l, and so do all who have heard as well as seen her,--but
pretty, very pretty, all the world must confess; and perhaps that is a
distinction more enviable, because less envied, than the 'palmy state'
of beauty. Her prettiness is of the prettiest kind--that of which the
chief character is youthfulness. A short but pleasing figure, all
grace and symmetry, a fair blooming face, beaming with intelligence
and good-humour; the prettiest little feet and the whitest hands in the
world;--such is Emily I.

She resides with her maternal grandmother, a venerable old lady,
slightly shaken with the palsy; and when together (and they are so
fondly attached to each other that they are seldom parted), it is one of
the loveliest combinations of youth and age ever witnessed. There is
no seeing them without feeling an increase of respect and affection for
both grandmother and granddaughter--always one of the tenderest and most
beautiful of natural connections--as Richardson knew when he made such
exquisite use of it in his matchless book. I fancy that grandmamma
Shirley must have been just such another venerable lady as Mrs. S., and
our sweet Emily--Oh no! Harriet Byron is not half good enough for her!
There is nothing like her in the whole seven volumes.

But here we are at the bridge! Here we must alight! 'This is the Loddon,
Emily. Is it not a beautiful river? rising level with its banks, so
clear, and smooth, and peaceful, giving back the verdant landscape
and the bright blue sky, and bearing on its pellucid stream the snowy
water-lily, the purest of flowers, which sits enthroned on its own cool
leaves, looking chastity itself, like the lady in Comus. That queenly
flower becomes the water, and so do the stately swans who are sailing so
majestically down the stream, like those who

"'On St. Mary's lake
Float double, swan and shadow."

We must dismount here, and leave Richard to take care of our equipage
under the shade of these trees, whilst we walk up to the house:--See,
there it is! We must cross this stile; there is no other way now.'

And crossing the stile we were immediately in what had been a drive
round a spacious park, and still retained something of the character,
though the park itself had long been broken into arable fields,--and in
full view of the Great House, a beautiful structure of James the First's
time, whose glassless windows and dilapidated doors form a melancholy
contrast with the strength and