mind enfeebled by sorrow, had no energy remaining for exertion: her only solace, her sole occupation seemed to be lavishing tenderness, morbid from its intenseness, upon this beautiful girl, who had ever been her father's idol. All seemed to join with the poor mother in assisting in this task of ruining the little Emmabrothers, sisters, servants, all succumbed at once, to every want and wish of the imperious little beauty.

Even the governesses, who were at last called in, to endeavour to qualify in a degree, the indulgence, which (at length) those who loved her best, were forced to acknowledge, was too excessive, and had engendered pernicious consequences; even those hired ministers of control were at a loss how to proceed, and either gave up the situation in conscientious despair, or for the sake of peace and quiet, fell into the general habit of the house, and ended by going hand in hand with the rest of the family, in overlooking the faults of poor Emma.

Oh! parents, could we but make this story a practical lesson to some of you, then would our efforts indeed be redeemed from the censure ever resting upon the despised name of novel. In these days of refinement, bodily chastisement is quite gone out of fashion; therefore it is almost useless to quote that wholesome maxim of Solomon's-" Spare the rod, and spoil the child:" but we earnestly recommend to all soft-hearted fathers and mothers, never to allow tenderness, or what is too often the case, indolence, and a want of moral courage to interfere with a steady course of perseverance, in checking, from infancy, every germ of evil. Remember it is the selfwilled, disobedient child, never subjected upon principle to steady obedience to a parent's word and command, who becomes too often the scourge of society. Go into the humble cottage of the poor, and there behold children unrestrained by parental authority, beyond the hasty blow, the harsh word; watch them out

growing the momentary effects of such correction, and follow the effects into after life: and go into the mansion of the wealthy, the great, and you will find little change, save in the gloss, which refinement can cast even over human frailty. Your task of forming the characters of your children, must begin in the nursery, and it is only to be performed by early implanting the most decided habits of obedience in the hearts of the young beings, an obedience founded in love, and regulated by filial fear, and consistent with the best and tenderest affection.

But, gentle reader, we crave your pardon for this grave digression, and to proceed with our tale.

Mrs. Chetwood, the eldest sister, was an old young woman, and she had married a young old man.

Mr. Chetwood was a rich banker, and she was exactly the person he wished, as a dignified head to his establishment. Whilst he at

sixty flirted about amongst the prettiest women of his acquaintance, in his gay waistcoats, and studs, and pins, Elizabeth, at thirty, sat calmly in her dark velvets amongst the matrons of her choosing. Not so Fanny Amyottfull of life and full of fun, pretty, and fascinating-she charmed the gay son of a viscount, with a pension from government to support his title, and danced into the peerage, with every one exclaiming at the madness of both lover and lady, for the Vassalls had not a sou, and the Amyott's were not much better off.

However it was a love match, and they were as happy as the days were long; they knew the world called them imprudent for marrying at all, but it mattered not to them. They took a pretty, small house to themselves in Park Street, and they carried on the war in excellent style.

Mr. Amyott had his own horse to ride down to the house, and he was not above

allowing a link boy to hold it, or even to walk home, so he never cared for a groom. Mrs. Amyott had her own horses from the moment she entered London, to the moment she left it for Lord Amyott's country seat, therefore the world had no reason to say she had them not all the year round; and thus the Amyott's were as merry and happy a couple as ever asked a young sister to join them in their gaiety. It was under Fanny Amyott's auspices that Emma Vassall hoped to be introduced.

Both the married sisters came forward when she had completed her seventeenth year, and offered to be her chaperone, but Emma leant towards her sister Fanny. Elizabeth was so grave and severe in her notions, so sedate, and so proper, that Emma and she were eternally quarrelling or disputing.

Mrs. Chetwood had not lent her aid as effectually as the rest of the family, in spoiling her young sister. She had been married some