period of my existence. In addition to all the blessings of my daily life, I had then the enlivening influence of your presence. The landscape was the same, but you were the sunshine: and while you were here, all seemed "gold and green."—When will you come again, I wonder!—Well, what a wanderer I am! continually deviating from my path, my narrative advances but slowly,—and you are yet to learn, that besides our extra employments at his farm, we have been as busy as bees preparing for the accommodation of my Cousin Arthur Howard, who is expected here to-morrow evening.

People who live in towns, or even in what is called civilized parts of the country, have little idea how we poor pill-garlicks labour to perform what they accomplish as if by the stroke of a magical wand. A few words are pronounced in the shape of an order, to one of your fashionable upholsterers, and lo! sophas, ottomans, tables, arm-chairs, and all the elegant etceteras of modern furniture rise up like an exhalation, and are found in their exact places, as if a fairy had arranged them. While country folks, like us, have to wish, and to wait, for many a long day before we can obtain even an imperfect representation of a new luxury. I do not complain of this; for I really believe, that we gain by every difficulty, and enjoy our humble acquisitions, after going through much trouble to obtain them, a thousand times more than the rich and fashionable do their superfluities, which it is only to desire, and to possess; but I state the fact to account for the employment of time and pains in filling up a comfortable bed-chamber and dressing-room for Arthur Howard, whose approach I dread, not because I have any reason to be afraid of him, but because I feel how entirely out of his natural (or perhaps I should rather say artificial) element, he will find himself in this peaceful retreat.

I believe I told you in my last letter, that Arthur has been very delicate for some months past, and apprehensions have been entertained that if the change of air to a softer climate than that of Buckinghamshire were not resorted to, his lungs might soon become affected. Poor fellow! He is an only son; and as my aunt could not make up her mind to going abroad with him herself, and she would not consent to let him go to the Continent without her, though in the company of his friend Mr. Falkland, matters have been compromised by accepting mamma's invitation to the Island of mists; and truly it would delight us all to cherish this young cousin at Glenalta, if it were not for the painful feeling that he considers it a heavy penance to come amongst his Irish relations. The performance of duty is, however, so agreeable in itself, that if we find our cares successful, and are enabled to return the invalid in good health to his mother and sisters, we shall be amply recompensed. It is but to think of the grateful love which would warm our own hearts (were Frederick similarly circumstanced) towards any friend who might be instrumental in his recovery, to enter con amore into the feelings of Arthur's family, and sing a Te Deum if we are permitted to excite them. Sickness, in producing a powerful sense of our mortality, often awakens the heart to the realities of happiness, by shewing us the utter futility of pleasures on which we had thoughtlessly relied, till evil days came upon us, and our helpless dependence was brought experimentally home to our conviction.

I sometimes flatter myself with a hope that mamma's enchanting influence, Frederick's sweet disposition, and the cheerful aid of the three handmaids, may operate a change in Arthur's mind, and reclaim a fine understanding from the blighting effects of cold and selfish fashion. You see that I am castle-building—may it not be in the air!

I am desired by mamma, to say that your dear aunt shall soon hear from her; and you shall have a letter ere long to tell you what progress we make in acquaintance with our guest, who is a perfect stranger amongst the juniors of our house, and only remembered as a little boy by my mother.

So much have I had to say of our hospital concerns, that I have not told you a word of a surprise which Frederick and I are preparing for this precious Author of our being.—There is a little solitary spot not far removed from this, the most sequestered, wild, and lovely glen that Nature I believe ever formed. For years after we came to Glenalta, my sisters and I never saw or heard of it, mamma never having mentioned its existence; and its distance placing it without the bounds of our allotted walks while we were children. Frederick was the first who made me acquainted with this tiny Paradise of beauty and seclusion, the story of which I must reserve for my next letter.

Our fond and united loves attend your circle from all here, and particularly your

Faithful and affectionate Friend,
Emily Douglas.

LETTER III.
Arthur Howard to Charles Falkland.

My Dear Falkland,

Glenalta.

Your letter from Dover has travelled many a mile in quest of me; first into Buckinghamshire, then to Grosvenor-square, "tried" Cambridge, and non est inventus being the return made at each of these places, it has followed me into the wilds of Kerry in Ireland. Here I am actually at Glenalta, and as I mean faithfully to perform my promise, and execute the task which you have so solemnly spread out before me, in such detail that I am not likely to forget the engagement, I shall begin from the beginning, for the following cogent reasons: first, that I may be correct by not trusting to memory; secondly, that I may not be overwhelmed by an inconvenient accumulation of materials, thirdly and lastly, because to vent my spleen in a letter is next to the relief of doing so in a viva voce unburthening, disemboguing, or whatever else you choose to call this pouring out of my vexations.

After a journey through a horrible country, as naked as if it was but just born, and as comfortless as if it had never been inhabited, I reached at last my haven of rest yesterday evening at six o'clock. You must not expect me to name places which I cannot spell, nor jolt over such roads as I have escaped again with you. This would indeed be "thrice to slay the slain," for I am in a state of mummy this morning. If David had known the county of Kerry, I should believe that it rose upon his mind, when he wrote of the judges that were overthrown in stony places. As I approached within a mile of my journey's end I should possibly have been put into good humour, if my temper had not been previously so ruffled as to counteract the influence of pleasanter impressions. Candour obliges me to confess, that nothing in nature can exceed the scenery of this spot when once you are at it; but in my present feelings I doubt whether I would go to Heaven itself, if there were no better road thither than that by which I have achieved my safe landing at Glenalta. Part of my way lay through a morass, technically called bog in this country, which brought to my recollection every frightful engulfment that I ever heard or read of. The vast American swamps, the Indian jungles, aye, even "that great Lerborian bog 'twixt Damietta and the sea," so finely touched by Milton, appeared safe and smooth to my imagination in comparison with the dark