"There remains behind, not only a large harvest, but labour, ers capable of gathering it in. More than one writer has of late displayed talents of this description; and if the present Author, himself a phantom, may be permitted to distinguish a brother, or perhaps a sister shadow, he would mention, in particular, the Author of the very lively work, entitled 'MARRIAGE.” ”—Conclusion of "Tales of My Landlord.” "The author of these works is evidently a female, and as evidently one that has had abundant opportunities of observing society in a great variety of its walks.—Add to this a keen relish for the ridiculous—a profound veneration for the virtuous—a taste in composition extremely chaste, simple, and unaffected— and perhaps the literary character of this lady has been sufficiently outlined. She has much in common with the other great authoresses of her time, but she has also much to distinguish her from them. She unites the perfect purity and moral elevation of mind visible in all Miss Baillie's delightful works, with much of the same caustic vigour of satire that has made Miss Edgeworth's pen almost as fearful as fascinating." Blackwood's Magazine. Si la noblesse est vertu, elle se perd par tout ce qui n'est pas LA BRUYERE. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. PHILADELPHIA: H. G. CAREY & I. LEA, CHESNUT STREET. THE INHERITANCE. CHAPTER I. I am not a man of law that has my tongue to sell for silver or favour of the world. JOHN KNOX. THE following day, Mrs. St. Clair was confined to bed with a severe cold and rheumatism, the consequences of her walk the preceding day. All was anxious expectation, on her part and Gertrude's, for the answer from Mr. Ramsay; but the post arrived, and brought only a note from the joyful Lilly announcing the day of her nuptials, and inviting her aunt and cousin to be present at the celebration. As Mr. Larkins had no vote, a civil refusal was immediately returned. This disappointment was only a passing knell, as the thought suggested itself that uncle Adam might not think it proper to trust a bill for five hundred pounds to the post, and would most probably send it by a special messenger. By her mother's desire, Gertrude therefore stationed herself at the window, to watch the arrival of any one likely to be the bearer of the important despatch. Not Sister Anne herself looked with more wistful eyes, or was oftener called upon to declare what she saw; and when, at length, she descried the identical old red hack-chaise, belonging to the White Bear, rocking up the avenue-not Blue Beard himself, sword in hand, could have caused greater consternation. This was an evil VOL. II. A Mrs. St. Clair had never contemplated-a personal inquiry set on foot by the awful uncle Adam, was an idea too dreadful to have entered into her imagination; and when it was announced that Mr. Ramsay wished to see Miss St. Clair, alone, her agitation was almost too much for her. Although trembling herself, Gertrude yet tried to sooth her mother into calmness; and having again and again assured her that she would not betray her-that she would take the whole responsibility upon herself, she left her to obey the summons. But her heart failed her when she reached the door of the apartment where he was, and she stood some minutes with her hand on the lock ere she had courage to turn it. At length she entered, but dared not lift her eyes to the cold sour visage, whose influence she felt even without seeing. She tried to say something of trouble and kindness; but, in the agitation of her mind, she could not put a sentence together—she could only invite him to sit down, and that she did with trepidation. But, instead of complying, Mr. Ramsay drew from his pocket an old black leather pocket-book, from which he took Gertrude's letter, and, showing her the superscription, asked "Is that your writing?" "It is," answered Gertrude in a voice scarcely articulate. "And wi' your ain free will and knowledge?" She could not reply; but, in silent confusion, bent her head. "And you're in want o'five hundred pound?" Gertrude's colour rose to the deepest carnation, while she faintly answered "I am." Mr. Ramsay gave something betwixt a hem and a groan, as he drew a paper from the very inmost pocket of his venerable repository, and held it out to her, then suddenly drawing back, and looking sternly upon her, he asked |