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is le moral Is It is

cm, a the asves in raation BEST SZETTUDĒā; but we forme les es ate à ses i in equime telight, aut were ty is se sind pare myfind its which é ár sem al gitter or about, and is im the ʼn novi fa de buscases of the most Mappier is Is I wael, u. he vist humanity is sergile of wig aamuisi me in a bus the ja I ‰ vuit u mer isers vil de bus of men,

men to shoot de imitim-Sunes of Empire. -To Nang was of the bears må saga in dn drain so Sentadaily, judby, ai vell de to rebel ever sties there, in holly came to penetrate the mysteries of the earth, or to with terms the reheat man of have. In this is the hom I the feminine nature. Often therefore, when the winter is noble, it remains the shrine of its own Thumbna, 'in a moden shade, the source of joy and light, yet интену жасве

Mill, the truth is a pity, that the names of women, first in historical fume, are sullied and reproached. When the mino remembers them, on whom does its first reflection fall Slot on the innocent Imogens, not on the noble Cornelias, no on the fair-souled saints of virtue; but on the superb and wund mistress of Egypt, on the beautiful and frail, the won Jarful and disgraced, Phryne and Aspasia; on the lovely images defaced and fallen, which nature made so pure and

man reduced so low. Let history be just. No woman ever fell, whose sin was not a shame to some worse man.

Emma, Lady Hamilton, the legacy of Nelson to his country, surpasses in her story, the fancies of all romance. Her beauty could derive no embellishment from the art of the painter; it was an ambition in sculptors to approach the softness and perfection of her form; fable has been unable to excel the recital of her real adventures, so varied, rapid, and unusual were they. Sprung from a humble origin she rose, without yielding deference to a single social law, to affect with her abilities and caprices the fortunes of Europe, to aid great conquerors to victory, to rule queens in their own palaces, to direct fleets, to riot like a more prodigal Cleopatra in the joys of an exuberant luxury, and then she perished, hungry, shivering, deserted, with not one companion left of all the infinite parasites who had made her dwelling a temple, and worshipped in her the goddess who gave beatitude to this unspiritual paradise. In human vicissitudes there is no diversity which is not exhibited in the picture of her fortunes. Let her be seen from hour to hour at the pausing-places of her career; how chequered is her fate. As a child she runs, rudely clad, picking primroses in the Lancashire valleys. Then she nurses little infants, for the wages of servitude, in a simple rural locality. Next she comes wandering and hoping into the marvellous city, her heart beating with strange hopes, her loveliness admired by all, afterwards she hires herself to a general dealer in St. James' Market, and from year to year the tableaus change, and Emma Lyons is seen sitting as a model to artists, exhibiting her person to audiences in a theatre, riding like a queen with a train of attendants, standing before an offending lover, in her old cottage garb, playing parts in high tragedy, mimicking the attitudes of Penelope, slapping the Queen of Naples in the face, swinging Lady Nelson by the arm round her husband's cabin, then dying in a squalid corner 'glad of the worst bit of meat that could be provided for a dog.'

Nelson, who saved Great Britain, when she had been almost ruined by her own wars, yielded himself to the nursery maid, until she compelled his acquiescence in nearly all her wishes. She played with him, tantalised him, commanded him, refused obedience to his desires, pleased a multitude of admirers, and imperiously exacted whatever she thought could be offered from man to woman, yet was never careful to conform to one rule or habitude of society. But in the

changes and chances of her life we find many reasons for the sacrifice she made of herself, for the name she lost, for the sin which she never repented. Untaught, untrained, she passed from the unconstraining influences of the rudest childhood, under the tutelage of flattery, and the enticements of passion. The proud, instead of teaching her to respect her own womanly nature, led her to be her own betrayer; the educated exerted their skill to lure her into excess; the noble forgot their nobility to be the companion of her passionate hours; whoever approached her was desirous of humbling her anew, and whomsoever she approached fell himself into the snare.

CHAPTER II.

This paragon in face and form, who had all the graces and witcheries of the sweetest womanhood, with some of its loftier attributes, was the daughter of Henry Lyon, or Lyons, a poor labouring man, whose family had lived during several generations at Preston, in Lancashire. They had always been in this humble sphere; but were honest, industrious, and respected among the people of their own class. Little did they dream, when the angelic baby smiled with blue eyes, on its mothers' bosom, that as long as the mightiest struggle of nations was remembered, the fame of their child should entwine its sad leaves in the wreath of the conqueror; that his mournful story would be her's; or that Europe would one day dispute whether the thunders of thirty war vessels, or her voice had once spoken most loudly to the destinies which arbitrate in the concerns of this world.

Her father died ere she had emerged from the peace of the cradle, in which she lay pure as a snow-flake, unconscious of the heavy and dark days that were to come. The poverty of the family was thus rendered worse; and her mother, under the advice of some friends, removed to Hawarden, in Flintshire, where her industry was severely tasked for the maintenance of herself and her child. When Emma, mature and vain, frolicked among peeresses, and cast her thoughts back to that cottage life, she was poor in spirit enough, to be ashamed of its humility. She did not sorrow and yearn for the lost home, the only roof of pure joy and rest to her; she did not pine in secret over the distant visions of her youth; she did not say in her heart, that all the lustre of her womanhood should be resigned, if it could purchase back one hour of that infancy but she saddened over the reminiscence of its privations. She even sought to veil the knowledge of them from those whom

she knew would collect every thread of history to weave into a relation of her life; and therefore, in her letters, pretended to have received a fair education at the expense of a nobleman residing in the neighbourhood, who was attracted by her child-like charms. It appears, however, pretty certain, that she throve from the cradle with an untutored mind; that she passed from the dreamy days of infancy into a fanciful capricious girlhood, without deriving from text or teacher, any precepts of religion, any guidance in life, any persuasive knowledge of morals, or acquaintance with truth, without which truth must be unloved, for who can love the unknown? In after years she showed no evidence of early cultivation. Corresponding with patricians who delighted in her wit, her pen flared with sparkling vivacities, and her language exulting and abounding in natural richness, was arrayed in picturesque confusion, to interpret the strange novelty and characteristic self-complacency of her ideas. Interesting it is to think of this pretty child in her cottage seclusion, living with her widowed mother, in Hawarden. Their cottage was a little rough-built, quaint erection, poorly furnished, with a garden, in which Emma plucked the flowers to adorn her head, and wreathe her arms, for with manners most artlessly simple, she always knew her own beauty, and like a fair Narcissa, loved it. But this quiet way of living, with ease, indolence, and carelessnes, could not last. The childhood of the poor is hard. It is soon forgotten; and the young-eyed' ones look anxious, carry care on their brows, bend in toil, and lose all that soft, innocent, gladsome appearance, which has in itself such a perfect fascination.

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Soon she had to leave this peacefulness, and to enter on a life of servitude. Let those who judge her remember this, for the vigour of virtue must relent, when it thinks of the trials to which an untaught innocence is exposed. It is no apology for sin, to say that a young girl, taken from her mother's side before one opinion or principle is formed, before one sentiment is fixed, before one gleam of light or breath of divine influence has fallen on the natural chaos of the mind, may not be too bitterly condemned for erring, by those whom a solicitous love has nurtured in truth, and guided into all the ways of unrepented happiness. There are minds which nature alone teaches. There have been those who, coming upon the earth in the midst of its flowers, inhaling its sweet air, seeing its brightness, conscious of its beauty, have been raised by the sensations kindled, and gifted with a guardian virtue. Emma Lyons was not one of those. Had she not been a womanly