I HAVE nicked the very moment: Cordelia's chaise stands before the door, and the old servant and the maid are busy in taking out the seat, and several parcels. The drawing-room door opens, and gay as a lark little Willy comes jumping into the chamber. His mother then, cannot be far off-He carries a roll of paper under his arm, as black and smoaky, as if it were a manuscript, dug out of the ruins of Herculaneumhe unrolls it, and holds up the contents to admire their reflexion in the looking-glass. Now I understand what makes the boy seem so proud and so happy at the house where he has been visiting, he discovered two old coloured prints, one representing a battle, and the other a hunting-match; and his good-natured host has gratified the future Raphael, by making him a present of them both. Well, Willy, this is a treasure indeed! But see! his mother makes her appearance the old domestic follows her. Ah! then she has al ready heard of Edward's banishment; I could swear it by her pale countenance, and dejected air. Without taking off her pelisse, she walks slowly towards the sofa, seats herself upon it, and leaning her arm upon the table, and her cheek against her hand, she seems buried in thought, evidently of no pleasant nature-she now addresses a few short questions to the servant-his answers are equally brief-he is dismissed, and Willy is ordered to accompany him. and while she reads the silver chathe window, and draws one of the venetian blinds quite up. Thank you, good Sir! It was very much n my way; but now I can see what you are about much better-he picks up a knitting-needle, which had fallen on the floor; he looks out of the window, and beats time racters, a melancholy smile plays. on her pale cheeks, and she shakes her head dejectedly. Now she unlocks a small japaned cabinet, in which she is accustomed to keep her most valuable ornaments, and in one of the drawers of which, she deposits the embroidered ribband-now suddenly she closes the cubinet, locks it, and conceals the key in her pocket. ! The door opens-Sempronius enters. Oh then she had heard 5. him coming up stairs. He has a penstuck behind his ear, and probably is just come out of his counting house, [I suppose, that is in the back part of the house] to welcome his wife on her return home The visit however does not seem to be quite to his taste: he looks like a school-boy, who has committed some fault, and expects to be scolded by his tutor. The first compliments are over, and the interview becomes quite comicalhe evidently does not well know how to begin the relation of what has occurred during her absence and she for her part does not seem et all unclined to give him the least assistance. They are both silent: he hums, and haws, and scrapes the carpet with his feet, and sits by no means comfortably upon his Chair: Bravo! how unusually poite then is grown! he insists upon helping Cordelia to take off her pelisse: the pelisse is folded up; and yet the conversation does not go on-Sempronius walks to ; gainst the frame with his fingers now he walks to the fire-place, and sets his watch by a small chamber-clock, which stands upon the mantle-piece; the clock is out of order, and has not gone for hese nine days, to my certain knowledge. But Cordelia, whose gentle heart cannot bear to see any human being suffer, however deservedly, now relieves him from his painful embarrassment-she ises from the sofa; with a look at once expressing the most friendly interest, and the inost dignified reproach, she clasps the hand of her husband; she leads him back to the sof, and places him before the portrait of his deceased wife :there is something so nob.e, so exalted in her look and attitude, that she appears to me like a superior being! How clearly dues her countenance express, that she says at this moment to her hus band-"Could yonder lips now sy to you-- thou harsh father, where is my son to such a question what answer could you make?" He fixes his eyes on the ground, he dares not look upon the face cither of the inanimate mother of his child, or of her living répésen-produced the desired effect upon No! no! it would have been impossible, if he were not already so very much in the wrong he feels, that to give way at all, would now be to confess, that in the whole affair, his harshness had been inexcusable: false shame prevents his retracting the sentence, which he ought never to have pronounced. Unless Edward were declared to be an undutiful son, he should be tacitly proved to be himself the most unnatural of Fathers. He therefore fully hardens his heart, and binds his judgment, in order to escape from the conviction of his error; and he how begins a long and animated narrative of all that has past Oh! how I wish, that I were at his,ebow, in order that, I might set blin right occasionally, in point of historicul £. ct, if it were only for the love which I bear his good lady-sister, who (if I had the maasement of the brush) should not be painted in this family picture, in Tolours too flattering. Sempronius's narrative has not his wife; but at least he has contrived to talk himself once more into a, persuasion, that everything which has done, has been per feat y proper. It was visible, boy his importance and self-satisfactio increased with every succeeding period for the longer he talved the redder grew his thee, and the more violent, his actionat first, iris only object was to conceal, under an appearance of resentment, how much Cordelia's represente ions had affected him: but he has succeeded in working himself up into a real fury, which has now got such complete possession of his mind, as even to make him, ur just towards Cordelia. Her tear which stream afresh-the sudd glow, which flushes her på checks the look of mild reprod. which she casts upon her accus and which declares herself f justified before the tribunal of t conscience—all these circumsta ces can have no reference, exco some severe proof, which Se propius, in the violence of his p.. sion, has just pronounced agai his admirable wife. Perhaps. accuses her of countenancing son in his disobedience--perh she has been long the confida of Edword's love affair-perl. she is acquainted with the mai, in question, and it was through, means than her step-son first fo ed an acquaintance which (acc ing to Sempronius's view of business) threatened to over that prosperity and respectab which he has been labouring all his life to establish. Whatever may be the fault laid to Cordelia's tharge, at least her husband ceases to reproach her with it for the present. The church clock strikes -I suppose, that it reminds him it is time for him to go to the Exchange, for he quits the room abruptly, and bangs the door after him with such violence, that he makes all the windows rattle. Business also calls me away myself; therefore, farewell, my dear uncle, till after dinner. Friday afternoon. Sempronius dines at four: the meal to-day has been unusally short. It is not yet five, and Sempronius has already shut himself up alone in his study; a certain sign, that he is still out of temper. Ah! Cordelia is never out of temper! With a resigned melancholy air she is seated at her piano-forte. A small upright book is open before her; to judge by its dark blue cover, and by the small proportion which the music bears to the words printed at the bottom, I suspect, that she is singing something out of the Edinburgh edition of Scotch Melodies: probably some plaintive air, which accords with the present disposition of her thoughts. At least the slow movement of her fingers, the expression of her countenance, and her head reclining a little (but only a little) towards her left shoulder, convince me that she must be playing an adagio. A girl enters with a band-boxSurely, I have seen her face before. Oh! now I recollect her; she carries out parcels for the miilener, who lives a few doors further down the street. She opens her band-box; but Cordelia shakes her head. It seems, that she wants nothing of that kind at present; but when refused in so gentle a manner, why should the girl look so frightened? She casts a look of apprehension round her-Heyday she has suddenly snatched a letter out of her band-box, thrown it into Cordelia's lap, and now she runs down stairs, ready to break her neck. The embassadress must know but little of Cordelia, if she supposes, that she will receive a letter, which reaches her by so mysterious a conveyance. Accordingly, she has already quitted the piano-forte, in pursuit of the fugi tive-the letter has fallen on the ground, and, but softly! she stops suddenly with her hand resting up on the lock of the door. The let ter, which now lies on the carpet, has caught her eye; she certainly must have recognised some wellknown hand-writing. She has!-she springs towards the letter, seizes it eagerly, and conceals it in her bosom, while & deep crimson overspreads her face. She now opens the other door, opposite to that by which the millener left her probably it leads to her bed-chamber, which is in the back part of the house; the door closes, and I see Cordelia no longer. What can be the meaning of ali this? Surely, I know Cordelia too well to Is it possible, that I should have formed an erroneous pinion of her character and principles? Nay; if I find myself deceived here in my notions of lemale virtue, I will never look for it elsewhere. Ha! I begin to fear that the mystery will be unravelled in the most disagreeable manner. The stair-case door is thrown open, and Sempronia makes her appearance, and hands into the room (not very gently, or politely, I must confess) the millener's apprentice! The venerable virgin seems to be in a gre it heat! What has happened? I suppose, she met the girl on the stairs; and if she was hurrying down them as quick as she bolted out of the drawing-room, no wonder, if she excited suspicion in the fair bosom of Miss Grimalkin, who (I warrant) has brought her back, in order that she might examine her quite at her ease. The examination is not a very quiet one. Our dearly-beloved Aunt is somewhat more violent than becomes a grand inquisitor : and the supposed culprit does not seem to want for spirit. Now they both talk together. If I were not so intimately acquainted with the affairs of this family, I should think that Sempronius had imported two` fish-wives from Billingsgate. The music of these two nightingales has attracted the notice of the master of the house, and he leaves his study to enjoy it more distinctly. He inquires the cause of all this uproar: but the ladies talk on without listening to him. Sempronia examines the band-box the milliner with sarcastic politeness turns out the contents of her. pockets, and begs the vi gin to convince herself, that there is no thing concealed in her thimble, and a silver nutmeg grater. Now the storm rages more violently than ever; till Sempronius bursts out like a clap of thunder, and terrifies them both into silence. Ho menaces the girl with his finger. He points down the street. Aye; I suppose he threatens her with a complaint to her mistress, for she begins to look uneasy, keeps edg. ing away towards the door, and at last appears to have considerable satisfaction in being permitted to inake her escape in a whole skin. Sempronia, however, seems more martially inclined than ever, since the retreat of the enemy. She proceeds to harrangue with the most violent action, heedless of her brother's impatience, while he walks up and down the room, and—but on a sudden he stands still, and stares her full in the face, while his countenance expresses the greatest dismay and astonishment. Some important word has escaped her, which evidently has touched the master-string of his whole united sensibilities. She too seems considerably embarrassed at the hardy assertion, whick |