mind than most women of double her age; and, therefore, prudently and amiably determined to study every whim of her strange and unloveable husband, in the vain hope of conciliating and changing him in time; for she did not yet know the nature she had to deal with. On their marriage, they went down to a place of his in Yorkshire; and Julia's first and most severe blow was perceiving that her "stern lord" added to his other follies that common error of all fools, namely, considering skepticism as the shortest and surest road to philosophy; but with an overwrought and culpable delicacy, which only her extreme youth and the abundant generosity of her nature could excuse, not daring to advise, she thought that, by submitting to his opinions, and never obtruding her own, she might in time gain an influence over him; for which reason, fearing that remarks might be made in her favour to his prejudice, she seldom or ever went to the village church, as he chose totally to absent himself from it. Luckily for her, the false delicacy of this conduct was utterly lost upon him, and he soon began tauntingly to upbraid her with her want of piety, adding, with a hoarse grunting sound that he intended for a laugh, "Religion was made on purpose for women and children."

Her next trial was to find that, instead of receiving any attention from Lord de Clifford's family, which, as a bride, at least, she might have anticipated, she, on the contrary, was enjoined by her husband to bow down to them in all things. One day he would issue an order that she should not say this nor do that, as his brother did not approve of it; another time she was forbidden to wear a particular cap or colour, as his mother did not like it. All this she bore with miraculous temper and sweetness, still trying by every means in her power to please her unpleasable spouse and his family, to whom he seemed to consider her equally wedded and bound. Lord de Clifford had a favourite horse, towards whom, like many more of his compatriots, he evinced much more tenderness and attention than towards his wife. One day, after they had been married about three months, Julia went and fed the animal herself, thinking it would please her husband; and then going into the library, where he was sitting, surrounded by "learned lumber," which he was in vain trying to get into his head, said,

66

"Oh, George, I have been feeding Selim, and he looked so handsome, and rubbed his head against me!" Lady de Clifford," said he, frowning, and laying down the book he was reading, "I beg you will leave off calling me those familiar names. I permitted it at first, in the nonsense of the honey-moon, as it is vulgarly called; but, upon reflection, I am convinced that they do away with that solemnity of respect which a wife ought to evince towards a husband; and as for feeding Selim, I must say that I think it is very undignified for my wife to be going into stables and places among grooms and helpers, and must beg that it does not happen again."

Poor Julia could not believe that even he was in earnest in forbidding her to call him “George;” and thinking this must be his début at a jest, actually burst out laughing, but she was soon undeceived; for Lord de Clifford, flinging down the book he held, and clinching his hand at her, said, with his eyes kindling, like lava burned white, "By G-d, if you dare laugh at me, madam, I will fell you to the earth!"

She left the room; a violent flood of tears relieved her, as she knelt down, and cast her burden upon Him who alone could bear it for her, and she met her tyrant at dinner without one word or look of reproach. At length she became a mother, a circumstance which but added to her miseries, for even the nursery was not exempted from the laws and regulations of Lord de Clifford; moreover, if ever she passed an hour together with her child, he was sure to send for her, saying, when she appeared,

"There is nothing now thought of but that child, while your duty towards me is totally neglected, madam. I desire you may not fool away all your time in that d-d nursery."

Then his mother was to be courted and consulted upon all occasions, not from affection, but because she was rich, and had much in her power; but, though humbly solicited, she declined being godmother to the child, averring, that she never liked taking any sort of responsibility upon herself, and that whatever she might do hereafter must entirely depend upon circumstances; nor could she, for six years, be induced to take the slightest notice of her daughter-in-law, though she condescended to interfere in the most minute of her domestic arrange

ments through the medium of her son, and by incessant fault-finding, keep her in due subordination; as she wisely concluded (falling into the common error of judging others by herself) that Lady de Clifford could not be possessed of so much beauty and so many accomplishments without being proportionately arrogant and self-sufficient, and therefore requiring a counterpoise for which reason she generously established herself as that counterpoise, and a most disagreeable and effectual one she was. Julia had been married about eight years, the last two of which had been spent on the Continent, whither they had been led; for in her husband's ear

:

"Some demon whispered-Visto, have a taste.'” "Virtu" was therefore his present mania, and his wife was thankful that anything took him from tormenting her, and still more so that he had allowed her sister to come abroad with her; an indulgence he might not have granted, had he not deemed that, by so doing, he should extend his empire to a slave the more. It was at this juncture that Mowbray came to Milan; he soon discovered Lord de Clifford's foible of wishing to appear a man of science, letters, taste, and universal information; and therefore, adopting the plan of the witty and clever Lady M. with regard to her dolt of a lord, who had never in his life been guilty of thinking a good thing, much less of saying one, when Lord de Clifford had been particularly ponderous, used always to preface some brilliant or wise remark at dinner with, "I think it was you, Lord de Clifford, who told me this morning such and such a thing;" or, "I think it was you who so justly observed so and so;" or, 66 as you very wittily remarked a while ago;" by which scheme, he so completely ingratiated himself with his pompous tool, that he issued a standing order to his wife to be particularly civil to Mr. Mowbray, as he was a young man of infinite judgment and discernment. From this commenced a new epoch in Lady de Clifford's life: though time and experience had annihilated the hope of ever softening her husband towards her, it had not subdued her habit of endurance. Many and bitter were the tears that this outward restraint cost her; but from the time of her acquaintance with Mowbray, it cost her less to bear the unkindness of her husband, for, in fact, she dwelt on it

less; a void seemed filled, she knew not how, in her heart; she never felt the tears gush to her eyes, as formerly, when she looked at the happy faces of Fanny or Saville, or heard their little tender speeches to each other. She liked Mowbray-nay, she longed for his appearance of a day; but she set all this down to the score of gratitude-he was so kind, so gentle, so attentive to her; he remembered her most trifling wishes, nay, more, he anticipated them: how good, how condescending this was of one who was the "enfantgaté" of London! Poor Lady de Clifford a woman may be so brutalized and subdued by ill-treatment from the one who should be the last in the world to be guilty of such inhumanity towards her, as to become grateful for the civility of a sweep in moving out of her way in the street; and at this pass had Julia arrived; for one of her servants could not, in the routine of their business, put a chair out of her way, but that she felt indebted to them as though they had conferred an obligation upon her. How much more, then, did she feel the incessant, the delicate, the devoted attention of a man like Mowbray, whose tones were gentle in speaking to any woman, but when addressing her became perfect music? Once, and only once, she asked herself if she did not like him too much; but she blushed crimson at the thought, and seemed to think the prudery of her imagination had insulted the purity of her heart by the question. Thus poor Lady de Clifford was hastening to the same precipice as Mowbray, though by a very different channel; for while, taking innocence for her guide, she was led into danger from the ignorance of her steersman of the invisible shoals and quicksands that abound in the perilous sea of passion, he was steering headlong to destruction, with knowledge of the world for his chart, false hope for his rudder, and his own wayward and ungoverned heart for a compass.

CHAPTER VI.

"Child. Hey diddle, diddle,

The cat and the fiddle

Mother. Thee ought not to say that, Mary; for, Hey diddle, diddle, has no meaning.

Child. The cat and the fiddle,

The cow jump'd over the moon

Mother. Stop! thee may say the cat and the fiddle, if thee pleases; but do not say the cow jumped over the moon-say the cow jumped under the moon: for thee should know that a cow cannot jump over the moon, though it may jump under the moon.

Child. The little dog laugh'd to see the sport

Mother. What, Mary! a dog laugh! Thee should not say so; for thee knows a dog cannot laugh: thee might say the little dog barked, if thee pleases.

Child. While the dish ran after the spoon.

Mother. Mary! Mary! how can a dish run? Does thee not know that a dish has no legs to run with? Thee should have said, the dish and the spoon."-Utilitarian Philosophy for Nurseries and Noodles.

ONE morning, as Lord de Clifford was preparing to sally out to meet an Armenian, from whom he was to purchase some pseudo Etruscan manuscripts, a single hieroglyphic of which he could not decipher, his little girl was sitting playing with her doll, and lecturing Zoe for her mercurial propensities, as, one after another, she purloined first the doll's shoe, and then its necklace, and decamped to the other end of the room to play with them; and little Julia, having often felt the beneficial effects of moral poetry upon herself, began repeating to Zoe the ancient, though somewhat prejudiced and illiberal, madrigal of

"Taffy was a Welshman, and Taffy was a thief;"

when her stately sire interrupted her with," Julia, you are much too old to have your head crammed with all those ignorant vulgarities; and, with a little application, you would find it quite as easy to learn something useful. For instance, Taffi was not a Welshman, but an Italian poet, born at Genoa, in the year—"

"Oh! yes, I know all that, papa," said the little girl, interrupting in her turn; "at least, he was an Italian