indeed, composed of three essentials, vanity, folly, and extravagance; and the whole of the enigmatic three constituted" the ambitious woman of the world." Perhaps Lady Anne had not loved her deceased lord con amore a furore, but Mary could not recall one loud word her parents had ever had together, and she was struck with astonishment and wonder when she saw Lady Grey cast off her gloom with her widow's cap, her sentiment with her halfmourning, and all recollection of the deceased with the palest shade of mourning gray. The sisters, on the contrary, very frequently spoke of their deceased father; they had been much more noticed by him since Mary was first introduced, and they persuaded themselves he had been a very fond parent. To a certain degree they really liked their mother; for when their faithful governess left them, two very young girls-not concealing their mutual thoughts—very naturally liked the indulgence, the free manner of thinking and talking which Lady Anne permitted; and the few female friends whose acquaintance was allowed by the manœuvring mother, most emphatically declared that the Miss Greys were the most enviable girls in the world. They were very pretty, too, and, fortunately, so much alike that it would have been absurd for one to disparage the other; but Clara was always the most serious, as well as the most gentle. Meanwhile Mary Grey had fallen into an error, such as the sensible part of my readers must have anticipated; she became, though a most harmless, still a decided flirt; her mamma was ever whispering matrimony in her ears, and Mary ever softening her feelings by insinuating by a manièrée flirta tion, that the auspicious moment was at hand. Perhaps it would, for Mary had refused many suitors; but although her mamma assured her that love was nothing but a fabulous, romantic notion, talked of by poets and believed by fools, she, obstinate girl, was crude enough to believe that a little of the essence of love was wanted to complete an alliance, and at length she really loved our roving hero, Cunnington. She loved him very fervently, for she had never before entertained more than a passing regard; but her admirer, though fully alive to her many attractions, was prepared to make an easy conquest of a young lady with whom-report said, conquests were mere pastimes Lady Anne Grey had, indeed, stood in the light of her own child by her pernicious advice; and as soon as Cunnington beheld Alice Lemington, he regarded his attentions to Mary Grey as ranking amongst the obliteratas which all young men can more or less lay to their consciences. To revenge herself, we know that Mary pretended to receive a return of those attentions, when young Cunnington chose to transfer them from Alice, but the deception pained her she saw how mean and hollow was her conduct-how pitiable her hatred of her rival. After Clara's death, poor Mary was suddenly seized with an alarming illness, one which seldom is expected, one which is perhaps too dreadful to be often sustained. The fair girl had the smallpox, and as she had never been on a bed of sickness before, no wonder her conscience was alarmed and her fears awakened. Her mother, her weak, silly mother, flew from the seat of contagion, and the same servant who had been sent to Brighton with Clara remained with the young invalid, who recovered at length, but retained a sad token of the evanescing quality of beauty. The rounded form had lost its beautiful proportions-that might recover in time, but that fair face was shockingly altered, the tiny features spread and distorted, the large blue eyes so sunken, and the once smooth cheeks marked with the dreadful disease. Tears, scalding tears fell down Mary's cheeks after she had regarded herself for the first time in the mirror; convulsively she sighed over her fallen beauty, and at length she sunk in a heavy sleep. It seemed as if angels took her in their care during that balmy sleep, and when she awoke she felt an altered being-too proud to require the condolement of the world |