a scene of domestic life of the most admirable nature; and she did not fail, with her usual good sense, to derive many useful lessons from her intercourse with Mrs. Temple. From her example as much was proved to her mind by reason, as had been demonstrated, ab absurdo, by the Webberly family; and as, during Baron Wildenheim's life, she had never been domesticated with females of her own rank, the faults of the one, and the merits of the other, appeared to her view with all the force of novelty. Mrs. Temple, in herself, her children, and her establishment, displayed a model of amiable and judicious conduct; as a wife and mother, she was beyond praise, and nothing could exceed the comfort and respectability of her well-regulated family; for, being a woman of good understanding, she did not carry management to an extreme, that is destructive of the comfort it is meant to promote; nor was she possessed by the would-be thrifty housewife's expensive and troublesome mania for pickling and preserving, but in all things observed that happy medium, which good sense alone knows how to keep. Mr. Temple had, in his youth, lived much in the world, there associating principally with literary and scientific men; with several of such as still survived be maintained a constant correspondence, and, by occasional visits to London and Oxford, where his affairs sometimes called him, he renewed his acquaintance with men of his own stamp. He also kept himself up to the changes and occurrences of the times, by taking in at the Parsonage the daily papers, reviews, and the best of the new publications of every description. Two or three times a year some members of his or Mrs. Temple's family visited the Rectory; and they Where grows? where grows it not? If vain our toil, Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere, "Tis nowhere to be found, or ev'ry where; 'Tis never to be bought, but always free, And, fled from monarchs, St. John! dwells with thee. preserved such habits of friendly intercourse with their rich and poor neighbours, that they seldom found that want of society, which is so universally deplored. It would be curious to make those, who are constantly lamenting the want of good society, point out where it is to be found.-Dissipation, say they, has banished it from great capitals and watering places. What, in country towns, is called society, consists of a repetition of card parties, differing from each other in no one respect, except as to the rooms they are held in ; where, besides "old men and women," are to be found girls of all ages, doing their best to amuse themselves, without the smallest assistance being afforded them by the hostess; with here and there an old married clergyman, an attorney's or apothecary's apprentice, thinly scatter'd to make up a show," and remind the ladies that beaux are not to be had." In the country, unless people have fortune, which enables them to bring their company, like other luxuries, from a distance, society consists of a few dinner parties in summer, where a tedious repast is quickly followed by tea and coffee, which serve as a signal for every body to go away, that they may, before darkness comes on, walk, or drive home in safety, over bad roads; and the master and mistress, as soon as their guests have departed, congratulate each other that "every thing went off so well." Nor is it the least of their joy, that their company have gone off too! To all this it may be answered, that our mothers and grandmothers tell us society was very gay in their young days. The truth is, people were not then so fastidious, and were content to be amused in any way they could. There is now a twilight of refinement spread over the middle classes, just sufficient to show them disagreeables they had never before suspected, but not bright enough to teach them the best way of avoiding them. Formerly people could be amused with an ill-sung song, or an awkward dance. But now, every girl must sing bravuras, and dance like Angelina. The young men, having reached a still higher pitch of refinement, neither sing nor dance at all. The same fastidiousness reigns throughout. Every body's dress must be of the newest fashion; and a whole family is put to inconvenience for a week, to give their company an attempt at French cookery. In short, if people cannot be entertained" in a good style," they are resolved not to be entertained at all. Pleasant society, like happiness, if proper means are taken to cultivate it, is, with very few exceptions, to be found every where or nowhere. The misfortune is, people repulse it, unless it comes arrayed in the very garb they wish it to wear. How few have the wisdom to act on that sage maxim, "When we have not what we like, we must like what we have!" This was always Mr. and Mrs. Temple's practice; and, though they enjoyed to the utmost the intellectual pleasures afforded by the society of Miss Wildenheim, they found in the kindness and simplicity of Mrs. Martin's sentiments pleasure of another kind, and to a well-judging mind one not less delightful. With this good lady and her coterie they occasionally varied their winter evenings, by playing a friendly game of cards; and Lucy was not unfrequently the companion of Mrs. Temple's summer walks. Mr. Temple was extremely anxious, to make Adelaide's present visit to the Parsonage of lasting benefit to her peace of mind. When she had been there the year before, her grief was too recent to render any allusion to the subject of it adviseable; and at Webberly House it was treated with so little delicacy, that her pride, as well as her tenderness of feeling for her father's memory, made her most carefully confine it to her own bosom. With the bitterest anguish at heart she outwardly carried the appearance of quiet contentment. Had she continued thus circumstanced much longer, she would either have sunk into an early grave, or have acquired an unbending sternness of VOL. 1. 20 character, that would have crushed all the finer feelings of her soul, and have made her as impervious to joy as to sorrow. Though she spared no pains, to promote the welfare of others by every means in her power, and, whenever duty commanded, hesitated not for an instant, to perform any sacrifice it might require; yet perhaps it had been the fault of her education, to lead her to rely too much on her own mind to secure her happiness; and it was the misfortune of her nature to have feelings of such intensity, that she feared to trust them to exercise even their just power. This peculiar turn of character, thus moulded by circumstances, did not escape Mr. and Mrs. Temple's observation, and they anxiously endeavoured to rouse her from this state of mental torpor. Until the letter she had addressed to the latter, she had never ventured to express the sorrow, that corroded her heart, to any human being; but having once voluntarily touched on it, Mrs. Temple designedly led to speak of it, and while she probed the wound, prepared the lenient balm that in time would heal it. The pecu liar tenderness of soul, that Adelaide possessed from nature, had been most wisely balanced by the firmness of mind she had derived from education; only the most unpropitious circumstance could have endangered either degenerating to an extreme. To insult she was impervious, but the voice of kindness was to her like the soft breath of spring, which "Melts the icy chains that twine Relaxing into all the softness of her sex and age, her tears flowed without restraint, as she poured her sorrows into Mrs. Temple's friendly bosom; and, from the well-merited praise and judicious counsel she received in return, derived a supporting power, that raised her to a new existence. From consolation Mrs. Temple proceeded to admonition, forcibly representing to Adelaide how culpable she would be, if she continued to nourish in secret a grief, that would render of no avail the capability of usefulness she possessed in mind and fortune, and by this wilful waste of happiness, not only for herself but others, counteract the intention of her being; finally pointing out to her, that, though she had lost the object of her first duties, the world yet presented a wide field, in which she was bound to exert herself to supply their place by others, even should she never find any of equal interest or importance. CHAPTER XXIX. O! Primavera, gioventu del' anno, D'herbe novelle, e di novelli amori, E fortunati di de le mie gioje. Ma teco altro non torna Che del perduto mio caro tesoro, La rimembranza misera e dolente.* IL PASTOR FIDO. THE Parsonage garden was now blooming in all the beauty of summer, and the hedges had exchang *Delightful spring! youth of the year, Thou blooming mother of the opening flowers, Will e'er return of those serene delights, That bless'd my fleeting hours of happiness Thou now return'st! But with thee nought returns |