"minister to a mind diseased," still less can it "pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow." Mary's health and spirits had given way under the constant pressure of one bitter remembrance—she felt herself a burthen upon her mother, and in the way of her sisters; the very affection showed to her by the latter only made her think with deeper regret on what she might have done for them if things had gone differently. Then she was continually hearing of Lady Allerton's extravagance, and Lady Allerton's dissipation; and her conjugal quarrels were topics of common conversation. Mary could not avoid the thought, and the pang of "how much happier I could have made him!" Then she had so little to take her out of herself; her mother more and more discouraged her going out, and, indeed, she had neither strength nor spirits for the fatiguing gaiety of a London season.
"Not yet five and twenty, and she is a complete wreck," continued Mrs. Palmer; "yet I cannot but think that she would be much happier if she were well married. It is much more comfortable to have a house of one's own. I wish Mr. Glentworth may take a fancy to her."
"I do not think," said Isabella, seriously, "that Mary would marry any one, neither does Mr. Glentworth seem a marrying man."
"And pray," said Mrs. Palmer, half laughing, "what is your idea of a marrying man?"
"Why," replied Isabella, "most of the marriages
