the latter seemed to survey me with an aspect of concern. I took my seat in silence. To be sure, thought I, sir Philip has been making complaints, and I am to receive a lecture from these gravities.

Mum-mum, all dinner-timeI chattered as usual, but no answer from either could I get. At length I arose to leave the room. Where are you going?' said my father- To my own apartment, sir; this is a very gloomy one.' It is you that make it so-'I, sir! dear! I am all life and spirits; I am sure I hate gloom of all things. Sit down, and be serious; I want to talk with you, and expect you will answer me a question, which I, as a father, have a right to ask you.'- Some questions are not easily answered, sir,' said I, and I cannot promise one at present.I looked at Wentworth who seemed much displeased at my pertness.-Come, thought I, I must take care not to carry matters too far: all my plans will be disconcerted if I disgust this sentimental cousin, so I added- But I will be serious, and answer any question you may please to ask

me.'

6

This set matters right :-I was his dear girl, and the question he had to put was, whether I intended to take sir Philip Norton for my husband.

I started at so home a question, and knew not how to answer: I was loth to give up my slave, just at the time my power was at its height; and yet if I declared my intention to marry him I must at once relinquish my scheme of enslaving Wentworth; and then should I not succeed with the latter and have lost the former, what a forlorn situation should I be in!

-Fear not, whispered vanity, no youth can withstand the force of your charms.-Vanity whispered not in vain, as you shall hear.

I was silent; my father went on -If you intend making sir Philip your husband, your conduct, (for he has informed me of your behaviour,) is highly absurd and imprudent. Think you he will not, when married, revenge himself for the gross affronts you gave him as a mistress? Or supposing his temper to be too good to permit him to take such methods; yet you lessen yourself in his eyes, and lose your importance by the very means you take to establish it. If on the contrary you have no intention to marry him, your conduct is still more reprovable: you add cruelty to insult. None but a depraved mind would wish to wound the feelings of a person who loves them. But I will think better things of you; I am certain you have not, in this case, permitted yourself to think, but have been run away with by your vivacity and inconsiderateness. I talk to you now in a serious manner, and conjure you to examine your heart well, and to determine what place sir Philip has there. If he has not an interest there, far be it from me to urge it; in this matter I leave you wholly free, only I insist on your behaving properly to sir Philip.'

Having finished this harangue my father paused for an answer. I had by this time resolved on one. I could see no alternative between relinquishing my designs on Wentworth, and giving up sir Philip. I resolved on the latter. Knowing that nothing could make me so lovely in my cousin's eyes as a dutiful conduct, I assumed a grave and tender aspect, threw myself

on my knees to my father, and thanked him for all his parental remonstrances; said I was convinced that I had acted improper ly, and begged his forgiveness for what I was going to say.He raised and tenderly kissed me; said he would forgive me any thing, and looked pleased and surprised at my uncommonly dutiful manner. I glanced towards Wentworth who regarded me with admiration.Then, sir,' continued I, I will venture to tell you I do not love Bir Philip; I have doubted whether I felt a proper affection for him for some time; but this last week I have examined my heart, and am now convinced I can never be happy with him as my husband'.

Then, my sweet child,' said my father, you shall never marry him. Will you, or shall I, acquaint him with your determination ?'

If you please, sir, I should be glad to be excused the painful task, for I fear it will disturb him, and my pity for him almost leads me to repent my resolution.'

I was seated close to my father who held one of my hands; and when I had finished my fine sentimentalspeech, Mr. Wentworth took my other hand-Never before,' said he, did my cousin appear so lovely in my eyes. I see she can reflect and act generously.' It distresses me,' said I, looking in his face with a tender air, that you should ever have doubted it. My vivacity will sometimes run away with me, but I trust I have a heart incapable of an ungenerous action.'

What praises did I not now receive from my two auditors. They almost inspired a wish in me to be good. I retired and sat down, vexed at having thus deprived my self of a lover. The hope, however,

of soon gaining another reconciles me; but I must be extremely circumspect in my conduct: no airs, no levities must be played off upon Wentworth. And what, say you, will you marry him? 1 never think of marriage; we will talk of that when I have gained him for a lover..

What an unconscionable long letter have I written! I wish it may be in my power to enliven, by my pen, your solitary hours. I know you must not send letters but by the permission, and, I sappose, after the inspection of the lady abhess; but I hope those you receive are sacred. Pray satisfy me in this particular, or I must desist from writing. I re main, my dear lady Amaranth's sin cere and most affectionate friend,

LETITIA WINSTANLEY.

[Miss Winstanley, in continuation.]

I AM quite ashamed of myself for having been so long in answering your kind letter. You have set me easy with regard to the privacy of mine to you, but I am not much pleased with a correspondence where my friend's epis tles are perused by an old woman. I do not wish you to write often under such a restraint. You tell me you do not approve of my ways, but you will keep my secret. Abide by your promise, and I will look for approbation within myself. Then follows a long pious exhortation, I suppose, out of compliment to your old governante. To this part of your letter I make no other answer-but I do not like the subject. As for your fears that I shall not remain steady in the faith-set yourself at ease. I will not be a protestant whilst my father is one. Think you that

I will after making the noble stand I have, and the spirited altercations. I have held with him on the subject, confess myself mistaken? No; forbid it pride, resolution, and true womanhood. So much in answer to yours-Now for my own affairs.

My father has been very ill, and confined to his bed: we thought we should have lost him. He is better, but in a very precarious state: I waited on him with great attention, and my filial conduet has, I think, won the heart of Wentworth-the grand object of my solicitude. He has scarcely quitted the sick room, and, I be lieve, sincerely felt all I have feigned. I confess I see nothing shocking in the death of an old rich father. To be independent and my own mistress! Oh, charming! When he was at the worst he called us both to him, and weeping over us said, he had by will made us both equal heirs of his fortune. I think,' said he to Wentworth, there is enough to satisfy you who have not an ambitious mind. Return to England and enjoy it. But I bequeath you a far more precious trust--To your guardianship do I commit my dear Letitia.-Letitia, do you receive your cousin as your friend and protector.'

Wentworth was much affected; he called it a precious trust which it should be his pride and happiness to guard. We retired from the chamber, and walked into the garden, whilst my father composed himself to sleep. Here was an opportunity for him to say a hundred fine things; instead of which, would you believe it? he dwelt on nothing but my father's praises, and his hopes of his recovery. Art thou a fool or insensibility itself, VOL. XXXVIII.

thought I. He is neither, but worse than either. I am convinced some woman in that England pos sesses his heart. I will not, however, have a tival, I am resolved; and the greater the difficulties the greater my triumph. But I wil tell you iny reason for supposing I have a rival.

We went from the garden into the library; the instant we entered I saw Wentworth's eye fixed on a paper: it was a copy of verses my inulatto girl had, by my orders, that morning written. She writes a fine hand, and I asked him which he admired host, the poetry or the hand-writing. It is only the writing,' said he, that attracted thy notice. It is so like the handwriting of a lady I know, that I ean scarcely believe it is not her's.'.

Suppose it should be hers, said I, and I should be acquainted with her! Impossible!' said

he, I am not so happy!

A glow on his countenance, and an earnestness of expression, convinced me that the lady in question was not indifferent to him..

Ah! cousin,' said I, you are not insensible: some English lady-"

"Let us take a book,' said he; the subject to me is a painful

the same end in view with myself. For any other object that would be sufficient for me to relinquish it; but I know not how it is, my whole heart is set on this conquest. Yet I am not in love, nor ever shall be. I am certain vanity, difficulties, and caprice, are all the motives that urge me on. You cannot think what an altered girl I am to appearance, so grave, so sentimental, and so dutiful; the delight of my father, and the pride of my cousin. I begin to be tired of my restraint, but I shall take my revenge in time. Sir Philip has left Bengal: he received his doom with more composure than my father expected. I did not see him. A packet of letters is just arrived to Mr Wentworth; one from his lady, I suppose. I wish I could see it. Joy sparkled in his eyes at sight of the superscription. I am summoned to attend him and my father. What can this mean? As I have deferred writing so long I will close here will write again soon; in the mean time remain affectionately yours,

LETITIA WINSTANLEY. [To be continued. ]

A NIGHT WALK

IN NOVEMBER.

By J. M. L.

YOUNG.

Wrapt in dark fogs' November had bestrode the plain, spreading terror and despair before him. Morning had now no charms for the early rambler; late in rising from her couch, Aurora's eye, dim with the tears November's bitter sway excites, darts no ray of heavenly lustre on the plains; and when at length her sorrow seems to cease, she smiles but through her tears: for horror hangs upon the frownful brow of November, and his chosen throne is some dark cloud!

Ah me! the golden year is fled. Be

hold

Gloomy and sad November, with a brow Severe and clouded. Scarce a leaf sus

are in unison, undisturbed by the noisy effusions of mad intoxication;

For drunkenness adds to the poignance of grief;

as

When reason return'd picture's wine a thief, Who but heightens the wretch's despair.'

Author's Manuscript Poems.

Still the man who admires nature will like to contemplate her, as well when the storm spreads its lowering horrors over her form, as when the brilliance of summer

suns shoot their radiance around: He will like to ramble abroad, as well when the chill night-air of winter renders warm clothing necessary, as when the soft zephyrs of Summer make night pleasanter than day, when

Among the crooked lanes, on ev'ry hedge

The glow-worm lights his gem; and, thro' the dark, A moving radiance twinkles.'

THOMSON.

The day had been cold and showery, and the night had closed in dull obscurity, when I set out for my November's stroll. I had