hood, to be quite Methodists." In this excellent family, Emily finds the friends she needed; and forms a particular intimacy with one of its inmates, Miss Weston-of whom nobody could determine whether she was a friend or the governess.' Her character is beautifully sketched.

Though it was perceptible to none but accurate observers of feelings and faces, Miss Weston was a sufferer;—it is easy to wear a pensive smile, but hers was a smile of cheerfulness, and she was generally spoken of as being remarkably cheerful.

As to the cause of her sorrow, only a conjecture can be formed; because Mrs. Leddenhurst, who was the only person in whom she had confided, never betrayed her confidence. Among the numerous sources of human wo, the reader may fix upon that which to her may appear most difficult to endure with fortitude and resignation. One may conclude she had lost her friend; another her heart; and a third her fortune; but perhaps, after all, it was something very different from any of these.

Miss Weston's idea of resignation was not as one may see it in the print-shops-a tall figure, weeping over an urn in the middle of a wood; it was, in her opinion, an active, cheerful and social principle. It was not indeed without an effort that she resisted her inclination to seek relief in rumination and seclusion; but strength of mind, that is, strength of principle prevailed. Without waiting to confer with her inclination, she wrote to her friend Mrs. Leddenhurst, offering to assist her in the education of her little girls-Mrs. Leddenhurst gladly welcomed her to the bosom of her family; where she soon learned to" smile at grief," without" sitting on a monument.”

The character of Emily Grey will be the favourite with the reader, as it is evidently with the author. It is purely natural, and simply interesting. She is described as 'sensible, modest, ingenuous, but she was-eighteen.' We will not injure the effect of the portrait by partial quotation, but will introduce our readers, instead, to a pair of contrasts.

It was Miss Oliver; one of the standing inhabitants of the town. She belonged to a class of ladies, of whom it may be said, that they are good for nothing but to be married. Let no intellec tual Colebs object to the expression; it is not intended to recommend her to him.

At eighteen she was tolerably pretty; and about as lively as mere youth will make those who have no native spring of vivacity. Her education, like her mind, was common. If she had married, she might have performed the ordinary offices of domestic life as well as they are ordinarily performed. Though she had not cared much for her husband, she would probably have loved her children; and the maternal duties and affections

But

of themselves, impart a degree of interest to any character. she did not marry, although trained to consider marriage as the grand object at which she was to aim.

Year after year passed away; during which, her attendance at the Christmas rout, the Easter ball, the summer races, was tiresomely punctual. At length it became necessary, by extra attention to dress, and studious vivacity, to show that she was still young: but even that time was gone by, and she now only laboured to prove that she was not old. Disappointment, and the discontent occasioned by the want of an object in life, had drawn lines in her face which time might still have spared. It sunk down into dismal vacuity after every effort at sprightliness: for without mind enough to be pensive, she was habitually dull.

Her circumstances did not allow her the relief of frequenting places of fashionable resort; she contrived to exist with no other air, and no better water, than were to be obtained in her native parish. The few families in the neighbourhood with whom, in her youthful days she used to spend her Christmas, or her Whitsuntide, were dead, or dispersed, or the acquaintance was broken off: so that the routs and card-parties of this little town were the only relief to her monotony; where she went to meet the same faces, and to say and hear the same nothings as ever.

It was no wonder, therefore, that the veriest trifle-a new stitch, or a new pattern-became to her an affair of importance: that the gossip of the neighbourhood seemed essential to her existence; and that, without malignity, scandal should become an entertainment, and mischief a recreation, pp. 48-50.

"I never remember," continued Mr. Leddenhurst, "observing such an expression of listless vacuity in the face of the meanest Christian. Habitual thoughts of God, and of eternity, will impress some trace of mind upon the countenance. What a new world of hope and happiness might be opened to such a character! Caroline, let us cultivate her acquaintance.'" p. 52.

The other character, evidently an original, and from the life, will, to many of our readers, perhaps appear a striking likeness of some one particular acquaintance, so weli are the general characteristic features of the species marked in the individual.

'One of these, well known by the name of " Betsy Pryke," was a person of some repute among her friends and acquaintance.

She was a sharp, neat, compact, conceited-looking person, who kept a little haberdasher's shop in the market-place. By the aid of some quickness, a good memory, and what was called a great taste for reading, she had accumulated a curious mass of heterogeneous lore, with which she was accustomed to astonish, if not to edify, her simple neighbours. She was particularly fond of hard names, and words of many syllables, and her conversation was

frequently interspersed with quotations from Young, Hervey, and Mrs. Rowe.

'Her customers, in addition to their purchase, were generally favoured with a little learning, gratis, while she was weighing the pins, or measuring the tape; and even before those whom she could not venture to entertain with familiar discourse, some fine word, or knowing remark, was dexterously dropped, to let them know what she was; and her behaviour to this class of her customers was marked by that mixture of pertness and servility, which is commonly produced by self-conceit in dependent cir

cumstances.

To these qualifications Miss Pryke added a flaming profession of religion. She was one of the very few inhabitants of this town who appeared to pay any serious regard to it; and among those pious, simple people, who possessed little of the wisdom or knowledge of this world, she passed for a pattern of zeal and sanctity. Miss Pryke's creed, was all creed: she was fond of holding argumentations upon a few points on which she considered herself to have attained more light than the generality of plain Christians. She appeared to take little interest in the practical parts of Christianity, about which there is no controversy; and upon those who made any thing more than a distant or casual reference to these subjects, she readily bestowed her enlightened pity. They were "persons in the dark;" and if they were ministers, they were "blind leaders of the blind," and knew nothing of the gospel. She valued comfort much above consistency, and was more observant of her frames than of her temper.' pp.

61-63.

We must make room for another portrait.

Mrs. Palmer was cleaver; and had a vast deal of taste in laying out gardens, and fitting up rooms, and setting out dinners. Her grand object in life was, to enjoy herself; and her selfishness was refined, and perfect in its kind. She was a good wife, a kind mother, an obliging neighbour, as far as ever she could be consistently with this object, but no further. She had an easy, pleasing address; and her politeness was so unremittingly attentive, that it looked almost like friendship. Whatever did not demand any real sacrifice of her own pleasure or convenience, was done, and done in the most obliging manner possible; but really to deny herself for the sake of another, was a species of virtue which she left to be practised by such good sort of people as chose it; to her it appeared foolishness, especially as she could decline her services with such masterly adroitness, with such a gentle, sympathising address, that the cold selfishness of her heart often escaped detection.

Her feelings were naturally violent: but she had such an extreme dislike of being uncomfortable, that she rarely suffered them to be very troublesome to her. There was nothing in her

mind with which sorrow could amalgamate; it was an unwelcome and unintelligible foreigner.

By her son's dying at a distance, she was spared, what were to her, the most shocking circumstances attending such an event. 'Death-that one thing which the sceptic must believe-to which the worldly must submit-was that which she most disliked to think about; and she studiously avoided whatever was likely to remind her of it. She shrunk from the survey of its gloomy apparatus; and was really glad that all that part of the affair was transacted so far off as Jamaica. The opening of the family vault was a circumstance she particularly dreaded; that was a place she did not like to think of; and still less to recollect, that she must herself one day, lie down in that dark chamber. Whenever the unwelcome thought was forced upon her, she instantly recurred to the soundness of her constitution, and the vigorous means she used to preserve it. Besides which, she avoided perils by water and perils by land; was the first to foresee evil and hide herself, and to flee from contagion and every form of danger. Thus, by a common but strange kind of deception, feeling as though to delay death was to escape

it.

She thought it prudent, however, to make some provision for the distant day; and was, accordingly, constant at church, and charitable to the poor: by which means she concluded all would be safe, whenever she should be under the absolute necessity of going to Heaven.' pp. 88-90.

There is an exquisite keenness of satire in the last remark; a severity of reproof conveyed by insinuation, that has the force of a homily.

In this, however, and in many other similar passages, we fear that the irony is of too delicate and concealed a nature to be caught by superficial readers, that is, readers in general, unassisted by the humiliating expedient of Italics. We do not know whether to charge this upon our author as a fault; but it must be admitted that a broader style, a harder outline, something more of the manner of Opie's paintings, is better calculated for works designed for general instruction. There is great delicacy, sometimes minute delicacy, in Miss Taylor's touches. The remark, for instance, at p. 23, that the cause of Miss Weston's sorrow can only be conjectured, because Mrs. Leddenhurst, who was the only 'person in whom she had confided, never betrayed her confi'dence;'-will be passed over, we fear, by at least five persons out of ten, as a mere matter-of-fact observation: and other passages, replete with meaning, will be taken as simple

truisms.

As the work is neither an epic nor a novel, it will not be necessary to give a more particular account of the story

itself. It will be best to leave the author to tell her own tale. The incidents, indeed, are of that real and simple cast, that derive all their importance, as is the case with the ordinary events of life, from their effects in developing character, and their connexion with individual happiness. One occurrence, a memorable one in the humble annals of many a village, the arrival of a regiment at Broadisham, may be adverted to as sufficiently picturesque: and it is followed by consequences in which the historian of real life will sometimes appear to borrow from the novelist. Young ladies will sometimes act the part of heroines. Lieutenant Robinson's gold epaulet, combining with Elizabeth's love of display, • could not fail of making a deep impression;

And always while the band was playing she was sure she was in love with him.'

She becomes Mrs. Robinson,-a heroine in distress; but she discovers--what it required some experience to believe --that it is a far pleasanter thing to be a heroine not in disShe was unhappy without eclat.

tress.

The following scene is very natural and touching.

'It was towards the close of the third day Elizabeth had passed on her bed, that as she was lying feverish and comfortlesswatching in the dusk the light of the blacksmith's shop, flashing on the ceiling-she heard the door open gently; so gently, that she was sure it could not be her maid: and in an instant she saw Emily at her bed side, her countenance glowing with health and cheerfulness; and she said,

"Dear Elizabeth, I heard you were ill, and I am come to nurse you."

Elizabeth started up without speaking a word; and throwing her hot arms around Emily's neck, continued to weep a long time, with a plaintive, pitcous, weak cry, upon her bosom.

"Dear, dear Elizabeth!" said Emily.

It was so long since she had heard the accents of kindness, that the soothing tones of Emily's voice quite overwhelmed her. "I did not think there was any one in the world that cared for me now," she said, at length.

"Oh, you have never been forgotten by your friends," said Emily. "I should have come to see you long before this, if I had been sure you would have liked it. But we will not talk

much to night, dear Elizabeth;-let me try now to make you a little comfortable," said she; and taking off her hat and pelisse, she proceeded quietly to smooth the tumbled pillow, and restore the littered room to neatness and comfort.

She next went, to prepare a cooling beverage for the night; into the disorderly kitchen; where the maid and the shopman were carousing over a blazing fire.' pp. 174–176.