people who live by the exertion of their hands, and have not been taught by education to derive advantage through the means of deception. No great road passing through, nor any extensive trade or manufac tory being established in it, the town is relieved, in a great measure, from the innovations and corruptions that will accompany an extensive intercourse. A few artists and visitors, who travel for the purpose of observation, and are more intent in surveying the beauty of nature, than in disseminating their opinions and principles, make occasional excursions through that part of the country during the summer, and are regarded by the inhabitants more as objects of curiosity and respect, than as beings whom they may venture to address and imitate.

The situation of the town itself is exceedingly romantic. The mountain Cader-Idris rises gradually from its streets, and ascends nearly three thousand feet into the air. During the winter, dense and changeable elouds roll constantly over its summit, and pour their collected waters on the head and sides of the mountain; which, descending in impetuous torrents, force down in an hun dred different directions the masses of stone and earth which happen to be opposed to their violence: while the small rivers which diverge from the foot of the mountain, being swelled by the vast influx of waters, hasten towards the ocean, and like dutiful children return into the bosom of their parent the bounties which his munificence has bestowed. When the awfulness of winter is suceeeded by the agreeable beauty of summer, the blue summit of CaderIdris is seen rising in majestic dignity towards heaven. The birds return to build their annual nests in the holes and crevices of its cliffs. The sheep reascend to browse on its eminences, and parties of inquisitive tourists, mounted on their hired ponies, are seen following their guides through the obscure paths which conduct them to the summit.

The ascent of high mountains, while it exalts and improves the mind of man, is apt to lower in his estimation the importance and dignity of his own species. A view from such an immeuse height re

duces to insignificance the objects which surround its base. Towns, villages, castles, churches, things which fill the mind with ideas of dignity as long as they are surveyed from an area which is level with or beneath their foundations, lose all their grandeur when beheld from the pinnacle of a mountain. They resemble in apparent size the toys which are made to amuse children, and the mighty framer of these objects is himself reduced to the indistinct littleness of an insect, which, may with difficulty be observed running from hole to hole among the different trifles which his ingenuity and labour have erected.

As Cader-Idris rises on one side of the town of Dolgelly, so a small river flows on the other; which, taking its course through a vale, disembogues itself into the sea at a small bathing-place called Barmouth, distant about twelve miles from Dolgelly. On the road, which leads from the latter to the former place, many beautiful and extensive views are obtained; views abounding in novel and majestic objects which fill the mind with admiration and pleasure; extensive meadows; bold projecting rocks; slopes covered with heaths of various hues; grazing herds of cattle; expanded estuaries; cataracts, which impetuously descend from heights, and, having assumed a more moderate course, become useful to mankind by turning the wheel of some mill, which, by its romantic situation, delights the eye of the traveller; and above all the towering grandeur of Cader-Idris, which terminates and embellishes every view.

This romantic spot, seldom resorted to as a permanent residence by any, except those to whom necessity has enjoined the hard condition of living ever in the same situation, was selected as a retreat by a lady, whose circumstances rendered a total seclusion from society and a cheap residence matters of the first and most important consideration. About a month previous to her removal to Dolgelly, a person had been detached thither to select a house for her residence, and to lay in such articles of furniture as were necessary to render it habitable. As soon as these arrangements

were completed she repaired to Dolgelly in a post-chaise, accompanied by an old servant and two female children.

The slightest alteration in a small town creates a cause for investigation and inquiry; for when the amusements are few, and the population scanty, people have much leisure and opportunity to enquire into the affairs of their neighbours, and much facility in ascertaining the slightest changes which take place.

Curiosity is an ancient female, the daughter of Idleness and Ignorance, and is perpetually wandering over the earth in search of the mushroom Novelty, which springs up in great abundance in those spots which are most cultivated by mankind. This, as soon as she finds, she plucks; and having plucked, throws it to her companion Gossip, to retail out to her followers and acquaintance, and immediately sets out in pursuit of fresh specimens of the same vegetable. Uneasiness and Hatred follow close at their heels, with intent to put out the eyes of the one, and cut out the tongue of the other. Sometimes they overtake and punish; but Curiosity and Gossip generally contrive to hide themselves among the multitude, and by dodging from one to another elude the search of their pursuers.

The lady we have mentioned above, was not one, whose conduct, manners, or personal appearance, were of that nature from which the inquiries of her neighbours would soon turn away, as if satiated and content. She was young and beautiful; lofty and commanding in her manners; familiar, and even playful in her conduct towards her children and servants, but reserved and distant in her behaviour to those of the town who happened to be for a short time in her company. No one knew from whence or wherefore she came to Dolgelly. She appeared to have no friends, and yet to be indifferent about making new acquaintances. Her circumstances were thought to be confined, yet she resisted every opportunity of being obliged to others. She lived secluded and separated from the world, yet was her temper cheerful and satisfied; and her voice was often heard in still evenings singing her

children to sleep with airs that seemed breathed from a bosom of easy and playful respiration. Those who are acquainted with mankind, are aware, that obscurity and peculiarity are great sources from which attention is derived. What we distinctly see, we seldom admire; mysteriousness has the same effect upon character, as the obscurity of night has upon the objects of nature. They are rendered more imposing and awful by being deprived of their distinct outline. Hence it arose, that the new resident at Dolgelly was sought after in proportion as she endeavoured to avoid the acquaintance of her neighbours, and her affairs were investigated in exact ratio to her inclination to conceal them. The young were charmed with the dignity of her manners, and the loftiness and beauty of her figure. The old were struck with the intelligence that beamed from features which bespoke a mind of elegance and refinement. Some persons sought to become acquainted with her, by professing great admiration of herself; and some by admiration of her children. A few old ladies of the town pretended to consider her as a dangerous visitant, and wished she were safe out of it before her manners should corrupt the purity of the other inhabitants: while the junior part of the female sex regarded her as a pattern of refinement, elegance, and virtue, which did honour to the town. The old clergyman declared himself convinced that his flock would derive considerable danger from her presence, and intimated that she came like Helen or Cleopatra, to captivate and destroy: while his son could find no character in history so well suited to represent her as Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, who when requested to display her jewels, pointed to her two children as the richest and most valuable ornaments she possessed. Some old gossips asserted that she had visited Dolgelly in the view to find a husband; some, that she came to get rid of one: a few declared that she had never been married; while others asserted, that she had been thrice married and had driven her first husband to the gallows, had supplied the second with a pistol,

and the third with a razor. Thus the lady, of whom we are speaking, had very innocently created much agitation in this little town, in spite of her disinclination to interfere, even in the slightest manner, with the inhabitants or their affairs: and although she might have resided in London for years, without attaining to more admiration than to have been thought a fine and accomplished woman, yet the town of Dolgelly was almost in a state of fermentation in consequence of her presence, which threatened much dirt-throwing and cap-pulling. Such are the effects of ignorance and simplicity. Sensible and well-informed people seldom exceed the bounds of approbation. Enthusiastic admiration, the start of astonishment, and the restless curiosity after persons and things, are for the most part confined to the young hearts and feeble intellects.

Time generally rectifies our opinions concerning people, and dispels those clouds of prejudice and suspicion which often overhang the cominencement of a first acquaintance. The lady, whose name was Mrs. Dawson, became in a few months an object of less attention, and the people of Dolgelly began gradually to consider her as a kind of everyday woman, who little deserved the interest and curiosity which she had once excited. It was generally unstood that she was a worthy goodhearted creature, who had certain peculiarities of disposition, which approached to insanity; or had been the victim of some misfortune, and had retired to Dolgelly to avoid those irritations which people encounter in too frequent an intercourse with the world. Being left at leisure to pursue her own inclinations, she lived almost entirely secluded from acquaintances, devoting herself to that occupation which seemed to be the most agreeable to her feelings "the education of her two children." These young creatures were at that age, when every moment is of importance, as far as regards the formation of character and the improvement of intellect. The eldest, called Emma, had attained to her twelfth year; the youngest, who bore the name of Catherine, was just eleven months

younger. In their characters there was still a greater difference. Emma was a grave, tender, docile, and studious child. Catherine was somewhat careless, volatile, lofty, and irregular. Their capacities were both naturally good, but Catherine sometimes gave her sister the superiority over her, by neglecting to study: while the reflecting and serious disposition of the elder often assumed an appearance of restraint and thoughtfulness, from which the manners of the younger were entirely free. The one was tall and delicate, like a lily which throws up a slender and brittle stem, and supports a flower, which turns its fair and snowy face towards the ground, as if the light of the sun were too powerful for its nature to encounter. The other had a ripeness in her lips, a spirit in her eye, a gracefulness of motion, and a playfulness of air which caught the attention of every beholder. Emma resembled a river at its source, pure, placid, gentle. Catherine, a river in its course, more impetuous, lively, and hasty. The one was formed to please by degrees; the other by instant effect.

Whatever difference there might be in the character and person of these children, there was none in their duty towards their parent, and their affection for each other. Having been always under her eye, and having received no instruction except from her, they could conceive nothing more amiable that her appearance, nothing more estimable than her character. A kiss from her, accompanied by a word of approbation, was considered by them as the highest reward to which they could aspire. A frown or reproach were severities which they dreaded above all things. The moment of their greatest happiness was that, when they were allowed to sit, each on her stool, at the feet of their mother, and hear her read or relate some affecting story. They would then both place their little hands upon her knees, if she happened to be sitting, and looking wistfully in her countenance listen with attention to the subject. Occasional interruptions would be made by the children or the parent. They inquired: she explained and admo