glass that told her she was beautiful, but its pleasing tale was easily believed-for perfumed youths endorsed its truth, and whispered Fanny that she was worthy of a higher lot than that of toiling the humble wife of dingy labour. Those secret meetings-those long walks by moonlight -those stories of soft affection, and those brilliant hopes! Day by day home grew more distastefulits recurring cares more wearying-the slightest rebuke more harsh, and Fanny fled. That home is desolate now. The old father is dead, the mother dependent upon charity, and the daughter is here, the companion of felons, if not a felon herself.

Another! that dogged look, man, scarcely hides the wretchedness within. You may, if it seems best before these idle starers, assume the mask of sullen fierceness. "Who cares," is all well enough, indeed, but still the thought travels back to days of innocence and happiness. You set out in the pursuit of pleasure and enjoyment, but it has come to this at last; all your frolickings and drinkings-your feastings, your ridings, and your gamblings. You were trusted once, I hear-your wife and children were happy around you. But you were not content. There were chances to grow rich rapidly-to enjoy a luxurious ease all your life, and to compass these you were false to your trust. Shame and disgrace ensued; dissipation environed your footsteps, and more daring vice soon followed. It is a short step from the doings of the swindler to the desperate acts of the burglar or the counterfeiter. You, at least, have found it so. Well, glare sternly around you-turn upon the spectators with the bitter smile of defiance. It will be different anon, in hopeless solitude-the past strewed with the wreck of reputation-the future all sterility.

Here is one who had a golden infancy. Where was there a child more beautiful than he? No wonder his parents thought no cost too great for his adornment. Who can be surprised that caresses were lavished upon the darling, and that his tender years knew no restraint. But it was a strange return in after time, that he should break his mother's heart-plunder his father, and become an outcast in the lowest haunts of vice. Were the graces of Apollo bestowed for such a purpose?

This fellow, now, was destroyed by too much severity. His childhood was manacled by control. Innocent pleasures were denied his slightest faults were roundly punished--there was no indulgence. He was to be scourged into a virtuous life, and, therefore, falsehood and deceit became habitual-yes, even before he knew they were falsehood and deceit; but that knowledge did not much startle him, when the alternative was a lie or the lash. Had the cords of authority been slackened a little, this man might have been saved; but while the process of whipping into goodness was going on, he paid a final visit to the treasury and disappeared. Being acquainted with no other

principle of moral government than that of fear and coercion, he continues to practise upon it, and helps himself whenever the opportunity seems to present itself of doing so with no pressing danger of disagreeable consequences. Mistakes, of course, are incident to his mode of life. Blunders will occur, and, in this way, the gentleman has had the pleasure of several rides in the "Black Maria."

Here is an individual, who was a "good fellow," -the prince of good fellows-a most excellent heart so much heart, indeed, that it filled not only his bosom, but his head also, leaving scant room for other furniture. He never said "no" in his life, and invariably took advice when it came from the wrong quarter. He was always so much afraid that people would be offended, if he happened not to agree with them, that he forgot all about his own individual responsibility, and seemed to think that he was an appendage and nothing more. Dicky Facile, at one time, had a faint consciousness of the fact, when he had taken wine enough, and would say, 'no, I thank you," if requested to mend his draught. But if it were urged, "Pooh! nonsense! a little more won't hurt you," he would reply, "Won't it, indeed?" and recollect nothing from that time till he woke next day in a fever. Dicky lent John his employer's cash, because he loved to accommodate, and finally obliged the same John by imitating his employ. er's signature, because John promised to make it all right in good time; but John was oblivious. The Black Maria" has a voluminous budget, -she could talk all day without pausing to take breath. She could show how one of her passengers reached his seat by means of his vocal accomplishments, and went musically to destruction, like the swan-how another had such curly hair that admiration was the death of him-how another was so fond of being jolly that he never paused until he became sad-how another loved horses until they threw him, or had a taste for elevated associations until he fell by climbinghow easily, in fact, the excess of a virtue leads into a vice, so that generosity declines into wastefulness, spirit roughens into brutality, social tendencies melt into debauchery, and complaisance opens the road to crime. We are poor creatures all, at the best, and perhaps it would not be amiss to look into ourselves a little before we entertain hard thoughts about those who chance to ride in the "Black Maria;" for, as an ex-driver of that respectable caravan used to observe, "there are, I guess, about two sorts of people in this worldthem that's found out, and them that ain't found out--them that gets into the Black Maria,' and them that don't happen to be cotch'd. People that are cotch'd, has to ketch it, of course, or else how would the 'fishal folks'-me and the judges and the lawyers-yes, and the chaps that make the laws and sell the law books-make out to get a livin'? But, on the general principle, this argu. fies nothin'. Being cotch'd makes no great difference, only in the looks of things; and it happens

often enough, I guess, that the wirchis looking gentleman who turns up his nose at folks, when the constable's got 'em, is only wirchis because he hasn't been found out. That's my notion."

And not a bad notion either, most philosophic Swizzle, only for the fault of your class--a little too much of generalization. Your theory, perhaps, is too trenchant--too horizontal in its line of division. But it too often happens that the worst of people are not those who take the air in theBlack Maria."

Still, however, you that dwell in cities, let not this moral rumble by in vain. Wisdom follows on your footsteps, drawn by horses. Experience is wagoned through the streets, and, though your

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temptations be many, while danger seems afar off, yet the catastrophe of your aberrations is prophetically before the eye, creaking and groaning on its four ungainly wheels. The very whip cracks a warning, and the whole vehicle displays itself as a travelling caution to all who are prone to sin. It is good for those who stand, to take heed lest they fall. But we have an addition here which should be even more impressive in these times of stirring emulation. Take heed, lest in your haste to pluck the flowers of life without due labour in the field, you chance to encounter, not a fall alone, but such a ride as it has been our en deavour to describe-a ride in the "Black Maria."

PART THE THIRD.

DURING their ride, the good Andrew Macrimmon entertained Eunice Rookley with an account of the present state of his domain, and of the land that he had added to it since the farm had come into his hands from his father, who had settled there more than half a century ago: half a century in America being as much as a whole one in Europe. And he promised to show her the plaid and the blue-bonnet that his affectionately-remembered parent had brought with him from Scotland. He also stated, with unequivocal symptoms of exultation, that his maternal grandfather "had been out in the '45," and had suffered accordingly. Therefore, he had taken care to bring up all his children staunch Jacobites, and strong rebels; imbuing them with a proper contempt for the royal race of Hanover. "Each of my daughters" -said he has charge of a white rose-bush, raised from one that was planted by my honoured father, as soon as he had a place to plant any thing in. And always on the 10th of June, (Prince Charles's birth-day,) they stick white roses in their hair, and the boys and I wear them in our buttonholes, and my wife pins one to her side, and fills the old chimney jars with them. I have taught the children the songs I learnt from my respected father, who was a capital singer of our old country ballads. And you have no notion how we give it to the Hanoverians sometimes of an evening. 'Tis a great satisfaction to know that Deacon Howlet, my wife's uncle, had the good fortune to be in New York at the very time the people pulled down the leaden statue of old king George from its pedestal in the Bowling Green, and put a rope round its neck, and hauled it through the streets, and then melted it for the lead, and cast it into bullets. He used to tell this every Fourth of July."

Towards noon they stopped at a road-side inn, to feed and rest the horse, and take a regular dinner, on which Mr. Macrimmon insisted, for the benefit of his old friend the landlord: notwithstanding the ample supplies afforded by Eunice's well-filled basket.

In the afternoon, as they pursued their ride, the good farmer becoming less warlike, descanted eloquently on the subjects of ploughing, sowing, reaping, and mowing; with digressions as to the varieties and properties of different soils. To all this did Eunice Rookley most seriously incline;

for she was possessed of the enviable and everpopular quality of being a good hearer; particularly when her mind was chiefly engrossed by any private subject of her own. Still it was cheering to find that her thoughts dwelt less on Mr. Stackhouse in the afternoon than in the morning; a sign that time and distance had begun to lessen the impression.

At length they came in sight of Glenbucket; and Eunice recognized the broad old-fashioned mansion, which, though built of wood, was most substantially constructed, and always kept in excellent repair. It exhibited a pleasing contrast of colours: the main house being painted red, with yellow window-frames; and its two wings yellow, with red window-frames. The out-buildings had become so numerous that Glenbucket looked like a small village. Indeed we have seen towns with high-sounding names, that did not make half so good a show. Beside the spacious barn and stables and dairy-house, there was a poultry-house far superior in size and comfort to many of the log-cabins in the new settlements; and an immense sty, in which the pigs were accommodated "like christians," as the neighbours disapprovingly said. A large space was covered by a long low sheephouse, in which the flock in wintry weather was "lodged below the storm." On the farm of Glenbucket all living things, from the cattle down to the pigeons and bees were well-sheltered, wellfed, and well cared-for; and their owner received a rich return for his outlay, in their exemption from diseases, their thriving condition, and the consequent profit they yielded him. To shade the numerous buildings, trees had been 'transplanted from the woods; but they were trees that produced late autumnal fruit; for instance, chestnuts, walnuts, shellbarks, and persimmons; all of which were improved by cultivation. In the garden no time or money had been expended on rare or exotic plants; but in the summer it was gay with a profusion of flowers that were not the less beautiful for being common; and it was always abundantly stocked with the best vegetables of the

season.

A hedge of barberry bushes grew close to the fence that enclosed the apple-orchard, which lay along one side of the broad and well-shaded lane leading up to the house. On the other side were the out-buildings of the farm. On entering this lane, Macrimmon directed the attention of Eunice to the cider-mill which stood under the shel

ter of an enormous tree, and was then at work, surrounded by immense heaps of ripe apples, that had been gathered in, and laid ready for the press. At the mill were the two younger sons of farmer Macrimmon, lads whose cheeks were as round and as red as the apples with which they were feeding the cider-press. The elder son had gone to Cuba with a cargo of produce from the farm. Their father stopped the chaise to speak to them, and they came and shook hands with their cousin Eunice. From a bench under the tree, rose up a tall perpendicular man, with a remarkably steadfast countenance. The farmer in a low voice informed Eunice that this was Mr. Longman, master of the district school. Mr. Longman selected from the heap an enormous apple, and, advancing with it stiffly in his hand, presented it to Miss Rookley, on being introduced to her; and then he said something about Adam and Eve. The words of the compliment were rather less intelligible than the act; but Eunice gathered an agreeable meaning from them, took the apple with a gracious smile, put it into her capacious reticule, and told Mr. Longman that he was very polite. This information seemed to give him pleasure. Yet, as he walked beside the chaise, while it drove slowly up the lane, he modestly put in a disclaimer, assuring the lady that he had never made politeness his study. She obligingly replied, that there were persons to whom politeness came so naturally as to require no study. He answered with becoming candour, that he had always been a very plain man. Miss Rookley thought it would be better for the world, if there were a greater number of plain people among its inhabitants. Mr. Longman approved the sentiment, but was rather surprised to hear it from a city lady. He assured her, however, that it was by no means his intention to disparage the graces; and that an acquaintance with them was undoubtedly desirable. Furthermore he informed her that the Greeks were generally considered the most polite people among the ancients, and the French among the moderns.

Just then the conversation was stopped by the stopping of the chaise at the door of the house, where all the female part of the family were assembled. Mr. Longman enacted another piece of politeness by assisting Eunice out of the chaise, and giving her his arm into the front-porch, where she was smilingly received by Mrs. Macrimmon, a little plump good-humoured dame, who cordially re-echoed the "welcome to Glenbucket," that her husband bestowed on their cousin; the two pretty pleasant-faced daughters timidly repeating the same.

Eunice Rookley was ushered into a spacious parlour, or keeping room as they called it, where every thing was for comfort and nothing for show. Much of the furniture had been more than forty years in the family. The chillness of the autumnal evening was taken off by an excellent wood-fire, burning upon tall andirons, placed on the cleanest possible hearth, which had been re

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cently repainted with the brightest red. A pitcher of sweet cider, fresh from the press, was then brought in, with a basket of excellent gingerbread, and all present partook of both. Mr. Longman having spoken of the goddess Pomona, and adverted to the undoubted fact that the ancients knew nothing of gingerbread, rose to depart. With praiseworthy forbearance he declined an invitation to stay to supper, but afterwards volunteered to look in at Glenbucket for an hour in the course of the evening, unless the adverse fates should decree otherwise. He took this occasion to inform the family of the impossibility of our knowing what is before us; and Miss Rookley pronounced it a truth.

Our heroine, having been conducted to the very pleasant and comfortable chamber allotted to her, changed her riding-habit for a new dress of mousseline de laine, and a handsome French-worked collar, and rearranged her hair: adjusting her curls according to the instructions of her friend, Miss Glapwell. She then came down and joined the family at the supper-table, which, in addition to tea and cakes and excellent bread, was amply supplied with chickens stewed in cream, and with honey redolent of the delicious fragrance and flavour of the buckwheat blossom; not to mention a large apple-pie, and an equally large custard. All these things Eunice gratified her entertainers by praising exceedingly, and understandingly. She even requested a receipt for the cream-chickens.

Supper being over, the family assembled round a smaller table, the females with their work, (including Eunice,) and the farmer and his sons with the newspapers brought that day from the city. No accident having happened to Mr. Longman, he came according to his prudently conditional promise, and took a seat near Eunice, kindly expressing his hope that she felt no fatigue from her journey. He then talked of Lewis and Clark's journey to the Pacific. Afterwards, seeing Jessy Macrimmon engaged in winding some yarn with a reel, which went rapidly around, he descanted on the centrifugal force; and when she dropped her ball, he spoke of the power of attraction, which causes all substances to fall towards the earth. Her sister Lizzy, having accidentally snuffed out one of the candles, and blown it in again immediately, Eunice could not forbear complimenting her on her dexterity in having so instantly changed an evil omen into a good one. This incident set Mr. Longman to giving the history of the Ghebers or fire-worshippers of Persia; and from thence, by an easy transition, he went to the first eruption of Vesuvius, during which the elder Pliny perished. Sandy Macrimmon read aloud from a newspaper, the account of a ballet performed by French dancers, at one of the Boston theatres, and the names of some of the most distinguished men of Boston, who went to see them. This reminded Mr. Longman of the invasion of the Gauls, and the subsequent destruction of the Roman senators.

On all these topics he addressed himself particularly to our heroine, who was highly flattered by the distinction, and pleased with the novelty of being talked to on sage and important subjects. She now recollected, with new-felt indignation, that when with her, the one unchanging theme of Mr. Stackhouse had always been housewifery. Though pleased at the time (owing to the blindness of love) by his making memorandums in his pocketbook of various information obtained from her with regard to preserves and pastry, she now perceived with opening eyes, that the motives of Mr. Stackhouse must have been entirely selfish; and she was properly scandalized at the idea that in all probability his new wife would avail herself of these very receipts.

Mr. Longman's visit of an hour lasted from seven till eleven; during which time the family were relieved by the dropping in of the nearest storekeeper, who was also postmaster, and talked to Mrs. Macrimmon of some goods he had just got in, and to Mr. Macrimmon of the latest news. The young men also had a visitor, in a friend who had just returned from a whaling voyage. Therefore, Eunice was the person chiefly edified by the dissertations of Mr. Longman, who spoke geologically upon Mount Ararat, and Mount Tom; hydrostically upon the Red Sea, and Long Pond; and architecturally upon the temple of Luxor, and Providence Arcade.

When all the guests had departed, Eunice gave her opinion of Mr. Longman, pronouncing him the most sensible man she had ever met with. The Macrimmon family all looked down, for they were afraid to look at each other, till the father, prit la parole, and signified that with so much knowledge and learning, Mr. Longman, was, of course, a good instructor of children, and that, beside, he was greatly respected in the district, for his probity, kindness, and unimpeachable conduct. The girls were going to say something about his formality, and his tediousness; but their mother checked them with a look, having conceived an idea which she afterwards discussed with her husband, and which both of them thought a good thing.

Eunice Rookley retired for the night highly pleased with the Macrimmons and their house; very glad that she had accepted their invitation, and quite sure that she should find her whole visit satisfactory.

Notwithstanding that our heroine had gone to sleep thinking of Mr. Longman, she found, in the morning, that she had no clear recollection of any of the subjects he had so lengthily discussed the evening before; and that, consequently, her stock of knowledge was not materially increased; and yet she thought she had listened attentively enough. Strange to say she had no difficulty in calling to mind every thing she had ever heard from Mr. Stackhouse. She even remembered his telling her that Mrs. Melton's jelly was never firm, and that Mrs. Harding's quinces were always tough.

Miss Rookley came down to an excellent breakfast with an unconscious disposition to make herself very agreeable, and therefore she succeeded. The morning was spent in going round the farm with her host, and visiting the garden, dairyhouse, and all the other houses, with her hostess. Dinner, which was in every thing excellent, took place at twelve o'clock; and, when it was over, Eunice, understanding that calls were to be expected from the neighbours, put on one of her new silk dresses, with pelerine to match. Then, taking her knitting apparatus, with which she commenced a silk purse, for no particular person, but merely as employment for her fingers, she took her seat in the parlour, with Mrs. Macrim. mon, who was occupied in the more substantial process of converting a huge ball of yarn into a stocking for her husband.

Various visitors came; and they were all females, (except the minister, who accompanied his wife and daughter,) the male neighbours having little time to perform calls, except in the evening. The impression made by Eunice Rookley on most of the guests, was, that she seemed very sociable, not at all proud, and a desperate housewife. Some expected to find her looking younger, and some older; and all of them afterwards discussed her dress.

There were only two that on comparing notes, after leaving the house, did not approve of Miss Rookley. One of them was Mrs. Rachel Ruggles, who neglected her six children, to write "tales of thrilling interest," for a weekly gazette; and had also the versatility to furnish for the upper half of the first column an unfailing supply of verses to brooks, moons, roses, &c., written expressly for that very paper, copy-right secured. Moreover, Mrs. Ruggles had published the prospectus of a selection of the most heart-sickening, and soul-harrowing of Indian murderings and settlement burnings, with elegant engravings of scalpings and tomahawkings: the whole to be published by subscription, under the title of the Potawottamies Own Book-names of subscribers all inserted-any person obtaining twenty-five subscribers to be entitled to a copy gratis. Now this lady regarded Miss Rookley as a very common-place woman, could find nothing interesting about her, and should regard it loss of time to cultivate her acquaintance.

Miss Nettles remarked that Miss Rookley seemed to be all the while talking down to what she appeared to consider the capacity of her country visitors. Miss Nettles had always heard that nothing was more insolent than to talk down to people; and very unsafe, besides, as they always find it out.

Mrs. Ruggles disagreed with Miss Nettles: asserting that Miss Rookley had not sense enough to talk down to anybody. "Besides"-said Mrs. Ruggles-"she might have seen with half an eye that I, at least, am no common person."

To be brief--several weeks passed on, and