"Emily!--Is she beautiful?" "Very beautiful!" "And amiable?" "Her like is not to be found." "What," [exclaims our hero, perhaps starting back and running his fingers through his hair]--"what are all the fleeting and fickle pleasures of the world! what the magnificent palaces of kings, with their imperial banquetings and gorgeous processions! what, indeed, are all the treasures of the earth or the sea, in comparison with the pure, the bright, the beautiful object of our young and innocent affections!!!" The name of the old hag is Meg Lawler, and she favors Mr. Ulric with her private history. The morality of her disclosures is questionable--but "morals, at the present day, quoth Mr. Mattson, are rarely sought in works of fiction, and perhaps _less_ rarely found." The gentleman means _more_ rarely. But let us proceed. Meg Lawler relates a tale of seduction. It ends in the most approved form. "I knew," says she, "that the day of sorrow and tribulation was at hand, but alas, there was no saving power!" Here follows a double range of stars--after which, the narrative is resumed as follows. Dame Lawler paused, and turning upon me her glaring and blood-shot eyes exclaimed-- "Do you think there is a punishment hereafter for the evil deeds done in the body?" "Such," I replied, "the divines have long taught us." "_Then is my destroyer writhing in the agonies of hell!!_" Mr. Ulric is, of course, electrified, and the chapter closes. Our hero, some time after this, succeeds in making the acquaintance of Miss Emily Florence. The scene of the first interview is the cottage of Meg Lawler. Mr. U. proposes a walk--the lady at first refuses, but finally consents. "There were two paths," says our hero, "either of which we might have chosen: one led into the forest, the other towards her father's house. I struck into the latter--but she abruptly paused." "Shall we continue our walk?" I asked, observing that she still hesitated. "Yes," she at length answered; "but I would prefer the other path"--that is to say the path through the woods--O fi, Miss Emily Florence! During the walk, our hero arrives at the conclusion that his beloved is "some unfortunate captive whose fears, or whose sense of dependence, might render it imprudent for her to be seen in the society of a stranger." In addition to all this, Dame Lawler has told Mr. U. that "she did not believe Emily was the daughter of Mr. Florence"--hereby filling the interesting youth with suspicions, which Mr. Mattson assures us "were materials for the most painful reflection."