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CHAP. 1.

Domestic happiness, thou only bliss
Of Paradise, that has survived the fall!
Though few now taste thee unimpaired and pure,
Or tasting long enjoy thee! too infirm

Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets
Unmixed with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper sheds into thy chrystal cup;
Thou art the nurse of virtue, in thine arms
She smiles, appearing as in truth she is
Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again.
COWPER.

LATE in the summer of the preceding year, the settlement of some important business in town, induced me for a season to exchange the tranquillity of my retired home on the borders of Scotland, for the bustle and the crowd of busy London. Nearly twenty years had elapsed since I last quitted the metropolis, having served my apprenticeship there, and at its expiration returned to settle in my na

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tive village. The wing of time, as unperceived it pursued its rapid flight, had borne away with resistless force many early ties, and broken several interesting friendships. Yet had it not effaced from my heart the remembrance of some, who as they were once beheld with all the ardour of youthful affection, were still remembered with regret and

esteem:-from hence, my readers may imagine the pleasure I experienced when within fifty miles of our destination. Having received an accession of one gentleman to our party, my new companion had no sooner taken his seat opposite to mine, than our eyes encountering, both at the same instant exclaimed "We have met before."

An explanation soon ensued, and I recognized in him the partner of my apprenticeship, and my earliest friend. We had not seen each other since my departure from town, and "though nothing had occurred to kindle strife," our correspondence grew less and less punctual, until it quite dropped, and I lost every trace of him.

It was therefore natural to suppose, that many interesting inquiries followed this unexpected revival of our former friendship. Among other questions, I asked my friend "If he were married?" "Yes," he replied, "and to the sister of our old acquaintance Henry Talbut." "Then I am sorry to hear it," I resumed with my usual abruptness, "Emma Talbut was too refined to make a good tradesman's wife."

My friend Clifford smiled; and a shrewd looking old gentleman in the corner observed, that the refinement of modern education, had nearly rendered the character of a good housewife obsolete. Here Mr. Clifford interrupted him, by saying "I am no advocate for the present shallow system of female education, which perhaps, has in it less of real mental refinement than you imagine. But it is decidedly my opinion, that a woman whose mind has been properly expanded, is the best calculated to discharge with honor to herself and to the comfort of her family, the duties of the conjugal and maternal relation.”

The old gentleman in the corner shook his head incredulously. I paused for a moment, and then interposed "Your testimony, Clifford, as an experimentalist on the subject, has certainly some weight; at the same time, a large discount on the score of par tiality must be allowed." "Well then," resumed my friend, "to be convinced of the truth of my assertion, you must consent to make our house your home, during your stay in town." To this proposal I cheerfully assented, and after thanking Mr. Clifford for his obliging offer, the discussion which gave rise to it, ceased.

On our arrival in town, the coach set us down in one of the principal streets in the city, and a few minutes walk brought us to the door of my friend's house. "Emma, does not expect my return before to-morrow morning,” said he, and turning to the servant who opened the door, desired her not to apprize her mistress of his arrival. Mr. Clifford then led me into an apartment where every thing was commodious, where nothing offended the