conversation, Venice Preserved had been acted the preceding evening, and from discussing the play, the conversation took a political turn. A gentleman that happened to be seated next me, who spoke fluently, looking around him every moment for approbation, with apparent self-applause, gave the discourse a tone of gallantry, declaring—'Pierre to be a noble fellow, and that the loss of a mistress was a sufficient excuse for treason and conspiracy, even though the country had been deluged in blood and involved in conflagration.'

'And the mistresses of all his fellow citizens destroyed of course;'—said a gentleman coolly, on the opposite side of the table.

Oh! that was not a consideration, every thing must give place when put in competition with certain feelings. 'What, young lady,' (suddenly turning to me) 'do you think a lover would not risque, who was in fear of losing you?'

Good God! what a question to an admirer of the grecian heroes! I started, and absolutely shuddered. I would have replied, but my words died away upon my lips in inarticulate murmurs. My father observed and enjoyed my distress.

'The worthies of whom you have been reading, Emma, lived in ancient times. Aristides the just, would have made but a poor figure among our modern men of fashion!'

'This lady reads, then,'—said our accomplished coxcomb—'Heavens, Mr Courtney! you will spoil all her feminine graces; knowledge and learning, are unsufferably masculine in a woman—born only for the soft solace of man! The mind of a young lady should be clear and unsullied, like a sheet of white paper, or her own fairer face: lines of thinking destroy the dimples of beauty; aping the reason of man, they lose the exquisite, fascinating charm, in which consists their true empire;—Then strongest, when most weak—