So the lady told the story, but her husband never did, not being quite sure who gave him the batogs.

He is passionate.-No bad thing. Such people, says the Marquis of Halifax, always make amends at the foot of the account. Be not witty, make no replies, and good humour will follow. The dew is sweetest and most plentiful in hot climates. M. De Luc always carried a lump of sugar in his pocket to hold in his mouth when he or his companions grew angry. There are places where quarrelsome people are put into cold baths till they cease talking, but we have not water enough in England. A wife reasoning with an impatient husband is as silly as the eglantine in the fable arguing with a waterfall, when it might have looked quietly on and sparkled after the sprinkling.

He is proud. Take comfort-so are all hasty men. Whoever is passionate is so partial to himself that he will not bear contradiction. But if those who live with him are patient, his weakness will be their strong-hold, for he will let nobody else molest them.

He is churlish.-Still there is comfort. If he has good sense, it will be so often waked by other people's follies, that, like a good house-dog, it must bark a little; and honest Englishmen, like their favourite hounds, have a good deal of surliness about them. But, either with over much rudeness or excessive civility, nothing is so useful as quiet indifference. A flatterer is sooner shamed and a ruffian tamed by this than by grand airs. Besides, what seems peevishness may be sickness. Poets pretend, Prometheus was sentenced to endure the gnawings of a vulture, but it was, probably, a fashionable liver complaint, or a stitch in the side. However, let a churlish temper alone: nothing good can be forced from it. The wine squeezed from grape-stones and husks is always

sour.

He is indifferent.-This is almost an inconsolable matter; but if you think aversion a better fault, take a particular friend into your house. Let her be very beautiful, poor, and fashionable; or very ugly, witty, and eloquent. The first will take care that he shall know all your faults, and the other that his shall never pass unnoticed by you. There will be telegraphs on both sides, and produce a deep, broad, open hatred, as

much preferable to indifference as a thick ice is to a little hoar frost. If this is not enough, hire a companion. In old times, all families kept a tame knave; and people in India still think a tame snake lucky in their houses. Last of all, take a prying cousin or an instructive aunt; then you will have a third person to hate, and sufficient business for you both to remove her again.

When Sir Tristram returned I gave him back his schedule laughing, "I think,” said I, “it is but just that this bundle of consolations should be divided between you. Half of every sheet was a blank; and I have filled it with such useful hints as my mother's memorandum-book furnished. Pray study them at your leisure, or propose the texts and let me adopt the commentaries." Sir Tristram took his pencil merrily and supplied eight subjects, to which I arranged and suited these consolations.

She is a shrew.-Very consoling: -a shrew is always a good manager and a little eater. Keep a mischievous dog and a stupid footboy, and her anger will never trouble you. Her tongue is the safety-valve of the steam engine.

She is too busy.-Better still. Busy people are apt to be short sighted, which preserves peace in families. Bees see only an inch before their noses.

She talks too much.-Tis a better fault than sulkiness and never ends so ill. An honest gentleman may stop his ears, but he cannot see through a fog. Archbishop Cranmer proposed to make a sullen temper a claim for divorce, because he thought a silent woman a thing not fit to enter heaven.

For," says he, "we are never told that angels hold their tongues.-They must be women, for they are always talking or singing."

Nobody knows her mind.-She is not to blame for knowing more than other people. Woman's mind should never be seen except in profile, for she is wisest when she shews only half her graces and her thoughts. What should we think of a jeweller if he never shut his windows?-And as some great man said on a similar occasion, "It proves she might be trusted with a secret.'

She brings no money.-There is comfort instead. Next to marrying an heiress, a pennyless girl is the best, for you may have the credit and au

thority of an obliger, and she the servitude of an obligeé.-Most probably, if you please, she will spend your fortune with more fancy and glee than ten heiresses.-Only take her far off, or you must marry all her relations.

She is jealous.-A certain cure for all other plagues, because, like Aarons rod, it swallows them up. Of all the 2,500 diseases acknowledged by physicians, it is the most painful, but the most economical. For it spares no time, it heeds no amusement, and takes no food except of its own making. It cures all delight in dress, all love of feasts and company, and makes all the senses sharp, except common sense, which it has no concern with.

She loves flattery.-Best of all :-it is the cheapest, the pleasantest, and may be the most elegant taste-that is, if she knows how to administer as well as

to receive it. For it is to the temper like oil poured on the sea, not only smoothing, but giving it a thousand bright colours. It is the most elegant, for it requires a polite fancy, the pleasantest, for it pleases every body, and the cheapest, for a little serves the wise.

She is nervous. This is the sum total of a wife's defects, and I only know one consolation. Let her find in her husband's portfolio his horoscope carefully drawn with an intimation of the year when he may become a widower, receive ten thousand pounds from his godmother and marry again. If she does not survive the time through spite, she will die through fear, and either way will serve. Here my art of consoling ends, for more must be needless; and I bequeath it to my nephew as the last part of his godmother's legacy.

V.

AMELIA OPIE.

It was not a vain desire of life, or a fear of death, that made me long for immortality; nor was it the cupidity of wealth, or the love of splendour, or of pleasure, that made me spend years of anxious study to penetrate into the hid den recesses of nature, and drag forth those secrets which she has involved in an almost impenetrable obscurity; but it was the desire of revenge, of deep seated and implacable revenge, that urged me on, till by incredible exertion and minute investigation, I discovered that which it has by turns been the object of philosophy to attain, and the aim of incredulity to ridicule-the philosopher's stone. And yet I was naturally of a mild and compassionate disposition. I had a heart open to the tenderest and best emotions of our nature; injury heaped on injury, received too, from one whose highest aim ought to have been to manifest the gratitude which he owed to me, who, in the hour of danger and adversity, should have been the readiest to offer assistance, has rendered me what I am.

It is useless to add to the instances of human depravity, I will not relate the miseries which I endured. I will not look back upon the prospects which have been blasted by the perfidy of him whom I thought a friend. Suffice it, that they have been such as the soul shudders to contemplate; such as planted in my soul a thirst of vengeance, which I brooded over till it became a part of my very existence.

I soon found, that by human means, I had little chance of revenge. My enemy was powerful and cautious, and all my plans were anticipated and baffled. I determined to have recourse to darker agents. I had been accustomed to intense and mysterious study, and I knew that there are beings who exercise an influence over human affairs, and are themselves likewise in subjection to the wise and omnipotent Being, who is the mover of the first springs of the mighty machine of the universe. I knew too, that it was possible to exert a power over these beings; and hence forth I applied the whole force of my mind to the acquisition of the knowledge, which would make me the possessor of this power. Ten long years I employed for this purpose and my

efforts were crowned with success. But though I could summon these spirits before me, and compel them to give an answer to my enquiries, that was all; I could not, I was sensible, subject them entirely to my will without making on my part certain concessions, and to ascertain what these were, was the object of my first trial.

I fixed on a night for this my first essay, and it soon arrived; I repaired to the spot which I had selected. Its secresy was well calculated for my purpose, it was a dark and lonely glen, but it was rich in romantic beauty. Rocks whose brinks were covered with underwood and wild herbage frowned on each side, a few stunted oaks threw out their roots clinging to the precipice, and an immense elm on one side spread its wide arms around. The bottom of the area was covered with dark luxuriant grass, interspersed with wild and fragrant flowers. At one end a narrow but deep river tumbled its waters over the precipice, and rushed down, sometimes almost concealed by jutting fragments of rocks covered with moss and plants, which clung to it as for protection from the force of the cataract, then again spreading out, and dashing its roaring waters along, till it finally vanished under ground in a cloud of mist and foam.

The moon was shining brightly, and I ascended an eminence which commanded an extensive prospect. On one side, wide and fertile plains extended themselves, spotted at a distance with straggling cottages and small hamlets, bounded with forests, whose dark and heavy masses contrasted finely with the light of the adjacent landscape. On the right the river rolled its waves in calm windings, between banks of lively green, adorned with groves and clusters of trees, till it terminated in the waterfall, which dashed far beneath me with a softened murmur. It was a delightful scene.

The sky was beautifully clear, fleecy clouds skimmed over it, lighted up with a silvery lustre that they caught from the moon beams, which bursting from behind them as they passed, fell on the waters of the stream and the cataract, and trembled on them in liquid beauty, Waves, rocks, woods, plains, all glittered in

the lovely rays, and all spoke of peace and harmony.

As I gazed on the beauties which nature had here scattered with so profuse a hand, I heard the distant tinkling of a sheep-bell. What associations did this slight sound conjure up to me! All the loved and well-remembered scenes of childhood crowded on my mind. I thought of times and of persons that were fled-of those who were joined to me by kindred-who were united by friendship, or attached by a tenderer passion. Again, those short but blissful moments were present; perhaps more blissful, because so short-when I had strayed at this same witching hour with one whose remembrance will survive the eternity which I am doomed to undergo. When we had gazed with all the rapture of admiration on the works, which attest the power and mightiness of providence-had listened to the note of the evening songster, and the sighs of the wind among the leaves -and with hearts unstained by one evil thought or passion, and feeling unmixed with aught unworthy, had breathed forth our pure and fervent vows to that Being whose altar is the sincere bosom, and whose purest, most grateful offering is a tear.

The night advanced. It was time for me to begin my terrible solemnities. I trembled at the thought of what I was about to do. I hesitated whether to proceed, but the hope of revenge still impelled me on, and I resolved to prosecute my design. It was soon done. The rites were begun; the flame of my lamp blazed clear and bright; I knew the moment was approaching when I should hold communion with beings of another world: perhaps with the prince of darkness himself. I grew faint, a heavy load weighed on my breast, my respiration grew thick and short, my eyes seemed to swell in their sockets, and a cold sweat burst from every pore of my body. The flame waved-it decreased it went out. The heavens were darkened; I gazed around, but the gloom was too great for me to see any thing. I looked towards the waterfall, and, amid the mist and obscurity which covered the place of its subterranean outlet, a star shone with wild and brilliant lustre. It grew largerit approached me-it stopped, and a brighter radiance was diffused around. The evil one stood before me.

I gazed with wonder and astonishment, on the being that stood before me in terrible beauty. His figure was tall and commanding, and his athletic and sinewy limbs were formed in the most exquisite proportions.

His countenance was pale and majestic, but marked with the mingled passions of pride, malice, and regret, which, we conceive, form the character of the rebel Angel; and his dark and terrible eyes gave a wilder expression to his features, as they beamed in troubled and preternatural brightness from beneath his awful forehead; shaded with the masses of his raven hair that curled around his temples, and waved down his neck and shoulders; and amongst the jetty locks, the star, as a diadem, blazed clear and steadily. Never had I seen aught approaching to his grand and unearthly loveliness: I saw him debased by the grossness of sin, and suffering the punishment of his apostacy; yet he was beautiful beyond the sons of men. I saw him thus, and I thought what the spirit must have been before he fell!

Our conversation was brief: I wished not to prolong it, for I was sick at heart, and his voice thrilled through my whole frame. I rejected his offers, strong as was my thirst for vengeance. A small glimmering of cool reason which I still retained, prevented me from sacrificing all my hopes of hereafter to the gratification of any passion, however ardent. The demon perceived that I should escape his toils, and all the wild and ungoverned force of his fiendish nature burst forth; and overcome with fear and horror, I fell senseless on the ground. When I awoke, all was still; it was quite light. I felt the light breezes sweep over me, and I heard again the roar of the cataract. I arose and looked round, but there was nothing to indicate the late presence of the demon, with whom I had held unhallowed communion. I departed from the glen; the sun was just rising, and his rays shining on the summits of the lofty and distant hills. The air was sweet and refreshing, and the sky, rich in the glories of the opening morning, was painted with beautiful tints, which blend insensibly with each other, and present so lovely a feast to the eye of one, who loves to study the beauties which nature offers on every hand and in almost every

prospect. The birds were singing in the trees; the flowers, which had drooped and hung their faded leaves the evening before, again raised up their heads, enamelled with dew; every thing was gentle, beautiful, and peaceful. The charm communicated itself naturally to my disturbed and agitated mind, and for a short time I was calm and serene; the headstrong current of my passions was checked, and the thought of revenge was forgotten.-But I returned into the world: I found myself an object, by turns, of scorn and pity, and of hatred. Again I cursed him who had wrought this wreck of my hopes, and, again, was vengeance my only object.

I resolved to have no further communication with the beings of whom I have spoken. I determined, thenceforth, to depend on my own exertions. I again applied myself to study, and began to enquire after that secret which could bestow immortal life and wealth. I sought the assistance of none, but depended entirely on myself. I laboured long, and was long unsuccessful. I ransacked the most hidden cabinet of nature. In the bowels of the earth, in the corruption of the grave, in darkness, and in solitude, I worked with unceasing toil. My body was emaciated, and I was worn almost to a skeleton, but the vehemence of my passions supported me. At last, I discovered the object of my search. It will prove how strongly my mind was rivetted on one sole object, when I say, that when I beheld myself possessed of boundless riches, and through their agency of almost boundless power, when the pleasures and temptations of the world lay all within my grasp, I cast not a thought on them or on any thing, save the one great object, on the furtherance of which I had bestowed such unremitting toil of body and mind. At this period I learnt that the object of my hatred was going abroad, and I lost no time in preparing secretly to follow him. He shortly departed; and having disguised myself, I also commenced the journey. I was always on the watch for an opportunity when I could surprize my enemy alone; but I was still unsuccessful. We at last arrived at a sea-port town, and it was determined to proceed by water, and I entered as a passenger into the same vessel. I had never before been at sea, and the scene was new and astonishing

to me, but I could not enjoy it; I saw every thing through a cloud. The ardent passion of revenge which burnt in my breast consumed and obliterated every gentle or pleasant feeling. At another time I should have enjoyed my situation; I should have beheld the seemingly boundless expanse of water around me, and have felt my soul expand at the view; but now I was altered, and my views of surrounding objects altered with me.

I had much trouble to keep concealed, for on board of a ship the risks of discovery were greater, because my absence from the deck, where the other passengers were accustomed to catch the fresh sea breeze, though for some time unnoticed, I feared would in time be remarked, and I might be regarded as a misanthrope who detested the society of his fellow-creatures, which I wished to avoid equally with any other surmise which might make me an object of attention. I was standing one evening watching the gradual decline of the sun as he sank into the heart of the ocean, which reflected his rays, and the lustre of the clouds around him. A sudden motion of the ship caused me to move from the spot on which I was gazing, when I observed some one looking steadily at me. My eye met his-our souls met in the glance-it was he whom I had followed with such relentless hatred. I sprung towards him. I uttered some incoherent words of rage. He smiled at me in scorn; "Madman!" he exclaimed, "dost thou tempt my rage-be cautious ere it is too lateyou are in my power-one word of mine can make you a prisoner; think you that I am ignorant of your proceedings against my life-no-every plot, every machination is as well known to me as to yourself you confess it, your eye says it-seek not to deny it, for this time you are safe." He stayed no longer, but retiring to his cabin, left me too astonished with what I had heard to attempt to detain him. Could it be that he had spoken true? was he indeed so well acquinted with my actions? But if so, why had he not disclosed what he knew, when the civil power could at once have forfeited my life, and deprived him of an enraged foe.Was it that he hesitated to add to his guilt by the death of one whom he had driven to desperation by his treachery, or did some spark of awakening