Authoress of—The Mysterious Marriage,—The Rose of Claremont,—Poems,—
The Orphan Boy,-Bachelor's Heiress,-My Native Land,—&c. &c.

Tell me of old times, and old friends,

That have not changed with summer oreath,

Nor turn'd aside in the rough tempest of my fortunes,
And I will give them place and welcome here!-
The fond memorial of a grateful heart!

London:

Printed by C. Baynes, 13, Duke Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields.
PUBLISHED BY GEORGE VIRTUE, 26, IVY LANE,

PATERNOSTER ROW,

AND BATH STREET, BRISTOL.

1824.
"

FAMILY PORTRAITS,

&c. &c.

CHAPTER I.

"Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for pow'r,
"By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour:
"Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
"More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise."

Goldsmith.

WE forget to mark the lapse of time when on roseate wings it speeds away; but memory is a faithful historian, that will not fail to remind us of that page on which is written the volume of our lives; there if we find a leaf that is not sullied with a tear, let us reflect on that page, and consider it the happiest of our existence.

Fifteen summer suns had blossomed with its sweets, --and fifteen hoary headed winters passed with all their sullen train,-since that happy morn which waked to joy and to happiness transcendant, the lovely unreluctant bride of Tanjore Trelawney; and as Rebecca then, in her turn, began to arrange the bridal ornaments of her sister Rosa, she reminded her of the

time when she had assisted her on the same happy occasion.

"Do you remember, Rosa," uttered she, "how offended you were at my shedding tears because it was my bridal day? Did not old Doctor Bradbury laugh at me; and Mary Bradbury go so far as to tell me that it was downright affectation, on a day so joyous, so momentous? Tell me then, my dear sister, this being your marriage day also, with Trelawney, why I behold you thus? You love Trelawney, he is your heart's elected, and yet you weep, Rosa, like me."

"Ah, Rebecca, it is because I feel at this moment what were the sensations of my beloved sister;" answered Rosa, smiling through her tears; "the serious impression of a marriage vow should not be considered lightly, it is not a transitory one, Rebecca, for it can only be absolved by———————

"Death!" uttered Rebecca, "and then it ascends to heaven; affection wafts it with a sigh,-sympathy embalms it with a tear,—and holy angels deign even to bless and consecrate the image of its virtues there."

Reader! since the foregoing conversation took place between these lovely and beloved sisters, Rosa and Rebecca, fifteen revolving years had passed away;— still the village of Kenilworth remained in the peaceful security of its lovely, rural and retiring shades ;— still the soft breeze whispered among the honeysuckles, and the fragrance of the violet still was there;-the murmuring rivulet yet flowed pure and transparent; -the robin sung as usual on his favorite hawthorn, unmolested, and each returning spring a thousand little feathered warblers paid their visits there ;-yes,