sparkling with gold and silver, rendered almost a realization of some enchantment.

There ladies having recovered from the pressure of the crowd, had leisure for all the "How d'ye dos" of recognition; and to laugh at the dangers they had passed." Trevor still continued with Lady Pomeroy, in spite of the grave looks and assurances that she was "quite ashamed to trouble him any more.' He was too much accustomed, however, to slight any hints that were not exceeding broad ones, to be put off easily; so he went rattling on about his tour, and what he had seen abroad, and drew a comparison between the Spanish, French, and English courts; and in short, rendered himself entertaining, till "Lady Pomeroy's carriage stops the way," hurried them down into the hall, and through the corridor, lest it should be sent on by the police before they could reach the door, in which case Lady Pomeroy, by sad experience, knew that they might have to walk a quarter of a mile to get to it, or be detained for hours till it should again come round in rotation. It was at such times as these that she envied those who had the entrée, a privilege which no riches could procure her.

Trevor saw them to their carriage, saying every thing he could to procure even a distant invitation from Lady Pomeroy; but all in vain. It was useless hinting where hints were not intended to be taken. Trevor was therefore at last obliged in saying " Adieu," to add, "that of course, he should feel it his duty to call in Grosvenor Square, to inquire after them."

A cold bow from Lady Pomeroy was immediately followed by drawing up the glass. "Drive on, coachman," exclaimed the Police man-away flew the horses-and home went the two heroines to undress, and lay aside all their drawing-room paraphernalia, except their tiaras and feathers, which were to be again exhibited in Lady Pomeroy's box at the Opera.

The tiaras and feathers, however, were not their only accompaniments in the opera-box: for Trevor took his place beside them, and in spite of the cold looks of Lady Pomeroy, kept his station through the whole of the opera and ballet elbowed his way with them along the lobby into the concert room, called their carriage, and in fact did every thing in the world to be civil to and amuse Lady Pomeroy, who, on their way home, could not help expressing that they were really very much obliged to Mr. Trevor; to which she added, "And it is a pity he is a younger brother."

THERE are few events in our short passage through life that are more contemplated by persons of both sexes, or anticipated with greater eagerness, or which produce more bitter or sweeter results, than marriage. Marriage, the end of love; and alas! in how many instances is this end attained? Love is the subject of the poet-Marriage of the philosopher: the one creates a thousand imaginary blisses, which it is the province of the other to destroy; and yet with thousands of examples before our eyes of the variety of miseries which this connexion produces, unless all the judgment as well as the affections of our nature is exerted in its formation, how many do we see daily and hourly making the desperate plunge, without exerting the foresight of Æsop's frog, of looking into the well before taking the leap. But even Æsop's frog might get out of the well again. But in matrimony, it is vestigia nulla retrorsum, and therefore both sexes should look well into the matter before they embark in it, and ascertain what are the real causes which induce them to commit matrimony.

Men should ascertain whether they stand most in need of a wife, an heiress, or a nurse; and whether it is their passions, their wants, or their infirmities, that induce them to wed: and women should ask themselves whether it is a husband, an establishment, or rank, that makes them trust their guardianship to a man. In short, both should know, according to the epigram, whether they are candidates for the state, propter opus, opes, or opem.

Would people put these questions to themselves before they go to the altar, instead of after it, when they thrust themselves

into the mind perforce, and will be answered, I am inclined to think there would not be so many miserable families, nor so much business for Doctors' Commons. A timely understanding of the motives that lead to the altar, would prevent many heart-breaking disappointments, which are often deplorable, often ridiculous, and always remediless. In Mr. Fleming's family, there were almost as many different opinions upon the subject of marriage as there were persons. His own ideas were entirely confined to his own ambitious projects: as he had himself married entirely for the purpose of connecting himself with people of rank, all his wishes with regard to his daughters had the same end in view. Lady Pomeroy's inclinations were much of the same nature, only that she wished to be the match-maker, and had no idea of either of her nieces choosing for themselves. Amelia's destiny was fixed, as far as the determinations of her father and aunt were concerned; and she was precisely the character to render a compliance with their wishes easy. But Agnes had very different ideas; she had thought for herself-and what was more, had felt for herself; and all these thoughts and feelings had been buoyed up by the nature of her reading. Agnes had lived in poetry, and she felt poetically; being far removed by fortune from the common occupations of life, and in a station which brought her very little in contact with the vulgar realities of existence, she imagined a world of her own, and anticipated a long series of years of happiness flowing from the kindliest feelings of human nature, from love, friendship, and that intercourse of heart, soul, and mind, which look so pretty upon paper, and which sound so sweetly in the numbers of the poet; but which, alas! are as far removed from reality, as the Damons and Daphnes of Virgil, and other pastoralists, with their pipes and crooks, are from the clodhopping hob-nailed Toms, Jacks, and Wills, who drive our pigs to market; and the coarse blousabella Bettys, Sallys, and Winifreds, who milk our cows, and churn our butter and cheese.

She had a kind of romantic feeling of the duration of first impressions, and fell into that very common error, that first love is always the strongest and the purest that it may be the purest, is much more likely than that it is the strongest; since at the period of life that it is generally experienced, our passions are purer, because they have not attained their maturity; as infancy is always more innocent than manhood.

But that first love is or can be the strongest, if felt in early youth, I much doubt, for the heart has not yet learned the strength of its own feelings. Passion, like every thing else, must grow more powerful by experience, and must be stronger in the full maturity of life than at its commencement.

Agnes, however, could not think so-she was youngshe had been pleased-and she thought she loved; and it was agreeably to all her received and cherished notions, that the object of this love should be the youth whom she had first distinguished. Perhaps, too, her love for Lady Emily had encouraged this feeling in no small degree; and Trevor, being a remarkably fine young man, with showy talent and a great flow of animal spirits, a closer acquaintance was not likely to change those feelings in his favour. There was another thing that also worked powerfully for him in her mind, and this was Lady Pomeroy's prejudice against him. Her independent mind naturally revolted against any thing that in the slightest degree savoured of injustice, and her heart always espoused the cause of those whom she considered its victims. Agnes had only seen Trevor in those moments when he had appeared amiable-she recollected with gratitude and pleasure the attentions which he had paid her when a boy-and when he came to her as a fine young man, with a soldier's laurels round his brows, and came too, as the brother of her dearest friend, it was no wonder that gratitude and pleasure should increase to something warmer; and this being the first sensation of the kind, no wonder she gave to it the character of that all-engrossing passion which she had so often pictured in her imagination. Trevor, too, was a passionate and persevering lover: Lady Pomeroy's opposition had acted upon his mind precisely in the same manner in which it had stimulated Agnes, and had made him determine to succeed.

Agnes had thus known him as a boy, and knew him as a man; but she had not known him between these epochs. She had heard indeed of his gallant conduct in the field: she knew his progress from cornet to lieutenant, from lieutenant to captain, and from captain to major; and all this told well for him. But she knew nothing of the progress of his mind and heart during this period; she knew nothing of the developement of his character; she knew how he had lived publicly, but she was utterly ignorant of his private conduct. She knew the direction-posts and mile-stones that

marked his career; but she was utterly ignorant of the scenery between them. She recollected him an engaging boy-she had heard of him as a gallant soldier, and she received him as a passionate lover, and the brother of that friend whom she considered that it would be happiness to call sister; and with all these reflections she gave herself up to the delicious dream of first love, and imagined for Trevor the perfections which he certainly did not possess. And what girl of her age has not done the same?

The determined friendship of Agnes for Lady Emily, and the dislike Mr. Fleming had to offend any person of family, had made her nearly a constant visiter in his house in spite of Lady Pomeroy; and thus Trevor, as her brother, naturally also found a footing, though the old lady kept a very watchful eye upon his conduct: for she was determined that the immense fortunes which both her nieces would have, should never go to support a younger brother, and particularly the cadet of a family, the head of which had formerly offended her pride.

Agnes was too open-hearted, and lived too much on the surface, to enable her to conceal her partiality from such prying eyes; and the consequence was, many a smart discussion upon matrimony, and its prudences and imprudences in which Lady Pomeroy tried in vain to make a convert of her lively niece to her own principles.

Many a lecture did the old Lady read to the three young ladies as they passed their mornings in their boudoir; and many and fierce were the arguments she used against marriages of mere inclination. But she might have argued and inveighed till doomsday, before she could have changed the notions of Agnes on this interesting subject.

One morning, as usual, something had given rise to their usual discussion. Either what Agnes had said, or something that Lady Emily had just read aloud, made Lady Pomeroy exclaim :

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Well, well, I wish marriages were made here as they are in France; there they are sensible people, and the parents choose for their children, as they ought to do everywhere, and for the best of reasons; namely, their experience, their knowledge of the world, and of what was best for their children. There the young people had nothing to do with it but to obey their relations, who were not to be misled by love and such nonsense.'