Our numerous letters inform us, that the Royal Lady's Magazine has found it way into almost every family of rank and taste in the metropolis. Our increased circulation confirms this; but it were a libel on the females throughout the kingdom to doubt, that the moment our work is seen it is adopted. In this the ladies make our cause their own. We offer in this, our third number, a few solid thanks. We exhibit proofs, that when a writer can feel in good company the most distinguished pens in the kingdom are ready; nay, this very week we received a contribution from a poet, who, with sundry compliments, which, from such a mind we cannot but value, enters the field with us heart and hand, seconding our determination TO RAISE THE FEMALE MIND OF ENGLAND TO ITS TRUE LEVEL." We would point out to our Southampton Correspondent the much more easy method of ordering the work of a bookseller there; she will have it without difficulty or expense. Lady F. L. G. is respectfully referred to the acknowledgment in No. I. The periodical which boasts of an acquisition in the person of a Foreign reviewer, would do well to look about for one who can write English; the last two numbers exhibit a sad want of something of this kind. We intended to produce, for the edification of our readers, a few more specimens of "Literature for Ladies!!!" but we have had a hint, that it is only insulting them by placing before them what could only have been written by vulgar pens for vulgar eyes. Miss R.will have received her packet by the time we are published. We can assure her that our arrangements are made for the next few months, and can only be broken in upon for very powerful articles. We are informed that there is a gentleman newly enlisted in Falstaff's ragged regiment of Literary genius, and we are glad of it. We shall hold him answerable for any thing that may require our interference; we know he is no flincher, though his commander, like Mr. O'Connell, perhaps, "has a vow in heaven.” The "Court dress" alluded to by our innocent Correspondent, Mrs. T., is for the Courts East of Temple Bar. Our Deal Correspondent will find, on inquiry, that his packet has been returned; he will see that we do not require his aid. The Portraits with which we were favoured up to the 20th Feb. are in the hands of the most esteemed artists; and we shall be happy to receive the permission to engrave others of the nobility only. Mr. C. would not like to figure in full name as the author of a puff written in favour of his vehicle for worn out annual plates. He is heartily welcome to quarrel with our literature, for that merely puts his talent, and our ignorance, to the test, and we wish him all the benefit of the comparison; but when he-no matter how -makes a country newspaper express doubts, "whether we have the means to continue in the right path;" we put it to him if it be either honourable, or creditable. We are sure it is not safe, if we are once moved to stir in our own cause, and lay our lion-paw on the gnat. We appeal to Mr. Mazzoni's humanity. We make it a rule to read whatever is sent, before we decide where it afterwards goes: but we protest against receiving by the yard, rhymne, of which the following is a too flattering sample: Long live William, king of our dear native isle, And to Adelaide, Queen, be health, honour, and glory, "Twas as their valour illumin'd, our dear country's story. Mr. Mazzoni may rest assured there is no "march of publication" (we use his own words) that can possibly keep up with this march of his, or "honor, by wafting to the goal of beauty's approval," (delicious twaddle!) the drivel of a noodle. "OUR AMBITION IS TO RAISE THE FEMALE MIND OF ENGLAND TO ITS TRUE LEVEL."-Ded, to the Queen. It might be about three or four months after Agnes Mandeville had become our inmate, that my wife one morning entered my room, and beckoning me silently to follow, led the way to the chamber where Agnes was sitting. The door of the apartment was half open. Exactly opposite to it sat Agnes with something in her hand, upon which she seemed to be intently gazing. So earnest, so expressive, so full of meaning, was her countenance, that any one who did not know she was blind, might have supposed her eyes had been enchained by the exciting object which imparted those qualities to her features. Nay, there was even in the eyes themselves a strangely vivid appearance, as if they were lustrous from dwelling in secret upon some much-prized treasure. VOL. I. I felt ashamed of my situation, to stand thus prying into the actions of an unfortunate being, whom Providence had bereaved of the faculty to protect herself from the intrusion; and I was about to retire, directing my wife, by a look, to do the same, when Agnes spoke. Her first words rivetted me to the spot. All sense of self-rebuke fled. I could have submitted, at that moment, to lay down my life for my offence, had it been necessary; but it was beyond my power to shun the offence. I will relate her exact words. They were not to be once heard, and ever forgotten. "How madly was I gazing on thy living image, AUGUSTUS, when the scorching flash from heaven dried up mine eye-balls! There came a frantic scream upon my ears, and then, all was hushed! Continued from page 10. K hushed! Even the angry elements were still, as if they had done their work of vengeance, and were commanded into silence by the power they obeyed! Yes all was But where were you? I stretched out my arms, but they folded back upon myself! I called aloud upon your name-there was no voice save my own! I was in darkness, and I knew that I was blind. I groped to find you, but in vain. Oh God! what a scene of horror followed! There was no pitying heart to feel for me-none who would tell me of your fate. But neither God nor man has quenched that inward light, the torch of memory, by which I see you, even whensoe'er I list. I behold your semblance now!-Now, now those burning eyes are turned upon me, whose spell-like fascination was my soul's snare those parted lips, rare triumph of the limner's art! seem to breathe the words that fell like consuming flames upon my senses! To your sanctuary-or I shall grow mad again with looking at thee, and betray a secret, for which the world has no other name than love!" As she uttered these words, she kissed whatever it was she held in her hand, and then hurriedly placed it in her bosom. The sigh that followed was laden with unutterable anguish, while her countenance deepened into an expression of mingled pride and scorn, such as I had never seen it wear before. She remained for several minutes without moving, as if absorbed in thought; and then, suddenly rising, walked towards that part of the room where her harp stood, which she began to play, singing to it one of those wild melancholy airs I have described, which were, I have reason to believe, the extempore breathings of her troubled mind. This was the first glimmering of the mystery that enveloped her which had dawned upon me. It disclosed, indeed, but little; yet that little served as a key by which to decipher many things that followed. I have said that my family consisted of my wife and two daughters, the elder in her twelfth year. Her name was Frances; and whether it was that she felt a lively sympathy for the forlorn condition of Agnes Mandeville, and so strove to soften its calamity by a thousand little kind attentions, or whether Agnes was pleased with her mild voice, and the quick intelligence of her manner, I know not, but she evidently became attached to her. She undertook to instruct her in music, delighted in her company, had her for her bed-fellow, and would sit whole hours to hear her read such books as she herself selected. I should mention, that during the period I am now describing, that is, the first twelvemonths of her residence with me, no human being visited her, save the aged female by whom she was brought and delivered into my care. This person generally came about twice a week; always in the evening; never saw Agnes in the presence of a third person; rarely stayed longer than ten minutes; and avoided all conversation with either myself or my wife. Sometimes I used to imagine that Agnes was more dejected after one of her visits; but at others, I have equally imagined she was more cheerful and composed. Probably in both cases it was mere fancy. A singular instance occurred, however, of the unseen vigilance with which my discharge of this extraordinary and delicate trust was observed. It happened on one occasion, that a friend who called upon me, early in the morning, was shown into the drawing-room which was exclusively appropriated to the use of Agnes; but as it was before she had come down from her bed-room, the servant neglected the strict orders she had received, which were, never to allow any one who did not belong to the family to enter that room. While my friend was waiting for me, Agnes Mandeville appeared. The salutation of a strange voice alarmed her, and she hastily retired. My friend did not mention the circumstance; but when the aged female paid her next visit, she delivered a note into my hands, written by the mysterious individual whom I first met, couched in these words: That "You must be more cautious. which was the effect of accident on Thursday morning, may some day be accomplished by design. Nay, chance itself may work as disastrously for me, for her, and for others, as contrivance. Therefore, I again remind you, that none, save she who comes from me, must see her; or those you know to be as discreet as I have hitherto found your self." I can truly say I needed not this admonition; for Agnes herself had inspired me with feelings which threw round her a defence ten times more sacred than even my promise, and a hundred fold more secure than could have been the result of any anxiety as to the pecuniary advantages of my undertaking. It would be difficult to describe the exact nature of these feelings, or single out from the mass any predominant one; but there can be no difficulty in conceiving that a young and lovely creature, thus afflicted, thus shrouded in mystery, and disclosing every day some fresh charm of mind, of disposition, and of heart, should inspire corresponding sentiments. Let me not, however, arrogate to my self a virtue I did not practise. I only forbore, in the spirit of the injunctions I had received, and in deference to Agnes herself, the attempt to penetrate the mystery of her situation; but that my curiosity made me very uncomfortable sometimes-that my vehement longings to know more, tormented me now and then, I am far from denying. I may add, too, that my own longings and curiosity, joined to the much greater longings and curiosity of my wife, deprived both me and her, of many an honest hour's sleep; for night after night we have literally lain our heads together, and talked, and guessed, and conjectured, and grown positive, and made discoveries, and rejected them as soon as made, because they would not tally with some circumstance or other, infinitely more certain than our own certainties, till the morning has dawned upon our conversation. To this weakness I plead guilty, and am content to receive whatever punishment it may deserve from those who can lay their hands upon their hearts, and say, they would not have committed it them selves. I will now relate the next incident that occurred, tending, as I considered it at the time, to disclose another link in the chain of circumstances connected with the history of Agnes Mandeville. I was sitting in her room one evening, when my daughter Frances came in. I saw she had been weeping, and I inquired the cause. She said, her aunt had just sent a letter, to inform her mother that Frederick was dead. "Who is Frederick ?" inquired Agnes. "A nephew of my wife's," I replied, "a fine young man only two-and-twenty, who was seized with an inflammation of the lungs about a week since, which baffled the best medical skill, and has terminated, thus early, his life. Poor woman! I pity his mother, for he was her favourite son." "Mothers that have favourite children," said Agnes, "offend Nature, whose command is, love all as you love one; for there is no distinction in the cradle, and the heart should make none afterwards, because the world does. Methinks were I a mother, I should be proud in the knowledge, that all my children were equal portions of my earthly happiness; and that nothing so horrible as choice, could shame me in my own esteem, when I had to lose them." "My cousin Frederick was such a nice young man!" exclaimed Frances, wiping her eyes, "that every body loved him." "And therefore," interrupted Agnes, "his mother loved him best; as if a mother should count her love, by the sum of that which the world offers, instead of letting it flow from that rich fount, that exhaustless treasury of the affections, which nature creates in the same moment she bestows the name of mother." "I often used to wish he was my brother," continued Frances, to whom the observations of Agnes were scarcely intelligible, " but now I do not --" "Your brother!" exclaimed Agnes, with strong emotion. "And do you wish you had a brother?" "Yes-why should I not? Have you one, Miss Agnes?" "Come here, my dear Francescome here, and let me whisper to you." She stretched forth her arms, and feeling the extended hand of my daughter, who seemed alarmed at her manner, drew her towards her. For myself, I could only gaze in silent earnestness upon the deeply agitated expression of her countenance. She leaned forward, as if to do what she had said, whisper something in the ear of Frances. I watched her lips; they did not move. There was evidently a severe struggle between the desire to speak, and a reluctance to do so. At last, she exclaimed aloud "Wish to be happy, Frances, for that wish may, perhaps, be rewarded; but when you name the thing that would make you happy, and by it, alone, shape all your hopes of happiness, you know not what misery you are preparing for yourself! My own desires were once like yours, and I dreamed they were fulfilled; and in that dream, I lived rejoicing for five blessed years; but I started from it as a man who walks in sleep, believing his path is among delicious flowers leading to paradise, and awakes to see the abyss down which his last fatal step has cast him. And yet, how pure, how guiltless, was my soul's prayer! I put it up in innocence: I thought it vouchsafed in goodness! But God had a purpose of his own to fulfil-and God is all-wise, all perfect in the means he employs, howe'er they may shock our purblind judgments !" The tone of voice in which Agnes uttered these strange words-slow, deep, thrilling tones-the character of resigned submission to some great grief that pervaded her fine features, relieved only by one faint gleam of joy which irradiated them for a moment as she spoke of the five blessed years in which she had dreamed she was happy-the stedfast turning of her sightless eyes upon my daughter, as she held her to her, by placing her hands on either shoulder-the half terrified, half reverential look of Frances herself, whose mild blue orbs were bent upon the face of Agues Mandeville, as if seeking there the meaning of what she had heard-presented altogether a picture, the effect of which was almost overwhelming at the moment, and the impression of which is as vivid upon my memory now, as that of any thing which occurred but yesterday. I did not presume to prolong the conversation. There was nothing I could say that would not have appeared like, and must, indeed, have partaken of, a desire to draw from her further disclosures, if that which I have related can be so called. I therefore did what I had often done before, when she wandered into melancholy themes, chid her playfully for indulging in them, and fed her mind to the contemplation of other subjects. But I could not dismiss from my own mind, the reflections that were crowding into it. I could not bid those reflections take a form less painful than the one they suddenly assumed, and pertinaciously maintained. They haunted me: they pursued me night and day. They found food in a thousand things. Words, actions, circumstances, that would have passed unheeded before, became their interpreters. I did not seek them; they forced themselves upon me. What I did seek, was what I could not find; something that might relieve me from my thoughts by offering but the shadow of an opposing truth, to justify renouncing them. Once, and only once, I was tempted to transgress the boundary traced for my discretion. It was many months subsequently to the above conversation. Agnes had fallen ill; and there seemed a restlessness in her manner, as if fearing she might die, and after her death, things might be found about her person or otherwise belonging to her, the discovery of which she dreaded. So at least I construed her behaviour and certain expressions which fell from her; and in unison with that belief, proffered my services, as delicately as I was able, to remove her fears. Whether she imagined I was seeking what could not be disclosed, or whether from a desire to prevent the repetition of offers, which distressed because they could not be accepted, I know not; but her reply was in these enigmatical words: "You urge me to what I dare not grant. If you would write upon my grave an epitaph of peace, forbear to question, or whence, or who I am. I must not leave a mention of my wrongs (the stain of my unspotted birth) to memory. Let all be buried with me in the dust, that never time hereafter may report how such a one had lived!” This answer confirmed me in an opinion which had latterly been growing stronger and stronger, namely, that Agnes herself had some strong motive for impenetrable secrecy, independently of any authority which the stranger who placed her with me might exercise over her. It was only when her feelings were unexpectedly roused, by circumstances which recalled the cause of her suffering, whatever it might be, or which reminded her of former years, that this motive was too weak to prevent the utterance of thoughts which dimly revealed the truth. Thus, however, passed two years-and |