master!' Fancy, my dear sir, all the exclamations of vulgar Irish astonishment, and even then you can hardly have an idea of the hubbub the news occasioned. Happily for Alice, she was not one of those morbid literary ladies, who mourn at their hard fate, and pretend to sorrow because their minds are superior to their neighbours, who sigh and sentimentalise over their being obliged to appear before the public, and yet use every justifiable and unjustifiable mode of forcing celebrity. Alice was in the purest sense of the word a Christian, and she felt the necessity of doing her duty in that state of life to which it had pleased God to call her. She shrank not from the useful exercise of her abilities, and she had good sense enough to perceive that the odium, which at that time, even more than now, attached to literary women, proceeded from the attention they exacted, and the airs of superiority they assumed, in society. She did not neglect the cultivation of simple flowers, because she was skilled in botany; she did not cease to charm by the exercise of her fine melodious voice, because she comprehended the nature of sound; nor did she delight less in the mazes of the dance, because she understood the laws of motion. Though she became an author, she had not ceased to be a woman: her motives were noble - her actions pure; so that she neither needed, nor wore, a mask: this was the grand secret of her popularity.

"The creditors of Mr. Barry's estate had lately become clamorous, and declared that the sums stipulated for had not been regularly discharged. My friend found it necessary to go over to Ireland, and settle matters, the derangement of which he could not account for; even his stipend had not lately been remitted, and but for the exertions of Alice Lee, he would have suffered much pecuniary difficulty. He felt that he ought to clear himself from the imputation of connivance, where evidently, on the agent's part, mismanagement, if not dishonesty, must have been practised: he came upon the man unexpectedly, and the fellow paled and trembled before him. Conscious and confused, he fixed the next morning for the explanation of his accounts, but that very night set off for America, taking with him a very considerable sum, which he had prevailed on the tenants to advance, in addition to their rents, under the idea of ministering to their landlord's necessities. This was a dreadful blow to my friend's feelings: Alice had suffered much from delicate health, and he would not subject her to the fatigue of a journey; but earnestly did he long for her presence, to support and cheer him. About three weeks after he had quitted Paris on this unfortunate business, Alice Lee received the following letter, sealed with dismal black; the first page was in the hand-writing of her beloved guardian and relative. She afterwards permitted me to copy it.

'MY BELOVED CHILD, 'Barrybrooke, Dec. 18-. I ought not to have written you so gloomy an account; it was sadly selfish of me to disturb your mind when I know how much depends on the work you are now engaged upon. You would gladly support your poor grandfather-would you not? even if he had not an acre left. No account of that villain since he sailed from Cork. Alice, pray for me- pray that my senses may be spared. The ingratitude I meet with, is the scorpion's sting that festers in my heart. Pray for me, Alice Lee! I suppose it must come to a sale. Sell Barrybrooke! And the trees and flowers she planted! But I shall have one unfading flower left; — you, Alice! Poor Claude is even worse off than myself. Oh! the curse of property, managed as it is in this unhappy country. Would that I had been bred a common tradesman; I should then have been independent, and not afraid to look every man I meet in the face, lest he should ask me for money. Do you know that my sternest creditors are those of my own kin? I am sick at heart, my child, and you are not here. Do you remember the evening you left that splendid

conversazione at the Count de Leonard's to come home, that you might give me the medicine with your own hand? Yet I would not have you here now for the world. Jerry grows young again, and Sir Charles is kind as ever it is too late to wish now, but if I had taken his advice, - good night, my child. You are the only being related to me who never gave me cause for anger. Good night-God bless you! to-morrow I will finish my letter."

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"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Sir Charles, as he lifted his eyes from the painful record. "When the next sun rose, his spirit had met his God: his heart indeed was broken. The remainder was written by his old ser

vant."

'May it plaze ye, Miss, to put up with me to tell ye the sorrowful tidings, that nixt morning when I wint as usual into his honour's room, he was clane gone, and as could as a stone; they worried the soul out o' him, that they did; and my curse, and the curse o' the poor, 'ill rest heavy on 'em to the day o' judgment for that same. I wish ye could see how beautiful he looks this minute; jist smilin' in his coffin. So best; for he's beyant trouble now. God be praised! they could n't keep his sowl from glory! Poor Master Claude is like one mad, and Sir Charles is forced to order the funeral: it 'ill be the thing to do honour to the name, and a grand berrin' as ever was seen in the country; priests and ministers, and all the heart'sblood o' the gentry-and it's my intintion, now that the dear master's gone, to travel into foreign parts myself, and wait upon you, Miss, who must want some one to look after ye; seeing (no offence, hope!) that ye are all as one as my own born child: and so keep up y'er heart, and God's fresh blessin' be about ye, prays y'er humble and faithful servant (till death) to command.

'JEREMIAH KEG.'

"The funeral justified Jerry's expectations. It was feared that an attempt would have been made to arrest the body, but the tenants came prepared for such an event; they were armed, and would have sacrificed their lives, sooner than have suffered a sheriff's officer to lay a finger on the coffin. The scene of confusion and abuse which ensued among those, who, notwithstanding they knew the state of embarrassment the property was in, quarrelled over it, like starved jackalls over mouldering bones, is sickening to think upon. In about six weeks, the estates of the lute Charles Barry, Esq. were advertised to be sold by the sheriff, for the benefit of the creditors of the said estates. The sorrow of sweet Alice Lee was agonizing to witness or think upon; and even now she has not ceased regretting that she did not accompany her grandfather on his last journey. Agitation brought on a nervous fever; and her friends in Paris, for more than a month, dreaded what its final effects might be. She recovered slowly; and one day I was sitting with her in the drawing-room, (when I found I could be of no service in Ireland, I went to see her,) when the lady she was staying with, endeavouring to divert her mind, observed, with the good-humoured playfulness of her country, that Alice's last work had made a conquest of an old half-Indian gentleman, a Mr. Clifton, an Englishman, she believed, who wished he were young enough to make love to her.

"Clifton was my dear grandmother's name,' replied Alice; and she had a brother once, but he died, I believe.' A vague idea, which I could neither account for nor express, took possession of my mind. The next morning I waited on the old gentleman; and judge of my delight and astonishment, when I found, after much investigation, that Mr. Clifton was indeed the brother of her grandmother, who had gone abroad when his

sister was too young to remember aught about him, and who had returned a wifeless and childless man: and the discovery of such a relative was a source of extraordinary happiness to him. He was a proud, stern man, very unlike the parent she had lost; yet he soon proved that he was anxious to bestow upon her what the world calls substantial proofs of his affection. Being the avowed heiress of a rich Indian merchant could add nothing to the lustre of Alice Lee, but it increased her power of doing good. The idea of Barrybrooke being sold rendered her very miserable. Claude was always very kind to me,' she said, and I should like to prove that I am not ungrateful, by saving the house and domain for him.' Her uncle, who might well be proud of her, when I mentioned this wish to him, caught with avidity at the idea of gratifying her, and agreed to give money for the purpose, just as if he were bestowing upon her a splendid toy. He wished to visit Dublin, and we set out for that once splendid city with many and varied feelings. But I tire you, a moment more, and my tale is ended. We were grieved, on our arrival there, to find that the sale had been hurried forward: by the desire of Alice Lee, I wrote to the sheriff, offering terms for the house, &c. of Barrybrooke. Through some precious mistake, which could not occur in any other country, my letter miscarried. We drove down to the estate, and here you must let me mention an instance of the delicacy of my favourite's mind. She positively would not travel in her uncle's carriage, but racketed the old gentleman all to pieces in an Irish post-chaise.

"It would insult their distress,' she said, ' to go in splendour, when the family of my benefactor is reduced almost to want. The auction was going on when we drove into the town; we were ten minutes too late; the very house of Barrybrooke had been sold to the architect I spoke of! The kind and generous feelings of iny young friend were thus thrown into another channel; she purchased an annuity for 'Cousin Claude,' and to the hour of his death he never knew from whom the income came, that enabled him to live with so much comfort during the five years he survived his uncle. She practised the revenge of a Christian: she did good to those who had despitefully used her, nor were they averse to partake of whatever crumbs she chose to bestow. You know the romance of her marriage, and we have often laughed at the grotesque figure Jerry exhibited at Paris; - by the way

Mr. Newton looked at his watch!-the kind-hearted, garrulous old gentleman took the hint, only adding, that the motto adopted by Alice, was INDEPENDENCE, the device, a little bark passing through a stormy sea, with Hope at the helm, and the haven in view; and adding, "Thank God, all the trials of Alice Lee were endured in youth: her after-age was free from them, save and except those inherent in, and doubtless necessary to, human nature."

THE VISIONARY.

THE TRIALS OF DELPHINE BARRINGTON.

"Bur her early trials were purely imaginary. All her life she was possessed of wealth, and rank, and reputation; that is, reputation of a certain class the reputation of beauty and cleverness, and all that sort of thing."

"What do you mean by all that sort of thing,' Myra?" inquired Lady Constance of her niece, who had made the observation.

"Why, you know all that sort of thing-beauty and cleverness, — you know what I mean, dear aunt?"

"I know, at least I imagine I know, what beauty is, and I can appreciate cleverness -- but as to all that sort of thing!' it is one of those undefined expressions which are perpetually waging war with common sense and correct language. People get hold of a string of words, and send them forth, on the same principle that a tail is appended to a paper kite- as small ballast to a weak judgment."

66 My dear aunt!"

"My Myra I do not mean to hurt you in any way; but I confess myself sick and ashamed at the miserable paucity of ideas and expressions continually manifest in what is termed polite conversation. I would not have you a chatter-box, but I think perhaps my opinion is old-fashioned -but I do think the aim and object of conversation is to be understood." Young Myra pouted a little; but she was too deeply interested in the subject not to draw her aunt's attention again to Delphine, whose life and trials had been much talked of in what she called "the world ;" but which, in fact, was nothing more than the coterie of which she was a unit.

"I am sure," she persisted, "I have heard you say, a thousand times, that Delphine's trials were purely imaginary."

"You have heard me say they originated in imagination; she wound up her mind to a particular pitch, and whatever did not harmonize with it, her sensibility magnified into a misery; but you must remember that, although the greater number of her trials arose from this source, they were afterwards converted into real misfortunes; the less likely to be relieved, because their origin was within her own bosom. The fact is, Delphine began life upon a wrong principle. She desired to measure all with whom she came in contact by her own standard of excellence. She was not content to take the world as it is, but she wished to arrange people and things according to her own notions of fitness; she had a sublime and exquisite idea of perfection; her tastes were pure and refined, and her susceptibilities strong. If she had been less the spoiled child of fortune she might have become tractable; but a woman who, at nineteen, finds herself mistress of five thousand a year, and has learned its value in her nursery, is hardly under the dominion of reason. Delphine never affected sentiment

-but she felt it. Her brilliant imagination was perpetually at work; a phrenologist would have said, that she should have been continually brought into contact with facts--that so the influence of fiction might be diminished; but, sooth to say, five thousand a year procures to the possessor numberless arguments in favour of whatever theory the said possessor wishes to establish. And Delphine's acquaintances were more inelined to flatter her wild extravagances than to correct them."

"Would she have thanked them for their advice?" inquired Myra.

66

Probably not, in the first instance: but true friendship works without such recompense: and Delphine was too affectionate not to be grateful, when once assured it was her benefit that was sought. The whole train of her miseries arose out of an uncontrolled imagination."

"You think, then," said Myra, gravely, " that her faults or crimes arose from that cause, not from a predilection for vice?"

"I do. I believe that crime in woman, in nine cases out of ten, originates in the faults and circumstances arising from an ill-directed, or, at best, an unsubdued imagination. Facts are what women are seldom acquainted with; so that they reason from false conclusions. Society, particularly of gone-by days, has much to answer for: the weaknesses of women have been cherished; they have been educated on principles equally irrational and unphilosophic; and yet greater strength, greater forbearance, is expected from them than men are ever called upon to practise. The knowledge of this truth has taught me mercy; and I never perceive the full tide of public opinion running against a woman without questioning its justice, and feeling inclined to alter its course, and turn it against men, who are a thousand times as bad, and yet are received as if they were sans reproche."

"Shall we revolt ?" inquired Myra, laughing; "and, taking society into our own hands, change the current of affairs?""

"I believe,” replied Lady Constance, "that, even in this age of change, what may be termed a 'revolt' would be perfectly useless; but society is much more in our own hands than men would care to confess; we could do a great deal if we went properly to work. Most females endeavour to rule by a species of petty intrigue, and accomplish great ends by little mcans; this must render them contemptible even to those over whom they triumph. Whereas

"I know what you are going to say," interrupted the lively Myra. "You are going to say, that women should rule by the power of gentleness, if that is not inexplicable, and should show by practice what their precepts are. But never mind that now, dear aunt. You knew Delphine when she was young, before a breath had been breathed against her reputation; and you know, and even visit her, now that she is old."

"Ah! my child!" replied Lady Constance; "I do I do visit her, because I feel for her, and because she has not ceased to feel for herself. I have gathered many pearls from her lips. And in her old age, happily for herself, she has seen her folly."

"When it is too late!" sighed Myra.

"Too late,” replied Lady Constance, "for this world's happiness; but you remember, I hope, it is not for this world alone we live."

"Her experience, my dear aunt, must be worth hearing."

"It is; but the ear of youth is more hardened against the voice of experience than the stone, which, it is known, can be indented by a perpetual drop. How wise we should be if, instead of seeking that same treasure for ourselves, we profited by the experience of others!"

"But Delphine-Delphine-aunt mine; do let me hear all about Delphine!"

Lady Constance smiled, and took up her knitting, which her niece well