there for the last year. The situation of the Priory was in truth beautiful in the extreme: it stood on a gentle eminence, whence the eye looked out on fertile meads, rich in wood and water; and the extreme verge of the prospect was lost in the blue waves of the distant ocean. Yet there was some-ing artlessness which renders childhood thing about the Priory itself which seem- so attractive. ed to speak of desolation, as I passed through its beautiful but neglected gar- || dens, and I sighed to think how much it was in unison with the heart of its mistress. I was informed by the servant" Catherine cannot regret our separation that Lady Mantravers was at home, and I was shewn into the library, where I had time to collect my scattered thoughts, No. 41.-Vol. VII. "And how is dear Catherine?" said Adelaide. I told her that she was well, and regretted that they did not meet more frequently. "Alas!" she continued, more than I do. Circumstances, however, forbid our meeting; but I trust that your sister still thinks of me with affec 2 E tion." I endeavoured to assure her that be our last interview, Horace," she conCatherine's regard for her was as lively tinued; "why, then, O why, should I seek and undiminished as ever. "You will to hide from you, the friend of my youth, perhaps smile," replied Adelaide; "but that my marriage with Sir James has been I have a fancy that my time in this world productive of misery! An unhappy prowill be short, and the wish nearest my pensity for play lured him from his home; heart is, that your estimable mother and he seemed to exist only in a crowd. I dear Catherine would consent to take was neglected and forgotten, and he threw charge of my little treasure ;"-and she from him the love which I bore to him pointed to her infant daughter. I ex- then. Then, did I say?" cried Adepressed my hopes that she would yet live laide, as she hid her face in her hands, many years, and regain her former strength and burst into tears. "Alas! alas! my and spirits. "My physicians tell me that affection knows no decay-it will not fade I shall," she said, "but I know better- until death. Hear me," continued Adethe seeds of decay are too deeply sown to laide ; "watch over my child, I charge be eradicated; nor do I wish to live, save you, and save her from her mother's fate. for Adelaide. Life has no charms for me. Let her not give her heart and affections But, enough of this. Will you take charge to one who will break her gentle spirit by of a packet for your sister, wherein I have his unkindness, and then leave her to sorfully expressed my earnest wishes respect- row and scorn." "I will shield her from ing my child?" I readily promised to do every evil, Adelaide, that human foresight so, and assured her that I felt certain of can guard against; but, tell me," I said, their being complied with. I, however, "wherein can I serve you? Any thing hinted that Sir James might not accede. that the most sincere friendship can-' "Sir James," she said, "has seriously "No! No!" said she, hastily; " for promised never to interfere with any myself I have nothing to ask. Think of arrangement of mine respecting Adelaide ; || me as of one whose sand of life is nearly and I think he would respect the dying run out, and whose cares and sorrows will request of his wife."-" Then all shall be soon be hushed in the tranquillity of the as you wish," I exclaimed; "and for tomb. Farewell, Horace," she said, as myself, I will cherish your little Adelaide she extended her hand to me. with a father's kindness. She shall be the blessing and my prayers shall follow you, object of my solicitude, and the heiress of who have promised to be the faithful my fortune!" "God bless you, Horace!" guardian of my child."-" God for ever said Adelaide; and her whole countenance shield you, Adelaide," I cried, as I tenlighted up for a moment with unusual derly kissed her hand; and, disengaging brilliancy. "I believe, and accept your myself from the grasp of her little girl, I kind offer. Oh, you know not the weight quitted the apartment. of anguish from which you have relieved me." "My It was my last interview with Adelaide. -I saw the being whom I had so fondly loved no more! When the cold winds of autumn swept the leaves from the trees, Adelaide was at rest in the grave; her gentle spirit had passed away from this scene of sin and suffering. I have faithfully fulfilled my promise respecting her child. Ten years have now passed away since she came under my roof; and her affectionate attentions and engaging cheerfulness enliven my declining years, and soothe the many melancholy thoughts which, even now, often press on my spirits, when I think of her mother-of Adelaide, She bent her head, and her eyes were filled with tears, which little Adelaide observing, she stole gently on the sofa behind her mother, and, throwing her arms round her neck, sought to soothe her by her infantile caresses. I was visibly affected, and I spoke of a change of climate, which might, I thought, have a beneficial effect upon Adelaide's health. She shook her head. "No! No!" said she, no change of climate will benefit me: it is too late: my illness is herehere ;" and she laid her hand on her heart: "this is broken-withered-miserable." my first and only love. She stopped for a moment, and I dared not trust myself to reply. "This may MRS. H FAMILY PICTURES. In consequence of a cordial invitation || Fielding had been educated at a wellfrom my Cousin Elizabeth, of Pendlerock known boarding-school, and might be exHall, in Craven, I arrived at this place to cessively accomplished, there were people make her a visit; her brother, my cousin who thought Mr. Fielding might have John, together with his wife, were ex- made a better choice nearer home. pected at the same time, and they had reached Pendlerock Hall a few hours before I had. My cousin Elizabeth is not handsome; but her sweetness of temper and kindness of heart, her excellent understanding, and pleasing manner, had given her many claims to the esteem and affection of her husband; and her large fortune, which had been found useful in clearing his estate, had given her some claim upon his gratitude. Mr. and Mrs. Morland had been three years married, and every body said they were an uncommonly happy couple. To be settled down to happiness, after three years' experience of the happy state, was a delightful circumstance; and, though I had not seen Mr. Morland, I was quite sure that I should esteem and love him. I found him a fine, tall, well-looking man, and I decided, in a moment, that he was all I had anticipated, all I could wish. My cousin John had always been clever, lively, spirited, and a little dashing. I thought now that he seemed rather grave; but he was now a married man, and a more serious look was natural, and even becoming. His wife was beautiful, smiling, and finely dressed; yet, though I am a great admirer of beauty and smiles, and not a small one of elegant female attire, I decided, in a moment, that I could not like her. Her beauty was real, her smiles were affected, and her dress was too fine. Mrs. Fielding was the daughter of a haberdasher in Cheapside. My cousin John saw her, admired her, bought a dozen pairs of gloves at her father's shop, and, soon after, married her. He was rich and independent, and had a right to please himself. John had not been married a year; yet it had been whispered by a very knowing lady, in his neighbourhood, who had several daughters, that she was afraid Mr. Fielding was not quite so happy as she could wish him || to be; and that, notwithstanding Mrs. I retired early in the evening, without having cause to reverse either of my decisions respecting the acquisitions made by our family. The next morning we met, to become better acquainted with each other. Mrs. Fielding, looking through a window which afforded a view of mountains, not far distant, asked her sister-in-law if she did not find this place amazingly dull. "No," replied my cousin Elizabeth," Mr. Morland favours me with much of his company." "Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Fielding, " I should never have suspected that one's husband was company." "You would have been mistaken if you had," said her husband. "But how do you manage to get through the time when you are alone?" asked the lady. "When I am alone, I read, I work, I play on the harp, or I visit my favourites in the flower garden." "Excellent! but I hope these are not all the people you visit." "No, we have some pleasant neighbours; but as they are not very near us, our visits generally last two or three days." 66 Well, I declare that would tire my patience." "No doubt of it," said her husband; ' "five minutes are enough to do that." "Elizabeth," said Mr. Morland, "what have you to propose to our friends for this | morning?" "I wish I knew what would be agreeable to Mrs. Fielding.” O, any thing, every thing. I am always agreeable, am I not, Fielding?” "Perfectly so, Madam," replied my cousin John, bowing very gravely. "Now I know you don't think so. You always fancy that I am disagreeable." "Not always. I believe not more than ninety-nine times in a hundred.” To put an end to this sort of reply and been shining; and I can tell you that the scenery of Pendlerock Park is particularly beautiful and romantic." rejoinder, my cousin Elizabeth asked the lady if she would like a drive in an open carriage; but, before she could answer, Mr. Morland said, "Why an open carriage, when there is such an appearance of rain? Don't you see the clouds on the || mountains?" "You forget, Elizabeth; they were "I did not observe them," replied my here in May, not in June," said Mr. Morcousin Elizabeth. "It is of no consequence," said Mrs. Fielding, "for I can't endure an open carriage; I fancy that I am just going to fall out of it, and that the horses are running away." "We can have a close carriage, then," said Elizabeth. "There you are wrong again," said her husband, "for the clouds are moving, and there will be little rain, probably none. Conquer your fears, Mrs. Fielding;|| you may depend upon my horses, and an open carriage will afford you a better view of the country than a close one." "I assure you it is quite impossible. I never do, I never can, conquer my fears; and as to a close carriage, you know I have been shut up in one for-how many hundred miles is it from Derbyshire, the very extremity of Derbyshire, to this place, Fielding?" "About fifteen hundred." "More or less, I suppose. Well, I know it was an overpowering distance." "Shall we take the home circuit, and walk in the park?" asked Elizabeth. "I wonder you should propose that," said Mr. Morland, " when you must know that the dew is still on the grass." "I did not think of it; but we could walk on the gravel." "That is damp." "The dew may stay as long as it pleases, and the damp must remain till it is dry, for I absolutely am unable to walk," said Mrs. Fielding. "I am excessively fond of walking, but I find it so very fatiguing, that I never attempt it now, except in Kensington Gardens; and there, you know, one has so much to see and to say, that one has not time to think of being tired." "You can walk as short a distance as you please," said Mr. Morland. "There are some elevated and dry spots near the house; indeed I am not certain that the grass may not be dry where the sun has "We had some friends staying here last June, who were delighted with it,” said Elizabeth. land. Elizabeth knew she had not forgotten, but she was silent. Her husband waited a few moments for a reply, but, finding he had lost his point, he added, "Or, if it was in June, it was at the very beginning." "It must have been so," said Elizabeth. Then, addressing Mrs. Fielding, she said, "I think you would be much pleased with the park." "I am quite sure of it," said Mrs. Fielding, "but I could not undergo the walking; you know I could not, Fielding.” "Not unless you chose to do so." "You have seen our mountains, as you drove here, for they can only be hidden when they are in the clouds; what do you think of them?" asked Mr. Morland. "Upon my honour I can't tell you,” replied Mrs. Fielding, "I only caught a view of them now and then, and we were driving with immense rapidity. But I own to you that your mountains appear to me to be only monstrous, overgrown heaps of grey stone, and the bushes which start out of them are such as may be found in every hedge. I never could comprehend why these things should be considered as beautiful." "That defect is not in the stones and bushes," said my cousin John. Certainly not," replied the lady, "but that makes no difference; however, you must own that such common things are not to be compared to Kensington Gardens.” "I do own it; they are so different that the comparison cannot be made." My cousin Elizabeth, finding that the highlands of Yorkshire possessed no attractions for her sister-in-law, told her that Mr. Morland had an excellent library, in which she might find something to amuse her. "Why should you call it an excellent library? it is only a few books," said Mr. Morland. "I think them a great number," replied Elizabeth, who, I suppose, was aware that she might express her opinion on this subject without its being a signal for dressing-room; where I have no doubt contention. that she edified her maid by her complaints of the dulness of Pendlerock Hall, and her hopes that her stay there would not be long. “Few, or many, are exactly the same thing," said Mrs. Fielding; "I am an indefatigable reader in general, but not just at this moment. Fielding knows I am a prodigious reader." My cousin Elizabeth and I moved instinctively towards her work-table; and we were no sooner seated than I exclaimed, "What an unceasing torment has John Fielding chosen! How has he exposed himself to an inundation of folly, vanity, and affectation! I could have forgotten that Mrs. Fielding was a haberdasher's daughter, if she had not forgotten it herself. She is intoxicated with her present situation in life, and presumes "I have not the smallest doubt of it; that she is qualified to shine in it by an but, really, I can't read this morning. I expensive education, which has taught her don't believe I could distinguish A from B." || nothing useful, and little that is estimable. "By an unusual effort I think you With John's penetrating eye, and strong might," said her husband. feelings, he must be miserable." "I might think your reading a prodigy, if I did not know one or two ladies who read as little as yourself." "Though my library may not deserve to be styled large or excellent, it is neither small, nor ill chosen," said Mr. Morland, " and whenever you are disposed to read, || you will find something in it worth your perusal." "There is a fine piano-forte in the drawing-room," said Elizabeth; "will you favour us with a little music?" "My brother has suffered himself to be carried away by a fine person, and he finds that it cannot make him happy," "You must excuse me," answered Mrs. || said Elizabeth; "yet I hope he is not Fielding; "for, to tell you the truth, my|| fingers are rather out of tune, and music is rather out of time in a morning; it looks so like practising." "I wonder you should have thought of music at so unseasonable an hour," said Mr. Morland to my cousin Elizabeth. "I did not know that it was unseasonable." "It was very obvious, however." Here was a fine opportunity for discussing the propriety of music in a morning, but Elizabeth suffered it to pass by, and was silent. "I do sometimes play at an evening musical party," said Mrs. Fielding; " and I believe I am considered a tolerable per- || former. You must have heard that said, Fielding." "Hearsay is not taken as evidence." "But you can judge of music yourself."|| My judgment extends no farther than the music of the Jew's-harp.-Morland, this is weary work. Shall we take a ride among your grey stones and bramble bushes? Come, you shall first shew me your horses, and then your lions." The gentlemen then took the way to the stables; and the lady, who was always agreeable, saying that she had a thousand things to do and to think of, went into her miserable. Mrs. Fielding's good humour permits him to indulge in severe retorts, which I could not support." 'Say rather her insensibility," said I. "Half his sarcasms she does not see, and the other half she does not feel. You, who could not endure them, could not possibly be exposed to them. Yet, my dear Elizabeth, something contrary to our wishes must happen to all; may I ask why Mr. Morland is continually contradicting you, and then contradicting himself?” "The one proceeds from his desire to set me right; the other from an apprehension that he may be wrong." "I am determined to esteem Mr. Morland, if possible; but is not this a favourable explanation of his behaviour?" "It is a just one. Mr. Morland is sincerely attached to me. If any other person were to speak in opposition to me, he would instantly become my champion; and if any one dared to utter an insinuation to my prejudice, it would excite his resentment." "And do you never argue in support of your own opinions?" "Rarely. Argument might irritate, but it would not convince. As it is, and as you have observed, Mr. Morland frequently corrects himself. Of what con |