dukes and duchesses. She would call upon any particular family whom she was pleased to distinguish, three or four times a week, and would seem mightily hurt if not let in.

"If sometimes the cloven foot appeared in regard to some whose rusticity she did not like, and their John Bull feelings resented it, she would then vote the sentimental, make such touching apologies, and take such blame to herself, that her slights, coupled with such self-blame, got her more friends than her condescensions. With some she would go so far as to profess her delight in thinking of intercourse with them in town. Will it be believed, that in town, she fled them like a pesti lence? her own doors always closed; theirs never knocked at; or if perchance they met, looks cold as ice proclaiming the altered feeling. Yet with all this, she was not perfect even in her own class of character."

"How so?"

"I have told you she was, or thought herself, sentimental; affected the affable and condescending, though the farthest from it possible. Her waitingmaid (servants soon find us out) knew this, and having had a violent quarrel with her, purloined an old visiting book, with annotations in her own hand, which she, the waiting-maid, had often seen, and thought she could turn to account. Take some of the specimens; for though not printed, they

were shewn, and as I was then admitted among the scandal-mongers, I was allowed a sight of them. In each page, and opposite each name, there were what were intitled notes, as follows:—

Mrs. Chitty.-Vulgar, but good (very good in the country). I shall let her remain; but on no account visit in town.

'Lady Hatchlands.-Hateful, but the fashion. I should like to drop, but shall be forced to keep her, on account of her cousin, the duke. I wish dukes would never marry commoners.

'Miss Colebrook.-Poor, but an excellent toady, and useful proneuse. Keep her too, though she does ask for tickets too often.

Lady Dumbleton.—Too pushing for a person merely rich. Will know one at the opera, all I can do. Besides, has a heap of odious relations. To cut them all dead. No matter what they say. Duchess of Carberry.-A bore-but a duchess. Must remain.

6 Mr. Smirk.-An author and a lion, writes beautifully, but wears thirds and knee-buckles. Won't do.

'Mrs. Saltoun.-My earliest bosom friend: used to be very fond of her; but she married a city physician. Cannot possibly go so far.

"Evelina.-Another early and dear friend. But she missed that match with Lord B. I was so set

upon, and is now an old maid, with neither fortune nor connections. Very hard, but must be denied when she calls.'

"There were many more entries," said Mr. Manners, "but this is enough to shew the effrontery of the vanity of Lady Feignwell; and yet she was weak enough to be annoyed at the exposure, and this is what made me say she was not perfect in her class. To be a true heroine in her way, she ought to have been impenetrable to feeling. But what do you think of the picture?"

"It astonishes me," said I; "she was as you' said, worse than frivolous. What did her country neighbours do when she returned among them ?”

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Despised and laughed at her—which, to my surprise, annoyed her still more. No; you see she was not perfect."

"Were there many more like her?"

"So many, that when I had made them all out, it went far to make me take the leave I did of artificial life."

"One class of your cases, however,” said I, "still remains; and as you are giving me the benefit of your experience, I trust you will not think it impertinence if I remind you of it."

"You mean," returned he, "when real friendship has been wounded, intimacy dropped, opinion changed, and esteem undermined. It is certain this

did not attend Lady Feignwell, whose glitter, perhaps, dazzled me, but for whom I neither felt friendship, high opinion, or esteem. The case I alluded to was certainly far different. And yet I was wrong to call it a disappointment of expectation, for expectation had been thoroughly realized, and those who are in my mind had not only fulfilled, but gone beyond it. They were a noble pair, whom I knew from youth upwards; the lady before her marriage. Her father loved me, oft invited me:' I felt honoured by his notice, and loved the whole family. Our mutual kindness, indeed, lasted for some time, and to her and her husband some of my happiest years were owing. Their doors opened at my approach; with them there was always the feast of reason as well as other feasts, and to both I seemed ever welcome. Yet all this changed-not by degrees, not for accountable reasons, not from change of circumstances, but abruptly like a sudden death.”

"How could this be?"

"I suppose from change of character in them, and of habits and powers of amusement in me." "Amusement!

"Yes; for they, the lady especially, seemed to plunge deeper and deeper in worldly distractions ; and though every hour ought to have made her more and more independent of them (which, from her accomplishments and a large family, she was

formed to be), advancing life only made her more and more studious of its artificial enjoyments. In the splendour of her lot, therefore, she forgot her younger days, and those earlier friends, who seemed once to have made them sweet?"

"Forgot her younger days! was she then a parvenue ? " "Oh, no Had she been so, her change would have been more intelligible. As it was, it was sheer caprice, and devotion to worldly objects—to fashion, show, and dissipation. These, in her amiable youth, she was above, and one would have thought her mind would have soared to something higher as she grew older; but she became only more and more devoted to the fantastic tricks which make the angels weep.'

"And in this you did not imitate her ?"

"No; and as I could not follow her track, but aimed at something better, in doing so I lost, as I said, the power of amusing; and, as I had thrown myself out of politics, all other power ceased at the same time. In short, for truth must be told, I was forgotten, and laid aside as a useless piece of lumber."

"Astonishing !" said I. "What, without a fault? without neglect on your part? without change of life, or local separation? Again, I say, how can such things be ?"

"Ask the world, and this foolish woman," replied my friend.