hands of young people are far more dangerous than others which are rigidly forbidden. An admired authoress of the present day has produced one book, at least, which, professing to be auxiliary to virtue, and no doubt in ended to be so by the writer, is nevertheless a very improper companion for those persons who are most likely to peruse it. The scenes exhibited in this work are altogether in high life, and present pictures of moral depravity, the originals of which can hardly be supposed to exist in any state of society. Vice of the most odious description is there represented as a general characteristic of the noble personages who figure in the history; and those only appear to be the less esteemed who are the least successful in concealing their crimes from the public. One lady, who meets with unmitigated misfortune and dies in the most unhappy circumstances, is the only innocent character in the book. And yet this work has been praised in Reviews, and confidently recommended to young readers as an excellent, and a moral performance!

The authoress just referred to, has availed herself of a privilege usurped by numerous scribblers of these times, by inserting an immense quantity of foreign words and phrases in her novel. This is one of the greatest of modern literary abominations, and for it I can think of no apology, unless it be that some sentiments and descriptions in certain books are unfit to appear in English. This fantastic habit of quotation gives no evidence of learning, for we have scraps from every language, compounded and prepared, (like imported sauces,) to be used by thousands who know nothing of their composition. Hence we are not to wonder if these seasonings are often used with ridiculous impropriety. If such ambitious writers could justly conceive the nature of their own wants, they would find one tongue amply sufficient to express all their ideas. They murder the English vernacular, and invite a host of French and Italian words to the funeral. We find that doubtful morality, bad taste, and indifferent English are all tolerated by self-constituted censors, if the author, in his title-page or preface, makes some specious pretence to establish correct principles.

On the whole, it appears that the writers of fiction, whose object, almost invariably, is to acquire present fame and pecuniary recompense for their labours, are usually not the most zealous of moral instructors. They know that among nine-tenths of the human species, pastime is preferred to either moral or mental improvement, and if they expect to succeed according to their wishes, they must please the greater number. Again; when the avowed and evident purpose of a novelist is to dispense useful instruction, he rarely succeeds in making a popular book; for the multitude of readers are instantly on their guard when they perceive indications of the writer's design. Their prejudices are awakened, and their approbation must then be taken by storm, if it be taken at all. Moreover; novels which are ostensibly moral, are often the reverse. This may proceed from the author's ignorance of the motives which commonly have the strongest influence on human actions. A writer, in his zeal to strengthen the defences of virtue, may make extensive breaches in the citadel, to fortify one particular point, which is possibly in but little danger. Thus Richardson, while enforcing the maxim that servant girls, by strict adherence to virtuous principles, may be preferred to marry their masters, at the same time teaches his readers that un

equal alliances are commendable, that an honest and worthy female is rewarded by marrying with a weal thy and unprincipled booby, and that the most scandalous outrages are mere trifles in the conduct of a man of fortune and family!—

For every praise-worthy object there are appropriate means of accomplishment;-moral instruction may be disseminated in many better and more efficacious methods than through the medium of fiction; or at least such fictions as, by any propriety of speech, may be called novels and romances. I should despair of meliorating the moral condition of that mind which requires to be instructed by such a process.

Without aspiring to give positive rules and precepts for our conduct in life, (in which he usually succeeds but indifferently,) the writer of fiction, in connection with his main design, which, as we have seen, is to afford amusement, may produce some results which are entitled to a higher praise than that of not being actually bad.

If a novel present just views of life, it will be most likely to be beneficial in the perusal, for virtue cannot be represented more amiable than it is, nor can vice be exhibited in colours more disgusting than the reality. History itself, in its veritable details, strongly enforces the precept, that good actions usually meet with a reward, even in this life, and that crimes seldom fail to incur their appropriate penalties. If this be the truth, then it is no disparagement to the moral rectitude of a novel, if it approximate to historical accuracy. There is no necessity for presenting unnatural characters and improbable circumstances to make a work of fiction strictly moral. It is, moreover, no dispraise to an author, if his chief design be to exhibit a faithful picture of the manners of some particular age or people; if he accomplish this design, without a moral transgression, he does well. Books of this kind are positively beneficial; and these are almost the only kind of novels that are worthy of preservation, for their usefulness must be diffused through all time, while their existence is continued. Such works will serve hereafter to elucidate many obscure portions of history, by affording just representations of domestic habits and other minutiae which are considered beneath the dignity of historical detail. A book of this sort may scarcely be called fiction-for though the story itself may be wholly imaginary, all that is important as a matter of record, the peculiarities of the people, &c., are facts. We have an instance in the "Arabian Nights," the narratives of which are the wildest coinage of fancy, and yet the portraiture of local customs is truth.

Furthermore; it is a laudable task for a novelist to unfold, decorously, the involutions and intricacies of the human heart;-thereby affording his readers that species of human knowledge which, of all others, is most excellent. I have always been of the opinion that it is a safer course to represent men as worse, rather than as better than they really are. And hence, the novels of Fielding, which contain many caricatures of human nature, I take to be less dangerous works than those of Richardson; though the occasional indelicacy of the former is a just ground for excluding them from general perusal. If we prove, by our intercourse with the world, that men are better than we expected, we are more likely to become philanthropists than if we hear good reports of them first and are unpleasantly disappointed afterwards. Besides, in the former case, we are less liable to suffer from colli

merchandising. Henry proved to be a lad of industrious habits, and to have an early and clear perception of the true principles of trade. His employers, perceiving this, took great pains to give him a thorough mercantile education, not neglecting to impress his mind with the fact, that no state of a man's worldly prospects, in after life, would justify unnecessary extravagance in any thing.

Henry had been of age only a few months, when his father died, leaving him ten thousand dollars in cash. As he felt no disposition to begin business in a hurry, be invested the money in such a way as to make it accessible whenever he wanted it, and waited until a fair prospect of going into business, safely, should offer.

Such a prospect offered, in the course of the next two years, and Henry Howard opened a wholesale dry goods store in Philadelphia. Before doing so, he had entered as salesman, one of the largest jobbing houses in the city, and remained a year, without salary. By this means he acquired a general idea of the business; and became aware of the locality of the best customers.

With a general and particular eye to his business, and a thorough devotion to it, he found himself gradually gaining ground. In the mean time he had become acquainted with Emily Justin, the daughter of a shipping merchant, reputed to be immensely rich. With a lovely face, winning manners, a good heart, and a polished mind, Emily soon won upon the feelings of Henry Howard; nor were the inroads which Howard's manly form and pure elevation of character, made upon the affections of Emily, less rapid. Mutual acknowledgments of affection were, in the end, made, and the rich and beautiful Miss Justin became affianced to Henry Howard.

The wedding passed off with the usual accompaniment of brilliant parties and fashionable dissipation, into which the young bride entered with the liveliest enjoyment. When all was over, and Henry Howard found himself quietly settled down in the elegantly furnished mansion, provided for them by Mr. Justin, he began to breathe more freely again. The artificial atmosphere of fashionable life was one in which he could only be said to exist. He could not live, in the broader acceptation of the term, in such a sphere.

It was impossible for him to conceal from himself a regret, that Emily seemed to take such delight in the parade, and show, and empty vanities with which they had been surrounded for some months; but he hoped that she would soon discover, that in the quiet, healthful joys of home, there was a charm superior to all that could attract the affections abroad. He had, however, to learn the painful truth, that the artificial life which she had lived for years, had perverted her moral vision, and given her false perceptions. The continual theme of her conversation was, the light vanities which engage so much of the attention of fashionable people, and which, to Henry Howard, were peculiarly irksome. By many gentle means he endeavoured to win her from what he conceived to be a dangerous folly, and to check, in a way that she would feel, but not understand, a disposition to indulge in wild extravagance. But in all his efforts, he was pained to find himself misconceived.

A man of system, and with the habit, confirmed by years of application, of knowing all about the practical operations of his business, he could not feel satisfied in observing, that his wife considered domes

tic affairs as something entirely below her attention. She had her housekeeper, her chambermaids, her cook and kitchen assistants, and her man-servant, to whom were resigned all the care and responsibility of household affairs. She knew as little as did her husband, when he came home from his business, what was to be served up for dinner; and never thought of consulting any peculiarity in his appetite, or of busying herself in his absence in little arrangements for his comfort. Sometimes such thoughts as the following would force themselves into his mind :— "It is a little strange that Emily should not reflect, that I devote myself to business from morning until night, with patient assiduity, and as much for her sake as for my own; and that in her sphere of home, it is but right that she too should perform the duties necessary to the regulation of her household, that home may be to her husband a quiet retreat, full of comforts, arranged by the direction of the one most be loved." But he would instantly endeavour to force the thoughts out of his mind, as unkind and ungenerous towards the delicately formed, and beautiful creature who welcomed his coming with smiles so full of warm affection.

Among the female friends of Mrs. Howard, was a Mrs. Jervis, the wife of a man who had grown rich, slowly at first, but of late years rapidly, through his sagacity in taking advantage of the right moment to speculate, at a time when one half of our business men were engaged in hazardous adventures, too often resulting in sudden ruin. This Mrs. Jervis was particularly extravagant, and was always inducing Mrs. Howard to indulge in some unnecessary expenditure. She was constantly in the habit of drawing comparisons between the dress or furniture of different individuals in the circle in which she moved, and thus of exciting in the minds of those who could be influenced by her remarks, an envious desire to have something more costly, or more splendid. Mrs. Howard was weak enough to allow this woman to direct her taste, and to induce her to indulge in the most unnecessary extravagance.

Her husband was much pained at discovering the undue influence which Mrs. Jervis exercised over her. The more so, as he readily perceived that the indulgence in expensive dressing, and frequently costly changes of furniture, like every other indulgence, continued to increase; and he knew would increase, unless checked, to an inordinate and ruinous degree. How to check this desire, now became a subject that occupied much of Mr. Howard's thoughts.

While revolving these things in his mind, he was startled and alarmed, by a rumour that the credit of Mr. Justin, his wife's father, hitherto looked upon as among the richest merchants in the city, had received a powerful shock, in consequence of the failure of an extensive commission house in Lima, at a time when he had consignments to a large amount in their hands. This rumour soon assumed the form of certainty, for in a short time it became known that Mr. Justin's paper to the amount of twenty thousand dollars had been thrown out of bank, and that he was, in conse quence, obliged to make extraordinary sacrifices to sustain himself. In many of his recent money operations, he had requested the name of Mr. Howard, which was, of course, cheerfully given, until he had become implicated in his father-in-law's transactions, to an amount considerably beyond his own real capital.

Forced to contend with the disadvantages of a shattered credit, and not having so broad a foundation to stand upon as was generally supposed, he was compelled to yield to the circumstances that surrounded him. His failure, of course, involved Mr. Howard in responsibilities which could not possibly be met without total ruin.

Mr. Howard was not a man to be disheartened by even the very worst aspect of affairs; and like a good seaman, his first thoughts were bent on preparing to meet the storm. In this mood of mind he came home on the evening previous to the morning on which, with his interesting wife, he is introduced to the reader. He had, after a long interview with, and investigation of the affairs of his father-in-law, ascertained that his business was in a very deranged state, and that, not over seventy-five cents in the dollar could be paid, unless the house in Lima proved solvent, which was extremely doubtful. As the notes loaned to, and endorsed for Mr. Justin, had all some time to run before maturity, he ascertained, from a careful examination into his resources and liabilities for the next two months, that he could go on for about that time without difficulty. Beyond that period he did not permit himself to look.

Under the pressure of such circumstances, he came home at evening, but not to find a friend with whom he could share the burden that weighed heavy upon him. Conscious that a great change would be required in their style of living, and a great curtailment necessary in their expenses, he yet shrunk from even hinting it to one who seemed to take so much pleasure in mere show and useless expenditure.

"How glad I am that you have come home at last, Henry; why have you staid so late this evening?" said his wife as he came in.

"But I vote that too grave a subject, at least the turn you have given it, for this evening's conversation, so I will change it," continued Mrs. Howard. "Mrs. Jervis told me to-day that her husband had just made her a present of a new carriage and a span of beautiful horses, as a birth-day gift. To-morrow I am going to ride out with her in it, for the first time. I expect to come home quite dissatisfied with our own carriage, and, in case such an event should occur, I now engage you to attend me in the afternoon to Howell and Vandervoort's Repository for the purpose of choosing one a little more beautiful than even Mrs. Jervis'. Of course you will be at my service," she said laughingly, tapping his cheek with her fingers.

"I cannot promise, Emily, for to-morrow," he replied, rather gravely-" I shall have much to do, and could not be away from the store without an injury to my business."

"There it is-business again. I believe you will soon have but one set of ideas, and they will all be included within the word business. Indeed, indeed, Henry, you are doing yourself injustice by such an exclusive at tention to business. Surely, we live for something else besides the dull ploddings of business, business. Of course, it must be attended to as a means of acquiring wealth, but it is paying too dear for it to devote every hour of every day to its requisitions."

The supper bell here broke in upon their conversation. At the table Mrs. Howard renewed the subject of the carriage, and seemed delighted with the idea of having one that should eclipse even Mrs. Jervis' wedding gift. It was a painful trial for her husband to listen to the almost childish prattle of his young wife, conscious all the time, as he was, that in all human probability, a reverse so complete would come in a

"O I am jealous of that business. It is always business business. I declare, Henry, you will bend over your ledgers until you become a real drone. It won't do, dear, I must reform you," she continued, affectionately twining an arm round his neck, as she stood beside the chair on which he had seated himself.

Howard looked up into the sweet face that bent down over him, lit up with a ray of affection, with a quiet smile, though there was a chilliness about his heart. How could he make up his mind to rob her of a single delight.

"I take far more pleasure in attending to my business, Emily, than I should in neglecting it. It is as necessary to the health of my mind, as food is to the vigour of my body."

"That savours too much of the old Dutch counting house principles, as Mrs. Jervis would say. The fact is, Henry, I think you are rather antiquated in your notions a little behind the age. It is all work and no play with you. And now, I remember, you have not ridden out with me once in six months. The fact is, I must reform you. But where and how to begin puzzles me."

"Which would be best, do you think," he replied, smiling," for you to conform to my ideas of right and propriety, or for me to conform to yours."

"O, you to mine, of course," she said, with a laugh less animated than usual, for she could not misunderstand the covert censure implied in his words.

tion and great self-denial-one, that he feared, would utterly destroy in Emily's mind every thing like contentment. How could the beautiful creature before him, who had never yet had a desire within the bounds of wealth to procure, ungratified; upon whose fragile form nothing but spring-zephyrs had yet blown, endure the storms of adversity which were now gathering darkly in the horizon of his worldly prospects. Rallying his spirits with a strong effort, he maintained a cheerful temper, evading, however, as much as possible, any conversation which alluded to show and extravagance. In doing so, he could not but be painfully struck with the fact, that Emily's thoughts were interested in nothing so much as in dress, equipage, and appearance.

He found that sleep forsook him, after retiring to bed on that night. If there had been only a total wreck of all his worldly prospects, it would not have driven sleep from him an hour. But the effect the disaster would have upon his wife, troubled him more than all, and drove slumber from his eye-lids. His imagination pictured her in the deepest distress; pale and weeping, and refusing to be comforted; and with this image ever present, how could his troubled spirit sink into quietude. Before morning he had determined to begin to check gradually her disposition to extravagance by gently opposing her intended visit to Mrs. Jervis-and thus awakening in her mind some degree of concern, that would engross it to the exclusion of worse than idle thoughts. He had another reason for wishing her to suspend her calls on Mrs. Jervis. That lady's husband was involved in a con

siderable loss by the failure of Mr. Justin; and although he had good reasons for keeping the failure as yet a secret from his wife, he knew that no such reasons could weigh with Mr. Jervis. To have his wife tantalized and her hopes excited by a woman who knew that they could not be realized, was more than he desired to have occur. He wished the trouble, when it did come, to fall as lightly as possible upon the tender flower he would gladly shelter from the approaching tempests.

On the next morning the subject of the call upon Mrs. Jervis was again alluded to, when the rather embarrassing scene occurred which the reader has been made acquainted with in the opening of this sketch.

After Mr. Howard had gone, his wife sat for nearly an hour upon the sofa, in a state of mind that might be called painful, in contrast with any other that she had ever experienced. In spite of her efforts to repress them, the tears would steal over her cheeks, and fall, drop after drop, upon her folded hands. But as the hours stole away, her interest in the new carriage of Mrs. Jervis gradually revived, and at twelve o'clock she was ready to go out, dressed in a style of costly elegance, that but few of the circle in which she moved felt willing to imitate. Her own carriage was at the door, and she was soon whirled off at a rapid rate. Just as her beautiful equipage drove up to the elegant mansion of Mrs. Jervis, and while her servant was handing her out, the steps of a magnificent carriage were hastily put up, and in the next moment it dashed away, drawn by a pair of splendid horses in rich and glittering harness. Her eye naturally turned towards the passing vehicle, and to her surprise and keen mortification, she saw her friend Mrs. Jervis seated at the window. She did not return the nod and smile that were accorded her, but hastily retired into her own carriage, and drove home.

When Mr. Howard came in at the usual dinner hour, he found his wife in her chamber, with pale cheeks, and eyes from which the tears were not yet dried. His instant conclusion was, that she had thought his words and his manner in the morning, cold or arbitrary, and that she had felt the chill upon her young heart-that while he had been absorbed in his business, she had been weeping alone in her chamber. To his tender inquiry, she related the cruel disappointment she had met, and the mortification to which she had been subjected.

from her husband, and this will account to you for her conduct this morning."

Howard paused to see what effect this communication would have upon his wife. She seemed startled and confused for a few moments, and then looked him in the face with an affectionate and encouraging smile, and said—

"But my father, Henry, he is rich, and will hasten to your aid, when he learns your situation. I shall have much wealth coming to me, and it will all be yours."

"It pains me, Emily, to dash even that hope from your mind. Your father's affairs are in as bad a condition as my own. We will go down together."

It was now that the real character of Emily was to appear. Her husband expected her to sink at once into a state of distressing despondency; and had even fortified his mind to bear up under the double trials which such an event would occasion. Such an effect was not, at least, instantaneously apparent. A great change did, indeed, pass upon her, almost in an instant. The expression of her countenance, the tone of her voice, her manner, all seemed changed. With a calm, earnest attention did she listen to a detail of the circumstances which had conspired to embarrass her husband. From a thoughtless, giddy votary of fashion, she seemed at once changed into a rational, sympathizing woman. After Mr. Howard had given her to understand fully the true position of his affairs, she looked him tenderly in the face, and said—

"Dear Henry! I am your wife still-here is no change," laying her hand upon her breast-“ yes, there is a change, for you are now dearer to me than ever. Through prosperity or adversity, through evil report or good report, I am your wife, to share with you all that is good, and to bear with you all that is evil."

How like wild and strangely beautiful music did the voice of his wife thrill upon the heart of Henry Howard! How did her face shine with a new and surpassing loveliness, caught from the form of lively affections within! Could he do less than fold her to his heart as a treasure, worth more than all he was about to lose.

return was not a glad smile. It was something

"And what was the reason, dear husband?" she asked, with an expression of alarm upon her countenance; a fearful suspicion arousing her mind.

Mr. Howard was silent for some moments, for he dreaded to make known to his wife what he knew she would learn too early. But, fearing to lose the opportunity, he at length took her hand in his, and looking steadily in her pale face, said:

"My dear Emily, it is time for me to speak out plainly to you. A sudden and unexpected change has taken place in my affairs, which will, I doubt not, result in the total wreck of my iittle property. Such a change cannot, of course, take place, without becoming generally known among men of business, Mrs. Jervis doubtless learned the fact last evening

pression of tender concern for the one whose burdens she now seemed anxious to share. There was a great change, too, in her appearance. Most of her ornaments, such as rings, and chains, and other articles of jewellery, with which she had been fond of decking her person, were removed; and in a simple white dress, she met her husband. Never had she appeared in his eyes so lovely. Never before did such a charm invest her every movement.

During the evening, Mrs. Howard introduced a subject which occupied much of her husband's thoughts-the subject of retrenchment.

"Had we not better," she said, looking him earnestly in the face, "take some early steps towards accommodating our style of living to our changed circumstances?"