you to the army; I do not think it right to oppose that inclination. Go, distinguish yourself by your bravery something whispers me that you will rise to eminence in the course of a few years. I may not live to see it; but your sister, my sweet Lucy, may. Remember, Charles, she has a claim on your good fortune. I hope to live long, enough to save so as not to be quite dependent on you; but whether I do or not I commend her to your care and affection. Love and honour your sister, and you will love and honour mine and your mother's memory."

I embraced my father with the warnest affection, but my heart was too full to speak; I stammered out --Until I forget myself, I can never forget my father and my sister. But I see you are affected: I will hasten to a conclusion.

The first letter 1 received from England brought an account of this worthy parent's death. I was much shocked, but it is our duty to resign ourselves to these awful events. I immediately wrote to my sister, and from her I learned that she was left in circumstances only sufficient to board, which she did, with a friend on easy terms. It has pleased Heaven to bless me with every success my most sanguine wishes could desite, and I have now the happiness of returning to my native country, and meeting with this beloved sister unimpaired in health and affection. She lives in a small house near Portsmouth, unmarried. That she is so excites my wonder, but I have not yet enquired the reasons. The joy we felt at thus meeting again it is only in the power of such sensibility as yours to conceive. It is my intention, as soon as I can fix on a country residence, to solicit this worthy sister to reside with

ane

until I can prevail on some lady to honour me with her hand; for I own it is my wish to die a married man.'

We thanked the colonel for his narration. Congratulate us, my dear Susan, on our acquaintance with this worthy man. Maria says she had no doubt of his being what he professes. We discover every hour some new, good, or agreeable quality in him. I long to see this sister; if she resembles her brother, how amiable must she be! But I have not finished our conversation.

Your brother, I believe,' said he, thinks my visit has been long enough. I have suspected it, and this day's behaviour has confirmed it.'

We both expressed our desire he would not leave us, and began to make excuses for our brother.

I will not,' replied he, leave London. I purpose taking lodgings, and will, with your permission, pay my respects to you most days; it will be more convenient for me so to do, as here I cannot bring a servant.'

Your brother,' he continued, was always an oddity, and loved his money too well when a young man. This love has increased, as might be expected. The young man who lives with you, Mr. Wentworth, seems a sensible, amiable man; but I believe your brother does not encourage him as he deserves.'

this time has acquainted your bro

ther.'

I thought he looked rather dull at dinner,' said I.

He should rather have looked joyful,' said Maria.

The thoughts of parting with his two charming friends, I doubt not, was in his head,' observed the colonel.

I watched Maria's countenance, but I discovered very little emotion; I believe I have been mistaken. I am sorry to part with Charles, but sincerely rejoice in his good fortune. When he came in to supper, he complained of a head-ache, and went to bed. My brother did not come home till eleven o'clock, and, without making any apology, called for a candle, and marched off.

assure you; a jaunt to Windsor too! Bless me, you say, what ails the girl; is she mad? I believe I am; but not to keep you in suspence, I inform you that the colonel left our house the next day. As he intended, my brother and he parted on civil terms. For,' said the colonel, 'I considered he had two charming sisters.' He has taken handsome lodgings, and my brother and we have visited him once; but there is scarcely a day passes that he does not spend an hour or two with us. He very much pressed going into public with us, and as Maria has got over her scruples, we have been with him to the play and the opera. My penetration could now discover there was something more in all this attention than I at first suspected.

The matter will be settled in the morning,' replied the colonel in the mean while we will, if you please, follow him up stairs to our separate apartments.' So saying he took a candle, and with a smile and a bow retired.

Maria and I did not sleep half the night for talking over the conversation of the day, and I rose early to write to you.-Adieu, my dear, for the present. I smile at your idea of the colonel's falling in love with one of us. I believe he really regards us both with affection, particularly Maria: as for me, I love and admire him as a friend, but that I do not regard him in any other light is as true as that I am

Most affectionately yours,
H. VERNON.

LETTER VIII.
The Sume to the Same.

A WHOLE month has elapsed, and I have not put pen to paper to my dear friend: what shall I say for an excuse?-Plays and concerts, L

with your friend Harriet; it is her sister who has engaged him. I must tell you how all this came out. He came yesterday morning, as usual. Come, thought I, I will not be a Marplot (we had seen the Busy Body the night before): if you want, good man, to speak to my sweet sister alone, I will give you the opportunity. Accordingly I walked up stairs; and when he was gone, which was in about two hours, (what an unconsionable time, Susan!) down I went into the parlour. Maria was leaning her head on her hand, drowned in tears. Bless me,' said I, what's the matter?' 'Oh dear! Har riet,' said she, 'Iwant your advice.'— None of your oh dears!' said I; let us come to the point at once. I guess the colonel has done nothing less than offer you his hand this morning."

'He has, indeed, offered himself to my acceptance in the most unreserved manner.'

Well, I guessed so. I should like to have heard all he said: cannot you recollect, and tell me?'

This had the desired effect, and

made her smile. I wish, Harriet,' said she, he had offered himself to you.'

Thank you, sister, so do not I; but as a brother I shall adore him.' Then you would not have accepted him as a husband?'

Indeed I believe I should. What, refuse a man of his fortune! Such a man too! No, no; I should most certainly have said yes; but that is nothing to the purpose. What did you say? But I beg pardon, perhaps it is a secret.'

No, my dear Harriet,' said she, 'I have no secrets from you. I was much confounded, as you may suppose; but I gave the colonel no reason to think I was averse to the proposal.'

Well, very good,' said I: 'one cannot on these occasions, to be sure, say yes at once. But why, my sweet sister, so very grave? you look as if you repented going so far.'

Why, indeed, Harriet, I do not know my own heart. I fear I shall not love the colonel with the sort of affection I ought, and yet I feel the highest esteem for him.'

Pish!' said I; is not that sufficient? I have heard it said, love is sure to follow esteem, if the object continues to deserve it; and I am sure this colonel gives a proof of his sincerity in choosing a poor unportioned girl, when doubtless he might have met with many women of fortune, that would gladly have accepted him. I suppose you will consult Mrs. West. She will inform you all you ought to feel,'

To be sure, I shall not take any material step without consulting her.'

Here comes brother,' said I; 'shall we tell him?'

Oh no, I am not determined yet; besides, Mr. Wentworth is with him. Dear Harriet, hold your peace.'

'Well, don't put yourself in 2 flustration. I shall not speak till you give me leave; not but I think the sooner it is over the better.'

Maria accompanies this with a letter to your mother. I conclude in haste, yours, H. VERNON.

LETTER IX.

Miss Vernon to Mrs. West.

Dear and honoured Madam,

WHAT a happy girl is your Maria, in possessing a friend and adviser capable and willing to lead her through all the perplexities she may meet with! In you, my dear madam, have I through life found this friend; and to your maternal tenderness am I indebted for all the instruction my early years received, and all the credit my riper ones have gained. May I never prove ungrateful to my benefactress, by neglecting to ask her advice and approbation! My sister has informed you, from time time, of our acquaintance with colonel Ambrose. We have concurred in our sentiments of him, which are in the highest degree favourable. He is certainly a most amiable character, as well as a gentleman in the true sense of the word; I esteem, and I may say I admire him in a superlative degree. But, my dear madam, I am to acquaint you that he has offered me his hand. Now though, I regard him in the favourable light I have described, I nevet felt the least desire of being his wife; on the contrary, I feel concerned at the proposal. Am I then justifiable in becoming the wife of a man I cannot with pleasure think of as a husband? He is many years older than me, but I have never considered this circumstance as an objection. To what then can I ascribe my indifference? You wil!, perhaps, say, to my partiality for anotherg

but if I know my own heart, I am not conscious of such a partiality. I am surely then ungrateful. Reprove my ingratitude, my dear adviser, and give me your opinion bow I ought to feel and act. I dread to acquaint my brother with the proposal, because I know he will discard me if I refuse to accept it. But why should I dread it? for if I have your approbation of my conduct I shall know I have done right, and I hope I am superior to, the consideration of sordid views when my duty is concerned. Harriet, all life and spirits, owns herself incapable of advising me: but I can perceive she will disapprove my conduct if I refuse the colonel. I will not, however, refuse him, if you can think me right, after considering all I have said, in accepting him. Adieu! my dear madam. I am, with the greatest respect, yours,

M. VERNON.

LETTER X.

Mrs. West to Miss Vernon, in answer.

My dear Maria,

ance.'

coming his wife: at the same time his age is no objection, and you are not conscious of an attachment elsewhere. To what then are you to ascribe your indifference? Depend upon it, my dear, you feel exactly the same as every prudent delicate young woman would feel in your circumstances. Did you more than esteem and admire a man twice your age, it would be unnatural; and did you wish to become the wife of any man. on so short an acquaintance your prudence and delicacy would, in my eyes, stand impeached.

If his age is no objection, and you can esteem and admire him, I see no reason to suspect you will repent your choice; and if you have no partiality elsewhere, I think you have every chance of happiness with colonel Ambrose. I say nothing of interest, or your uneasy dependent situation, being sensible that to change that situation must be your wish as well as mine. I have in a very few words answered your letter. Much more might be said on the subject, but I would rather refer you to your own inclination and judgment than mine. That my dear Maria may determine for her happiness is the sincere wish of her affectionate friend,

M. WEST.

(To be continued.)

A NIGHT WALK

IN MARCH..

By J. M. L.

Hail melancholy night! mild pensive hour! How sweet amid these mould'ring walls to While beams on high the silent moon!

rove,

One regret I only had, and it was, that I could not with inquisitive eye search for the hidden primrose, Spring's earliest tribute; for much I like to find a leaf or simple blos som, that leads the mind on fancy's eagle wing to summer hours and peaceful enjoyments. Dearly do I love to idle away a summer's day beside a willow-shaded stream, my only companions contemplation and a book. Let the Cynie cry it is wrong to waste the hours given to man for better purposes in this unprofitable way; heed him not, but answer thus

Give we none to vice, And Heav'n will not strict reparation, ask For many a summer's day and winter's eve So spent as best amuses us.'

HURDIS.

Alas! and even less than this seemed to remain of the former possessors of this place. The cemetery might still be traced where slept the forgotten remains of those whom Death had, ages since, borne to their Still unsatisfied, he sweeps tombs. from the earth, with indiscriminate vengeance, the old and the young, the rich and the poor,

See! where the Shade, to strike his gasping

prey, Draws the keen dart, that never miss'd its

way;

Thron'd on the ruin of terrestrial things,
He sits, and tramples on the dust of kings.
See, his black chariot floats in streams of gore,
Pale Rage behind, and Terror strides before.
Not Beauty with'ring in the bloom of years,,
Not dove-ey'd Innocence dissolv'd in tears,
Not kneeling Love, that trembles as it prays,
Not heart-struck Anguish, tix'd in stupid gaze!
Not all the frantic groans of wild Despair;
Not helpless Age, that tears its silver hair;
Can stay one moment the severe command,
Or wrest th' avenging dart from that relent
less hand.

Here pause:—the crowds extended on the

bier

Claim from the filial heart a parting tear: Spend on the tomb where drooping grandeur lies

One mournful burst of sympathising sighs.