prised to hear from her own lips that her marriage with Mr. Boyne Sillery was to take place immediately. So soon! and was this all? A few months, and her uncle's memory seemed to have utterly passed away. Alas! oblivion is our moral death, and forgetfulness is the second grave which closes over the dead. In the same spirit with which a drowning man catches at a straw, Emily hoped that perhaps Mrs. Clarke might be induced to listen to arguments against such indecorous haste, and that her influence might prevail on the impatient gentleman and yielding lady to let the twelve months pass—and then, thought Emily, "I shall be glad it is no worse."
This hope was not a very promising one; for she could scarcely flatter herself that her opinion would have much weight: she well knew Mrs. Clarke entertained a very mediocre estimate of her understanding; she had never asked her for a receipt, nor offered her a pattern,—those alphas and omegas with her female accomplishments. But, however deficient in these sciences of the spoon and the scissors, there was a sweetness, a gentleness about Emily which it was impossible to dislike; Mrs. Clarke, therefore, always spoke of her only pityingly. "Miss
