did not intend to call up melancholy reflections: nothing, I hope, that you will think so, was further from my intentions. My brother was an honor to his profession; and brave as a hero in war, in peace embel lished society with the most refined humanity.

"I have heard," said Emma, "that was the character my poor papa always bore."

A flood of tears came to her relief, and was a portrait worthy of the chaste Reynolds.

Miss Tankerville was the only daughter of an officer of distinguished rank in the army, and who had bravely fought in the protection of his country, and helped to add to her glory. On peace being made he returned home, expecting to find the fondest reception from his beloved Julia. He found indeed what he had assured himself he should find, if she was living. Yet, alas! how uncertain is the happiness of man! Covered with honor, and blessed with an

excellent, accomplished, beautiful, and loving wife, having a fortune which put him in possession of more than an elegant sufficiency, he was doomed to misery. On his arrival, he embraced his little prattler, Emma, but was informed that his wife was suffering under a malignant distemper, and that there were small hopes of her recovery. Speechless with astonishment, and motionless with grief, her husband, Percival Tankerville, was in a state of mind resembling phrenzy. When he at length recovered from the stupor into which this intelligence had thrown him, he desired to be shewn to her apartment, where he viewed his Julia, pale with disease and already breathing her last moments of existence. He called upon her name; at his voice she faintly turned her eyes upon the faithful Percival, expressed visible signs of joy, closed them, pressed his hand, and embraced the little sobbing Emma, our heroine, who hung by the bedside of her mother, and then pointing to

her child, with difficulty articulated an eternal farewel, smiled in the agony of death, and sunk on the pillow to rise no more.

It was some time before the afflicted mourners could be forced from the arms of the deceased. Emma pulled off her shoes for fear she should awake her mama, placed her fingers on her lips, intimating that silence was to be kept, then repeatedly kissed the pale cheek of her mother, and moistened her face with her sobs.

"Speak, speak!" the innocent lisper cried, "do, mammy, speak to Emmy---Papa, my good papa, do make mammy talk."

She then tried in playfulness to open her eyes, burst into tears, and pulled her dear papa away for fear "he should die too, and not be able to talk to his Emmy."

Struggling to bear this sad stroke, grief overpowered Colonel Tankerville, and he shortly followed his Julia to the grave. With the most forcible and affectionate invocations and entreaties, he bequeathed his feeble orphan to thecarcof his sister.

Mrs. Maitland followed the funeral of her relative with unfeigned sorrow, and rightly conceived that the best method of testifying affection to her brother, was by bestowing the utmost attention on the education of his daughter. The favorite maxims which she inculcated in the mind of Emma were, that every gift of Heaven was lent us for our improvement, and that woman should in a peculiar manner reverence herself, and should begin early to keep her desires in the strictest bounds.

Nature had adorned the person of Emma Tankerville with every captivating grace. An interesting softness beamed in her countenance, her eyes were never so well employed as when they spake some laudable affection of her soul; auburn hair arrayed her person with the most bewitching elegance, luxuriantly flowing down her exquisitely turned shoulders. It was not in the power of art to give beauty to the fair Emma, but she always displayed judg

ment in her dress, for she did not think, like many wise ladies, that dress was totally to be neglected. While health tinged her cheeks with the colour of the rose, it was in vain that advertisements boasted of cosmetics which gave superior bloom. She might have been taken for one of those nymphs, who in ancient times were said to preside over rivers, fountains, and groves, did not the majesty of her appearance shew more of the goddess, than denote an inferior attendant. She was of that age, when the passions, useful as they are directed, make the most forcible impressions on the heart, and unaffected sentiment was uttered from her mouth, embellished with rosy lips and the purest ivory. Yet those attractions would not have been so much the general topic of praise, when beauty was the theme, had she not in public places been espied through the glasses of some distinguished connoisseurs, and pronounced by them a devilish fine girl. Miss Tankerville then was the reigning toast.