tian meekness gives place to ill-natured tattle and censoriousness. Like all other parishes, the parish of Yateshull had its gossips; and at the time to which I allude the office was ably filled by two ladies, Miss Prowle and her niece Miss Burr, who occupied a comfortable residence in our main street (selected because it commanded a view of three roads), and who, for want of other employment, "spent their time," like the Athenians of old, "in nothing else, but either to tell or hear some new thing." Of the former of these ladies -namely, Miss Anna Maria Prowle-it is sufficient to say, that, having been a coquette in her youth, and having now numbered six-and-fifty summers, she had passed half a century with as little profit to herself or her fellow-creatures as can be conceived. She might have been the original of Cowper's painful portrait : "Of temper as envenom'd as an asp, Censorious, and her every word a wasp, Laughs at the reputations she has torn, And holds them dangling at arm's length in scorn." Whether this unfortunate person had experienced disappointments which had soured her temper, whether she had laboured under early disadvantages, or had been driven by want of occupation to become as mischievous and meddling a character as she was when I became acquainted with her, I know not; but all that I saw of her led me to judge that she was a miserable being, who could only find alleviation of her own pain while she was inflicting it on others. Once, and only once, (it was during an attack of dangerous illness,) did I find myself able to touch that seared and callous heart; she then spoke with bitter remorse of the unprofitableness of her past existence, and acknowledged how deeply she had offended God with sins of the tongue. As she recovered, I had really hoped to see a permanent change in her character; but, alas! the good seed had fallen on a soil where weeds soon sprang up and choked it. With returning health she returned to her ancient habits, -like the opium-eater, who cannot exist without the drug that is killing him, she found her life insupportable without the stimulus of scandal; and when I gently urged on her the fulfilment of her promises to employ her mind in more profitable things, and occupy herself in the discharge of active duties, she replied that my advice would have been very appropriate for the head of a family, “but a single woman,” she added, "has no duties!" Alas! what a miserable, and yet how common a fallacy is this!for to what, but to such a principle adopted and acted upon, is the popular notion attributable which makes "an old maid" the personification of uselessness and selfishness? How grievous it is that the whole body of unmarried females should thus be made answerable for the errors of a portion of their number, and how unjust, in many instances, is the charge against them! As for one, who, be cause she is single, persuades herself that society has no claims upon her, I scarce know whether she is most to be pitied or contemned. How thankless must such an one be for the leisure afforded her for the improvement of her own mind; how insensible to the opportunities of doing all the good within her reach; how forgetful of the reiterated admonitions of Holy Writ, that in every state and condition of life we are accountable beings, and that for every action committed in that state we shall be called to account! On the other hand, what character is more lovely in the eyes of God and man than that of one whose days are spent in a course of quiet usefulness, and whose ambition rises no higher than to become an object of interest and regard to those around her? Good temper, gentleness, and unobtrusiveness, freedom from jealousies, vanity, and peevishness, together with a steady, modest demeanour, must, of necessity, form the chief ingredients in such a character; and so close an union of amiable qualities can scarcely fail to make it attractive in its domestic circle. In fact there is no class to whom social life owes more than it does to unmarried females. How many parents have had their declining years supported and solaced by the devotion of daughters, who, for their sakes, and in order to minister to their infirmities, and alleviate the ravages of disease and sorrow, have (it may be) declined the marriage-state! How many orphan children have owed their nurture, their education, and their principles, to the piety and the gene rous, affectionate attention of some unmarried sister or aunt! And, to take a wider field of observation, where shall we find such kind friends to the poor,— where such efficient visitors of our schools, our hospitals, our benevolent societies,-where such cheerful, ready co-operators in the labours of Christian charity,—in one word, where shall we find such blessings to a neighbourhood as among this too often despised and depreciated class? But to return from this digression. I have described Miss Prowle; I must therefore proceed to the less easy task of bringing Miss Burr before the eyes of my readers. It is said that persons of dissimilar habits live more happily together than those whose dispositions closely resemble each other; and I suppose this was the secret of the bond of union (such as it was) between Miss Prowle and her niece, for, in many respects, the contrast between them was complete. True, both were ill-educated, narrow-minded, mischief-making women; both were gossips and busybodies but the one was full of black spite, and cold, calculating malevolence; the other was only a silly, thoughtless tattler. The one loved slander for its own sake; the other had so much of the milk of human kindness about her, that she did not invent the libels she retailed. If, instead of having been condemned to live with aunt Prowle, Sophy Burr had been in independent circumstances, or had been able to find a more comfortable home, she might have been an agreeable and useful member of society; but no one can touch pitch without being defiled. Naturally she had no turn for gossiping; but having been employed by her aunt to gain information for her, she gradually acquired a taste for that which at the outset she had despised. She was a brisk, active little body, sharp as a needle, busy as a bee, who seemed to be almost possessed of the gift of ubiquity. She went every where, contrived to see every thing, and to know every body; chattered incessantly whenever she could find a listener, and when she could not, she chattered to herself. Meet you where she might, she stuck to you with the tenacity of a leech. Vain were your efforts to shake her off; she was insensible to hints and deaf to rebuffs. So long as she supposed that you were in possession of information which she desired, she remained immovable at your side. And (to use her own expression) till she had pumped it out, or sucked it out, she had no notion of dropping off. Having none of the pride of aunt Prowle, Miss Burr was often set to do her dirty work, and did it effectually and unconsciously; but having none of her aunt's ill-nature, she occasionally healed the wounds which she had inflicted. She stood, however, in great awe of her aunt, and was rather servile and obsequious in her manner towards her; so that it was commonly said, that whatever the aunt hinted the niece asserted, and whatever the aunt asserted the niece asseverated. Still, as I have said, she was D |