an irreproachable character; and no one knew, except her anxious and kind parents, that she was yet far from understanding her own heart, and knowing its real state.

Experience, however, taught her more than all their warnings, and all their lessons; for it happened, when she was about sixteen, that she had to pay a visit to her mother's aunt, who, though a well-meaning woman, was far from conciliatory in her manners to young people: perhaps, because, like Mary, she saw no reason why young people should have any faults, or why they should ever do wrong.

Mary found a great difference between dwelling with her parents, and dwelling with her aunt. Her father and mother had such good judgment, as well as good principles, that if ever, in the secret of her own heart, she disputed their opinion at first, the end of the matter in question so generally proved them to be right, that she had learned to trust them even where she did not fully understand their views. But her aunt was a woman of strong prejudices, of unbending temper, and of a haughty spirit, that would not brook the slightest contradiction to her will, from those whom she regarded as her inferiors.

Here then was a new scene for Mary, with new trials and temptations, such as she had never dreamed of before. Had her aunt been like her mother, she would often say to herself, there would have been no difficulty in submitting to her; but how could there be any breach of duty

in disobeying such a woman as her aunt? And to tell the truth of the old lady, she was sometimes a little unreasonable.

Still Mary thought it was safest and best to keep the peace, and, therefore, instead of letting her aunt know all that she did, she had recourse to many little tricks and contrivances, which she did not consider wrong, because they were, as she thought, quite different from actual falsehood.

Amongst other delinquencies, (for Mary was far from giving satisfaction to her aunt,) she renewed an intimacy with a young lady, who had been taught by the same governess as herself, and who, from the liveliness of her manners, but still more from the fact of wearing flowers. in her bonnet, had fallen under the severe displeasure of the old lady.

The establishment of her aunt, however, was a very dull one; and Mary thought the command to give up this acquaintance so very unreasonable, that she still continued to meet her friend in their evening walks; and such was the imaginary interest arising out of these stolen interviews, that they were often prolonged to a later hour than at all accorded with the habits of the early and orderly household of her aunt.

We are not betraying any very important secret of Mary Lesley's, when we say that her friend had a cousin, that this cousin had a brother, and that her evening

rambles were often shared by two or three other companions, who, though by no means incorrect in their general character or conduct, formed altogether a romping, laughing party, such as she knew her aunt would have highly disapproved; and, therefore, on returning home in the evening, if she told the truth about where she had been, she was very far from telling the whole truth about what she had been doing, or who she had been with.

It happened one beautiful summer's evening, when this cheerful party were approaching the residence of Mary's aunt, and quite forgetting themselves, were talking very carelessly, that the old lady, having been tempted by the mildness of the evening to wander along a shady lane adjoining her garden, heard voices in the field, and along the path that led into the lane, which she thought very improperly loud, accompanied with laughter, which she considered highly unbecoming to any respectable young people in the open fields. Standing still to listen more attentively, what was her astonishment to see not only her niece jump over the stile into the lane, but at least four well-dressed females like herself, and after them a young gentleman, a perfect stranger to her.

At sight of the old lady, Mary's countenance changed, and her friends took the earliest opportunity to bid her good-night, leaving her to appear before her aunt alone.

There are few things that provoke so much angry feeling as when we feel, and are ready to confess, that we have

done a little wrong, to be treated as if we had done ten times worse; and Mary was not disposed to make much allowance for the indignation of her aunt, when she threatened to make her parents acquainted with what she called a course of conduct, as dangerous as it was at variance with all that was prudent and discreet. She was willing, however, as she said, to try her for a few weeks longer, in order that she might regain her character before she went home; and with this view, she strictly forbade her seeing any of the party with whom she had so improperly connected herself, or walking out without the attendance of her aunt's trusty servant.

Mary determined to be beforehand with her in writing to her parents, and telling the whole truth to them; and all might have been well, had she not also determined. to write to her friend, for her spirit rebelled against the charge her aunt had laid upon her, not to speak to any of the party again; and if she could not actually speak to them, she was the more firmly resolved to converse with them in some other way.

This was Mary Lesley's first trial of what many have to meet with in the world, and she does not appear to have carried out that course of conduct in which she had prided herself at home, in a manner at all consistent with the character she maintained there. The fact was, her aunt was partly wrong, and partly right, and therefore Mary took the liberty of considering her wrong altogether.

In leaving her father's roof for a change of society and scene, she had expected, what many people had told her she would meet with, great temptations and great sins, and those in connection with persons making no profession of religion; but she was wholly ignorant of the fact, that some of our most dangerous temptations arise out of the ill-judged, but well-meant behaviour of those who really desire to do right, and that we are often in the worst state of mind ourselves, when we are indulging in the liberty to do what we call only a little wrong.

Mary Lesley wrote, as we have said, to her friend, giving a ludicrous but indignant description of the behaviour of her aunt; and this letter of course she sent privately, with directions how an answer might be privately returned. The answer came accordingly, written in the name of the whole party, by the young gentleman himself, who was extremely fond of a joke, and they had amongst them contrived to make so amusing a letter, that Mary read it many times over, to beguile the wearisomeness of her lonely hours.

It happened one night, when she thought her aunt had been sometime asleep in bed, that she took out this letter again, and was smiling over the closely-written page, when the door opened, by which her room communicated with the dressing-room of her aunt-and the lady herself stood beside her, before she had time to fold up the letter, or conceal it from her view.