pointed at for marrying a woman who knew not her own parents-believe me, I could not support it." Indeed, Louisa," returned the Countess, "I did not imagine you so proud: but Lord Danford shall be obliged to own your birth. After such base behaviour, he dares not claim you; or, if he should, my interest is as great as his. Besides, you are of an age to choose another guardian; which you shall do when we remove to town. In the mean time, if you can see Augustus with partiality, happy with each other, you may smile at the world, and despise its calumny; but, in case you do not approve him, I should be sorry he should nourish a passion that would embitter his future days." "Ah, Madam!" said Louisa, "pardon me; my heart's above my situation: did I possess worlds, I could be happy to be allied to Lady Melville; but, as it is, how must I be wounded to feel myself the only blemish in an honorable family!" 'Think of this matter at your leisure, Louisa," returned Lady Melville; "nor let an overstrained delicacy deprive you of real happiness. For the present, retire, and calm a confusion, visible in your looks; nor let Augustus or Julia guess my business by your disorder.-He must be his own advocate: I only mention my wishes." Louisa did not stay for a second permission to retire, but hastened to her chamber. "Why do my cruel stars," said she, "oblige me to refuse the amiable Lord Melville? Why did we ever meet? My heart, already agonised, needed no fresh pang: for, should I accept his generous offer, may not time dissolve the charm that blinds his senses? Conscious of my inequality, I may be content without his affection; but his dislike would be too hard to bear." So ruminated Louisa; till, suddenly recollecting herself, she determined to acquaint her friend Mrs. Rivers with what had passed, intreat her counsel, and follow implicitly her opinion. Thus determined, she immediately wrote to her, directing it, as she had been desired: To Mrs. Bennet, post-house, Kendal. By the time she had finished her letter, her heart beat lighter; and she joined her friends, tolerably composed. CHAPTER XVI. A FRIENDLY LETTER. What is the world to them, Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all! THOMSON'S SEASONS. TWO posts passed, but the third brought Louisa the following answer: "MY DEAR LOUISA! "By the soft ties of affection, cemented by misfortune, I adopt thee mine, in lieu of her whom grief deprived of life before she felt the tender pressure of a parent's arm→ before the maternal tear had bedewed, or busy meddling memory had traced in her infant face one feature of her loved lost father: yet, with submission to the Divine will, still will I look forward to the moment we shall be again united; and revere that never-erring Providence, whose wise dispensation translated my hapless infant from this bitter draught of misery. Encompassed with sorrow, lost to the world and its pursuits, how should I have guided her amidst the stormy paths of life! Yet you, Louisa, have forced me to feel an interest beyond the cottage walls. Your welfare oft employs thoughts and hours, formerly given to contemplation. Your youth, your inexperience, need a guide. Where can you find so safe a one as in the happiness that courts you? I know you love Lord Melville. Why then make yourself voluntarily unhappy by refusing him? Why plant thorns in the bosoms of Lady Melville, and your friend Julia? I know you have a high sense of favors: Will this be a kind return for those received from this amiable family? One moment's recollection, and your scruples will vanish; and by yielding to their wishes, you will secure your own happiness. "I have no doubt but Lady Melville will oblige your guardian to discover your family; in the knowledge of which, should any circumstance arise that may appear painful, I conjure you to dispel it: no happiness is perfect. 'Tis an offence to the Almighty to repine at what cannot be avoided receive not his present bounty with an unthankful heart. Forgive me, my dear Louisa; I trust this caution will be unnecessary; yet I would have you fore-armed. · Let what will happen, in Lady Melville you will have a mother-in me, a sympathising friend-in Lord Melville, a dearer friend than either. I speak thus candidly, as I feel your happiness is necessary towards maintaining the tranquillity with so much difficulty established in my own breast. Were you not mutually enamoured of each other, I would be the last to press you to enter a state which nothing but an union of souls can make perfectly happy. The glare of riches is deceitful; and the pleasures they bring too cloying to be lasting: the chimera soon vanishes, and leaves the mind, whose happiness was built on so transitory a foundation, to seek anew. Divest Lord Melville of fortune, he is young, sensible, handsome; and what is still superior, he is virtuous, and loves you with unbounded passion. You entertain the same sentiments for him. Thus situated, had you only enough to procure the conveniences of life between you, I should be the first to advise you to let your hand follow your heart. Banish then, my sweet girl, the giant pride; it will stride over happiness; which, when far outstripped, will cast a wishful look, and heave a then unavailing sigh. Thus, my loved child, have I given you my sentiments freely; perhaps you may think too freely: but my heart is my pen; and the future peace of Louisa seems to be the gleam of comfort wanting to the declining hours of 'MARIA RIVERS." Louisa read her friend's letter with delight, as much for the friendship of the writer, as for the advice, which her own heart prompted her to pursue. "Well," said she, kissing the letter, and pressing it to her bosom, "I will think this a mother's permission. Pleasing idea!-I will be Lord Melville's; and endeavour, by assiduity and tenderness, to make him forget the disproportion Heaven has placed between us. Yes, generous Augustus! I will no longer force my features to wear the cold traits of indifference, but return a passion fervent as thine; tempered alone with feminine delicacy and gratitude.” Louisa's soliloquy had probably continued some time longer, had she not seen, from her window, Lady Melville, attended by her young friends, crossing a walk at some distance from the house. Hastily putting on her hat, she determined to join them: but they were too distant to be immediately overtaken; and the walk being serpentine, made the search more difficult. For a while she walked in fruitless expectation, until, turning round a |