"My dear child, it pains me to see you afflict yourself thus. Come, speak to me, tell me what is the cause of your sorrow. Why do you give so much indulgence to these emotions? Let me hear you speak. I would willingly comfort you." With these and such expressions the mother of Clara endeavoured to bring the young lady to a little composure; but the attempt was in vain. Poor Clara could not speak had she been willing, and she knew not what to say had she been able to speak. She could hardly describe to her own mind the cause of her tears. Her mother for a little while ceased to make inquiries, but sat in silent sympathy holding the hand of her sorrowing child; and after a time, when the violence of the emotion abated, Clara feeling herself ashamed of the violence and cause of her grief, attempted as well as she was able, which was indeed but indifferently, to apologise for and to explain her feelings. Signora Rivolta plainly saw that her heart was Markham's, and that she feared that she had given more encouragement than with propriety she should have given to the perfumed fop, who by disguising his real character had wrought upon the inexperienced mind of the poor girl to lead her to think more highly of him than he deserved. For when the female heart has been once exposed to disappointment, it not unfrequently afterwards surrenders a cold consent to a less worthy object. Thus situated had Clara been. Markham appeared lost to her, and then she became indifferent to all others, and suffered Mr. Tippetson to pay her those attentions which under other circumstances she would have repelled with the greatest contempt from a person of his character and mind. After having suffered or tolerated those attentions, it appeared to her that she had given the young gentleman reason to suppose that a more serious address would not be rejected; but when Markham again made his appearance, and when he looked so interestingly and affectionately at her, and so inquiringly and jealously at Tippetson, then Clara felt as if he had reproached her for inconstancy and fickleness; then did she think that it was now too late to hope that Markham would renew those attentions with which she had formerly been so delighted; and in a moment did her active imagination institute a comparison between Markham and Tippetson, not much to the advantage of the latter. For though she did not very attentively or seriously study the character of Tippetson, yet she had been so far familiar with the style of his conversation and with the attitude of his mind, that a comparison was easily formed between the two young gentlemen. Painful was this comparison to Clara's mind; for not only did she regret the loss of Markham, but almost as deeply did she bewail the necessity under which she had almost voluntarily, certainly carelessly, placed herself to accept the hand of Mr. Tippetson. Those of our readers to whom we have made ourselves