To the commingled character, in which the virtues outbalanced the foibles, there can be no moral impropriety in my introducing my readers; as such, it is to the hospitable mansion of sir Ormsby Wentworth I must transport them, where, in the library, was seated Mr. Sidney Wentworth, the baronet's only child.

Sidney was an unexpected guest at Adderfield; and having arrived rather late on the preceding evening, he had enjoined the few domestics who were apprized of it not to mention the fact to his father. There are numberless little devices that occur to a domestic mind, which would appear wholly uninteresting to the fashioned heart, where form supersedes affection.

Sidney owned all this locality of feeling.. He had often, as a schoolboy, surprised his father by his presence; when a college vacation gave him liberty, had fled to Adderfield, in preference to London; and now, prompted by filial love, hastened to the Hall; and this in consequence only of

a few

a few words, which had been rather strongly marked in the baronet's last letter."Sir George Beverly says you are thin, and look pale. It is long since I saw you, my

son."

Wentworth wrote half a dozen apologies to ladies whose attractive parties were the theme of general panegyric; one extenuating billet, where it would have been dangerous to have trusted himself orally; gave a few bachelor-like injunctions to his little household, to which they all paid implicit attention before his face, and as unanimously ridiculed on the instant they quitted his presence; then taking the only trust-worthy servant he owned into his travelling chariot, he set off, fully resolved on sleeping at Adderfield.

Few circumstances are more satisfactory to a vivid imagination, than that of discovering that the weather smiles on their projects. I believe this feeling to be peculiarly applicable to the English. Be that as it may, Wentworth was truly grateful, as he looked

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looked on the scene before him; it was

that season

"When well-apparell'd April on the heel

Of limping Winter treads."

He had gazed on the studded lawn which spread beneath the window, had recognised some of his favourite authors, when the sound of his father's voice met his ear.

The door opened. "My son, my beloved Sidney!" said the baronet, as he folded his arms round this relic of his house. "This is kind, my dear boy. When did you come?-you are fatigued-you look ill." Sidney explained. "I will send the carriage for your cousin Grace, as soon as breakfast is over," continued the baronet; "there is nothing like the attentions of women in these cases. I know that Grace will attend my summons, though her present visit may very readily be allowed to own great attractions."

Sidney smiled-sir Ormsby shook his head.

"My

"My dear sir," interrupted Wentworth, "I cannot consent to your recalling my cousin. I am merely a little deranged by late hours. The air of Adderfield, and good Mrs. Corbet's herbal knowledge, to which I will willingly submit, will soon perfect my cure."

"Corbet is very clever, no doubt-an excellent nurse," rejoined sir Ormsby; "but Grace will understand my feelings; her society will cheer us. In short, Sidney, I am already beginning to experience a portion of that vacuum which will too soon be realized. Silly boy, had you but seen with my eyes, how different had been the state of things!"

Forgive me, sir," said Wentworth. "I had imagined that the destiny of my cousin was now so finally arranged, as to make all references of the sort to which you allude unseasonable."

"Sir, I perceive that I must yield my right as a father," said the baronet; "the young men of these days are above pȧrental

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rental authority. It is very well, Mr. Sidney-mighty well, sir! but I thank God that I have no qualms of conscience in this respect-I was content to be directed. My father brought me to the presence of the lady; we were told to love each other, and we did. Yes, sir; and though you smile at it, we were happy, excessively happy." "But you might have been happier, sir," said Sidney.

"Then I suppose that I do not know what constitutes happiness," interrupted the baronet, petulantly. "Ah, Sidney, all rationality is destroyed. So, sir, you are to be happier than happy; it is to be all rapture, bliss. Pshaw! silly boy, you have thrown a pearl away; and you will live to repent of it."

"It was a gem of which I was unworthy," replied Sidney. "Grace deserves an entire, a devoted heart; and I trust she has found one."

"A devoted heart!-there it is. These are the perversions of our language; but

I really