-of a third, who, venturing too thinly clad into the night-air to see some fireworks, was attacked with violent fever, the cutaneous effects or relics of which rendered her a sad object for the remainder of her days: after which the retirement of such individuals from society, upon Christian convictions of its exceeding sinfulness, may appear very meritorious in the eyes of the young pupils, but certainly does not so in ours. Sundry others of her heroines she wears out in such a career of excitement, folly, and extravagance, before they think of exchanging it for a more rational course of life, that we are tempted to adopt the conclusion of Molière,

Tant qu'elle a pu des cœurs attirer les hommages,
Elle a fort bien joui de tous ces avantages;
Mais, voyant de ses yeux tous les brillans baisser,
Au monde, qui la quitte, elle veut renoncer.'

But we must now give some specimen of this lady's opinions and style. And it is but just to apprise the readers that these tales are generally the voluntary confessions of pious auto-anatomists, who, conceiving that all assurance of present goodness consists solely in the excessive sense of previous guilt, find a morbid pleasure in the most extravagant self-condemnation, and persuade themselves that the greater violence they do to nature, the higher homage they pay to religion. Accordingly, the Lady of the Manor has a host of heroes and heroines at her beck, who, with an insatiable thirst for martyrdom, all rush forward to claim, by the exposure of such part of their private characters as, if true, they had much better have kept to themselves, the glory of illustrating every baneful passion that disturbs the human breast, and the violation of all the ten commandments in succession. Such an one is Matilda Vincent, to whom the particular privilege is granted of performing the part of Envy in her own person. This heroine prefaces her recollections by the following statement, the opening of which might raise some doubt as to which side of the grave this biography was written upon :

'It having pleased the Almighty Ruler of all things to call me, the chief of sinners, to come into his gracious presence, and to receive his free grace and pardon, which were obtained for me by the precious death of His beloved Son, I have thought right at an advanced period of my life, lest I should be led impiously to take credit to myself for that which has been wrought for me by God alone, to note down certain circumstances of my life.'

At this advanced period of life it may seem surprising that Matilda and other ladies should be able to recall with such extreme accuracy the minutest thoughts and expressions of their early

days;

days; but the fact is cleared up by a declaration from one of them, that she believes her memory to have been supernaturally assisted."'

Matilda Vincent now proceeds to state that, being left an orphan at an early age, as Mrs. Sherwood's ladies invariably are, she was fetched in a coach and six to an uncle's house, and there brought up with his only child, a little girl of her own age, and, of course, also motherless. Here she receives the greatest kindness, and is perfectly happy, till, playing with her doll one day, she overhears a conversation between her governess and the housekeeper, who, while they expatiate on the high fortunes which little Miss Agnes had a title to, and the great match she would have a right to expect,' take occasion to let fall that Miss Matilda's parents had not left her a sixpence. At these words Envy takes possession of her breast-she throws down her doll-and, her pretty cousin entering, the following sentimental interlude takes place :

:

'She was generally pale, but the air and exercise had given a blush to her cheeks, and added much to her beauty. She came forward to me, with much affection in her manner, and, kissing me, she presented me with a small paper of dried sweetmeats which she brought from a lady to whom her father had introduced her during their airing; but I have no doubt that I received them with a very bad grace, for nothing makes a person so awkward as being under the influence of the mean spirit of envy.'

From this day the reign of envy begins. Her cousin's superior fortunes occupy her mind night and day, and, discovering that Agnes stands between her and the family estates, we find intimations of this amiable child's desiring her cousin's death-nay, we are led to infer, of her endeavouring to compass it, for open mention is made of the murderous tendency of my wishes,'-while, at the same time, this little Jacqueline Sheppard is careful,' she says, not to omit any mark of outward regard and affection by which I might evince to the world, and to Agnes herself, the strength of my regard and my devotedness.'

6

So much for a child's character under ten years of age. Proceeding, however, with all the exquisite self-flattery of premeditated self-abasement, Matilda further confesses that this feeling continued rather to increase than to diminish till she was nineteen years of age, though she had no reason to imagine that her real character was ever suspected by any one about her. At this time the uncle announces to the young ladies the approaching visit of a young man, the son of an old friend, to whom he begs them to render his house agreeable. The daughter, who, having had a pious nurse, is as much too good as the niece is too wicked, ' received

́received this command of her father's, as she did every other, without making a comment upon it,' while Miss Matilda, having somehow found out that Mr. Clarence Fitzgerald is the intended husband of Agnes, becomes inflamed with a greater degree of envy and hatred than ever, and resolves to do the utmost to secure the gentleman's affections for herself-a design in which an illness that confines Agnes to her own room now favours her. The following is the opening scene of this plot, and some specimen of the style which the authoress has mistaken for simplicity:

'I was sitting alone in our common parlour when I was apprised by a loud ringing at our outer court of the arrival of Mr. Fitzgerald. Persons who are full of projects and designs of self-interest are ever liable to fearful apprehensions, which persons of more simplicity are not troubled with. Now that the moment had arrived which I had so long desired I began to tremble, and looked around me in haste, considering what would be the effect of the first coup-d'œil which was to break upon the young man upon his first entering the room. The parlour was, for that period of time, an elegant apartment, being large and high, wainscoted with oak, having a cornice composed of a running pattern of the same wood, whereon were represented many delicately-shaped birds, resting on leaves and branches of trees. The floor was brightly polished, and the furniture covered with fine chintz-a large folding glass-door was open to the garden, and on each side of this door were couches with tables before them, on which I had scattered my drawings, my books, and some specimens of fine needlework. I contrived to seem engaged with my guitar at the instant at which hasty steps in the hall advertised me that the visitor was near at hand; and I only laid it down at the moment when Mr. Clarence Fitzgerald entered the room, and presented a figure which more than answered all my preconceived ideas of him.

'I had perhaps never seen a young man who so completely answered my notions of the perfect gentleman as the person who then entered the room; he was, moreover, particularly well-looking. But all this ought not to have influenced me, persuaded as I was that he was the intended husband of my cousin.

'I affected some surprise at seeing him, apologised for my uncle's absence (for he happened not to be at home), called for refreshments, and did all in my power to render myself agreeable to my guest. I was soon aware that the young gentleman took me for my cousin, and I resolved to keep him under the delusion as long as circumstances would admit. I saw that from time to time he looked at me with a peculiar interest, and I had some pleasure in thinking that he seemed far from dissatisfied with my appearance. Refreshments were spread before him, but he was too much occupied to partake of them; and when the servants were withdrawn he removed from his seat by the table to one on the sofa by me, and, looking me full in the face (though in a manner sufficiently respectful), he spoke of the anxiety he had long felt to see me, adding something highly gratifying to my vanity, relative to the perfect satisfaction he had derived from the sight of me. I passed this

D 2

over,

over, pretending not to hear all he said, and we fell into an easy discourse upon indifferent subjects, in which I flattered myself that I did myself much credit; at least I plainly saw that I succeeded in interesting my auditor, and was fully aware that if my unhappy cousin was out of the way there would have been no objection made by Mr. Fitzgerald to have taken me in her stead, for in case of her death I was the rightful heiress to her father's estates.'

Having ascertained this much in the course of the first hour, it is not surprising that Mr. Fitzgerald quickly gets over the little fact of her not being her cousin; and, by the afternoon of the same day, the young catechumens are favoured with a sample of lover's talk and lover's dalliance, according to Mrs. Sherwood's best recollections of the same, in which the character of this 'perfect gentleman' is somewhat doubtfully sustained. For a fortnight Miss Matilda keeps possession of the ground, during which time she owns to having surrendered her own affections, and sees every reason to suppose that she has secured those of the gentleman in return. While this is going on she occasionally visits Agnes in her sick-room, whom she generally found reading a pious book or cutting out clothes for the poor,' and who, of course, was far too good ever to think of inquiring after Mr. Fitzgerald. Agnes, however, gets better, and the day arrives for her to be introduced to the guest, who, to Matilda's consternation, evinces quite as many symptoms of being struck with the right lady as he had before in the case of the wrong one-avoids from that moment all occasion of a tête-à-tête with his first flameand, in as short a time as possible, leads Agnes to the altar. This blow of course does not improve the nature of Matilda's feelings towards the heiress; and, being resolved to marry at all events, she rejoiced to receive the addresses of a young officer who was quartered in the next town.' Her uncle presents her with a handsome marriage portion, to which her cousin joins some expensive presents; and these, added to the young man's pay, enabled them to live in a style quite superior to any other married officer in the regiment.'

But in her husband she has met with a kindred spirit-all they both think of is envying their betters and plotting for promotion; and having now the pleasure of exposing all his faults as well as her own, it is with a particular gusto that the worthy narrator informs her young friends of the glee with which my husband would announce the death of a superior officer.'

But promotion in the army was not the only interesting subject of discourse between myself and my husband: he was continually calculating the chances which I had of coming into my uncle's estate, and in this manner he would often express himself:-"Your uncle is old and

paralytic

paralytic-he has had two strokes already-a third is generally fatal. În case of his death there is only one life in your way, and that is your cousin Agnes. She is not healthy-she always, I have heard you say, was of a consumptive habit."

Sometimes I would reply to this "She may have children." He would then calculate upon the chances of this, remarking that she had been married two years or more, and had no prospect of this kind. We then, not unfrequently, proceeded to calculate the value of the estate, and to talk ourselves almost into a belief that we had it already in possession. Had we entered upon this kind of conversation in a serious manner, we might perhaps have been more easily aware of its horrible tendency. But it was always carried on in a gay rattling style, and in a kind of cant language, such as is commonly used by young spendthrifts, and generally over a bottle.'

Mrs. Sherwood seems here to have no suspicion that, when such conversation as the above is not rendered impossible by real principle, it is inevitably restrained by that habit of propriety and good taste which, though of little intrinsic worth in an individual, is yet invaluable in society. We can, however, assure her that there is that in the human heart, with all its faults, which deters even the worst of rogues and villains from barefaced disclosure of their sentiments, and that no end is answered by painting poor human nature as worse than it really is, save a confusion and perversion of ideas, which, in Matilda's case, the last paragraph may perhaps account for. But to return to our happy pair. The first event which seems to bring them at all nearer the desired estate is the death of the uncle, which the husband announces with the utmost nonchalance,' but which is soon followed by the less welcome intelligence' of Mrs. Fitzgerald being in expectation of an heir. A son is accordingly born-both mother and child do well—and the feelings of the hopeful couple on this obscuration of all their views are calculated to have a most elevating influence upon those of the youthful listeners. The next incident of any importance after this is a letter from Agnes, containing an account of the death of Mr. Fitzgerald by a fall from his horse, and presenting a lively picture of the distress of the afflicted widow.'

6

'While I was yet considering whether this event'-[the death of the only man she had loved]-tended towards the advancement of my prospect of the estate or otherwise-for all my feelings were now nearly swallowed up in ambition-my husband came in, and I imparted the news to him. What I only thought upon the subject, he with less delicacy spoke, and said, "Had it been Fitzgerald's wife, instead of himself, it would have been a fine thing in your favour, my dear; but as it now stands the widow may marry again, and then we are no nearer than we were before!""

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