"No benevolent

would have built such a cottage ?" person, my dear Sophia, would have devoted the whole of her income, as this lady did, to the gratification of self. Those who find their highest pleasure, and lavish large sums in gratifying sensual appetites, are at once perceived to be grossly selfish; but they are as truly só, who give unlimited indulgence to more refined tastes, whether in painting, music, architecture, or gardening; though the latter, like a delicate veil over the face of deformity, serves to conceal what they cannot change. It is on this account they are the most dangerous, especially to young persons of refinement, and who have been piously educated. The grosser forms of selfishness would disgust their taste, or wound their conscience; but in devoting an inordinate proportion of time to elegant pursuits, however much this indulgence may interfere with the duties they owe to their parents, in assisting them and promoting their comfort, or to the poor, in visiting, instructing, and relieving their distresses, they do not seem to be aware that they are living supremely to themselves, and that they are yet strangers to that principle of love to God, which is always accompanied by benevolence to mankind. They are, in truth, idolaters of self, whether like Mrs. B. they set up the object of their worship in a luxurious cottage, or in any other shrine, and their creed is, 'Thou shalt love thyself with all thy heart, and soul, and strength."

"I hope I shall remember this sketch of Mrs. B.'s character," said Frederick, "and watch against selfish

ness in every thing, for I should not have suspected it lurked beneath the flowers of this beautiful cottage, nor in several other tastes Pope has mentioned. Would it not be a very good thing to publish memoirs of such persons, as warnings for us, as well as the lives of good and benevolent people, for models?"

"You forget," replied his father, "the pain such memoirs would give to the families of those persons. It is the province of fiction, and one whose usefulness sufficiently vindicates this species of literature from the indiscriminate condemnation it has often received, to exhibit real traits of character under the guise of fictitious names and events, which secures all the good you propose, without any of the evil."

CHAPTER III.

THE SELFISH FRIEND.

ONE morning, before they rose from breakfast, Mrs. Beaumont was announced, and excused her early visit by saying she knew Mr. D'Arcy never considered any call unseasonable, which gave him an occasion of doing good; an observation which Mr. D. received as a bribe offered by flattery.

"You know," she added, "I always come to you in my distress." Though not in ours, was the mental reply of all who heard her, for they could not forget that, during the illness of Mrs. D'Arcy, this lady, who made warm professions of friendship, rarely found time for those visits of sympathy which are the pure gold in the commerce of life.

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'My poor sister," she continued, " is still in distress, and can find no encouragement from her friends to commence a school in her own neighbourhood, as I suggested; and hearing, yesterday, that a lady at about to relinquish her establishment, I thought you would, perhaps, write to your friends there, to make inquiries respecting the terms on which she will part with it; though I fear, from the size of the house and grounds, it will exceed her means.”

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"Oh," said Eliza, "I know of a situation which will be so suitable to your wishes. The eldest Miss S. is to be married in a month to a gentleman of considerable fortune; she is therefore desirous chiefly to serve the person who may be her successor, and cares little for pecuniary compensation."

"But that is almost close to us, my dear, and it would be really too much for my feelings to see my sister in a situation so inferior to my own: besides, when needy relations are so near, they are often too expecting; and as she has several boys growing up, it would not be quite desirable to have much intercourse between our families in serving others, we must not neglect our own interests."

Whether Mrs. Beaumont was in any danger of this error, my readers will not find it difficult to determine. In truth, whoever wished to draw a full-length portrait of selfish friendship, could scarcely find a more perfect model. She had married without attachment, to have a home, and all her connexions were formed from the same disinterested motive. Her friends were dear, dearer, and dearest, according to the long established rules of the grammar of selfism, in proportion to their power of contributing to her interests or pleasure, and generally in proportion to the nearness of their residence; if, indeed, her neighbours had been made so by our Saviour's rule, she would never have had any. Her friends ceased to be such, after they had removed beyond a convenient visiting distance, for her affection

was a fibrous-rooted annual, which struck no deep root, and was sure to die in transplantation. Her letters to her absent relatives were known, before they were opened, to be undoubted signs that she had some perplexity or trouble of which she wished to unbosom herself, or some distress in which she wanted aid; and if you had read these epistles, you would have inferred that her correspondents lived in a region of happy exemption from all care or sorrow, in which the ordinary expressions of friendly concern were superfluous.

Nor were her letters often answers to those she received, for she thought much more about what it pleased herself to say, than what it would gratify her friends to hear. She wrote much after the loss of her eldest son, who was her favourite, because his person and talents were her pride; and this she could still gratify, in painting his portrait, while she indulged and exhibited her sensibility. Her family, however, thought that it was sensibility without benevolence, for true benevolence will find, that promoting the happiness of others is one of the best means to solace the heart amidst bereavements; and will remember that tears which flow incessantly, seem to blot out the worth of the living in a vain attempt to honour the memory of the dead.

Mrs. Beaumont was a proof that sensibility, like every other naturally innocent and amiable emotion, is converted by selfishness into an evil, and this will be the case, more or less, in every heart, where it is not regulated