Adeline Mowbray; or, The Mother and Daughter. Amelia Opie

as their wives) engage with her in some literary or political conversation. She wanted to convert every drawing-room into an arena for the mind, and all her guests into intellectual gladiators. She was often heard to interrupt two grave matrons in an interesting discussion of an accouchement, by asking them if they had read a new theological tract, or a pamphlet against the minister? If they softly expatiated on the lady-like fatigue of body which they had endured, she discoursed in choice terms on the energies of the mind; and she never received or paid visits without convincing the company that she was the most wise, most learned, and most disagreeable of companions.

      But Adeline, on the contrary, studied merely from the love of study, and not with a view to shine in conversation; nor dared she venture to expatiate on subjects which she had often heard Mrs. Woodville say were very rarely canvassed, or even alluded to, by women. She remained silent, therefore, on the subject nearest her heart, from choice as well as necessity, in the presence of Dr. Norberry, till at length she imbibed the political mania herself, and soon found it impossible to conceal the interest which she took in the success of the infant republic. She therefore one day put into the doctor's hands some bouts rimes which she had written on some recent victory of the American arms; exclaiming with a smile, 'I, too, am a politician!' and was rewarded by an exclamation of 'Why girl—I protest you are as clever as your mother!'

      This unexpected declaration fixed her in the path of literary ambition: and though wisely resolved to fulfil, as usual, every feminine duty, Adeline was convinced that she, like her mother, had a right to be an author, a politician, and a philosopher; while Dr. Norberry's praises of her daughter convinced Mrs. Mowbray, that almost unconsciously she had educated her into a prodigy, and confirmed her in her intention of exhibiting herself and Adeline to the admiring world during the next season at Bath; for at Bath she expected to receive that admiration which she had vainly sought in London.

      Soon after their marriage, Mr. Mowbray had carried his lively bride to the metropolis, where she expected to receive the same homage which had been paid to her charms at the assize-balls in her neighbourhood. What then must have been her disappointment, when, instead of hearing as she passed, 'That is Miss Woodville, the rich heiress—or the great genius—or the great beauty'—or, 'That is the beautiful Mrs. Mowbray,' she walked unknown and unobserved in public and in private, and found herself of as little importance in the wide world of the metropolis, as the most humble of her acquaintance in a country ball-room. True, she had beauty, but then it was unset-off by fashion; nay, more, it was eclipsed by unfashionable and tasteless attire; and her manner, though stately and imposing in an assembly where she was known, was wholly unlike the manners of the world, and in a London party appeared arrogant and offensive. Her remarks, too, wise as they appeared to her and Mr. Mowbray, excited little attention—as the few persons to whom they were known in the metropolis were wholly ignorant of her high pretensions, and knew not that they were discoursing with a professed genius, and the oracle of a provincial circle. Some persons, indeed, surprised at hearing from the lips of eighteen, observations on morals, theology, and politics, listened to her with wonder, and even attention, but turned away observing—

'Such things, 'tis true, are neither new nor rare,

The only wonder is, how they got there:'

      till at length, disappointed, mortified, and disgusted, Mrs. Mowbray impatiently returned to Rosevalley, where in beauty, in learning, and in grandeur she was unrivalled, and where she might deal out her dogmas, sure of exciting respectful attention, however she might fail of calling for a more flattering tribute from her auditors. But in the narrower field of Bath she expected to shine forth with greater éclat than in London, and to obtain admiration more worthy of her acceptance than any which a country circle could offer. To Bath, therefore, she prepared to go; and the young heart of Adeline beat high with pleasure at the idea of mixing with that busy world which her fancy had often clothed in the most winning attractions.

      But her joy, and Mrs. Mowbray's was a little over-clouded at the moment of their departure, by the sight of Dr. Norberry's melancholy countenance. What was to be, as they fondly imagined, their gain, was his loss, and with a full heart he came to bid them adieu.

      For Adeline he had conceived not only affection, but esteem amounting almost to veneration; for she appeared to him to unite various and opposing excellencies. Though possessed of taste and talents for literature, she was skilled in the minutest details of housewifery and feminine occupations: and at the same time she bore her faculties so meekly, that she never wounded the self-love of any one, by arrogating to herself any superiority.

      Such Adeline appeared to her excellent old friend; and his affection for her was, perhaps, increased by the necessity which he was under of concealing it at home. The praises of Mrs. Mowbray and Adeline were odious to the ears of Mrs. Norberry and her daughters—but especially the praises of the latter—as the merit of Adeline was so uniform, that even the eye of envy could not at that period discover any thing in her vulnerable to censure: and as the sound of her name excited in his family a number of bad passions and corresponding expressions of countenance, the doctor wisely resolved to keep his feelings, with regard to her, locked up in his own bosom.

      But he persisted in visiting at the Park daily; and it is no wonder, therefore, that the loss, even for a few months, of the society of its inhabitants should by him be anticipated as a serious calamity.

      'Pshaw!' cried he, as Adeline, with an exulting bound sprung after her mother into the carriage, 'how gay and delighted you are! though my heart feels sadly queer and heavy.'

      'My dear friend,' cried Mrs. Mowbray, 'I must miss your society wherever I go.'—'I wish you were going too,' said Adeline: 'I shall often think of you.' 'Pshaw, girl! don't lie,' replied Dr. Norberry, swallowing a sigh as he spoke: 'you will soon forget an old fellow like me.'—'Then I conclude that you will soon forget us.'—'He! how! what! think so at your peril.'—'I must think so, as we usually judge of others by ourselves.'—'Go to—go, miss mal-a-pert.—Well, but, drive on, coachman—this taking leave is plaguey disagreeable, so shake hands and be off.'

      They gave him their hands, which he pressed very affectionately, and the carriage drove on.

      'I am an old fool,' cried the doctor, wiping his eyes as the carriage disappeared. 'Well: Heaven grant, sweet innocent, that you may return to me as happy and spotless as you now are!'

      Mrs. Mowbray had been married at a very early age, and had accepted in Mr. Mowbray the first man who addressed her: consequently that passion for personal admiration, so natural to women, had in her never been gratified, nor even called forth. But seeing herself, at the age of thirty-eight, possessed of almost undiminished beauty, she recollected that her charms had never received that general homage for which nature intended them; and she who at twenty had disregarded, even to a fault, the ornaments of dress, was now, at the age of thirty-eight, eager to indulge in the extremes of decoration, and to share in the delights of conquest and admiration with her youthful and attractive daughter.

      Attractive, rather than handsome, was the epithet best suited to describe Adeline Mowbray. Her beauty was the beauty of expression of countenance, not regularity of feature, though the uncommon fairness and delicacy of her complexion, the lustre of her hazel eyes, her long dark eye-lashes, and the profusion of soft light hair which curled over the ever-mantling colour of her cheek, gave her some pretensions to what is denominated beauty. But her own sex declared she was plain—and perhaps they were right—though the other protested against the decision—and probably they were right also: but women criticize in detail, men admire in the aggregate. Women reason, and men feel, when passing judgment on female beauty: and when a woman declares another to be plain, the chances are that she is right in her opinion, as she cannot, from her being a woman, feel the charm of that power to please, that 'something than beauty dearer,' which often throws a veil over the irregularity of features and obtains, for even a plain woman, from men at least, the appellation of pretty.

      Whether Adeline's face were plain or not, her form could defy even the severity of female criticism. She was indeed tall, almost to a masculine degree; but such were the roundness and proportion of her limbs, such the symmetry of her whole person, such the