muttering tones he read aloud the fol lowing 66 SONNET TO MEMORY. Hail, Memory! hail! thy tablet of the past, Chase all my smiles, and teach me but to mourn; First smiles a cloudless dawn-soon tempests lower, Mr. Knowlesdon put the precious paper into his pocket, and on his way home began considering what could have given rise to this pathetic composition-whether the "misfortune's tears, and disappointment's blast" had strained poor Susan's mental tablet, because she had the misfor I 4 misfortune to lose her fan, or the disappointment of a new bonnet not made to her order; "hope's faithless smiles," he adjudged to a promised ball not yet enjoyed, and "love's chequered throbs" he wisely appropriated to the service of the several heroes and heroines, for whom Susan had lately been suffering so much. Luckily for the young lady, she had proceeded to the sick woman's, and was not at home when her uncle returned, or she might have heard the sonnet, with no very flattering comments subjoined. But her ready obedience softened the critic's ire, and for her exerted virtue she was pardoned her deficiency of genius. Susan read the Vicar of Wakefield with that delight it must ever confer, and was so charmed with the natural and pithy style of the author, that she entreated Mrs. Egerton to lend her some other book by the same hand. The Traveller, and the Deserted Village, were given to her. her. Susan's appetite increased by what it fed on-again she applied to Mrs. Eger ton. "I have no other entertaining works of Goldsmith's to introduce to your acquaintance-He has written a History of England, but that, I fear, will not amuse you." Susan desired to make the experiment, and soon found herself interested beyond her expectation. The virtues of real heroes warmed her heart with a less fugitive glow, and some of the heroines beguiled her of her tears. When charmed with the valour and the modesty of an Edward, she felt how high the human character could be elevated; and when she wept over the sorrows of Anne Bullen, and the venerable and dignified Stafford, she could almost have believed, as well as wished, that she was perusing the pathetic narrative of romance. Her taste insensibly and gradually refined: after regaling on the page of a Robert 1 5 Robertson, or a Johnson, she ceased to relish the common trash of circulating libraries. A good novel was always acceptable, and gave a pleasant change to her studies; but she could not, as before, devour all the garbage of folly and immorality. She thought more, and fancied less; true history exercises the reason-romance yields sustenance to the imagination alone; we can only reason upon facts. СНАР CHAPTER XIII. MR. Knowlesdon loved his profession most when its institutes could serve the cause of virtue and social harmony. By some judicious hints to lord Ruthven's agent and lord Rochfort's steward, he persuaded those gentlemen to arrange the debts of their several employers; and James Twist, invested with his rightful dues, again cheerfully pursued his humble but useful course. The solicitor, eager to inform his sister of his success, and seeing her with Mrs. Egerton purchasing muslin at a milliner's in the village, followed them into the shop to communicate the welcome and unexpected news. He found |