They were people of rank; but unfortunately, though of an ancient family, the title had descended to a very remote branch—­a branch they took care to be intimate with; and servilely copied the Countess’s airs.  Their minds were shackled with a set of notions concerning propriety, the fitness of things for the world’s eye, trammels which always hamper weak people.  What will the world say? was the first thing that was thought of, when they intended doing any thing they had not done before.  Or what would the Countess do on such an occasion?  And when this question was answered, the right or wrong was discovered without the trouble of their having any idea of the matter in their own heads.  This same Countess was a fine planet, and the satellites observed a most harmonic dance around her.

After this account it is scarcely necessary to add, that their minds had received very little cultivation.  They were taught French, Italian, and Spanish; English was their vulgar tongue.  And what did they learn?  Hamlet will tell you—­words—­words.  But let me not forget that they squalled Italian songs in the true gusto.  Without having any seeds sown in their understanding, or the affections of the heart set to work, they were brought out of their nursery, or the place they were secluded in, to prevent their faces being common; like blazing stars, to captivate Lords.

They were pretty, and hurrying from one party of pleasure to another, occasioned the disorder which required change of air.  The mother, if we except her being near twenty years older, was just the same creature; and these additional years only served to make her more tenaciously adhere to her habits of folly, and decide with stupid gravity, some trivial points of ceremony, as a matter of the last importance; of which she was a competent judge, from having lived in the fashionable world so long:  that world to which the ignorant look up as we do to the sun.

It appears to me that every creature has some notion—­or rather relish, of the sublime.  Riches, and the consequent state, are the sublime of weak minds:—­These images fill, nay, are too big for their narrow souls.

One afternoon, which they had engaged to spend together, Ann was so ill, that Mary was obliged to send an apology for not attending the tea-table.  The apology brought them on the carpet; and the mother, with a look of solemn importance, turned to the sick man, whose name was Henry, and said;

“Though people of the first fashion are frequently at places of this kind, intimate with they know not who; yet I do not choose that my daughter, whose family is so respectable, should be intimate with any one she would blush to know elsewhere.  It is only on that account, for I never suffer her to be with any one but in my company,” added she, sitting more erect; and a smile of self-complacency dressed her countenance.