gued with the latter the impropriety of saging the hundredth Psalm in any elber key than that of D.

Having completed my range of visits, I turned up the lane, to proceed home, when just as I entered it, Farmer Heartley's daughter came out of the opposite path. Dressed in a neat cottage habit, and a little straw hat tied under her chin with a pink riband, she tripped lightly along the ground; but, on observing me, smiled, and dropping a curt sey, waited till I approached her, and greeted me with "A fine day, Sir." "It is, indeed, my little rosebud, and you seem to be taking advantage of it." "Our cottage would ill bear the name of Content, if idleness inhabited it; besides, my father is so kind, that I should be loath to give him uneasiness by a want of industry."

"Well said; but whither in such a barry?"

Oh!-I-I-am going to the neighbouring village for my father." "Alone, too?"

"No-yes-Bo I-" replied she, embarrassed and blushing.

Mr. Bomers' son William now ap proaching, made known the object of her confusion, I gave her a significant glance, and she blushed still more deeply. On coming up, their mutual confusion betrayed their secret.

Here William," said I, laughing, "I resign your mistress; I believe she waits your company for the next village, and as I cannot leave her in better bands, I deliver her up to your charge la salety."

With downcast eye she placed her arm in bis, and moved on. A few steps made me turn the corner, and I lost them.

With no trifling exertion of his risible faculties did Mr. Plausible relate his interview with Spindle, as before noticed. The cunning rogue, doubtless he thinks I take him for as honest a fellow as ever breathed; but I can see through the veil of assurance which be throws over his actions, and will lay any wager that in a very short time he will accept my terms, and capitulate."

A few days passed over without any thing material occurring to elucidate the matter, when one morning we were agreeably surprised by a packet of letlers-one for Mr. Plausible, and two for myself. We returned to examine their contents. Mine I found were from Mr. Manning and my cousin Louisa. By the latter I learned that all were well,

that numerons inquiries had been made after me! among others, Sir Edward Courtly and Miss Manning: the former was of a more interesting nature, for by it I learned the probability of Mr. Manning's taking up a residence near me, as an estate had been advertised, and he had made overtures which were likely to be accepted. A ray of hope flashed across my mind, and I flattered myself with once more meeting the object of my wishes. He concluded his letter by hoping my journey would prove successful, and that he would certainly call at the manor house in his way to his new purchase.

But Mr. Plausible's communication was of a different nature. He entered my apartment with it open, and throwing it on the table, asked me smiling if I could divine its meaning. Its contents I found as follows:

"A friend advises Mr. Plausible to return immediately to London, lest de lay should prove fatal to him, and the circumstance which this letter serves as a warning, take place before his arrival."

"It bears the London post mark,"

"But a village inscription; and if I am not mistaken, some scheme of that little bundle of iniquity Spindle, to get me off the premises; but I'll foil him yet, and with his own weapons."

A violent noise in the court-yard prevented further observation, which, on inquiry, proceeded from the appre hension of Chickweed, for Farmer Heartley had been true to his promise, and in a week from the time he began to watch, had lighted upon his enemy in the very act of poaching on the manor grounds.

Nothing could possibly have happened more opportunely, for as his liberty and pocket were the only considerations that weighed with him, by threatening a goal, and menacing a penalty, we hoped to obtain some clue to unravel the mys tery before us; but the result of his apprehension shall be postponed to the next chapter.

ERRATA in our last.-For "present stem," read "parent stem." (To be continued.)

To the Editor of the European Magazine,

SIR,

AM a plain-spoken man, and one I of those who, by the modern gentry and wits of these degenerate days, are designated as being of the Old School,

Now as I am not certain whether this title be intended as a mark of contempt or of pity, I shall not cavil about it. If it signify contempt, we must console ourselves with the reflection, that some of the wisest and best of men who have adorned our country, have been educated in it; and that we can safely challenge them to produce brighter and better characters. But, if it be intended as a token of pity, while we feel indebted for their compassion, we conceive they are involved in error; for though they may consider we are ignorant, and comparatively antiquated, in our ideas and habits, we can assure the wiseacres of the present day, that we pity their folly, and compassionate their want of discrimination.

As these Gentlemen profess so much disregard for the Old School, one would suppose that they alone were worthy of notice. Now, Sir, I have heard with some degree of regret, many of our good old-fashioned words and phrases completely scouted, and have listened to a set of new-fangled words and expressions introduced by the New School, to ascertain whether they are better calculated to express the same ideas as our old ones: but I cannot perceive the slightest improvement. Though of the Old School, yet 1 by no means wish you to suppose that I am of opinion perfection is attained in any science or art; on the contray, I believe that we know yet comparatively little of any of them; but there are certain points which cannot be improved, and it is to one of these on which an attempt at improvement has been made, that I propose to address you.

Now I almost despair, Mr. Editor, of converting these gentry, they are too wise in their own conceit to be convinced of error: but I may perhaps prevent others from adopting their opinions. But I have really hitherto been fighting in the dark; let me therefore state against what I design to level my artillery. I studied, Sir, when young, my native language, according to our most celebrated grammarians; and I learnt from them the nature of the superlative degree, and the manner in which it was used: but within these few years a new mode of expression has been adopted, and carried to such an extent, that I am induced to remonstrate against it, through the medium of your widely extended Miscellany.

When I used to meet a friend, and

inquire after his health, his answer was generally, Very well!-or Pretty well, thank God! If he had been ill, and was again becoming convalescent, he was recovering, or he was better.These, Sir, were epithets we all understood, and they expressed very clear ideas; but when I ask the same question now, instead of these answers (unless it be from one of our poor despised Old School), I receive these, of extremely well;" an expression incomprehensible to my understanding, for how can a man be in too good health? And really, Sir, as "extremes are dangerous," it is obvious that a man in such circumstances should immediately send for his physician, to obtain a prescription for the diminution of his health. If I inquire respecting a friend who has been ill, instead of hearing that he is improv ing, or that he is restored, I am gravely told that he is very much better. It is with this last expression I atu grievously offended; and i wish with all my heart it was in my power to banish it out of all genteel conversation, in the absurd way in which it is now used. In fact, whatever interrogatories I put now to these blades of the New School, I am almost sure to be replied to in this style. If the inquiry regard the state of the weather, there has been very much rain, or very much snow, or there was very much wind last night. If I speak of politics, with reference to Parliamentary intelligence, I am told there is very much corruption in the higher, or very much discontent in the lower classes; and that there is very much opposition to the Ministry. speak of an individual, I hear that he has very much influence, or very much talent. But after all, the absurdity of the phrase is most apparent in our everyday coucerns; thus, to be told on inquiry after a family in distress, that their situation is very much hard: conversing of a notoriously bad man, I am told he is very much wicked; and if a man whose character stands high in the world, that he is very much good. Indeed, so great a favourite do these nomeaning words appear to have become, especially in the fashionable world, that it seems to be studiously dragged in on all occasions.

If I

Now, Mr. Editor, as you may perhaps be of the Old School yourself, you may be induced to allow this protest against a foolish innovation on old expressions by the New School. However, to be

candid, I very much despair, of being able to produce very much impression, upon so very much impenetrable matemus, and only hope to keep those from adopting this phrase who have very much good sense lett, and who, I think, are very likely to be drawn away, by this very much popular phrase, to a very much foolish custom.

Before I finish, let me just give another hist to these superlatively correct wise men. I do not know how it is, but I cannot enquire respecting any thing, but I am answered in the superlative, or sball I say hyperbolical degree. Thus, one tells me, that such a work he has lately read, is most astonishing, that it truly wonderful, most surprising, and goes on commer ding its contents in the same style. Another will tell me of a most charming and most briliant display of eloquence he heard at St. Stephen's: while a third will talk of the most sublune and most beautiful ideas he has met with in some old author. Now, I do think Mr. Editor, that a man may give his opinion of things in a reasonable way, without all this extravaganza, from which, in reality, one cannot ascertain what is meant; and I trust this remonstrance will have the desired effect, and that you will shew your antipathy to these reformers, by its insertion; which will oblige

Your Constant Reader, and

ONE OF THE OLD SCHOOL.

THE WANDERER.
Chapter VI.

HE next morning I awoke with

lovely girl I had so lately seem, having no one left to whom the ties of nature should bind her, in a friendless and unprotected state, which strongly resembled my own, excited my sympathy as well as admiration.

Every usual occupation seemed to have lost its interest for me, I sat down to read, and altho' my eyes mechanically followed the words, my mind was too much engaged in contemplating her image, who engrossed all my thoughts to have any share in my studies. 1 threw aside my books, and determined to walk; I had been walking some time, when I found that I had insensibly directed my steps towards the spot which I had been trying to forget.

After considering with myself in every possible light which the subject presented to me, I determined on endeavouring to obtain an introduction, if it was by any means possible; for this purpose, I again called upon the garrulous French woman, and by way of beginning a conversation, which rather embarrassed me, I enquired after the health of the Abbé. She said he was so much better that he expected to be able to attend to his professional duties in a short time: this gave me a hint which I did not hesitate to profit by.—I said that I was very glad to hear it, for that I wished for his assistance in studying the languages, and that I should call the next day, when I hoped to find him recovered, as I said this, the woman smiled as I thought incredulously, but perhaps it was only a sensation of conscious shame at the duplicity with which I felt I was acting. I then asked after oh, Monsieur," said she, feeling at once the drift of my visit and inquiries, "she is very well, and moch happier than yesterday, in consequence of the Abbé's recovery.” I now feit, that upon this subject I should have little command of myself, and that this woman, who already seemed to penetrate into my feelings, would know what she at present only guessed. I therefore left a card with her for the Abbé, and promising to call the next day, I returned home.

I lost no time in repairing the next day, and on inquiring for the Abbé, I was informed that he was suthciently recovered to sit up, and had desired to see me when I should call. I was shewa to him. He was sitting, supported by pillows, in an easy chair-his tigure was small and spare, his features sharp and

expressive, his countenance was pale through sickness, but his eyes had an uncommon vivacity and fire, he received me with great politeness, and lamenting his illness, which prevented his rising, he requested me to be seated.

I

We immediately entered on the subject which had brought me there. said, that in the course of my studies at the University, and since my leaving, my attention had been directed to more severe subjects, and that I now wished to study the French and Italian languages, and the polite literature of each country, with a more critical attention than the cursory manner in which, from my chief time being otherwise employed, I had hitherto regarded them, and that it was on this account that I had sought his assistance. He said, he should be most happy in furthering my intentions, but that his illness, although he felt himself recovering, would, he feared, prevent him from waiting on me; this difficulty with great eagerness obviated, and proposed that I would visit him at his own house for the purpose of receiving his instructions. He appeared gratified at what he called my kindness in preventing him so much trouble; and after some general conversation on the literature of the day, in which I found he was extremely well versed, and having arranged the order of my future visits to him, I took my leave.

Upon reflecting on the events of this visit, although much disappointed at not having seen the lady who was the object of it, my vanity consoled me by suggesting that I had made as great a progress in the Abbe's favour as could be expected from so short an acquaint

ance.

a

After I had regularly visited the Abbé for several days, and had at cach time been grievously disappointed by not secing the lady, I was one morning for tunate enough to find her with him, when he introduced her to me as Mademoiselle Jacqueline de Montville; general conversation ensued, and I found her manners as engaging as her person was lovely. I prolonged my stay as much as was possible, and took leave of her with those sentiments of respect and love which I had before entertained, perfectly confirmed. Not to dwell longer upon these circumstances, the more I saw of the young lady, the more I loved her; and at an interview which I had shortly after with her, when I found her alone, I disclosed those sen

timents to her, and without any more coyness than gave a lustre to her modesty, she referred me to the Abbé.I

immediately went to him, and explained to him the state of affairs, adding, that Mademoiselle Jacqueline had referred me to him.

My dear sir," said he," as the only living protector of that amiable girl, you may suppose that I feel much anxiety as to her welfare, and I will confess to you, that I know no one to whom I would more willingly confide her happiness than yourself; but there are considerations which should prevent your rashly engaging in such a connexion as that which you now contemplate; you are nearly related to a noble family, who will perhaps offer some objections to your alliance with Jacqueline, on account of the adverse circumstances in which she is placed, although in point of birth, she may equal the proudest."

I here interrupted him, by saying, that the situation in which I stood with my family, was not of that nature which made it necessary for me to consult them upon such a subject.

But, said the Abbé, it is at all events necessary that you should make your intentions known to them, and in the event of their disapprobation, you can only act as you would have done before.

66

Yes, Monseiur," I replied; " but shall I not in some degree forfeit that independence which I have most coveted to preserve uninfringed, by asking permission to do that which a refusal cannot prevent my doing.”

The Abbé said that he thought in this instance the objection could not hold, and that he thought it would shew a respectful attention which was due to Lord Trevayne.

As I saw that he particularly wished it to be done I resolved to sacrifice my own scruples to those which he enter tained, of course, considering it only as a compliment to be paid to Lord Trevayne, but not by any means a request which he could refuse.

I then took leave of Jacqueline and the Abbé, and retired to consider iu what way I should make my applica tion to Lord Trevayne; about which I felt some perplexity. However, I determined not to delay, and the next day I waited on him.-After some prelimi nary conversation, I said that I resolved to marry, and that previously to my

doing so I thought proper to acquaint bim with my intention.

His Lordship, fixing his eyes on me, appeared not to understand what I had been saying, and asked me what I meant; Instantly comprehended that what I had said did not meet his approbation; and this stratagem, which, perhaps, was intended to terrify, and certainly to confuse me, had quite a contrary effect, for, perceiving he wished to exert an authority to which I was by no means inclined to submit, I calmly and determinedly repeated my former conversa

tion.

"And pray, sir." said his Lordship, "who is this person to whom you are going thus suddenly to ally yourself."

**She is," I said, " of the French noblesse; her parents are both dead. She, with her mother, took refuge in this country soon after the commencement of the French Revolution; in fortune she is certainly deficient, but to that I have no right to object; and, in point of birth, she is, I conceive, unexceptionable."

"Perhaps, sir," said his Lordship, "I may be of a different opinion; but bas she no name: for, in these times, when the Revolution is used as a pretext for the creation of imaginary noblemen, it may be necessary to know something of her title."

"She is the only child," I said, "of the Comte de Montville, who fell in the French Revolution. Her mother has died very lately, and she is under the protection of a clergyman who was of the establishment of her father's family, and who accompanied the Comtesse into England."

And may I ask you, sir," said his Lordship, "if you have thought of the means you will possess of maintaining a wife and the expenses of a family."

66

"Yes, my Lord," I said, “ my professional excrtions yield me a sum which, with economy, I consider quite ample to those purposes, and this I'may very reasonably suppose will not de

crease."

Mighty well," said his Lordship, "but listen to me; I had expected better things from your good sense and prudence, than to be thus led away by the artifices of the first woman who has caught your fancy; even if the tale you have been led to believe should prove true; but which you will allow me to

doubt, she is still beneath you, who, with your own abilities and my influence may reasonably look much higher-but, sir, there are more weighty considerations; the honour of your family is not to be sacrificed to your romantic feelings; it has already suffered enough in your unhappy father's imprudence, whose fate may read you the conse quences of such rashness. I must hope that you will think better of it, and give up your present purpose."

I had restrained my feelings during his Lordship's speech, and when he finished, with as much coolness as I could summon, I said to him-" You are not acquainted with the lady whom I have bad the honour to mention to you, or you could not have implied to her any thing like artifice; and, as to the fate of my revered father, it was such as I contemplate with very different feelings from those of regret he died gloriously in the service of his country; and, had he lived, the society of his amiable wife (whose birth and virtues rendered her in every respect a suitable alliance for him, and one in which the honour of this family could not be said to be sacrificed), would have rendered his life as happy as he deserved. But," I added, “I fear your Lordship has mistaken the purpose for which I came to you; it was not to ask your permission on a subject which I have already well-considered, and on which I have fully determined, but it was to acquaint you of an event of im portance to me, and which I therefore held it right that you should be informed of."

During this latter part of the conversation his Lordship had been several times on the point of interrupting me, and his eyes shewed the passion with which he was agitated on a sudden, however, he seemed to grow calm, and without making any direct reply to me, he said, "At all events, it will be proper for me to make some enquiries about this lady, and I will, therefore, trouble you for her address. This I immediately gave him, and desiring to see me the next day, he abruptly with drew. (To be continued.)