AT eighteen, Miss Murray was to emerge from the quiet obscurity ofthe schoolroom into the full blaze of the fashionable world - asmuch of it, at least, as could be had out of London; for her papacould not be persuaded to leave his rural pleasures and pursuits,even for a few weeks' residence in town. She was to make her debuton the third of January, at a magnificent ball, which her mammaproposed to give to all the nobility and choice gentry of O- andits neighbourhood for twenty miles round. Of course, she lookedforward to it with the wildest impatience, and the most extravagantanticipations of delight.

'Miss Grey,' said she, one evening, a month before the all-important day, as I was perusing a long and extremely interestingletter of my sister's - which I had just glanced at in the morningto see that it contained no very bad news, and kept till now,unable before to find a quiet moment for reading it, - 'Miss Grey,do put away that dull, stupid letter, and listen to me! I'm suremy talk must be far more amusing than that.'

She seated herself on the low stool at my feet; and I, suppressinga sigh of vexation, began to fold up the epistle.

'You should tell the good people at home not to bore you with suchlong letters,' said she; 'and, above all, do bid them write onproper note-paper, and not on those great vulgar sheets. Youshould see the charming little lady-like notes mamma writes to herfriends.'

'The good people at home,' replied I, 'know very well that thelonger their letters are, the better I like them. I should be verysorry to receive a charming little lady-like note from any of them;and I thought you were too much of a lady yourself, Miss Murray, totalk about the "vulgarity" of writing on a large sheet of paper.'

'Well, I only said it to tease you. But now I want to talk aboutthe ball; and to tell you that you positively must put off yourholidays till it is over.'

'Why so? - I shall not be present at the ball.'

'No, but you will see the rooms decked out before it begins, andhear the music, and, above all, see me in my splendid new dress. Ishall be so charming, you'll be ready to worship me - you reallymust stay.'

'I should like to see you very much; but I shall have manyopportunities of seeing you equally charming, on the occasion ofsome of the numberless balls and parties that are to be, and Icannot disappoint my friends by postponing my return so long.'

'Oh, never mind your friends! Tell them we won't let you go.'

'But, to say the truth, it would be a disappointment to myself: Ilong to see them as much as they to see me - perhaps more.'

'Well, but it is such a short time.'

'Nearly a fortnight by my computation; and, besides, I cannot bearthe thoughts of a Christmas spent from home: and, moreover, mysister is going to be married.'

'Is she - when?'

'Not till next month; but I want to be there to assist her inmaking preparations, and to make the best of her company while wehave her.'

'Why didn't you tell me before?'

'I've only got the news in this letter, which you stigmatize asdull and stupid, and won't let me read.'

'To whom is she to be married?'

'To Mr. Richardson, the vicar of a neighbouring parish.'

'Is he rich?'

'No; only comfortable.'

'Is he handsome?'

'No; only decent.'

'Young?'

'No; only middling.'

'Oh, mercy! what a wretch! What sort of a house is it?'

'A quiet little vicarage, with an ivy-clad porch, an old-fashionedgarden, and - '

'Oh, stop! - you'll make me sick. How CAN she bear it?'

'I expect she'll not only be able to bear it, but to be very happy.You did not ask me if Mr. Richardson were a good, wise, or amiableman; I could have answered Yes, to all these questions - at leastso Mary thinks, and I hope she will not find herself mistaken.'

'But - miserable creature! how can she think of spending her lifethere, cooped up with that nasty old man; and no hope of change?'

'He is not old: he's only six or seven and thirty; and she herselfis twenty-eight, and as sober as if she were fifty.'

'Oh! that's better then - they're well matched; but do they callhim the "worthy vicar"?'

'I don't know; but if they do, I believe he merits the epithet.'

'Mercy, how shocking! and will she wear a white apron and make piesand puddings?'

'I don't know about the white apron, but I dare say she will makepies and puddings now and then; but that will be no great hardship,as she has done it before.'

'And will she go about in a plain shawl, and a large straw bonnet,carrying tracts and bone soup to her husband's poor parishioners?'

'I'm not clear about that; but I dare say she will do her best tomake them comfortable in body and mind, in accordance with ourmother's example.'