that she may perceive your heart, as well as your head, to have been interested by her attentions; and that you not only think, but that you feel, justly. I say all this, to counteract the reluctance that I know you feel upon writing this sort of letter; but remember that it is an advantage to encounter, and it is wise to overcome, such difficulties: remember how many greater difficulties will occur in the arduous paths of life; and, if you stumble at a mole-hill, how will you surmount the Andes? Yet the Andes may possibly, during the progress of so long a journey as that of life, rise in prospect before you.

I by no means wish you to return sooner than the appointed time. You are very sympathising on our account; but I have no wish to make my daughters suffer either for or with me: they will, in the course of things, have suffering enough of their own by-and-by. However, I am very much pleased with your desire of coming to serve your father and relieve me; for I prefer sympathy to every other quality, since it is the only one that enables us to do to others as we would be done by. A person without sympathy can never know how to set about the help he would give, even with the best possible intentions."

Soon after this visit, we find Mrs. Barbauld claiming the promise of her young friend to repeat it, and bidding her "dismiss the green and yellow fiend, Envy," because, in a projected visit to Clifton, she was about to pass so many hours in free and unrestrained conversation with her favourite Miss Edgeworth."

She ever retained kindly and grateful feelings towards Mrs. Barbauld, together with a very high estimate of her

powers. She considered her style as the purest and best of female prose writers. Through life she never ceased to remember with delight the enjoyment she derived from Mrs. Barbauld's "Prose Hymns," when read to her by her mother in early childhood; and during her last weeks on earth, she turned again to these associations with undiminished tenderness.

On another visit, paid a little later, to some relations at Bath, we find Mrs. Galton writing to her daughter as follows. The advice is characteristic of the sort of training so carefully bestowed, as well in its excellences as in its defects.

"I promised last night that a letter should meet you at Bath, but I have already sent four pages to Gloucester, so perhaps you think to get off from the trouble of reading another so soon. In this, however, you are mistaken. Soon after I had finished my letter this morning, I heard a little voice in the nursery, calling Patty;' so I supposed that Patty was there taking leave, but as I was not inclined to take leave again, I locked my own door to keep you all out. So I escaped one trouble. I shall never say with Romeo, that

'parting is so sweet a sorrow,

That I would say, Good night, until to-morrow.'

Nevertheless I have enjoyed your journey already, and your ride over the Lickeys: you are there just at this time, I imagine, enjoying the sunshine and the prospect. I hope the sun may continue to gild all your prospects, not only as you ride to Bath, but also during your whole journey through the world. As I have no news, I have

nothing left to fill another sheet of paper, but hopes. I hope, then, that you will remember to look at my wise list of instructions; and I hope, too, you will follow them; and now I am going to add a few more.

"In the first place, then, I beg you will consider this journey as a lesson which is to teach prudence and circumspection. I hope that, if a great many young gentlemen resort to the house in the Crescent, you will learn how to behave upon such occasions; not to do too much or too little; not to lay aside established forms, or to practise the starched prude. If young men are present, talk to them as much as you please, but always sit in the circle with the ladies.

"Above all things enter into no investigations with any body; no abstruse speculations, no referring to principles in common conversation, unless your opinion be asked; and then give it clearly once; but make no effort to maintain or enforce it, unless some wise and older person lead the way to an argument; and then put an end to it as soon as you can with a jest. Say, 'I must beg to be excused from going on, lest you should be convinced by my reasons, which I see you don't like to adopt:' or say, 'I am afraid of going on, lest I should be convinced by yours, and so give up the triumph to my adversary.' Talk about matters of fact. Surely there are follies enough in the world to supply conversation, without referring to reason upon every occasion. Expatiate upon the weather, upon the journey, upon the fashions, upon the faces of people you see; in short, upon all you see or hear, but say very little about what you think, and take care to think as little

as you can help. To quote Dr. Darwin upon thinking, who quotes Sancho upon weeping, Take as little of it as you can, to go through the world decently.' And I really believe that the regulation of the heart will do more for us than the reasonings of the head. Do lay yours by for a little while, and let it rest. Farewell. Farewell. My love to Patty, Nancy, and the Squire.'

CHAP. II.

1799--1801.

"Good Lord! How are Thy ways,

Just like Thy orbs, involved within each other;
Thy judgments are like comets

Which start, affright, and die withal;

While Thy mercies are like the stars,

Which ofttimes are obscured,

But still remain the same behind the clouds!"

THE winter of 1799 Mary Anne spent in London. The extreme delicacy of her health, and the great susceptibility of her organisation, seemed to have rendered frequent change of air and scene necessary. Her parents placed her at this time, for the winter months, with Mrs. Beaver, a lady then residing in Dover Street, Piccadilly, who received some few young people of good family, whom she introduced into society. Mrs. Schimmel Penninck often spoke with warm pleasure of her intercourse with the young companions she found there. Some amongst them were highly accomplished, especially in the cultivation of the fine arts, and I have heard her dwell with delight on the recollection of evening hours passed in listening to their music. While in Dover Street, she renewed her intercourse with Mrs. Barbauld, the Edgeworth family, and