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She then puts on men's clothes! which, indeed, she generally wore as most handy; and they have another walk, in the course of which she tells him her story. She was nobly born. But

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From my earliest youth, the kitchen, the storeroom, the granaries, the field, were my selected element ! Cleanliness and order in the house seemed, even while I was playing in it, to be my peculiar instinct, my peculiar object. This tendency gave pleasure to my father; and he by degrees afforded it the most suitable employment. When we were by ourselves, when walking through the fields, when I was helping to examine his accounts. I could perceive what happiness he was enjoying.' Her mother took great delight in a private theatre-"But I," she observed, "very seldom staid among the audience; however, I always snuffed their candles, and prepared the supper, and put the wardrobe in order." After her father's death, her mother wastes the property, and she goes as a kind of steward or manager; into the family of a neighbouring lady, whom "she faithfully assisted in struggling with her steward and domestics."

"I am neither of a niggardly nor grudging temper; but we women are accustomed to insist, more earnestly than men. that nothing shall be wasted. Embezzlement of all sorts is intolerable to us. Here I was in my element once more.'

This is enough, we suppose, for the character of Theresa. But the accomplished Lothario falls in love with this angel, and here are the grounds on which he justifies his preference.

"What is the highest happiness of mortals, if not to execute what we consider right and good; to be really masters of the means conducive to our aims? And where should or can our first and nearest aims be but within the house? All those indispensable, and still to be renewed supplies, where do we expect, do we require to find them, if it is not in the place where we arise and where we go to sleep, where kitchen and cellar, and every species of accommodation for ourselves and ours is to be always ready? What unvarying activity is needed to conduct this constantly recurring series in unbroken living order! It is when a woman has attained this inward mastery, that she truly makes the husband whom she loves a master: her attention will acquire all sorts of knowledge for her; her activity will turn them all to profit. Thus is she dependent upon no one; and she procures her husband genuine independence, that which is interior and domestic whatever he possesses he beholds secured; what he earns, well employed.'" &c.

They are engaged accordingly to be married; but the match is broken off by an unlucky discovery, that this gay Lothario had formerly had a love affair with Theresa's mother, when she was travelling abroad under a feigned name! We are rather surprised, we confess, at the notable fair one's delicacy, in considering this as a bar to their union-for her notions on the subject of conjugal fidelity must be owned to be sufficiently liberal, having intimated, in reference to her lover's subsequent intrigues with Aurelia and others, that

"Even if he had been her husband, she would have had sufficient spirit to endure a matter of this kind, if it had not troubled her domestic order: at least she often used to say, that a wife, who properly conducted her economy, should take no um.

brage at such little fancies of her husband, but be always certain that he would return."

Our hero returns to the castle quite enchanted with this paragon of women-and his rising flame is fed by the conversation which takes place with regard to her. After amusing themselves with each telling confidentially their pretty love adventures, the accomplished Lothario holds forth in this edifying and decided manner.

"It is true,' observed Lothario, there can scarcely any feeling in the world be more agreea ble, than when the heart, after a pause of indifference, again opens to love for some new object. Yet I would for ever have renounced that happiness, What a heaven had I figured for myself beside had fate been pleased to unite me with Theresa. Theresa! Not the heaven of an enthusiastic bliss; but of a sure life on earth: order in prosperity, courage in adversity, care for the smallest, and a spirit capable of comprehending and managing the and turned to Wilhelm with a smile, that I forgreatest. You may well forgive me,' added he, sook Aurelia for Theresa: with the one I could expect a calm and cheerful life, with the other not a happy hour.' I will confess,' said Wilhelm, heart against you; that I proposed to censure with that in coming hither, I had no small anger in my severity your conduct to Aurelia.' It was really censurable,' said Lothario: I should not have exchanged my friendship for her with the sentiment of love; I should not, in place of the respect which she deserved, have intruded an attachment she was neither calculated to excite nor maintain. Alas! she was not lovely when she loved! the greatest misery which can befall a woman.'"'

And in this cavalier manner is the subject dismissed. He denies, however, that Felix is his child, or Aurelia's either; and avers that he was brought to her by the old woman Barbara, by whom the boy was generally attended. On this hint Wilhelm flies back to the town, finds out Barbara, in whom he at length recognises the attendant of his first love, Mariana, and learns from her that the boy Felix is the offspring of their early connexion, and that the unhappy mother died in consequence of his desertion, not only heartbroken but innocent! He is long incredulous, and appoints the ancient crone to come to him again at night, and abide all his interrogations.-The scene which follows, we think, is very powerfully executed, and is the only part almost of the book which produces any thing of a pathetic effect.

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the half-open door, and Barbara came in with a "Midnight was past, when something rustled at little basket. I am to tell you the story of our woes,' said she; and I must believe that you will sit unmoved at the recital; that you are waiting for me but to satisfy your curiosity; that you will now, as you did formerly, retire within your cold selfishhere! Thus, on that happy evening, did I bring you ness, while our hearts are breaking. But look you the bottle of champagne! thus did I place the three glasses on the table! and as you then began, with soft nursery tales, to cozen us and lull us asleep, so will I now with stern truths instruct you and keep you waking.'

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Wilhelm knew not what to say, when the crone in fact let go the cork, and filled three glasses to the brim. Drink!' cried she, having emptied at a draught her foaming glass. Drink, ere the spirit of it pass! This third glass shall froth away untasted, to the memory of my unhappy Mariana! How red were her lips, when she then drank your

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health! Ah! and now for ever pale and cold!' Sibyl! Fury! Wilhelm cried, springing up, and striking the table with his fist. Softly, Mein Herr! replied the crone; you shall not ruffle me. Your debts to us are deep and dark: the railing of a debtor does not anger one. But you are right the simplest narrative will punish you sufficiently. Hear, then, the struggle and the victory of Mariana striving to continue yours.'

She then tells a long story, explaining away the indications of perfidy, on the strength of which he had quitted her; and the scene ends in this very dramatic and truly touching

manner.

of books, a multitude of rolls had been inserted. Nobody was in the hall. The rising sun shone through the window, right on Wilhelm, and kindly saluted him as he came in.

"Be seated!' cried a voice, which seemed to issue from the altar. Wilhelm placed himself in a small arm-chair, which stood against the tapestry where he had entered. There was no seat but this in the room; Wilhelm was obliged to take it, chair stood fast, he could only keep his hand before though the morning radiance dazzled him; the his eyes.

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saluted the astonished looker-on, and said to him: 'Do you not recognise me?'"

But now the curtain, which hung down above the altar, went asunder with a gentle rustling; and showed, within a picture-frame, a dark empty aper "Good, dear Barbara!' cried Wilhelm, spring-ture. A man stept forward at it, in a common dress; ing up, and seizing the old woman by the hand, we have had enough of mummery and preparation! Thy indifferent, thy calm, contented tone betrays thee. Give me back my Mariana! She is living! she is near at hand! Not in vain didst thou choose this late lonely hour to visit me; not in vain hast thou prepared me by thy most delicious narrative. Where is she? where hast thou hid her? I believe all, I will promise to believe all. Thy object is attained. Where hast thou hid her? Let me light thee with this candle,-let me once more see her fair and kindly face!'

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"He had pulled old Barbara from her chair: she stared at him; tears started to her eyes; wild pangs of grief took hold of her. What luckless error,' cried she, leaves you still a moment's hope? Yes, I have hidden her-but beneath the ground! neither the light of the sun nor any social taper shall again illuminate her kindly face. Take the boy Felix to her grave, and say to him: "There lies thy mother, whom thy father doomed unheard." The heart of Mariana beats no longer with impatience to behold you. Not in a neighbouring chamber is she waiting the conclusion of my narrative, or fable; the dark chamber has received her, to which no bridegroom follows, from which none comes to meet a lover." She cast herself upon the floor beside a chair, and wept bitterly." She then shows him some of the poor girl's letters, which he had refused to receive, and another which she had addressed to him on her deathbed. One of the former is as follows.

"Thou regardest me as guilty-and so I am; but not as thou thinkest. Come to me! It involves the safety of a soul, it involves a life, two lives, one of which must ever be dear to thee. This, too, thy suspicion will discredit; yet I will speak it in the hour of death: the child which I carry underneath my heart, is thine. Since I began to love thee, no other man has even pressed my hand: O that thy love, that thy uprightness, had been the companions of my youth!""

After this he sends the boy and Mignon to his new love, Theresa, and goes back himself to Lothario, by whom, and his energetic friends, the touching tale he had to tell "is treated with indifference and levity." And now comes the mystery of mysteries. After a great deal of oracular talk, he is ordered, one morning at sunrise, to proceed to a part of the castle to which he had never before found access; and when he gets to the end of a dark hot passage, he hears a voice call "Enter!" and he lifts a tapestry and enters!

"The hall, in which he now stood, appeared to have at one time been a chapel; instead of the altar he observed a large table raised some steps above the floor, and covered with a green cloth hanging over it. On the top of this, a drawn curtain seemed as if it hid a picture; on the sides were spaces beautifully worked, and covered in with fine wire netting, like the shelves of a library; only here, instead

We have not room, however, for the detail of all this mummery. A succession of figures, known and unknown, present themselves;among others, the ghost of Hamlet. At last, after a pause,

"The Abbé came to view, and placed himself Come hither!' cried he behind the green table. to his marvelling friend. He went, and mounted up the steps. On the green cloth lay a little roll. to heart; it is of weighty import.' Wilhelm lifted, Here is your Indenture,' said the Abbé; take it opened it, and read:"

"INDENTURE.

sion transient. To act is easy, to think is hard; to "Art is long, life short, judgment difficult, occabeginning is cheerful; the threshold is the place of act according to our thought is troublesome. Every expectation. The boy stands astonished, his im pressions guide him; he learns sportfully, serious. with us; what should be imitated is not easy to ness comes on him by surprise. Imitation is born discover. The excellent is rarely found, more rarely valued. The height charms us, the steps to it do not; with the summit in our eye, we love to walk along the plain. It is but a part of art that can be taught; the artist needs it all. Who knows it half, speaks much and is always wrong; who knows it wholly, inclines to act, and speaks seldom or late. The former have no secrets and no force; the instruction they can give is like baked bread, savoury and satisfying for a single day; but flour cannot be sown, and seed-corn ought not to be ground. Words are good, but they are not the best. The best is not to be explained by words. The spirit in which we act is the highest matter. Action can be understood and again represented by the spirit alone. No one knows what he is doing, while he acts rightly; but of what is wrong we are always conscious. Whoever works with symbols only, is a pedant, a hypocrite, or a bungler. There are many such, and they like to be together. Their ocrity vexes even the best. The instruction, which babbling detains the scholar; their obstinate medi. the true artist gives us, opens up the mind; for where words fail him, deeds speak. The true scholar learns from the known to unfold the unknown, and approaches more and more to being a

master.

time. Now, look round you among these cases.' "Enough!' cried the Abbé; the rest in due

"Wilhelm went and read the titles of the rolls. With astonishment, he found Lothario's Apprenticeship. Jarno's Apprenticeship, and his own Apprenticeship placed there, with many others whose names he did not know. May I hope to cast a look into these rolls?' In this chamber, there is now nothing hid from you.' May I put a quesHail to thee, tion?' 'Ask not,' said the Abbé. young man! Thy apprenticeship is done; Nature has pronounced thee free.'"'

When he afterwards inspects this roll, he

finds "his whole life delineated with large, sharp strokes, and a number of bland and general reflections!" We doubt whether there is any such nonsense as this, any where else in the universe.

After this illumination, the first step he takes, with the assent of these oracular sages, is to propose for Theresa, in a long letter. But while waiting for her answer, he is sent by Lothario to visit his sister, to whose care, it appears, poor Mignon had been transferred by Theresa. This sister he takes, of course, for the Countess from whom he had parted so strangely in the castle, and is a little embarrassed at the thought of meeting her. But he discovers on the road that there is another sister; and that she is the very healing angel who had given him the great coat when wounded in the forest, and had haunted his fancy ever since.

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'He entered the house; he found himself in the most earnest, and, as he almost felt, the holiest place, which he had ever trod. A pendent dazzling lustre threw its light upon a broad and softly rising stair, which lay before him, and which parted into busts were standing upon pedestals, and arranged in niches; some of them seemed known to him. The impressions of our childhood abide with us, even in their minutest traces. He recognised a Muse which had formerly belonged to his grandfather." He finds poor Mignon in a wretched state of health-and ascertains that it is a secret passion for him that is preying on her delicate form. In the mean time, and just as his romantic love for Natalia (his fair hostess) has resumed its full sway, she delivers him Theresa's letter of acceptance-very kind and confiding, but warning him not to lay out any of his money, till she can assist and direct him about the investment. This letter perplexes him a little, and he replies, with a bad grace, to the warm congratulations of Natalia -when, just at this moment Lothario's friend steps in most opportunely to inform them, that Theresa had been discovered not to be the daughter of her reputed mother!-and that the bar to her union with Lothario was therefore at an end. Wilhelm affects great magnanimity in resigning her to his prior claims-but is puzzled by the warmth of her late acceptance and still more, when a still more ardent letter arrives, in which she sticks to her last choice, and assures him that "her dream of living with Lothario has wandered far away from her soul;" and the matter seems finally settled, when she comes posthaste in her own person, flies into his arms, and exclaims, "My friend-my love-my husband! Yes, for ever thine! amidst the warmest kisses"-and he responds, "O my Theresa!"-and kisses in return. In spite of all this, however, Lothario and his friends come to urge his suit; and, with the true German taste for impossibilities and protracted agonies, the whole party is represented as living together quite quietly and harmoniously for several weeks-none of the parties pressing for a final determination, and all of them occupied, in the interval, with a variety of tasks, duties, and dissertations. At last

two divisions at a turn above. Marble statues and

the elective affinities prevail. Theresa begins to cool to her new love; and, on condition of Natalia undertaking to comfort Wilhelm, consents to go back to her engagements with Lothario-and the two couples, and some more, are happily united.

This is the ultimate catastrophe-though they who seek it in the book will not get at it quite so easily-there being an infinite variety of other events intermingled or premised. There is the death of poor Mignon-and her musical obsequies in the Hall of the Past— the arrival of an Italian Marchese, who turns out to be her uncle, and recognises his brother in the old crazy harper, of whom, though he has borne us company all along, we have not had time to take notice-the return of Philina along with a merry cadet of Lothario's house, as sprightly and indecorous as everthe saving of Felix from poisoning, by his drinking out of the bottle instead of the glass

and the coming in of the Count, whom Wilhelm had driven into dotage and piety by wearing his clothes-and the fair Countess, who is now discovered to have suffered for years from her momentary lapse in the castle

the picture of her husband having, by a most apt retribution, been pressed so hard to her breast in that stolen embrace, as to give pain at the time, and to afflict her with fears of cancer for very long after! Besides all this, there are the sayings of a very decided and infallible gentleman called Jarno-and his final and not very intelligible admission, that all which our hero had seen in the hall of the castle was "but the relics of a youthful undertaking, in which the greater part of the initiated were once in deep earnest, though all of them now viewed it with a smile."

Many of the passages to which we have now alluded are executed with great talent; and we are very sensible are better worth extracting than many of those we have cited. But it is too late now to change our selections

and we can still less afford to add to them. On the whole, we close the book with some feelings of mollification towards its faults, and a disposition to abate, if possible, some part of the censure we were impelled to bestow on it at the beginning. It improves certainly as it advances-and though nowhere probable, or conversant indeed either with natural or conceivable characters, the inventive powers of the author seem to strengthen by exercise, and come gradually to be less frequently employed on childish or revolting subjects. While we hold out the work therefore as a curious and striking instance of that diversity of national tastes, which makes a writer idolized in one part of polished Europe, who could not be tolerated in another, we would be understood as holding it out as an object rather of wonder than of contempt; and though the greater part certainly could not be endured, and indeed could not have been written in England, there are many passages of which any country might reasonably be proud, and which demonstrate, that if taste be local and variable, genius is permanent and universal. >

(October, 1804.)

The Correspondence of SAMUEL RICHARDSON, Author of Pamela, Clarissa, and Sir Charles Grandison; selected from the original Manuscripts bequeathed to his Family. To which are prefixed, a Biographical account of that Author, and Observations on his Writings. By ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD. 6 vols. 8vo. Phillips, London: 1804.

THE public has great reason to be satisfied, we think, with Mrs. Barbauld's share in this publication. She has contributed a very well written Introduction; and she has suppressed about twice as many letters as are now presented to our consideration. Favourably as we are disposed to think of all for which she is directly responsible, the perusal of the whole six volumes has fully convinced us that we are even more indebted to her forbearance than to her bounty.

and of his sitting down, after his adventures are concluded, to give a particular account of them to the public.

There is something rather childish, we think, in all this investigation; and the problem of comparative probability seems to be stated purely for the pleasure of the solution. No reader was ever disturbed, in the middle of an interesting story, by any scruple about the means or the inducements which the narrator may be presumed to have had for tellThe fair biographer unquestionably posses- ing it. While he is engaged with the story, ses very considerable talents, and exercises such an inquiry never suggests itself; and her powers of writing with singular judgment when it is suggested, he recollects that the and propriety. Many of her observations are whole is a fiction, invented by the author for acute and striking, and several of them very his amusement, and that the best way of fine and delicate. Yet this is not, perhaps, communicating it must be that by which he the general character of her genius; and it is most interested and least fatigued. To us must be acknowledged, that she has a tone it appears very obvious, that the first of the and manner which is something formal and three modes, or the author's own narrative, is heavy; that she occasionally delivers trite and by far the most eligible; and for this plain obvious truths with the pomp and solemnity reason, that it lays him under much less reof important discoveries, and sometimes at-straint than either of the other two. He can tempts to exalt and magnify her subject by a very clumsy kind of declamation. With all those defects, however, we think the life and observations have so much substantial merit, that most readers will agree with us in thinking that they are worth much more than all the rest of the publication.

She sets off indeed with a sort of formal dissertation upon novels and romances in general; and, after obligingly recapitulating the whole history of this branch of literature, from the Theagenes and Chariclea of Heliodorus to the Gil Blas and Nouvelle Heloise of modern times, she proceeds to distinguish these performances into three several classes, according to the mode and form of narration adopted by the author. The first, she is pleased to inform us, is the narrative or epic form, in which the whole story is put into the mouth of the author, who is supposed, like the Muse, to know every thing, and is not obliged to give any account of the sources of his information; the second is that in which the hero relates his own adventures; and the third is that of epistolary correspondence, where all the agents in the drama successively narrate the incidents in which they are principally concerned. It was with Richardson, Mrs. Barbauld then informs us, that this last mode of novel writing originated; and she enters into a critical examination of its advantages and disadvantages, and of the comparative probability of a person dispatching a narrative of every interesting incident or conversation in his life to his friends by the post,

introduce a letter or a story whenever he finds it convenient, and can make use of the dramatic or conversation style as often as the subject requires it. In epistolary writing there must be a great deal of repetition and egotism; and we must submit, as on the stage, to the intolerable burden of an insipid confidant, with whose admiration of the hero's epistles the reader may not always be disposed to sympathize. There is one species of novel indeed (but only one), to which the epistolary style is peculiarly adapted; that is, the novel, in which the whole interest depends, not upon the adventures, but on the characters of the persons represented, and in which the story is of very subordinate importance, and only serves as an occasion to draw forth the sentiments and feelings of the agents. The Heloise of Rousseau may be considered as the model of this species of writing; and Mrs. Barbauld certainly overlooked this obvious distinction, when she asserted that the author of that extraordinary work is to be reckoned among the imitators of Richardson. In the Heloise, there is scarcely any narrative at all; and the interest may be said to consist altogether in the eloquent expression of fine sentiments and exalted passion. All Richardson's novels, on the other hand, are substantially narrative; and the letters of most of his characters contain little more than a minute journal of the conversations and transactions in which they were successively engaged. The style of Richardson might be perfectly copied, though the

epistolary form were to be dropped; but no | society, than in reading to these girls in, it may be, imitation of the Heloise could be recognised, a little back shop, or a mantua-maker's parlour with a brick floor."-p. xl. xli. if it were not in the shape of letters. After finishing her discourse upon Novels, During his apprenticeship, he distinguished Mrs. Barbauld proceeds to lay before her himself only by exemplary diligence and readers some account of the life and perform-fidelity; though he informs us, that he even ances of Richardson. The biography is very then enjoyed the correspondence of a gentlescanty, and contains nothing that can be man, of great accomplishments, from whose thought very interesting. He was the son of patronage, if he had lived, he entertained the a joiner in Derbyshire; but always avoided highest expectations. The rest of his worldly mentioning the town in which he was born. history seems to have been pretty nearly that He was intended at first for the church; but of Hogarth's virtuous apprentice. He married his father, finding that the expense of his his master's daughter, and succeeded to his education would be too heavy, at last bound business; extended his wealth and credit by him apprentice to a printer. He never was sobriety, punctuality, and integrity; bought a acquainted with any language but his own. residence in the country; and, though he did From his childhood, he was remarkable for not attain to the supreme dignity of Lord invention, and was famous among his school- Mayor of London, arrived in due time at the fellows for amusing them with tales and respectable situation of Master of the Worstories which he composed extempore, and shipful Company of Stationers. In this course usually rendered, even at that early age, the of obscure prosperity, he appears to have vehicle of some useful moral. He was con- continued till he had passed his fiftieth year, stitutionally shy and bashful; and instead of without giving any intimation of his future mixing with his companions in noisy sports celebrity, and even without appearing to be and exercises, he used to read and converse conscious that he was differently gifted from with the sedate part of the other sex, or assist the other flourishing traders of the metropolis. them in the composition of their love-letters. He says of himself, we observe, in one of The following passage, extracted by Mrs. these letters-"My business, till within these Barbauld from one of the suppressed letters, few years, filled all my time. I had no is more curious and interesting, we think, leisure; nor, being unable to write by a reguthan any thing in those that are published. lar plan, knew I that I had so much invention, till I almost accidentally slid into the writing of Pamela. And besides, little did I imagine that any thing I could write would be so kindly received by the world." Of the origi and progress of this first work he has himself left the following authentic account.

"As a bashful and not forward boy, I was an early favourite with all the young women of taste and reading in the neighbourhood. Half a dozen of them, when met to work with their needles, used, when they got a book they liked, and thought I should, to borrow me to read to them; their mothers sometimes with them; and both mothers and daughters used to be pleased with the observations they put me upon making.

"I was not more than thirteen, when three of these young women, unknown to each other, having an high opinion of my taciturnity, revealed to me their love-secrets in order to induce me to give them copies to write after, or correct, for answers to their lovers' letters; nor did any of them ever know that I was the secretary to the others. I have been directed to chide, and even to repulse, when an offence was either taken or given, at the very time that the heart of the chider or repulser was open before me, overflowing with esteem and affection; and the fair repulser, dreading to be taken at her word, directing this word, or that expression, to be softened or changed. One highly gratified with her lover's fervour and vows of everlasting love, has said, when I have asked her direction-I cannot tell you what to write; but (her heart on her lips) you cannot write too kindly. All her fear was only that she should incur slight for her kindness."-Vol. i. Introduction, p. xxxix. xl.

We add Mrs. Barbauld's observation on this passage, for the truth of the sentiment it contains, though more inelegantly written than any other sentence in her performance.

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"Two booksellers, my particular friends, entreated me to write for them a little volume of letters, in a common style, on such subjects as might be of use to those country readers who were unable to indite for themselves. Will it be any harm, said I. in a piece you want to be written so low, if we should instruct them how they should think and act in common cases, as well as indile They were the more urgent with me to begin the little volume for this hint. I set about it; and, in the progress of it, writing two or three letters to instruct handsome girls, who were obliged to go out to service, as we phrase it, how to avoid the snares that might be laid against their virtue; the above story recurred to my thought: and hence sprung Pamela."-Introd. p. lin.

This publication, we are told, which made its first appearance in 1740, was received with a burst of applause. Dr. Sherlock recommended it from the pulpit. Mr. Pope said it would do more good than volumes of sermons; and another literary oracle declared, that if all other books were to be burnt, Pamela and the Bible should be preserved! Its success was not less brilliant in the world of fashion. "Even at Ranelagh," Mrs. Barbauld assures US, "it was usual for the ladies to hold up the volumes to one another, to show they had got the book that every one was talking of." And, what will appear still more extraordinary, one gentleman declares, that he will give it to his son as soon as he can read, that he may have an early impression of virtue.-After faithfully reciting these and other testimonies of the

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