poses. I called upon Miss Lovell in order to make my atonement for a former inattention, and I had not been in the room five minutes, before I twice repeated the offence. I got my servant to plead my cause with the lady's waiting maid, but before he had half finished his business I broke in upon him and denied his assertions. Calling at Belford's where I knew certain ladies were at rehearsal, and meeting them full upon the staircase, I imagined the character of Miranda to be one that my bewitching sentimental widow would have chosen, and said nothing that was not a compliment to lady Lovell, while taking an Alpine shepherdess for Miss Lovell, I apologised for my inattention to her this morning, by laying the blame on her aunt-then as I hand them to their chairs, my dear inhabitant of the snows takes off her mask, discovers the face of lady Lovell, and chills me to the heart by a frown as cold as her adopted country. Did you ever hear of such a series of misfortunes?

Ever. Really you croud such a prodigious number of incidents into a minute, that you And must lay your account to some reverses. if the balance is against you I cannot be astonished.

O'Neale. However, the conclusion of my visit to Belford gave me some compensation for all my other disasters.

Ever. How so?

O'Neale. His sister and myself read him a most powerful lecture upon the absurdity of his retirement-she in a dress, and with a look so becoming and beautiful, that if the masquerade were to last longer than a night, madness I believe would be the highest fashion-if we did not make him renounce his books, we succeeded in shewing him, that his new friends were abominable impostors, and that they only courted him to make him the instrument of their personal aggrandizement and pleasures-Indeed we almost convinced him that they were employed in inspiring his mother with superstitious fears, in order that one of them might obtain her consent and assistance to marry his sister. Oh, that you could have seen how he stormed! But why so grave, Everard?

Ever. Have you seen the newspaper? any news? that Russian general seems a clever fellow. O'Neale. What now? on the banks of the Vistula? has the plebeian goddess been cruel?

Ever. Oh! if people are so blind to their own interests-but there is no making any thing of this upstart race the good old aristocracy, I fancy, is the best.

O'Neale. Well-I confess-it does seem rather hard that a family, much more a whole order, should suffer because a woman does not happen to fall in love with you.

Ever. The thing that provokes me in this class of women, is, that they never balance ad

vantages against disadvantages. The conveniencies of this match on both sides are obvious to every one. It's true I am not a romantic lover, and heaven forbid I should be loved with romance. But then I am not a person to be hated, and if a sensible consideration of all the circumstances had been given to the whole affair, it must have succeeded.

O'Neale. A very sensible exposition truly! what then is the whole affair at an end. I am happy to find we shall have no heart-breaking however; no dereliction of the world, I fancybless my soul, if I was in your situation, I should set off this instant in a chaise and four, and drive to the Orkneys, with the hope of keeping my mind quiet by the rapidity of the body's motion.

Ever. I'll ride with you on the Downs, if you like.

O'Neale. Perhaps, Edward Belford will go with us, and we shall have an opportunity of enforcing our opinions upon the merits of these literary friends of his.

Ever. Pray, leave the whole family to themselves-they are so unintelligible, that by having much intercourse with them we shall be involved in continual difficulties. I believe it is always the best way for the different orders of society to keep within their respective bounds-the French revolution has given us a sufficient lesson on this subject.

O'Neale. I think I can give you an easy mode of soothing your vanity. Don't you

think there's a cause for this refusal in

Ever. What refusal do you mean?

O'Neale. Well-well-this coldness in a prior attachment, which, considering all the circumstances, you will allow to balance the advantages of your rank, fortune, person, &c. &c. I suspect Delville, if he returns home safe, will carry off the prize.

Ever. It may be so-now you mention Delville, will you give me once more the particulars of Belford's duel with him-I have heard them a thousand times, but as he is expected home, the story seems revived and likely to engross as much conversation as ever-let me have the circumstances from you again.

O'Neale. The whole affair is very soon understood-nothing was ever more plain-Belford fell in love with a beautiful girl, and introduced Delville to her in order to promote his addresses, by shewing her a friend he was so proud of how it happened, I do not know, but, I suppose, from that fatality which usually perplexes all earthly schemes whenever female charms have their influence, the lady fell desperately in love with Delville, and deserted poor Belford-Belford, too vain or too heated to imagine that this change could have taken place in favor of a man, who was honorably plead

ing the cause of his friend, after explanation upon explanation, which only ended in enflaming the parties, at last demanded satisfaction at the mouth of a pistol-They fought, as you know, and Delville was terribly wounded.

Ever. My life on Delville's honor!

O'Neale. He might be naturalized in my country. There was a deeper wound than any his body sustained, but Belford has atoned.

Ever. His conduct, I am told, in the East Indies, has been extremely brilliant.

O'Neale. As I always expected-he has proved his spotless honor by the valour he has shewn in fighting the battles of his country. From his last letters I fancy we may expect him in England any day-indeed if he sailed at the time he mentions, he ought to have been here already.

Ever. He will find his military glories enriched by the death of his uncle, who I am told, has left him his sole heir.

Del. And by a reward, which, I believe, he will value more than any riches, a reconciliation with Belford, and a marriage, which, with all my regard for you, I can't help wishing for.

But what have I to do with the affairs of others when I manage my own so abominably-It cannot be helped-I must try my fortune again with my angry shepherdess, and make my peace with the young lady through her good offices