she turned out to be a foreign princess, in the other the daughter of an English duke.

I remember being a little startled, when after I had given all my faith to the Russian Jegend (for the emperor Paul was the potentate on whom she had pitched for her papa¦ pretty choice!) she began to knock down her gown castle in the air, for the sake of rebuilding it on an English foundation. I could readily imagine that she had one father, but could not quite comprehend what she should want with two: besides, having given up my mind to the northern romance, I did not like to be disturbed by a see-saw of conjectures, good for nothing but to put one out. I was of a constant disposition, and stuck to the princess Rusty-Fusty version of the story so pertinaciously, that I do not even know what duke she had adopted for her English father. Any one might have been proud of her; for, with all this nonsense, the offspring of an equivocal situation and a neglected education, she was a sweet and charming creature, kind and generous and grateful, with considerable quickness of talent, and a power of attaching those with whom she conversed, such as I have rarely seen equalled. I loved her dearly, and except the formal meals which we shared with the rest of the family, spent nearly the whole of my visit with her alone, strolling through the park or the castle in the mornings, and in the evenings sitting over the fire deep in girlish talk, or turning over the books in the old library with a less girlish curiosity. Oh how sorry we were to part! I saw nobody in the whole north like Marianne.

racter was dormant, though not extinct. In short, the black-eyed beauty of G. Castle was fairly forgotten, till my good stars led me this morning to B. to witness for the first and last time of my life, the ascent of a balloon.

Is there any one of my readers who has not seen this spectacle? If such there be, it may perhaps be necessary to say how much duller than most sights (and almost all sights unconnected with art are dull) that dangerous toy is; how much the letting off a boy's kite excels it in glee, and vies with it in utility; the science of balloons being, as far as I know, nearly the only discovery of this chemical and mechanical age, (when between steam-engines and diving-bells, man contrives to have pretty much his own way with the elements) which has continued to stand altogether still, as cumbersome, as unmanageable, and almost as ugly as the original machine of Montgolfier. Nevertheless the age is also a staring age, and we poor country people who know no better, are easily taken in, so that the announcement of this aeronautic expedition (for so it was called in the programme) drew at least ten thousand gazers into the good town of B. and amongst the rest my simple self.

The day was showery by fits, and we thought ourselves very fortunate in being able to secure a commodious window in a large room just overlooking the space where the balloon was filling. At first we looked at that flagging flapping bag of tri-coloured silk, made dingy by varnish, and dingier still by the pack-thread net-work which enclosed it, giving it, when nearly filled, something of the In a few months, however, I returned into air of a canteloupe melon. A thousand yards the south, and in a very few more the kind of silk, they said, were wasted in that uncousins, with whom I had visited G. Castle, sightly thing, enough (as a calculating milliwere removed from me by death. My other ner of my acquaintance, indignant at such relatives in that county fell gradually off: misapplication of finery, angrily observed) to some died; some went to reside abroad; and have made a hundred dresses with trimmings some were lost to me by the unintended and tippets. We looked at the slow filling estrangement which grows out of a long sus- ball till in our weariness we thought it bepension of intercourse; so that my pleasant came emptier, and then we looked at a pretnorthern tour, unconnected with any previous tier sight,-the spectators. They consisted or subsequent habits or associations, seemed for the most part of country people, spread all an insulated point in my history, a brilliant the way down the large space to the meadows, dream called up to recollection at pleasure perched on the church-tower, on the side of like some vivid poem, or some rare and gor- the F. hill, on trees, on wagons, on the churchgeous tapestry, rather than a series of real yard wall. Nothing was visible but heads events burnt into the mind and the memory and upturned faces, and here and there a little by the strange and intense power of personal opening made by habitual deference for horsefeelings. Eighteen years had elapsed since men and carriages, in that grand and beautiful I had seen or heard of Marianne. I knew in- living mass, a pleased and quiet crowd. Then deed that the good earl and countess had died we looked at the peaceful landscape beyond, shortly after my visit, and that their aged mo- the Thames winding in its green meadows ther must in the course of nature have passed under the fine range of the O**shire hills, away long ago. But of her own destiny I had shut in on one side by the church with its heard nothing; and, being absorbed in new magnificent Gothic tower, on the other by the occupations and nearer friends, I had, I fear, before-mentioned eminence crowned with trees ceased even to guess. The curiosity and won- as with a plume. Then a sudden shower put der excited by her situation had long ceased motion in the crowd; flight and scrambling (for wonder and curiosity are very young feel- and falling ensued; numerous umbrellas were ings,) and the interest produced by her cha-expanded: and the whole scene resembled

those processions which one has sometimes seen on Indian paper, and became quite oriental.

At last, however, we were tired of gazing without, and turned our attention within doors. The room was full of fluctuating company, all strange to us except the lady of the house; and the party nearest to us, our next-window neighbours, naturally engaged us most. The party in question consisted of a gentleman and lady in the very morning of life, who, placed in an old-fashioned dow seat, were sedulously employed in guarding and caressing a beautiful little girl about three years old, who stood between them infinitely amused at the scene. They were, as our hostess informed us, a young couple of large fortune newly settled in the neighbourhood, and seemed of that happy order of beings, handsome, smiling, and elegant, to whom every occupation is graceful. Certainly nothing could be prettier or more becoming than the way in which they talked to their lovely little girl. Another lady, evidently belonging to the party, stood near them, occasionally bending to the frequent questions of the child, or making a polite reply to the animated observations of her father, but constantly declining his offered seat, and apparently taking as little interest in the scene as well might be.

This indifference to an object which was exciting the rapturous attention of some thousands of spectators kept me so comfortably in countenance, that it excited a strong desire to discover as much as I could without rudeness of a person, whose opinions on one point, seeming to accord so remarkably with my own, gave assurance, as I modestly thought, of a sensible woman.

The lady was tall and slender, and dressed with that remarkable closeness and quietness, that entire absence of fashion or pretension, which belong almost exclusively to governesses or the serious. A snow-white dress entirely untrimmed, a plain but nicely fitting dove-coloured spencer, a straw cottage bonnet, and a white veil a good deal over the face, might have suited either caste; but there was something in that face which inclined for the governess, or rather against the devotee. It was a pale thin countenance, which had evidently seen thirty summers, with features which had lost their bloom and roundness, but still retained their delicate symmetry, lighted up by a pair of black eyes inexpressibly intelligent-saucy, merry, dancing, talking! Oh those eyes! Whenever a gentleman said something learnedly wrong about hydrogen or oxygen, or air-valves or gasometers, or such branches of learning, or a lady vented something sentimentally silly about sailing amongst the stars, those black eyes flashed into laughter. Of a certainty they did not belong to one of the serious, or they would have been kept in better order; I had there

fore quite decided in favour of the governess, and had begun to puzzle myself to remember in whose head beside that of the younger Mina (that most interesting of all the Spanish patriots, who was in London during the hundred days, and was afterwards most barbarously shot in Mexico), I had seen such a pair of dancing lights, when the whole truth flashed upon me at a word. "Marianne"-began the pretty mamma of the pretty child, and in a moment I too had exclaimed "Marianne!" had darted forward, and seized both her hands, and in less than a minute we were seated in the remotest corner of the room, away from the bustle and the sight, the gazers and the balloon. It was turned off, I believe, - at least I have a faint recollection of certain shouts which implied its ascent, and remem-¦ ber being bored by a sentimental young lady to come and look at it "sailing like an eagle along the sky." But neither Marianne nor I' saw or thought of the spectacle. We were in. the midst of old recollections and old pleasures, now raining questions on each other, now recurring delightedly to our brief companionship, and smiling half ashamed and half regretfully on the sweet illusion of that happy time.

Alas for my beautiful princess of G. Castle!-Here she was, no longer young, fair, or blooming, a poor nursery governess! Alas for my princess! Sixteen years of governessing, sixteen years passed in looking at the world through the back windows, might well have, dimmed that brilliant beauty, and tamed that romantic imagination. But I had not conversed with her five minutes before I found, that her spirit had lost none of its buoyancy, that under all her professional demureness she was still, as her black eyes promised, one of the airiest and sprightliest creatures in the world. She glanced rapidly, but with great feeling, over the kindness she had experienced from the whole family on the death of lord and lady G., and then, in a style of light and playful gaiety, indescribably graceful and attractive, proceeded to give me the history of her successive governesships, touching with a pencil inimitably sportive, the several humours and affectations which she had encountered in her progress through the female world. "I was never," said she in conclusion, "so happily situated as I am at present. The father and mother are charming people, and my little Emma" (by this time the child had joined us, and was nestling in Marianne's lap)" is the most promising pupil I ever had in my life. In little more than four months she has learned three letters and three quarters. I should like to see her through the alphabet-but yet”—' and here she broke off with a smile and a blush, and a momentary depression of her sparkling eyes, that again brought before me the youthful beauty of G. Castle, and irresistibly suggested the idea of a more suitable

termination to the romance than it had origin-Oh! with what a pitying scorn our exact and recollective Frenchwoman used to look down on such an incorrigible shatterbrain! But she was a poetess, as Madame said, and what could you expect better!

ally promised. Such blushes have only one meaning. Finding that she still paused, I ventured to finish the sentence. "But yet you will leave this promising pupil ?”—“Yes.”"Not, however, for a similar situation?". In spite of this misfortune, she was univer"No."-" And who is the happy man?" sally liked and respected; I, for my own part, "A very old friend. Do you remember Mr. loved Miss R. even better than Madame; M., the chaplain at the castle?"-"What! the though I had some temptations to dislike her, great mathematician with the scratch wig, who she having, to my sorrow, undertaken the pesaw without seeing, and heard without hear-culiar charge of my education for the last two ing, who wore his waistcoat the wrong way, years of my stay at school (from thirteen to and went to chapel with one white stocking fifteen,) which she followed up with extraor and one black? Is he le futur?" Marianne dinary rigour; so that instead of passing half laughed outright. "His son! his son! He hours and whole hours, half days and whole must have been at Cambridge when you were days, at the side of my beautiful countess, in with us, for he also is a great mathematician, the full enjoyment of my dearly beloved idlealthough I promise you he wears his waistcoat ness, I found myself, to my unspeakable diswith the right side outward, and his legs are composure, getting by rote (an operation which both of one colour. We have been waiting I always detested) sundry tedious abridgments for a college living; and now”—and again of heraldry, botany, biography, mineralogy, she broke off and blushed and smiled; and mythology, and at least half a dozen "oloagain that smiling blush of modesty and plea- gies" more, compiled by herself for my exsure and love brought back for a moment the press edification. I gave her fair warning that fleeting beauty of seventeen; and even in that I should forget all these wise things in no moment the show was over, the crowd dis-time, and kept my word; but there was no persed, and we parted.

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS.

THE ENGLISH TEACHER.

escaping the previous formality of learning them. Oh dear me! I groan in spirit at the very recollection. I was even threatened with the Latin grammar. All her instructions, however, were not administered in so unpalatable a form. To fill up any nook of time which the common demands of the school and her private lessons might leave vacant, we used MISS R., the English teacher, to whom poor to read together, chiefly poetry. With her I Madame took so unfortunate an aversion, was first became acquainted with Pope's Homer, one of the most charming women that I have Dryden's Virgil, and the Paradise Lost. Those ever known. The pretty word "graziosa," by were moments of intense gratification; she which Napoleon loved to describe Josephine, read capitally, and was a most indulgent hearer seemed made for her. She was full of a deli-of my remarks and exclamations: suffered me cate grace of mind and person. Her little to admire Satan, and detest Ulysses, and rail elegant figure, and her fair mild face, lighted at the pious Æneas as long as I chose. After up so brilliantly by her large hazel eyes, cor- these master poets we turned to some peculiar responded exactly with the soft gentle manners favourites of her own, Akenside, whom I could which were so often awakened into a delight- not understand then (neither can I now), and ful playfulness, or an enthusiasm more charm-Young, whom I could not read. Three weary ing still, by the impulse of her quick and ardent spirit. To be sure she had a slight touch of distraction about her (distraction French, not distraction English), an interesting absence of mind. She united in her own person all the sins of forgetfulness of all the young ladies; mislaid her handkerchief, her shawl, her gloves, her work, her music, her drawing, her scissors, her keys; would ask for a book when she held it in her hand, and set a whole class hunting for a thimble, whilst the said thimble was quietly perched upon her finger.

evenings did we consume over his first three nights; but the lecture was so dismal, so afflicting, and my impatience and ennui were so contagious, that at last we fairly gave him up. I have never opened the Night Thoughts since; the bare recollection of that attempt is enough.

Beside the readings, Miss R. compensated in another way for the pain and grief of my unwilling application: she took me often to the theatre; whether as an extra branch of education, or because she was herself in the height of a dramatic fever, it would be invidious to inquire. The effect may be easily foreseen; my enthusiasm soon equalled her own; we began to read Shakspeare, and read nothing else. There was of course a great difference in kind between her pleasure and mine; her's was a critical, mine a childish enjoy

ment; she loved fine acting, and I loved the play. Perhaps I loved the written drama more than she did; for her admiration was given rather to the great actor than to the author; she thought more of John Kemble than of Shakspeare-it was a real passion for the stage. She never saw our great school-room without longing to turn it into a theatre. Two events, which happened in my last half-year, most unexpectedly realized her wish-though the accomplishment fell far short of her expectations. Madame, poor Madame, the determined enemy of poetry and private theatricals, left us; she returned to France, and we never saw her again; and, just at the same time, a young lady arrived from the country, so different from all other country consignments, that our prejudices melted before her like snow in the sunshine.

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the world, go forth into the fields one fine morning to seek a venerable elderly lady, Urania by name, through whose wisdom they expect to be made immediately good and happy. They have the usual scenic good fortune of meeting with the only human being who could properly direct them, in the person of a certain young shepherdess, called Florella, a protegée of Urania, who leads them to her at once. She receives the distressed damsels kindly; hears their several confessions, not of sins but of propensities; for they have all, according to Pope's system, a ruling passion;" gives them good advice and a breakfast; and the piece concludes. It had nearly come to an abrupt conclusion in our case. Critics of fifteen and sixteen are not remarkably tolerant: and Mrs. Hannah More, though a forcible prose writer, is, without offence be it Eliza M. was a tall, full-formed, noble- spoken, no great poet! and measured with looking girl of sixteen, with an expressive Milton-the Search after Happiness comopen countenance, and a fine frankness of pared to Comus! Alas for poor Miss R.! manner. Her conversation was singularly within a quarter of an hour after assuming the engaging and original, fresh, ardent, elo- managerial throne, she shared the fate of other quent, like that of a clever boy;-manly, not managers,-her two principal actors threw up masculine. No one could be in her company their parts. This fit of disgust was, however, five minutes without being convinced of her rather violent than lasting. Our manager great powers and of their high cultivation. soothed and scolded, and reasoned and bribed; To add to our astonishment (for we had really and we, after picking this "Pastoral Drama” the impertinence to think most places of edu- to pieces as thoroughly as ever children picked cation within the bills of mortality, and all a daisy, began to relent; listened to reason, beyond them, mere dens of ignorance,) to and finally promised to try; a condescension crush all our prejudices at once, she was just to which we were induced, partly by the cocome from a country school, where her very gent argument that any play was better than last act had been the representation of Comus. none, and partly by the promise of real sceneHere was a discovery! In the existing state ry, new dresses, and splendid decorations. of Miss R.'s fancy, she became convinced that The play was now generally announced; read Eliza M. owed not only her graceful carriage with prodigious applause, (it seemed that we and her fine elocution, but all her talents and two had exhausted the critical carping;) and accomplishments solely to the having sus- cast in proper form. Eliza accepted Urania, tained a part in this masque; and she instant- stipulating that the speeches should be a good ly resolved to new-model all her pupils at a deal shortened, especially in the didactic parts; stroke in the same way. She immediately and that the worthy lady should be made concommunicated her resolution to Eliza and my-siderably younger. She declared that she self, and left us to consult Mrs. S. on the subject. We remained together in high expectation, turning over Milton's exquisite poem, casting the parts, spouting, admiring, and I, between whiles, a little regretting that, though the very finest thing in the world in its way, Comus was not Richard the Third. The regret was unnecessary; we were not fated to act Comus. Miss R. returned from Mrs. S. with the appointed play, the only play which that worthy governess would hear of-the only play fit to be acted by young ladies the Search after Happiness, a pastoral drama: and the respective idolators of Milton and Shakspeare sate down to the perusal of Mrs. Hannah More. Do any of my readers know the piece? It is a dialogue in rhyme, moral, sensible, and well-intentioned, but not very dramatic, and not pastoral at all. The story may be shortly told. Four fashionable young ladies, sufliciently tired of themselves and of

would not even have acted Comus, if Comus had been an old woman; and, above all, she demanded that one expression, which particularly affronted her, "the goodly dame," should be transmuted into "gentle fair," or some such elegancy. The four seekers after happiness were next to be disposed of. Cleora, the leader and talker of the party, fell to my share. This Cleora was a learned lady, a blue stocking of the very first water, and if intended by the author, as I suppose it was, for a lesson, was sadly thrown away in the present instance. God knows there was small danger of my aspiring after too much knowledge! What a pity that Miss Julia, maker of notes, writer of short-hand, reporter of lectures, should have left school! She would have played Cleora to the life. She should have staid on purpose, and I dare say she would have staid, if she could have foreseen such an opportunity of exhibiting the universality of

ing of them nearly overset our play. They had been overlooked at first, being really too unimportant to attract attention, and remained for two or three days totally forgotten; till Zenobie, our clever dunce, and Charlotte, one of our managing triad (her sister Catharine was ill or she would have manoeuvred for all three), took a fancy to act them, and imme

her genius. Next came “the fair Euphelia," a pretty, vain, coquettish character, which, in right of beauty, was consigned to our beautiful countess. What a mistake was that, too! No one could look at the pure and lofty style of her countenance without being convinced that vanity was to her an impossible fault; proud she might be, vain she could not! one should as soon have suspected the Apollo Bel-diately preferred a petition to that effect, videre. The third lady errante, "the gentle Laurinda," was much better disposed of. Never was a part more felicitously cast! Our Laurinda was a fine, showy girl, tall, plump, inert, and languishing, with a fair blooming complexion, light sleepy eyes, long flaxen hair, and a general comely silliness of aspect. Her speech had a characteristic slowness, an indolent drawl, all her words were dragged, as it were, so that those who did not know her were apt to accuse her of affectation. Those who did, saw at once that she was a thoroughly well-meaning young person, with much good-humour and no want of sense, but with an entire absence of energy and application, a capacity of unlearning, a faculty of forgetting exactly suited to the part. She was, in short, the very Laurinda of the play.

Last of the quartet was Pastorella, a romantic nymph always in love. Truly she was well suited, too; having fallen to the lot of a very lovely girl, quite an Asiatic beauty, who, though not in the least addicted to such silly pastime, had an oriental languor in her slow and graceful movements, and a depth of tenderness in her large black eyes, which gave a verisimilitude to her representation of the forlorn damsel. She was also an admirable musician, and Miss R. determined to call her sweet and passionate voice in aid of the illusion. So she was to sing some fervid Italian ditty to the accompaniment of her own harp; which would have just the proper sentimental air (your romantic young lady always does accompany herself on the harp, especially out of doors) and to be drest as much like the heroine of a novel as possible. Then came the shepherdess, Florella. We had a charming Florella; a gentle, simple, country girl, whose round, slender figure, her golden hair, blue eyes, and glowing complexion, her innocent voice, and engaging smile, might have suited

"the prettiest low-born lass that ever Ran on the green sward."

She seemed born to wear little white hats wreathed with flowers, and jackets laced tightly to her small trim waist, to weave chaplets, tie up nosegays, and twist garlands round her crook.

which was readily granted. Nothing could equal the consternation of their mamma, elect, when she heard this intelligence. To be a mamma at all was bad enough; but to have one daughter taller than herself, and another, who, though not so tall, looked like an old fairy, was not to be endured. She flew to Miss R.; Miss R. was sorry, but she had promised. She remonstrated, coaxed, argued, threatened, talked of resigning-did resign; still no relaxation. The whole house was split into factions; all who knew anything of acting felt with poor Urania, that the grouping required absolute children; all who did not, sided with the popular favourites, Zenobie and Charlotte. At last, after the manager's firmness and the prima donna's obstinacy had been well tried-after one whole day of turmoil and suspense- Charlotte's good-humour decided the question. She prevailed on Zenobie to join her in withdrawing their request; and Urania, well chidden for her presumption, penitent, but triumphant, resumed her part, and at the end of a few days was even permitted to choose her children. And an excellent choice she made. Our sweet little Irish girl, the sometime Pizarro, who did every thing but grow, and at twelve years of age looked eight, as at eight she had wit enough for twelve, played the eldest daughter; whilst a rosy, curly-pated, laughing brat of six, a perfect picture of a child, just like one of Sir Joshua's, stepped down from the frame, lisped through the youngest to admiration. Nor were Charlotte and Zenobie forgotten. The three sisters formed a sort of chorus of shepherdesses in attendance on Florella, and sang and danced at the banquet; whilst, at the end of their dance, Zenobie, exquisitely dressed, and armed with a superb garland of roses, darted forward and executed a pas seul. Such a pas seul! The French dancing-master declared that nothing like that had ever been seen in England. It was the only part of our play that was encored.

And now we began to experience, in its fullest enchantment, the extraordinary power that acting possesses over the human fancy,

the total absorption, the artificial importance, the busy idleness! The whole school Our dramatis personæ now wanted only the was turned topsy-turvy; nothing was thought two daughters of Urania to be complete.- of or talked of but our play; there was an These two daughters might almost have pass- entire pause and intermission of all lessons, ed pour des personnages muets. They had an universal holiday. Those who did not act scarcely ten lines between them;—anybody in the drama were wanted to act audience; might have filled such parts, and yet the fill-and the making of paper flowers, the construc