e you advice, I need not assure you that I shall not mention a word
of what I have seen; but with all Corinne's accomplishments, I should
say, with Thomas Walpole, _of what use is all that at home_? And, you
know the _home_ is all with us, all for our women at least. Imagine to
yourself your beautiful Italian alone, while you are hunting or
attending your duty in Parliament; imagine her leaving you at dessert to
get tea ready against you shall leave table! Dear Oswald, depend upon it
our women possess those domestic virtues which are to be found nowhere
else. The men in Italy have nothing to do but to please the women;
therefore the more attractive they are the better. But with us, where
men have active pursuits, women must be satisfied with the shade. That
it would be a great pity to condemn Corinne to such a destiny, I freely
acknowledge. I should be glad to see her upon the throne of England; but
not beneath my humble roof. My lord, I knew your mother, whose loss was
so much lamented by your worthy father: she was a lady in every respect
like my young cousin. Such is the wife, which, were I at a proper time
of life, I should choose. Adieu, my dear friend, do not be offended at
what I have said, for nobody can be a greater admirer of Corinne than I
am, and I own to you that after all were I at your time of life, I doubt
whether I could have sufficient fortitude to renounce the hope of
becoming agreeable to her."--In finishing, these words, he took the hand
of Oswald, squeezed it cordially, and departed without receiving a word
in reply. But Mr Edgermond comprehended the cause of his silence, and
satisfied with a pressure of the hand from Oswald in answer to his own,
he went away, impatient himself to finish a conversation which was
painful to him.

Of all that he had said, only one word had penetrated the heart of
Oswald, and that was the recollection of his mother, and his father's
profound attachment to her. He had lost her when he was only fourteen
years of age, but he recollected her virtues with the most heart-felt
reverence, as well as that timidity and reserve which characterised
them.--"Fool that I am," cried he, when alone, "I wish to know what kind
of wife my father destined for me, and do I not know it, since I can
call to mind the image of my mother whom he so tenderly loved? What do I
want more? Why deceive myself in feigning ignorance of what would be his
sentiments now, were it in my power to consult his