THE

VICTIMS OF SOCIETY.

LADY AUGUSTA VERNON TO LADY

MARY HOWARD.

Vernon Hall, June.

I AM sixteen to-day, dearest Mary, and feel so happy and joyous, that I must make you a partaker of my felicity. Would that you were here! for, hélas! it will be three long days ere this can reach you; and who knows if, at the expiration of that period, brief as it is, I shall be still as contented? And yet, why not? Have I not all that should insure happiness? A dear, kind, indulgent father,

who spoils, and a mild, sweet mother, who corrects me only with a sigh, or a look of more than usual solicitude. I am, as you have often told me, a strange wayward creature giddy as a school-boy when he first escapes to his playground; and yet, with gleams of melancholy presentiment, as if I felt that there is that within me which may preclude lasting peace.

The truth is, my father and mother are too partial to my good qualities (if, indeed, I possess any), and too blind, or too tolerating, to my faults. Should I ever meet with less lenient judges, how miserable I shall be, and how unamiable may I become! for, I am too unused to censure to be capable of patiently enduring it. And yet, how can I hope to find the same absorbing affection, the same forbearing kindness, that I have experienced from my infancy? But, no; I will not allow any

forebodings of the future to cast a gloom over the delightful present. Am I not uncertain as an April morning? I began, all sunshine, with telling you of my happiness; and here am I, clouded over by doubts of its continuance. Thus, it is with me ever smiles or tears; and both equally beyond my control.

Are you not dying with curiosity to learn the cause of the happiness announced in the second line of this letter? You, who are two years my senior, and ten years wiser, if wisdom may be rated by years, will smile, when I confess, that much of this elation was caused by my dear mother's presenting me with her beautiful parure of pearls; and my kind father's giving me a hundred pounds, in the prettiest new pocket-book that ever was seen. Yet, before you condemn me for being delighted by "barbaric pearls," or "sordid gold," let me tell you, that the

words which accompanied the gifts caused the happiness, more than the gifts themselves; though I am not insensible to their charms. "Augusta, my precious child!" said my mother, in that mild and earnest way, so peculiar to her; "here, is your birth-day present: may you ever continue as pure and spotless as the pearls which I now bestow on you."

I threw myself into her arms, and wept on her bosom, for my heart was too full to speak; and I felt, at the moment, that I would rather have died there, than have caused her to shed a tear. She led me to my father's study, who, embracing me, put the pretty pocket-book I told you of into my hand, saying, "Take this, my own Gusty, and when its contents are expended, bring it back to me, and they shall be replaced. You are my darling, my only child - my comfort!" Then, as I clasped his neck, and pressed his

dear face, I felt his tears moisten my cheek. With such parents, have I not cause to be contented? Yes, I am; and will be, dearest Mary, your happy, as well as affectionate friend, AUGUSTA Vernon.

LADY MARY HOWARD TO LADY

AUGUSTA VERNON.

Howard Castle, June.

DEAREST AUGUSTA,-Were I inclined to play the Mentor, I should lecture you on the proneness to give way to first impulses, which I have always remarked in you; and which is so evident all through your last letter. You say that "you have a melancholy presentiment of having that within you, which may preclude lasting happiness." Does this not look like acknowledging, that you have