that of our own offspring, for we burthen ourselves with the obligation to atone for an injury at the outset. This, however, is a circumstance not often considered. Nay, we are apt to think ourselves entitled to gratitude for the infliction, and to exact in return a devotion which nature has rendered impossible. Such was the case with the little Queen Mab. Her protectress really was, in the general acceptation of the word, a kind-hearted, though not an over-sensible woman. She treated her with tenderness, and supposed herself to be doatingly fond of her; and the pretty plaything would nestle to her side with all her infantine propensity to love. The joyous spirit of the child, however, was gone. She sat amidst her multitude of toys and treasures with her winning tongue at rest, and the tears ever ready to spring from her eyes, but which she knew must be restrained for fear of reproach. The only method of cheering her was to promise her a visit to the cottage. The blood would then start to her cheeks, and the laughter to her eyes; her treasures were all collected for the little tribe of her bosom, and she was again the

light spirit that only wanted wings to make it 'perfect. All this was, of course, a subject of extreme mortification to a person who, like Lady L, could not understand why superior kindness should not purchase superior attachment; and as her protegée increased in years and understanding, her feelings were doomed to be wrung still further with doubts and remonstrances which Mab's artless assurances had not power to allay. Because she could not love her patroness exclusively, she was accused of not loving her at all; and Lady L-, whose romantic turn of mind could not endure ingratitude, began, of course, to repent of her ill-advised adoption. The fact was, its novelty had worn off, and she was heartily tired of it: yet, what was she to do? She had undertaken to bring her up, and to break her promise and restore her victim to happiness would not be becoming. Bring her up she must; and then, when she had brought her up, what was to become of her? It was strange that she had not considered this at first; but then, to be sure, she could not tell how she would turn out. She had not spirit or affection

to be a companion in private; she had not birth to be taken into society. In short, Lady L- was in a terrible strait; and, in the mean time, the arrangements which had been made for the pretty Mab's education were pursued the more effectually from the little interest she excited, and the rarity of affectionate interruption. Her progress was rapid, even for these circumstances, for her mind had no enjoyment but in its own cultivation. She was a

being who lived only in being loved, and was soon aware of the change which had succeeded the novelty of her removal to the great house; and so the forlorn creature went on and on with her task, to dispel the reflections of years which should have produced none but happy

ones.

Perhaps the only pleasurable moments of Mab's life (for her parents were soon removed to another estate, where she saw no more of them), were when Lady L had her periodical influx of visiters. I used sometimes to be invited on these occasions, and was delighted to see how my favourite, then about fourteen years of age, was admired and caressed. Every

body loved her, and, in consequence, she loved every body, which increased the great lady's chagrin the more. How perverse, that she should be happy with every one but herself! In fact, the child had been reproached till she was afraid of her, and did not dare to show any symptoms of affection, lest she should be thought a hypocrite. Under the influence of this society, the natural delicacy of Mab's mind received all the polish, if not the confidence, which the great world could bestow upon it. Her manner was moulded into perfect elegance, and her beauty served to shape itself into accordance with it. The rosy sparkle of her infancy had subsided into the faint flush of transitory excitement. The full, dimpled cheeks, and undefined outline of features, had fallen into a graceful oval, and displayed the minute chiselling of a statue. The laughing look had declined into pensive thoughtfulness, and the slender symmetry of her person proved fully that the expression was not assumed. Altogether, Mab was one of the sweetest documents of poetry that nature had ever invented.

About this time, Lady L-, from the disappointment which she had experienced in her first favourite, thought fit to provide herself with another. She accordingly took to her gentle bosom a remarkably fine young captain of dragoons. Certes, the fidelity with which she had kept her resolution of thinking herself extremely unhappy, and the most beneficent promoter of universal comfort, deserved no less a reward. She had persevered in it through the summer of her life-nay, through the very dog-days of it-and had arrived at that nondescript season which was neither summer nor

autumn.

This revolution was, for a time, all in young Mab's favour. The captain, though a considerate man, who could not have been enticed into matrimony without the prospect of a few thousand acres of fine umbrageous timber to cool his blushes, was honest and good-natured, and never, like his wife, suffered his good intentions to be poisoned by compound distillations of sentiment. He could confer kindness without caring whether people were grateful or not, and, accordingly, he had seldom found