It is not fair, however, to lay open to our readers the heart of one of the parties, and totally to veil that of the other. Clara Rivolta had scarcely had any other society than that of her father and mother; and indeed, for the last four years, a very important part of her life, her mother and old Richard Smith had been her only companions. The very little which she had seen of English people had not made a favorable impression of their character upon her mind. While residing with her mother at Brigland, she had seen but few of the inhabitants of that place, and those not of the better sort. The only individual of the better sort, so called, that she had seen, was the Hon. Philip Martindale; and him she thought the worst sort of man she had ever seen. She at first mistook him for a gamekeeper; then she thought that he must be the coachman or groom to the great man at the Abbey; and nothing could exceed her astonishment when old Richard Smith informed her that it was the great man himself; then, like all young people, hastily formed and readily expressed her opinion, that the highest class of people in England were the lowest people in the world. She was very wrong, but she had not much knowledge of the subject. The English people have so much originality and individuality, that it is not easy to find an individual who is a complete specimen of any class. To satirise or to compliment any class as a class, is absurd. It may do very well for a particular purpose, at a tavern-dinner, or in a dedication, to use highly complimentary language, which may be uttered with all the plausibility of truth and sincerity. It may also tell well in a farce or a comedy to satirise a whole class or profession; but to use such language in sad or sober earnest, is grievously unphilosophical and inaccurate. There are minds of every variety, intellects of every rank, hearts of every complexion in all classes. The virtues and the vices show differently under different circumstances. It was however pardonable in a young woman who knew scarcely any thing of human society, to form a wrong judgment; but, by degrees, her mind was enlarged and judgment corrected. Had she taken her notion of barristers solely from the clever, witty advocate of the Hon. Philip Martindale, she would have thought no better of barristers than she did of the sons of nobility. But Horatio Markham tended to correct her judgment in this particular. He was not a coxcomb; he was not a rude, blustering, self-sufficient and pert blockhead, fancying himself the depositary of all wisdom and the oracle of all ages; he did not aim at a display of his own wisdom, by insinuations that all the rest of mankind were simpletons. It must however be confessed that he was rather pedantic; he talked a little too professionally; and he had, in his ordinary mode of speaking and conversing, too much of the peculiar manner of the bar; he told many anecdotes, and they were