we all know to be morally impossible.  Lady M’Laughlan is the very last person in the world who would have introduced you, or any young creature for whom she had the slightest regard, to a Lennox, the mortal enemy of the M’Laughlan race! I most sincerely trust she is spared the shock we have all experienced at this painful disclosure. With her high principles, and great regard for us, I tremble to think what might be the consequences!  And dear Sir Sampson, in his delicate state, how would he ever be able to stand such a blow! and a blow, too, from your hand, Mary! you, who he was always like a father to! Many a time, I am sure, have you sat upon his knee, and you certainly cannot have forgot the elegant Shetland pony he presented you with the day you was five years old!  And what a return for such favours!

“But I fondly trust it is not yet too late.  You have only to give up this unworthy attachment, and all will be forgotten and forgiven; and we will all receive you as if nothing had happened.  Oh, Mary!  I must, for the last time repeat, how have you deceived us all!

“I am your distressed aunt,

“JOAN DOUGLAS.

P.S.—­I conclude abruptly, in order to leave room for your Aunt Nicky to state her sentiments also on this most afflicting subject.”

Nicky’s appendix was as follows:—­

“DEAR MARY—­Jacky has read her letter to us.  It is most excellent.  We are all much affected by it.  Not a word but deserves to be printed.  I can add nothing.  You see, if you marry Colonel L. none of us can be at your marriage.  How could we?  I hope you will think twice about it.  Second thoughts are best.  What’s done cannot be undone.  Yours,

“N.  D.”

Mary felt somewhat in the situation of the sleeper awakened, as she perused these mysterious anathemas; and rubbed her eyes more than once in hopes of dispelling the mist that she thought must needs be upon them.  But in vain:  it seemed only to increase with every effort she made to remove it.  Not a single ray of light fell on the palpable obscure of Miss Jacky’s composition, that could enable her to penetrate the dark profound that encompassed her.  She was aware, indeed, that when her aunt meant to be pathetic or energetic she always had recourse to the longest and the strongest words she could possibly lay her hands upon; and Mary had been well accustomed to hear her childish faults and juvenile indiscretions denounced in the most awful terms as crimes of the deepest dye.  Many an exordium she had listened to on the tearing of her frock, or the losing of her glove, that might have served as a preface to the “Newgate Calendar,” “Colquhoun on the Police,” or any other