do very well. Only be careful. Never run in debt, Dorothy; never rob your tradespeople of their hardearned gains; remember it is the only species of theft of which persons in your rank of life can be guilty; and now good-bye,-I'm off to the city. Where is my hat and stick ?-you'll find them in the closet, just outside the door;-there, that will do,—it cannot but be your own fault if you are not happy and cheerful under my roof. Good-bye, my dear."

A few minutes after his departure, Mrs. Sidney entered the apartment, followed by her eldest daughter, and Miss Sharpe, the governess. Mrs. Sidney received me kindly, her daughter affectionately, and Miss Sharpe eyed me askance as though she considered me an interloper. I very soon understood them all perfectly perhaps it is a foolish fancy of mine, but I sometimes think I am quick at discerning character.

Mr. Sidney was a perfect man of business, devoted to his mercantile concerns, eager in the pursuit of wealth, yet abhorring speculation - tormentingly punctual and methodical in his habits (it was said indeed that all the clocks and watches in the neighbourhood were regulated by his movements), precise in his manners, and rigorously neat in his attire. In person he was tall, stout, and inflexibly erect; his eye was deep set, and penetrating; his brow thoughtful, as that of one absorbed in calculation; his step" plantigrade" and determined. A man he was of "cheerful yesterdays, and confident to-morrows."

Mrs. Sidney belonged to that numerous class of persons who are, at this present day, so rife in the world; persons whom La Bruyère has described as portés par la foule, et entrainés par la multitude." There was a species of moral cowardice in her disposition, a truckling to opinion, a slavish fear of outstepping the bounds of conventional propriety. This all-pervading dread influenced every action and warped every notion. "What will people say?" was

her watch-word; "We must do as others do!" was her favourite aphorism. Alas! how few there are who dare chalk out a path for themselves; how fewer still, who, having chalked it out, walk perseveringly and consistently therein! How many corroding cares and feverish anxieties would be spared to us if we could only dare to think for ourselves!—if we were but to assert our own moral dignity, and scorning the shuffling tricks, the petty manoeuvres, and dishonest practices of those who are ever hurtling and jostling each other as they strive, with an energy worthy of a better cause, to ascend yet higher and higher on the ladder of artificial society, we were but content to walk nobly and unblenchingly in the sphere allotted to us.

For aught else that appeared, Mrs. Sidney was an estimable woman, devoted to her husband; fond and proud of her children in no common degree. I am sure too she thought she did not make me feel my dependent situation; but I had a foolish pride, and was apt to be mortified when she would bid me ring the bell or fetch a chair, whilst her own boys, or two or three idle young men, were lounging about the apartment; and I have often felt the blood tingling in my cheeks on hearing her say to a stranger, who would perhaps rise politely to greet me on my entering the room, "Oh don't disturb yourself! 'tis only cousin

Dorothy."

I had certainly no right to claim deference or attention from any person, much less from young men, for I was very plain, and, worse than that, I was unpardonably dowdy looking; even dress failed to improve me-it was not true in my case, that "fine feathers make fine birds." I had but one offer of marriage during the whole time I lived with the Sidneys, and that was from an elderly gentleman (as the boys facetiously called him), of threescore and ten, who was so captivated by the skilful manner in which I bound up a lacerated foot, the property of that mis

chievous imp Dick Sidney, that, having one evening indulged in sundry liberal potations, and being the next day confined to his bed with a toe as inflamed as his temper, he sent me a proposal of marriage in due form, with a detailed statement of his funded and and landed property, and the offer of a settlementsuch a settlement! that I think it would have been the climax of virtue in any woman acquainted with his liberal intentions, not to sigh by anticipation for the "pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious widowhood; but I refused him, although my cousin Charles swore I was a fool for my pains, and Mrs. Sidney prophesied I should never have another offer. She was right, and I was right too; and so I believe they all thought when, shortly after, he married a very young lady whom he survived; she having died after four years of connubial bliss, without any visible or tangible complaint. The physicians were fairly posed, they felt her pulse, looked at her tongue, tried the stethoscope to her heart and lungs, and finally, wagging their oracular heads, pronounced it an inward complaint. Her own maid averred she died of worry. The malady or the treatment is little known in the ars medendi," but few are aware how oft it has swollen the bills of mortality.

CHAPTER III.

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;

Like twilight too her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn

From May time and the cheerful dawn;

A dancing shape, an Image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and waylay.--WORDSWORTH.
A most pernicious woman.—SHAKSPEARE.

I HAVE not yet spoken of my cousin Viola; how she came by such a name I was for some time at a loss to conjecture. I easily perceived that Mr. and Mrs. Sidney were not the kind of people to make Shakspeare stand godfather to their children; but at length I discovered that, in his younger days, my cousin Charles had been an enthusiastic admirer of Mrs. Jordan, especially in her performance of Viola in the Twelfth Night; and who indeed that has seen her can ever forget her plaintive, thrilling impersonation of that character? Poor Mr. Sidney! it was the sole tincture of romance in his composition; assuredly it may be pardoned him. And Viola Sidney, well did she become her name! You could not meet the melting gaze of her dark "unfathomable eye," you could not listen to her touching melodious voice, without being assured that so spoke, so gazed the Sicilian maid, when she gave forth the feigned story of her sister's love, by which she would have Orsino in

terpret her own. Indeed, I have often pondered over that strange anomaly in our nature, by which, so far from imbibing the faults and foibles of our parents and preceptors, we, for the most part, rush into the very contrary extreme; and so it was, that day and night are not more diametrically opposed to each other than were the feelings, pursuits, and dispositions of Mrs. Sidney and her daughter. Theirs was indeed the very antithesis of character. In truth, Viola was romantic, ardent, affectionate to a degree little common, but then she had an energy of mind, a moral rectitude of disposition, a firm and undeviating resolve, which acted as a powerful counterpoise, and together, gave a unity of character which I have rarely seen equalled.

Mrs. Sidney spared neither pains nor expense in the education of her daughters: she was most anxious that they should be instructed in every varied science, and proficients in all the branches of learning. By the bye, it is surely matter of marvel, that sciences to which a Locke, a Boyle, a Cuvier, gave every energy of their colossal minds, nor paused until they had sounded with their plummet nature's profoundest abysses, and forced earth and ocean to yield their hidden treasures; sciences, too, over which a Bacon paled by the midnight lamp, and a Newton sat outwatching the stars, are at this present day (by a subtle process in which the vivifying principle is supposed to be concentrated within the pages of a catechism) brought down to the comprehension of every young lady at a cheap expenditure of one half hour's labour per diem; whilst four or five hours are diurnally allotted by her to the manual exercise called prac tising; a division of labour this (where the hands work so much more than the head) which would cause the political economist's blood to run cold. "O monstrous! but one poor halfpenny-worth of bread to all this intolerable deal of sack."