—­KNOX’S Essays.

ALTHOUGH, on her return, Mary read her mother’s displeasure in her looks, and was grieved at again having incurred it, she yet felt it a duty towards her father to persevere in her attentions to his aunt.  She was old, poor, and unknown, plain in her person, weak in her intellects, vulgar in her manners; but she was related to her by ties more binding than the laws of fashion or the rules of taste.  Even these disadvantages, which, to a worldly mind, would have served as excuses for neglecting her, to Mary’s generous nature were so many incentives to treat her with kindness and attention.  Faithful to her promise, therefore, she repaired to Milsom Street, and found her aunt all impatience for her arrival, with the letter so firmly grasped in both hands, that she seemed almost afraid to trust anyone with a glance at the direction.

“This letter, Mary,” said she, when they were seated in the carriage, “will be a great thing for me, and especially for you.  I got it from Mrs. Menzies, through Mrs. M’Drone, whose friend, Mrs. Campbell’s half-sister, Miss Grant, is a great friend of Mrs. Fox’s, and she says she is a most charming woman.  Of course she is no friend to the great Fox; or you know it would have been very odd in me, with Sir Sampson’s principles, and my poor brother’s principles, and all our own principles, to have visited her.  But she’s quite of a different family of Foxes:  she’s a Fox of Peckwell, it seems—­a most amiable woman, very rich, and prodigiously charitable.  I am sure we have been most fortunate in getting a letter to such a woman.”  And with this heartfelt ejaculation they found themselves at Mrs. Fox’s.

Everything corresponded with the account of this lady’s wealth and consequence; the house was spacious and handsomely furnished, with its due proportion of livery servants; and they were ushered into a sitting-room which was filled with all the ’wonders of nature and art,—­Indian shells, inlaid cabinets, ivory boxes, stuffed birds, old china, Chinese mandarins, stood disclosed in all their charms.  The lady of this mansion was seated at table covered with works of a different description:  it exhibited the various arts of woman, in regular gradation, from the painted card-rack and gilded firescreen, to the humble thread-paper and shirt-button.  Mrs. Fox was a fine, fashionable-looking woman, with a smooth skin, and still smoother address.  She received her visitors with that overstrained complaisance which, to Mary’s nicer tact, at once discovered that all was hollow; but poor Miss Grizzy was scarcely seated before she was already transfixed with admiration at Mrs. Fox’s politeness, and felt as if her whole life would be too short to repay such kindness.  Compliments over—­the weather, etc., discussed, Mrs. Fox began: