first seen this visitor imagined that she really was young and handsome, was astonished as she approached, to find in the white frock, sash, ringlets, and little straw hat of a girl, a woman apparently between fifty and sixty; and who vainly attempted to conceal, by a quantity of rouge and a slight veil thrown over her face, the ravages which time had made in her countenance. Her spare figure gave her some resemblance to youthful slightness; but when near, the sharp bones, and angular projections of her face and person, sufficiently proved, that slender appearance was the result of lean old age, instead of girlish delicacy. In spite of the advanced season, she was clad so lightly, that she still shivered from the impression of the keen breeze which had assailed her as she crossed the Park, and gladly accepted a seat by the comfortable fire, though affecting to conceal her sufferings under an air of gaiety and ease.

St. Aubyn (who had known her many years, and had been from a boy accustomed to divert himself with her foibles, though he really felt a degree of regard for her, as, in spite of her oddities, she was not without a mixture of good qualities), after having introduced her to his bride, seated himself by her, and began to talk to her in a strain of such marked flattery, as really alarmed Ellen, who thought Miss Alton would certainly be offended; but her enormous vanity prevented her from perceiving that he was merely laughing at her, and she grew every moment more ridiculous. At last, turning to Ellen, she said in a pathetic tone, "Oh, my dear Madam, you cannot conceive how I have felt for you these two days! I declare I have not been able to sleep for thinking of you, and really have shed tears to imagine what a tax you have been paying: how you must have been fatigued by receiving such a succession of visitors! but every one must have some trouble. There is my dear friend, Mrs. Dawkins, the best of women—sweet woman, indeed—there she is lamenting at home such a vexation!" "What is the matter?" said St. Aubyn, laughing, for he knew what sort of misfortunes Mrs. Dawkins and her friend Miss Alton generally lamented with so much pathos: "has she lost her little French dog, or has the careless coachman scratched the pannels of her new carriage?" "Oh, you sad man! how can you make a jest of the dear soul's uncommon sensibility? To be sure she has the tenderest feelings. She often says to me, 'my dear Alton, what should I do without you: you are the only person who can really feel for the misfortunes of a friend.' Sweet woman!"

"Well, but," said St. Aubyn, "you were going to tell us what has happened to this amiable friend of your's."

"Nay, I will tell Lady St. Aubyn, she looks all softness and sensibility: but you are so wicked, you make a jest of every thing. Do you know, my dearest Lady St. Aubyn, just as poor Mrs. Dawkins was coming to make you a visit, this morning, nay, she was actually dressed, and had one foot on the step of the carriage, I was in it, for she was so kind as to say she would bring me; so I thought, as I was to come with her, I need not put on a pelisse, or shawl, for you know they spoil one's dress. But I can't say but that it was rather cold walking, as I was at last obliged to do, for just as she put her foot upon the step——" "What happened?" interrupted St. Aubyn, laughing still more at the emphatic manner in which poor Alton told her distressing story.—"Did she fall down and break her leg, or did the horses run away and carry off her kid slipper?"——"Now only hear him; did you ever see such a teasing creature: well, I am glad I have not the task of keeping you in order; I don't know what even the sweet Countess will do with you."

This piece of self-congratulation threw St. Aubyn into a violent fit of laughing, in which even the grave Doctor Montague joined, and Ellen could hardly resist, though the fear of quite affronting her guest put a check upon her risibility.

"Well," said St. Aubyn, at last recovering himself a little, "but what really did happen to poor Mrs. Dawkins?"

"Nay, I protest I won't tell you, you wicked creature; I will tell Lady St. Aubyn some other time, for you do not deserve to hear any thing about it."

"Oh, yes, do, my dear Alton, tell, for really I am in great pain for poor Mrs. Dawkins, who has been standing so long with one foot upon the step: don't leave her in so dangerous a situation any longer."——"Well, then, if I must tell—at that moment up came a servant on horseback, to say her sister, Mrs. Courtenay, was on the road to her own house, in her way from Buxton, and would, with a whole train of children and servants, dine at her house to-day; and as they were coming directly, she was actually obliged to defer her visit to your Ladyship till to-morrow; and she was so sorry, and I am sure so was I, for I was obliged to walk here after all."

"Well, but," said Lord St. Aubyn, "notwithstanding this terrible shock to her feelings, she might have sent the carriage with you."——"Aye, so she might, to be sure; but poor dear soul, she was put in such a bustle she never thought of it; some people don't think——dear me, if I had a carriage of my own, I should be happy to make it useful to my friends, and not let them go broiling on foot two or three miles in warm weather or splashing through the mud in the middle of winter."——"I believe you," said St. Aubyn; for with all her foibles, he knew Miss Alton was really good-natured, and willing to do a kind action.

"Well, my dear Miss Alton, if you will favour us with your company, and dine with us, Lady St. Aubyn will, I am sure, be happy to send you home in her carriage; and I promise you, if the Prince himself was to make us a visit, that should not prevent your having it."

Ellen joined in this invitation, to which the happy Miss Alton readily assented; and Ellen found her, after a little while, a more tolerable companion than she expected.

Miss Alton's particular passion was for being with people who lived in style; if they had a title so much the better; and as she would do any thing to make herself useful, and knew how to pay those little attentions which every body likes, she generally made herself agreeable, or so necessary, that she had admittance at almost all the houses of consequence in the neighbourhood. The entrè of St. Aubyn Castle was the height of her ambition. St. Aubyn's mother, who lived much in the country, had been in the habit of receiving Miss Alton, when she was a girl, on familiar terms: the old Lady was fond of needle-work, and Alton assisted in filling up the groundwork of carpets, rugs, &c. with the most patient good humour; or was at any time ready to make up a whist or quadrille table; so that in those days she was very often a week or two together at the Castle, where St. Aubyn, at his vacations, had been accustomed to meet her, and to divert himself with her foibles, though he had always retained a degree of regard for her, a felicity which the death of the old Countess deprived her of, and she had never since ceased to regret; for though her other connections were respectable, they were not so high in fortune or consequence as the St. Aubyns, and great was her joy to find herself once more an invited guest at the Castle.

Amongst her other friends, as her narrow income by no means permitted her to return their civilities in kind, she yet was always well received, for there was nothing she would not do to oblige: one Lady