were no other of each class in the world beside

their own? Adieu, dearest Julia: our united loves to all at Checkley.

Believe me, ever your

Affectionate friend,

EMILY DOUGlas.

LETTER XXV.

FREDERICK DOUGLAS TO HIS MOTHER.

Beloved Mother,

OUR dear Phil. insisted on writing the first letter from London, and as this point was settled before we left Glenalta, you have not charged me with neglect; forgetful I can never be. You all live continually in my thoughts; I fancy how you are all employed during every part of the day, and never see any thing that delights or surprises me, without wishing that my mother and sisters were to enjoy whatever is worthy of their admiration. This is to me a scene of wonder, and I have a great deal of trouble in suppressing too true an exhibition of my rusticity, and curbing my astonishment at things so common, that no one here could comprehend my ignorance of them. London is a

world full of interest to a novice like myself, and while the charm of novelty lasts, and curiosity is kept alive, I shall find as much happiness as I can feel away from you; but the people with whom I meet at my aunt Howard's, though I am told that they are of the first circle, have little merit, I must confess, in my eyes. I ought however, to begin with the hosts, before I describe the company. My aunt is as unlike you, as Louisa is different from Emily, Charlotte, or Fanny. The former is so rouged, so dressed, and made up, that a natural emotion, if any such live within her breast, has no power to reach the surface. Every feature seems fixed, as though she were a cast, and not a real human form of flesh and blood. Her manners are so cold, and her eye so disdainful, that had I come to Grosvenor-square alone, one glance would have been enough to settle my resolves not to ́encounter a second; but she treats Arthur, her only son, and certainly a favourite, as frigidly as she behaves to me; and with her daughter, there is a perpetual sparring kept up, which to my unaccustomed ear is perfectly dreadful,

though at the same time, she is evidently vain of Louisa's beauty and accomplishments. To Mr. Otway she is civil, and towards my poor uncle, officious to excess, without being able to look kind. My cousin is very handsome, and if she had been your child, would, I believe, have been very amiable, for she is good-natured, in spite of every effort to make her the contrary; and her love for Arthur is genuine, I believe, though of a species very new to me. Her person is encumbered with ornaments, and her mind with fashion. Her understanding is excellent, and will break its bounds, and start forth through all the London fogs that would obscure its light; but it is only in accidental scintillations that Louisa's brightness discovers itself, and then, sarcasm is generally the medium through which it shines; nothing can exceed the stupid inanity of such conversation as I hear at my aunt's, where people only are ever discussed. It is one eternal round of dress, public places, and gossip. Every body is said to be out of town, yet the streets are full. Nobody is ever in London at this season, yet

the Howards live in a crowd of society, and would be very angry with any body who ventured to affirm that their acquaintance is not first-rate. Mr. Otway reconciles many apparent incongruities through his explanations, when we reach our lodgings at night, and I am already bidding fair to part with the nick-name which Louisa has bestowed upon me of the “novice of Saint Patrick." My Mentor tells me, that London is in fact, at this moment, full of people who are ashamed of not being at their country seats, the watering places, or on the continent; and are detained here malgre, for want of money to go elsewhere, or pay off the bills which continue daily to increase, while they remain in town, shying each other. It is true that the people do not imprison themselves: they meet in the streets, in the shops, in the park, at the theatres; but there seems to be a conventional agreement to tell lies, which are permitted, like base metal, to circulate in the place of sterling coin, though known to be counterfeit by all who use it as a medium of exchange. There is a sort of sinister honesty