and I regulated my conduct to tha tenour which has principle more than affection to strengthen its progress.

At Bristol my mother experienced the most gra tifying reception: all her former friends rejoiced to see her; I was invited daily to feasts of hospitality, and I found that fortune was, to common minds, a never-failing passport. Mr. Robinson was repre sented as a young man of considerable expectations, and his wife was consequently again received as the daughter of Mr. Darby. The house in which I first opened my eyes to this world of sorrow, the minster, its green, the school house where I had passed many days, the tomb of my lost relatives in the church of St. Augustine, were all visited by me with a sweet and melancholy interest. But the cathedral, the brass eagle in the middle aisle, under which, when an infant, I used to sit and join in the loud anthem or chaunt the morning service, most sensibly attached me. I longed again to occupy my place beneath its expanding wings, and once I went, before the service began, to gratify my inclination.

Language cannot describe the sort of sensation which I felt, when I heard the well-known, longremembered organ, flinging its loud peal through the Gothic structure. I hastened to the cloisters. The nursery windows were dim, and shattered; the house was sinking to decay. The mouldering walk was gloomy, and my spirits were depressed beyond description:-I stood alone, rapt in meditation: "Here," said I, " did my infant feet pace to and fro;" here, did I climb the long stone bench, and swiftly measure it, at the peril of my safety. On those dark and winding steps, did I sit and listen to the fulltoned organ, the loud anthem, and the bell, which called the parishioners to prayer.' I entered the cathedral once more; I read and re-read the monumental inscriptions: I paused upon the

grave of Powel; I dropped a tear on the small square ground tablet which bore the name of Evelyn*. Ah! how little has the misjudging world known of what has passed in my mind, even in the apparently gayest moments of my existence ! How much have I regretted that ever I was born, even when I have been surrounded with all that could gratify the vanity of woman!

Mr. Robinson on his arrival at Tregunter dispatched a letter informing me that his uncle seemed disposed to act handsomely, but that he had only ventured to avow an intention to marry, fearful of abruptly declaring that he had been already some months a husband. Mr. Harris, for that was the name of my father-in-law, replied, that "he hoped the object of his choice was not too young!" At this question Mr. Robinson was somewhat disconcerted, "A young wife," continued Mr. Harris, " cannot mend a man's fortune: How old is the girl you have chosen ?"

"She is nearly seventeen!"

I was then only fifteen and a few months.

"I hope she is not handsome," was the second observation. "You say she is not rich; and beauty, without money, is but a dangerous sort of portion."

"Will you see her?"

"I have no objection," said Mr. Harris.

"She is now with her mother at Bristol-for," continued Mr. Robinson, with some hesitation, "she is my wife.”

"Well!

Mr. Harris paused, and then replied, stay with me only a few days, and then you shall fetch her. If the thing is done, it cannot be undone. She is a gentlewoman, you say, and I can have no reason to refuse seeing her."

The same letter which contained this intelligence,

*A friend of our family.

also requested me to prepare for my journey; and desired me to write to a person whom Mr. Robinson named in London, and whom I had seen in his company, for a sum of money which would be necessary for our journey. This person was Mr. John King, then a money-broker in Goodman's-Fields; but I was an entire stranger to the transaction which rendered him the temporary source of my husband's finances.

One or two letters passed on this subject, and I waited anxiously for my presentation at Tregunter. At length the period of Mr. Robinson's return arrived, and we set out together, while my mother remained with her friends at Bristol. Crossing the Old Passage to Chepstow in an open boat, a distance though not extended extremely perilous, we found the tide so strong, and the night so boister ous, that we were apprehensive of much danger. The rain poured and the wind blew tempestuously. The boat was full of passengers, and at one end of it were placed a drove of oxen. My terror was infinite:-I considered this storm as an ill omen; but little thought that, at future periods of my life, I should have cause to regret that I had not perished!

During our journey Robinson entreated me to overlook any thing harsh that might appear in the manners of his uncle; for he still denied that Mr. Harris was his father. But, above all things, he conjured me to conceal my real age, and to say that I was some years older than he knew me to be. To this proposal I readily consented, and I felt myself firm in courage at the moment when we came within sight of Tregunter.

Mr. Harris was then building the family mansion, and resided in a pretty little decorated cottage which was afterwards converted into domestic offices. We passed through a thick wood, the mountains at every brake meeting our eyes covered with thin clouds,

and rising in a sublime altitude above the valley. A more romantic space of scenery never met the human eye!-I felt my mind inspired with a pensive melancholy, and was only awakened from my reverie by the post-boy stopping at the mansion of Tregunter.

Mr. Harris came out to receive me. I wore a dark claret-coloured riding-habit, with a white beaver hat and feathers. He embraced me with excessive cordiality, while Miss Robinson, my husband's sister, with cold formality led me into the house. I never shall forget her looks or her manner. Had her brother presented the most abject being to her, she could not have taken my hand with a more frigid demeanour. Miss Robinson, though not more than twenty years of age, was Gothic in her appearance and stiff in her deportment; she was of low stature, and clumsy, with a countenance peculiarly formed for the expression of sarcastic vulgarity-a short snub nose, turned up at the point, a head thrown back with an air of bauteur; a gaudy-coloured chintz gown, a thrice bordered cap, with a profusion of ribbons, and a countenance somewhat more ruddy than was consistent with even pure health, presented the personage whom I was to know as my future companion and kinswoman!

Mr. Harris looked like a venerable HAWTHORN; a brown fustian coat, a scarlet waistcoat edged with narrow gold, a pair of woollen spatter-dashes, and a gold laced hat, formed the dress he generally wore. He always rode a small Welch pony, and was seldom in the house excepting at eating-time, from sun-rise to the close of evening.

There was yet another personage in the domestic establishment, who was by Mr. Harris regarded as of no small importance: this was a venerable housekeeper of the name of Mary Edwards. Mrs. Molly was the female Mentor of the family; she dined at

the table with Mr. Harris; she was the governess of the domestic departinent; and a more overbearing, vindictive spirit never inhabited the heart of mortal than that which pervaded the soul of the illnatured Mrs. Molly.

It may easily be conjectured that my time passed heavily in this uninteresting circle. I was condemned either to drink ale with "the 'Squire," for Mr. Harris was only spoken of by that title, or to visit the methodistical seminary which Lady Huntingdon had established at Trevecca, another mansion-house on the estate of Mr. Harris. Miss Robinson was of this sect; and though Mr. Harris was not a disciple of the Huntingdonian School, he was a constant church visitor on every Sunday. His zeal was indefatigable; and he would frequently fine the rustics, (for he was a justice of the peace, and had been sheriff of the county, (when he heard them swear, though every third sentence he uttered was attended by an oath that made his hearers shudder.

I soon became a considerable favourite of the "Squire," but I did not find any yielding qualities about the hearts of Miss Betsy or Mrs. Molly, They observed me with jealous eyes; they considered me as an interloper, whose manners attracted Mr. Harris's esteem, and who was likely to dimin ish their divided influence in the family. I found them daily growing weary of my society; I perceived their side-long glances when I was compli. mented by the visiting neighbours on my good looks, or taste in the choice of my dresses. Miss Robinson rode on horseback in a camlet safe-guard, with a high-crowned bonnet. I wore a fashionable habit, and looked like something human. Envy at length assumed the form of insolence, and I was taunted perpetually on the folly of appearing like a woman of fortune;-that a lawyer's wife had no right to dress like a duchess; and that, though I might be