THE works of Richardson are now nearly obsolete, and if, by an extraordinary chance, a volume meets the eye of a modern reader, she wonders how it could have been possible for her grandmother to peruse no fewer than eight of them, so closely printed, and so thick, in order to develop a story that might be told in a page. It is yet certain, that if she ventured to begin, and, instead of turning over the pages in quest of incident, would read quietly, and enter into the spirit and situation of the heroine, an interest of the purest and deepest tone would steal over her mind-the glow of indignation would suffuse her cheek -tears of the tenderest pity flow from her eyes-and her heart be sensible of re-echoing many a noble sentiment, or devout emotion, which the owner perhaps scarcely knew, till now, she was capable of experiencing. It is not less true, that she would be sensible, that if the persons of the drama were human beings with whom, as such, she could sympathize, yet that the state of society in which they acted, or suffered, was as foreign to her own observations in life as a drawing-room in China, or a converzatione in Kamschatka, could be. Nous avons changé tout cela-beauty is no longer such a rarity as to become an object of worship to good men, or excite even bad ones to actions the hangman alone could justly recompense. Mothers

are now said to be the only ma nouverers in the world of fashion, and few young ladies require compelling to marry, when the offer is accompanied by parchments and jewels, of half the value brought forward by the redoubtable Mr. Solmes.

But in the middle ranks of life, and in retired parts of the country, "such things are," and may be again; therefore I venture to offer the early history of a dear and excellent friend, whose happy and busy life, as the mother of a numerous family, has probably induced her not only to forget the sorrow but the romance which once rendered it remarkable.

Miss Eberall, a maiden lady of good person, good fortune, and happy in a most respectable circle of acquaintance, resided in the immediate neighbourhood of a large manufacturing town, and devoted herself to the education of her only relative, the orphan daughter of a brother, to whom she had been always most tenderly attached, and whose misfortunes in the loss of property had rendered him only the more dear, and his child the more sacred deposit.

Little Marian was, indeed, a child that any one might have loved, for she was very pretty and gentle; and being sent, on the demise of her father, from London, appeared in the country to great advantage, on account of her pleasant voice, her total freedom from

of course, altered.

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provincial vulgarity, and a precocity in her knowledge, which, at five years of age, made her a species of prodigy. To retain her infantine graces, and improve upon her early education, became thenceforth the sole object of her aunt's attention, and if not always judiciously pursued, her cares were at least most affectionately given, and most gratefully accepted-two persons more tenderly attached to each other I never remember to have known, but in that very tenderness, perhaps, sensibility was nurtured too much for the benefit of either.

So, at least, her neighbours thought, when, to the astonishment of every one, it was found that Miss Eberall had not only admitted but accepted a lover. True, he was a steady man, suitable in age and circumstances, very good-looking for his years; moreover a bachelor, and with no connexions save a nephew, who was about two years older than Marian, so that in every respect there was a similarity of situation and circumstances, that seemed to render the parties suitable for each other.

So thought the casual observer; but Marian, who was now about fourteen, dreaded the change, for she knew that her aunt had now a happy home, and was by no means assured that the bustling squire could render the old hall, of which he talked so proudly, equally pleasant to one whose habits were fastidiously neat, and whose will, however meekly expressed, had never yet been thwarted. The marriage soon proved that the poor girl's fears had been too well founded-the elderly bride, even in her bridal days, found herself bound to a tyrant, who had so long exercised power that he was unconscious of the effort save as it met opposition; on which occasion he became so tremendous, that his terrified and astonished partner yield ed, with trembling solicitude, to every thing on which he insisted. Of course, like all despots, his will to rule in creased with his sense of delight in the subjugation of those committed to his protection, and, in a short time, a nervous wife, and timid, unhappy niece, neither daring to speak above her breath, and each incapable of en

joying the blessings of life, could fully attest his capability of governing his house.

By degrees, that house was deserted by the few acquaintance he had ever known, and it was much too distant from her late abode for those of his wife to visit there, so that poor Marian lost society at the period when she most wanted it. The occasional visits of young Belton, the nephew, were therefore periods of great relief to the ladies for a time, more especially the elder, for as the uncle had most graciously assured Marian that "if she was a good girl William should marry her," he was rather an object of fear than good-will to her. The declining health of her maternal friend (evi dently the consequence of her secret though uncomplaining sorrow), the remembrance of her former pleasures, contrasted with the comfortless solitude of their secluded home, and the oppressive sense of awe under which she constantly existed, combined to give her an aversion to matrimony as the state which had produced the only miseries she knew, and the name and features of young Belton too much resembled those of his uncle to alter her prejudice in his favour. Her only refuge from sorrowful thoughts and vain conjectures for the future, lay in the well-stocked library, which the new dwelling reluctantly admitted as the only portion of the ladies' effects deemed worthy of removal.

Time passed-the oppressed and timid girl grew up an elegant and lovely young woman, though delicate to fragility, and so bashful that the stores of her well-informed mind were wholly unknown to common ohservers, although native eloquence, aided by habitual acquaintance with the best authors, under happier circumstances might have rendered her the charm of a polished circle. Even her commanding guardian had pride in the extent of her information, and the improvement of her person; and when she was a little turned of eighteen, as a mark of his especial favour, he determined that she should attend a course of philosophical lectures, to be given in the town from which she had so unhappily been removed.