the reader to the family circle at Mrs. Epsom's. Mrs. Trowbridge (we will call her so for the present) had just returned from rehearsal (Cooke having absconded before his time, leaving the prompter to read Penruddock) and was busied in selecting and preparing the dress and properties she intended for the character of the evening. Mrs. Epsom sailed majestically about the house, occasionally visiting the kitchen to see that Rachel the black girl executed her orders, then with dignified pace and action taking her seat by the parlour window, and after an abundant administration of snuff to her capacious nostrils, resuming her spectacles and her occupation of sewing. A book was open on the chair beside her : whether on morality or religion the reader must determine when he has perused to the end of this history. We rather think it was deposited there for what in playhouse technicalities is called study. Mrs. Trowbridge, or Mrs. Spiffard, as the reader pleases, was a vigorous square built woman of the largest English model; not only broad in frame but tall, and appearing still more so by the side of her Zebediah, who although a native of Vermont, it may be remembered was the very reverse of the long lank Yankee of the novelist and story-teller, or the towering and manly form of the real Vermonter; and she appeared the taller as she never lost an inch of her height by stooping, having a true tragedy elevation of head and a commanding carriage of the neck and shoulders. Her swan-like neck rose proudly from her chest, giving an air of pride as well as grace to the movements of the head, whose ornament was hair that in luxuriance and colour was truly Asiatic. Her arms were full, plump, white and terminated by small graceful hands. Her feet were rather large; they were decidedly not American. Her face was very remote from the painter's or sculptor's standard of beauty; yet might be called fine; complexion, a light brunette, but in spots rather ruddy. Forehead good, high, broad, white— strongly marked black eyebrows, which, with black eyes, and hair falling in masses of raven hue, gave powerful effect to the poet's passions, and sometimes to her own. She had a prominent full nose-red lips, somewhat thick, the upper one having rather a scornful curl towards its neighbour the impending nose, -when separated they displayed brilliant teeth-this congregation of features was finished by a square prominent chin, and the whole visage was slightly marked by disappointment. The aggregate gave indications of strong intellect, and, to the close observer, ungoverned passions. Her mother, who played the tragedy, or serious, old women of the Drama occasionally, was tall and thin, with a creamcoloured face, except the nose which was red, sharp, short and puggish-thin lips, the upper one of which (as well as her nose) was always discoloured with snuff her whole physiognomy hypocritical-and in her air was seen that mock dignity, and that swimming and sailing manner already mentioned. At the other window, so retired as that the light should fall on her work and not on her face, sat Emma Portland. She was intently employed in sewing; and her eyes being cast down in the direction of her needle, caused the long, dark, auburn lashes to be more apparent as contrasted with the brilliant white of her skin: they were relieved like the delicate touches of the pencil on a ground of snowy purity. When the fringed curtains of her eyes were raised, their azure tint and softness of expression caused fascination-not the fascination of the enchantress, but a holy attraction inspiring admiration, divested of all impurity, except when the beholder was impure. Complexion is evanescent-yet transparency and bloom add to the charms of form and expression. The most delicate tint of the damask roseleaf did not equal the colour of this maiden's cheek. peared by the purity and simplicity of her dress, the placidity of her countenance, the slender symmetry of her justly proportioned form, and the graceful movement accompanying this common domestic occupation, to contrast strongly with the majestic figure of one, and the worldly appearance of the other of her companions. She ap Emma was not yet eighteen, and looked two years younger when not speaking. When she spoke, a mind of maturity indicating many years appeared in the unveiled mirror of her soulher face which beamed with intelligence and intellectual beauty. Nor did her words belie her lovely countenance, or in the least disappoint the expectation which her all-expressive physiognomy had raised. Purity and truth-piety and love (heavenly love) were written on her countenance. Of her form and face it might be said with the poet, "There is nothing ill can dwell in such a temple." Her voice was musical As bright Apollo's harp strung with his hair, A spotless white morning dress covered her person from the feet to the chin. There was no studied art to display form, or coquettishly to conceal it; but the perfection of female loveliness was seen in every movement and in every limb. Her hair was auburn, fine and glossy as the richest silk; modestly braided, it formed a natural crown copeing her maiden brow; that portion which impinged upon the ivory of her forehead, was parted in the midst, and in ringlets hung clustering on either side, shading the blue veins of her temples, and sometimes as they waved, adding golden tinted shadows to the rich hues near them. Her face approached the oval in its form, with a portion of girlish roundness, which only added to its innocent expression when, as now, perfectly tranquil, and which expression of extreme youth was heightened by the glowing colour of her cheeks and lips. These lips were as usual two, and as the old poet says, "The one was thin, Compared with that was next her chin." Yet both were full, exquisitely curved and rounded, and parted by a line more resembling the bow of Cupid when unbent, than any thing merely mortal; within this mouth, the rows of brilliant, pearly teeth, were in unison with the honied breath and honied words which flowed from the healthful frame and healthful mind of this matchless maiden. With this beauty she possessed a higher, holier loveliness; proceeding from within. In her eyes you beheld the pure soul which never knew or thought deceit the charm of truth was spread over her countenance, but it shone in her eyes. She had read and heard of falsehood and arts of deceit, but they were theories with her-she confided in every one, because she felt her own sincerity and heretofore had no experience of the lack of it in others. She confided in all, and all confided in her. How could they avoid it? Truth was an innate and a practical virtue, which had such power in her voice that no human creature could doubt an assertion from her lips. She possessed another virtue-Charity. Charity in its widest sense-in its theory and practice. She thought charitably of all, and she acted charitably to all. She could not give money, or food, or clothing to the poor, but rarely and scantily: she could not send fuel to the cold, and sick, and shivering but she did more-she sought their abodes and cheered them with looks and words. She pointed out their cheerless dwellings to those who could supply their physical wants and alleviate their sufferings. : How came such a creature in such a place and in such company? We will tell the reader in few words. The father of Emma Portland left England, his native land, and took refuge in America, after the destruction of his family by the elopement of his sister with a worthless strolling player of the name of Epsom. This sister, though now such as we have seen her had then a showy kind of so-called beauty, was vain, and thought it would be a charming thing to receive the plaudits of the theatre-to be admired by hundreds, to stand aloft and dazzle thousands, and to be the wife of the tall, handsome, tragic actor, Mr. Adolphus Epsom. She was an only daughter, and her conduct killed first her father and subsequently her mother. Her brother, a well disposed young man, but with no extraordinary talents or acquirements, sought a home in Philadelphia, prospered in commerce, married one of the loveliest and best of women, and was blest by her perfections mental and physical-and more by the good conduct of a son and daughter, Thomas and Emma; so named from himself and wife. The children inherited the talents of the mother, and imbibed from her an ardent love of truth: the foundation of every virtue. Emma had in infancy the inestimable advantage of the example and instruction of an enlightened and good mother; and as her mind expanded, her beloved brother, some years older than herself, and devoted to science and literature, became her chosen companion, and instructor. Thus with every advantage which wealth, science, virtue and piety could surround her, she attained her fifteenth year. Then came a sad reverse. The father, heretofore a princely merchant, failed-sunk under the shock and died. The mother bowed her head to God, and rose higher and firmer from the conviction that to do his will was her duty and her happiness; that his will is the happiness of his creatures; and that her duty was to make her children and herself useful in the great work of promoting happiness. The brother and mother sought and found employment. Their sister and daughter cheered their labours and cheerfully added her own. Soon a lingering and cruel disease, the consumption, the conse quence, perhaps, of too severe study, was apparent in the flushed cheek and enfeebled frame of the brother. The mother seemed to melt away as her first born withered, as it is fabled that the victim of malignity sinks with the melting of the charm-fraught image moulded by the hand of accursed sorcery. Both died-resigned to the will of him who had given life and much happiness-thankful for the past and confiding in the future; they died-first the brother, then the mother, and left the orphan Emma-not alone and unprotected, for in our country the child of the wise and good cannot want friends. But Emma, though not friendless, was poor. Her mother had no near relations. Dependency upon strangers, however kind they may be, is a hard lot. In the meantime Epsom, his wife, and only child, a daughter, had emigrated to Boston, where he died. The wife and daughter, both on the stage, were prosperous in public favour. They visited Charleston South Carolina, New-York, and several of the principal cities. The daughter who had been educated for dramatic life, and used to it from childhood, married a well known young tragedian of the name of Trowbridge, and became a skillful tragic actress, far surpassing her instructor. Trowbridge died of the disease which destroys so many foreign actors of the middling class-intemperance; he attributed as usual the decline of his health altogether to the climate, and expired cursing the country. Mrs. Epsom and her daughter visited Philadelphia for the first time in their professional capacities and there by accident, that is, through the medium of an English merchant who knew Portland and his family history, Mrs. Epsom became acquainted with the situation of her niece. She might have neglected her, but her daughter had better feelings. She saw and admired the orphan. She could appreciate and even love the excellence which she could not imitate. Emma was visited and solicited to accept the home her aunt could offer. Emma Portland, by the advice of well meaning friends, who thought so young and beautiful a creature ought to be under the guardianship of her natural relations, (relations who were prosperous and of unimpeached character in general estimation) placed herself under the protection of her aunt and cousin. Her wardrobe was more than sufficient for her humble prospects, and a small sum, the savings from the wreck and subsequent industry, was secured at interest with the philanthropic banker, Stephen Girard. She was received with apparent kindness by the aunt, and with real admiration, which soon became affection, by the superior minded but unhappy cousin. Nay even the obtuse Mrs. Epsom became sensible that in Emma Portland she had no burden, but rather a treasure as respected her economical domestic arrangements, which were sometimes sadly neglected, owing to the duties and cares inseparable from the stage. With these relatives Emma removed to New-York, where they obtained a permanent engagement. In this situation, with people whose manners, maxims, |