old soldier. Georgina and her father bade me wel come in terms which, although intended to convey that they considered themselves honoured by my call, were still entirely devoid of the meanness of flattery, or the confusion of low bred manners. I remained with them a considerable time; gave them a most cordial invitation to visit me; offered them the produce of my gardens; and, in short, departed from them with extreme reluctance, so much was I pleased with the open honesty of the father's character, and the manners of the daughter, which were retiring, without bashfulness-simple, yet expressive of an enlightened mind. The health of the old soldier was very indifferent; and the remainder of his amputated leg, which had been too soon exposed to the cold after the operation had taken place, very painful when he attempted to move upon it; he therefore very seldom stirred beyond the limits of his little garden; and on this account I received only one visit from him, as he seemed to consider that he was giving me an unwarrantable trouble in sending my carriage to convey him to my mansion. He ever expressed the greatest pleasure at receiving visits from me; and as I derived a real satisfaction from increasing my acquaintance with him, I was not slow in accepting his invitations. I found Lieutenant Howard to be by far the pleasantest of my neighbours: his education was good, his reflections upon men and manners just and acute; his anecdotes were of the most entertaining and instructive nature: he had served abroad in three campaigns, without the

reans of purchasing an advancement in his profes sion; and was ultimately obliged to retire a cripple, and support himself and his child upon the slender stipend of a lieutenant's half pay. As my acquaintance with his virtues and his situation grew, my tenderest feelings were awakened towards his lot; and I could have wept for the hardness of that man's heart who would not have dropped a tear at hearing the old soldier recount the events of that day, when stretched in agony upon the earth beneath his tent, he beheld the beloved mother of his child, struck by the relentless hand of death, fall a corpse at his feet."

[From the subsequent chapters it appears that Lord Abberville preserves Georgina from the snares of an abandoned character, named Ryecroft, with whom he is obliged to fight a duel; he afterwards marries Georgina himself. For an account of the dreadful event which forced him to go abroad, we refer our readers to the novel itself.]

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN EXAMPLE AND PRECEPT

THE Vicar looked at me as if he meant to lecture me likewise on the language appropriate to my condition; but if that were his first thought he dropped it, and vouchsafed to answer my question philosophically. "Modern times exhibit comparitively but few examples of stoicism, yet modern times can

afford many instances of great souls that have the complete command of their emotions and passions, that place happiness in the consciousness of rectitude and native dignity, that consider fortuitous gratifications as beneath wisdom, bear the injustice of fortune with indifference, defy the attacks of malice, and disregard the slights of casual superiority; men who envelope themselves in the covering of their actual condition in life, to look with pity on the agitated multitude, and pass with unruffled spirits through all the buffets of a stormy world. Without this what are we? The sport of the whims and insolence of others, and the victim of our own fancy. Certainly the mind can be rendered independent of externals; certainly it was intended by its Creator that it should. Are we not expressly directed to cast off the things of this world? Did not one philosopher desire the conqueror of the world to stand from betwixt him and the sun? and did not another, in a state of slavery, calmly warn his tyrant that he would break his leg, and bore the fracture unruffled? In short, my boy, we must be philosophers, possessing inward independent happiness, or we must mingle with the herd, and eat our bread in bitterness. I thank God I am myself a living testimony of a mind independent of externals; my vicarage, though small, yields me a comfortable subsistence, and I neither dream of lawn, nor ape the venerable graces of the mitre. I am only a country clergyman, yet nothing can disturb my happiness, nothing ruffle the serenity of my mind; and if I

were in the condition of a domestic to-morrow, it should be the same thing."

I listened attentively to this discourse; I thought it a mixture of good sense and learning, and I bowed implicitly to the worthy vicar's understanding, experience, and virtue.

"Sir," said I, "I am convinced that most of the evils of life are the offspring of perverted imagination: men affix idle importance to insignificant things and circumstances, and are regardless of those that possess intrinsic value. Your conversation shall not be lost upon me; indeed my unexpected calamity in the death of my benefactress, and my previous situation, have prepared my mind to turn the sound principles of philosophy to advantage. How to comfort myself in my station, and to reconcile myself with patience to the unaccountable events of life, has occupied my thoughts throughout my first attempts: a character to which I am unacustomed, may be aukward; I am resolved to submit to the will of Providence, and to endeavour to form my mind to the enjoyment of those objects that rank far above outward appearances."

"You speak very sensibly," replied the vicar. "Above all things attend to your temper; gain an absolute command over it, and let what will happen, never suffer it to be ruffled. If a wise man struggles against oppression, he does it calmly; and the best punishment of an insult is not to feel it. Without this command of ourselves, we must be perpetually at the mercy of others."

I was acknowledging the justness of Mr. Whita ker's philosophy, and thanking him for his advice, when a lad, in livery of purple or Pompadour cloth, trimmed with a rich woollen lace, entered the room with a solemn face, and gave a letter to his master, who, casting his eye on the superscription and seal, asked if Sir Nicholas's servant waited. "No, Sir," said the lad; "he left it in his way to Exeter; said he was in a hurry, and that there was no answer re quired." Very well," said the vicar," I shall perhaps be at Broke Hall sooner than he is expected back. The chaise clean?" "Yes, Sir."-" And the bay mare up?"-" Yes, Sir."- "Give her corn in about half an hour, and see that the harness is nice, and every thing in order."

tune.

The boy being gone, the vicar turned to me, and observed to me that this day might decide my for, "This letter," said he, "is from Sir Nicholas Broke, a man possessed of immense wealth, part of which consists of large estates, some in this part, and others in Suffolk. He has besides, money laid out in mortgages, and money in the funds; there are few richer commoners in the kingdom. I am very familiar at Broke Hall; I may say in a manner at home-we are upon an intimate footing. I think my lady's man is losing favour, and his place would just be the thing for you. I'll not forget you, Morland, be assured.”

Saying this, Mr. Whitaker carelessly broke the seal of the letter he held in his hand; but he had no sooner looked at the contents than his blood flew