MRS. _Bourn_ assumes a higher rank in life than she pretended to seven years ago.—She then walked on foot—she now, by good fortune, rides in a chariot. Placed, however, in a situation with which her education does not altogether comport, she has nothing disagreeable but her over assiduity to please—this is sometimes disgusting, for one cannot feast heartily upon honey: It is an errour which a candid mind easily forgives. She sometimes appears solicitous to display her mental accomplishments, and desirous to improve those of her daughter; but it is merely apparent. Notwithstanding a temporary wish may arise toward the attainment of this point, a habitual vacancy nips it in the bud. MISS _Bourn_ is about the age of fourteen—genteel, with a tolerable share of beauty, but not striking—her dress was elegant, but might have been adjusted to more advantage—not altogether aukward in her manner, nor yet can she be called graceful—she has a peculiar air of drollery which takes her by fits, and for this reason, perhaps, does not avail herself of every opportunity of displaying the modesty of her sex—she has seen much company, but instead of polishing her manners, it has only increased her assurance. THUS much of the characters of our company. After some small chat which passed as we took a turn in the garden, we entered the Temple. “WHAT books would you recommend to put into the hands of my daughter?” said Mrs. _Bourn_, as she walked into the library—“it is a matter of some importance.” “It is a matter of more importance,” answered _Worthy_, “than is generally imagined, for unless a proper selection is made one would do better never to read at all:—Now, Madame, as much depends on the choice of books, care should be taken not to put those in the way of young persons, which might leave on their minds any disagreeable prejudices, or which has a tendency to corrupt their morals.”—“As obvious as your remark is,” added Mr. _Holmes_, “it is evidently over looked in the common course of education. We wisely exclude those persons from our conversation, whose characters are bad, whose manners are depraved, or whose morals are impure: but if they are excluded from an apprehension of contaminating our minds, how much more dangerous is the company of those books, where the strokes aimed at virtue are redoubled, and the poison of vice, by repeatedly reading the same thing, indelibly distains the young mind?” “WE all agree,” rejoined _Worthy_, “that it is as great a matter of virtue and prudence to be circumspect in the selection of our books, as in the choice of our company.—But, Sir, the best things may be subverted to an ill use. Hence we may possibly trace the course of the ill tendency of many of the Novels extant.”