Family Herald June 16 1860

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AM ILYa Domestic J5laga?me of

BE SLOW TO CHOOSE A FRIEND, AND MUCH SLOWBB

TO CHANGE HIM.

H E RALDUseful Information ant» amusement

SCORN NO MAN FOR HIS POVERTY ] HONOUR NO MAN

FOR HIS WEALTH.

No. 894.—VOL. X Y I I I ] F O R T H E W E E K E N D I N G J U N E 16 , 1860 . [PRICE ONE PENNY.

I F Y O F L O V E M E , S A Y S O !

Kate, I 've been six months, or nearly,

Paying my addresses ;I 'm con vince d you love me dear ly:

That your cheek confesses !But when other folks are by us,

Then you turn away so !—W h y so fearful they should eye us ?—

If you love me, say so ! *

W h y pretend, when Ma is near us ,That you care not for me ?

When you th ink no one can hear us ,Plainly you adore me !

Is it fair a loving suitor

Should implore and pray so TOh , remain no longe r neuter,—

If yo u love me, say s o !

L ike a darling, b e persuaded,

Ne 'e r again d e n y i t !W h y should true love thus be shaded ?

Folks are sure to spy it .What's t he use of such pr im d ealing ?

L o v e should never play so ;Put aside all prudish feeling—

If yo u love me, say so ! E. T. W.

T H E S T O R Y - T E L L E R.

D I S E N C H A N T M E N T .

In the interior of a midl and count y, and on the banks of the silverDerwent, with its jutting rocks and verdant slopes, stands a house whichwell deserves the name given to it by its founder of Wo od lan d Grange . Itis pleasantly situated on a slight eminence that overlooks the r iver ; andalthough the grounds about it are left almost in the wild luxuriance of nature,

yet with such true artistic effect has she disposed the trees, and varie d their

rich foliage, that it would seem almost a profanation for man to lay his han dsupon them, whether to prune or train. The site was evidently chosen by onewh o preferred solitude to socie ty, for the nearest village is three miles off;and only a few straggling farm-houses conn ect the man sion w ith Alford.Ye t a passer-by, gazing upon it in the luxuriant beauty of its summer array,

would never connect the idea of want or deficiency with it. Only the dwellersin that secluded home might sometimes weary, and wish for some companionship more congenial than sighing trees or the murmuring stream, r

Ellen Lee, the eldest daughter of the hou se, would often find the long days of

summer and evenings of winter heavy on her han ds; and, but for the libr ary,to whicn she had unrestrained access, wou ld hardly have k now n ho w topass her lonely and un occupie d hours. He r father had been a great novelreader; and in one corner of his library there were scores of volumes, someclaiming -for their parent age the first novelis ts of t he day, and others who seonly merits was that they had served to while away a leisure hour. Of course, this wa s ther portion of the library especially patronised b y Ellen,whose mother, busy with the care of the youn ger children, had thatvague, indefinitereverence for books often found in those who, comparativelyuneducated themselves, are accu stomed to associate with th e cultivated andthe intellectual. If Ellen were reading, she was well enou gh employe d. Mrs.Le e gave herself no further uneasiness.

Mr. Lee once interfered, in his careless, authoritative way, to ch eck thefire of Ellen's ardour. " Ho w many novels have you read this week ? " askedhe of his daughter, one afternoon, as, all absorbe d in some thrilling scene, shewas straining her eyes, in the deepening twilight, t o complete the chapter.

Ellen unwillin gly raised her eyes, and began to reflect. " Only t hree,".sa idshe, at last.

"T hr ee !" repeated Mr. Le e; "an d i t is only Frida y! Limit yourself hereafter to two a week."Ellen, sighed, but obeyed. Youth needs some outlet for the tide of emotions

and sympathies, that swell the heart in its first conscio us mov eme nts; and,having no companions and few visitors, she had found nearly all her enjoyment in her read ing, and centered on the heroes of imaginatio n the feelingand romance, whi ch her lonely and dreamy life had too early called intoactio n; for she was as yet not quite sixteen. He r lot was, in reality, aharder one than that of man y less richly endowed with the gifts of fortune.Her father preferred an isolated life, and, with a thoug htless selfishness, con

demned his own family to the seclusion he loved, without considering howseverely the privation of companion ship must press on the youn ger membersof his household. Indeed , Ellen herself hardly realised what she needed.She felt a void, an eager craving for something; and this she satisfied,at first, with the books her father's library afforded; and when thatstorehouse was exhausted*, she had recou rse to a circulatin g l ibra ryin Alford, of which she was the chief support. In consequence, she lived ina world as different from the real Orte as can well be imagin ed. The re was nomeeting of daily wants, whi ch she would have c alled sordid, by the fulfilment

of daily duties that seemed trifling to her. Ther e were no half-way measures,no compensations in her w orld, but heroes of exalted nobleness and refinement,ladies of axquisite beauty, awful perils, brave rescuers, generous self-devotion,and lifelong struggles with the m ost overw helmi ng distresses. She herself,in her "dre am-l ife, " filled the most opposite and ever-chan ging place s—nowa queen dispensing favours, and then an unowned orphan, rising, by beauty

and merit, to a rank equal with the highe st. Th e only thing that " gave herpause " in these imaginin gs wa s a hard fact that never could be overcome,nor would allow itself to be put to silence by any sophistry ; and this was herown personal appearance. She often tried to fancy herself a beauty soentrancing, that a crowded room wou ld hush itself into silence as she ente red;bu t that exceed ed her powe r of imag inati on. So passing, as her readingtaught her, from on e ext reme to another, she argued that, as she was not abeauty, she must be a fright, and was accustomed to bewail her want of personal attractions in such terms, that one unacquainted with the exaggerating medium th rough which she viewed everything, would be apt to think her hide ous. Ye t, althou gh her eyes .were gray, no t green, as she alwayscalled them, and her nose had a slight upw ard tendenc y, and her face wasrather square than oval, still a disinterested observer wou ld call her a plainbut agre eable-l ooking girl —a sort of pretty plainness, whi ch we see so oftenwhere refinement and spirit and gentleness throw such a glam our over the

face, that we are beguiled into admiration by our better judgme nt.

Thus time wore on, until Ellen's sixteenth birthday came roun d; andMrs Le e, apparently conscious,'for the first time, that her daughte r might bea youn g lady before very long , roused herself from the care of the littleswarm of juveniles about her, and proposed a pic-nic. She had lived so longout of the world that she hardly felt equal to a regula r party ; but if the youngpeople about would like to come and pass t he da y in -the beau tiful woodsaround their place, she would try to make it as delightful as she could.Ther e were boa ts for any wh o migh t enjoy a row on the river, fishing-rodsfor those who liked that sport, lover-like walks for the romantic, seats for thetired or the indolent, and a feast of viands at once substantial and delicatefor all.

Ellen was delighted w ith the idea, and so , it appeared, were the invitedguests, for the acceptances were almost unanim ous. Perhaps one reasonmight be that Mr. Lee was the acknowl edged rich man of the neighb ourhood, an d that invitations to the Gran ge came so seldom that the attractionof curiosity was added to all the rest.

It was a pleasant day in early summer. Since noon , parties on foot, onhorseback , and in carriages had all beeu wendi ng their way to Rocken End,

where a "marquee and pennons indicated the point of rendezv ous. Ther e,after having saluted their hostess, and complim ented her daugh ^r on thehono ur the sun and earth had both conspired to do her on this he r natal day,the one shedding his brightest beams, the other do nning her richest array,

they diverged to seek their own gratification after their own fashion.

Amid all the bustle of gaie ty around her, Ellen was too shy and unaccustomed to enter as she wished into the general enjoym ent. Th e bashfulnessengendered by her secluded life was strong upon her, fettering every movement, and maki ng her words come forth hesitatingly and slow. Before thefirst hour was o ver, she wished ever ybod y far away, and herself, " the worl dforgetting, by the world forgot," with her beloved book in her hand, dreaminglife away on the sofa. Besides, all abou t her struck her as com monp laceand uninteresting. The idle compliments of the young men, the gigglinglaugh of the youn g girls, the more formal nothings of the elder member s of the party, filled her with intense weariness. This was not the w or ld; thiswas not life. Surely, somewhere hearts throbbed to a higher strain; wordsladen with thoug hts of deeper mom ent fell from the lips. He r sympathies,ready fledged for flight as they were, folded their wings, and nestled closerthan ever in her breast.

" A h , there is my cousin Pemberton's carriage," said Mrs. Lee. "T he ycome rather lat e; but they live so far off I hardly expected them at all. "From the carriage alighted a young gentleman and lady. " Tha t must beWalter Pemberton and his sister Alice. I have not seen them since they werechildr en." An d Mrs. Lee advanced to greet them, and introduce them totheir young relative.

It would have been difficult to find two more gloriou sly b|autifu l huma nbeings than Walter and Alice Pemberton. The y were alike tall, dark-eyed,dark-haired, and regular ly featured; she was lithe, graceful, and swiftin move ment as a you ng fawn ; he stately, and with a leonine slowness andmajesty. .

Alas for Elle n, she had naturally beeu e ndowe d with a dangerous sensibility to beauty and gr ace ! By her peculiar mental training this had beendeveloped to the keenness and quickness of an instinct. Almo st with her firstglance her heart was taken captive.

There are a number of good books full of sage advice, as " Letters t o aDaughter ," " Y o u n g Ladies ' Friend ,' and a whole library of others, whosewise authors, with a singular unanimity, agree in hol din g up to everlasting

reprobatio n the young girl, who would a llow the straying o f a single th ough tto a man w ho has not g one throug h a lon g preliminar y process called" addressing," and at last plainly and manfully declared his " intentions."They are right, those wise peopl e. If ev eryb ody followed their good advice,

ho w much less would be the heap of misery that helps to fill the worl d! Butthere wou ld be some minor evils attending it. If Ellemfead r*ead and obeyed

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T H E F A MI L Y H E R A L D — A DOMES TIC MAG AZI NE OW J-June 1$ 1860,

those injunctions, this story would never hate been written. As it was, thosewere the very books she had never looked into. Her eyes had never been

opened to the unaccountable inconstancy and love of conquest, which sways tosuch an extent the stronger portion of our kind. She believed in heroes witha simpli city and entireness only to be found in one whose mind has been

nurtured, and fancy filled with the phanto ms o f imagi nation . She hadworshipped them in secret; and now one stood embodied before her. Ho w

could she, with her childlike want of penetration and know ledg e of th£world, and her woman's power .of feeling, discover that the glor ious outsidewas all that nature, seldom lavish, had bestowed on "Walter Pemberton ? thatthose large dark eyes were brilliant with youth , n ot light ed by intellect ?

that the brow was serene, not from self-control, but the wan t of thou ght ?

that the lo w, sweetly modulated voice was the gift of nature, not the w ork of feeling and cultivation ? that no purpose higher than vanity or love of ease

swayed that noble and powerful frame ?

Walter Pemberton was not unconscious of the effect he had produced. Hewas too well aware of his own advantages to be surpr ised; but as outw ardlyall deference and attention, and internally elate and triumphant, he stood bythe side of the young girl and watohed the deepening colour on her cheek, andthe soft lig ht rising to her eye, he though t that perhaps this picnic, that hehad vo ted a bore , mig ht prove the means of retrievin g his wasted fortune andposition almost lost. He had been left an orphan with an independ ent fortunewhen quite you ng. Alre ady, at the age of twent y-fou r, he had spent all thathe possessed and a part of his sister's portion. The rest was saved to her onlyby the interposit ion of relatives less genero us than herself. Y et his t empera-men t was so easy, and his self-complacency so unvarying, that he hardly seemedto feel his situation, o r recog nise the necessity for exerti on. As heretofo re, hewas first in every scene of amuseme nt or gaiety , apparently as ready to enjoy

himself as ever. But in truth he had begun to reflect, as deeply as the nature

of his mind woul d allow, on the subject of ways and m eans; and the only

idea which he could persuade h imself to accept, as comb inin g all that hedesired in itself, was the brilliant and nove l one of marry ing an heir ess; and,as if he had so me will ing genius, as a slave, to wor k out for him his volitio ns,no sooner had he made up his mind to this eourse, than the heiress appearedready wo n at the first glance. Wh il e his lips dropped words of soft but vagueimport his mind was busy in calculations of the hardest and most real kind.H e was estimating the pro babl e value of Mr . Lee 's large estate, and the share

the simple, credulous, blush ing girl at his side wou ld receiv e. H is ca lculation swere satisfac tory; and his tones grew tenderer, while his dark eyes spoke

volumes to those timid orbs, whos e lids lifted themselves so seldom and so

slowly.

This was a day long to be rem embered by Ellen Lee. Never were visionsof any opium- eater more full of ineffable splendou r and conte nt. Feel ing,emotions, indefinite, misty, yet strangely potent, filled her heart an d occupiedher mind. She could no t think ; she neither hope d nor feared; she only felt.Walt er Pemberton hovered about her as her shado w; but his sister, alwaysnear him, preve nted his dev otion from being so apparent as to be the object of remark. People only thought it natural that the young relatives should enjoy

each other's society, and Mrs. Lee, glad to be released from the chaperonage towhich Ellen's timidity had c ondem ned her, took advan tage of the genera lfestivity .to slip a way unobserv ed by the gay thron g. Mr . Lee app earedamong them late in the evenin g only in time to receive their parting saluta

tions and attend the ladies to their carriages, pleading, as an excuse for hisabsence, that convenient apology, a distressing headache.

Ellen sat at her wi nd ow lon g after she had retired to her room, looking out

on the soft moo nlit landscape, and yiel ding herself to the strange sweet reveries

that youth, and hope, and love, were awakening in her heart, when the soundof a guitar, accompanied by a full deep voice that she knew already but too

well, floated on the air:—

•I arise from dreams of thee—and a spirit in my feet

Hath led me—who knows how ?—to thy chamber-window, sweet.

These words, half sung, half spoken, came on the gentle night-breezes tothe ear of the listen ing gir l; and E llen 's sleep for that night was effectuallybanished.

The summer wore away. Gradually E llen's feelings and visions took a

definite form, greatly helped to this by the practical matter-of-fact nature of Walter 's own min d. The y had met often durin g the interval, sometimes ather own h ome , but oftener at little gatherings in the neighb ourhood ,to which she no longer showed an aversion; and in time Ellen had learned tolook upon Walte r as an ack nowledged lover, and then as an accepted suitor.She was too untaugj|it in the ways of the world to think it strange that heshould suggest t^B^expediency of keeping their engag ement secret for a fewmonths. Ij gftfcS her ow n disposition to shun publ icity, especially in herdeepest and m%t sacred feelings. She wished to keep her new-foun d treasure

to herself for* Awhi l e , before allowing even her nearest friends a share in it.Jn time they woul d kno w it; and that all would approve her choice shedoubted not. In her fancies, her " true love had nev er run smoot h ; " but

no w that it had come to reality, she could not endure to think for one momentof any obstacle or oppo sition intervening. Wa lte r had no one but him self toconsult. Her parents had alw ays been kind and indulg ent. In the man of he r choice she could see no defects ; and she fondly fancied that all must look

upon him with her eyes. •

But time and chance took the matter into their own hands, and brough t to

nought Walter Pemberton 's well-laid scheme. A little scene between Walterand Ellen, to which Mr. Lee was an unsuspected witness, gave him an idea of th e true state of affairs. A few questions to Elle n brou ght out all that wa sto be told. A little investigation into Mr. Pemberton's character and worldly

condition revealed his r§al poverty, and worse than pover ty, in both respects.

• Mr. Lee was not arbitrary nor unsympatheti c; on the contrary, it was areal grief to nim to feel that duty required him to inflict so much present

borrow on his dau^tter. But he was absolute and unrelenting when hi s

decision wa s once made . Mr . Pemb erton was forbidde n the house, and Ellenwas to hold no communication with him.

Here now was a position precisely like that of half the heroines ove r whose

woes she had shed prophetic tears. But..the feeling that she made one inthe long procession of love-lo rn damsek was a poor consolation to her now.She passed whole days and nights in weeping. Almo st literally she wasdissolving in tears. W a s there anything else in life worth living for ? Werenot her hopes crushed, and her heart made desolate ? Those were the sentiments w hich , in a variety of forms, filled her diary. Her parents felt thatsome change was needed to divert her mind, and resolved to send her away toa distant boarding-school..

The afternoon before she we nt away, after payi ng some farewell visits to

her friends at Alford, she was walking * slowly homewards, when Mr.Pemberton suddenly sprang over the fence, and joi ned her. He had seen her

from a distance, and hastened to meet her to say farewell.

They walked together for some distance, not even Ellen's reverence for herfather's commands being great enough to overcome this first strong impulseof he r heart. A t last, she forced herself to bid him adieu, and dismiss him;and, as she wrote afterwards in her diary, " the bitterness is over."

They parted with a promise of keepin g faith with each other until Ellenwas twenty-on e. "T he n, " said she, " I can surely be allowed to judge formyself. Suppos e my father does choose to withhold from me any share of hisproperty, that is nothing, is it, Walter ? "

" No thi ng ! noth in g! " said he, emphatically. " Has he said that,d e a r e s t ? "

" Oh, yes ! and he alw ays does what he says ; but that is a trifle. I should

be distressed, though, not to have his consent."

" Yes, dear, it is a hard thing to marry against the consent of one's parents.

Perhaps he will relent."

" Oh, no! he never will do tha t ! "

They parted sorrowfully and reluctantly. Ellen wou ld have grieved stillmore but for her resolution to sh ow herself a miracle of constancy. But shehad not the opportu nity. She had been away from hom e for two years, only

returning at lo ng intervals and when Walte r was not in the neigh bourh ood;

for he r rather becam e more and mor e determined to prevent their meetingagain. If Wa lte r had been a less honou rable man, Elle n often thoug ht he

would nave contri ved some means of seeing her for a few moments at least;but she esteemed him the m ore for his strict attention to her father's prohibition. Durin g her last visit at ho me, she heard various rumour s of his

devotion to a rich widow many years older than hims elf; but she smiled asshe listened to the reports, and thought how little the gossips knew the real

feelings of him, whose name seemed at that time to be on every one's lips.

The next winte r she read in a newspaper flie marriage o f Wal ter Pemb ertonand M rs. Lan g, with a shock of indigna tion and surprise that thrilled throughher whole frame. The n came the pan g of a grief bitter and hopeless,followed by a season of abject, spiritless despair, all ver y real and strongfeelings, wh ich he w ho had caused the m wo uld have regarded, i f he hadknow n them, with a stupid kind of wond er, or, perhaps, as a very good joke,

or a proper tribute. Fortun ately, she was living amon g those who knewnothi ng of her secret eng age men t; and the m elanch oly she could not concealthey attributed to too muc h study, or someth ing of the kind. He r fatherwas sent for in con seq uen ce; and" he t ook her into Wa les , where , amidscenery so grand and m ajestic, her o wn sorrows seemed petty, and fadedgradually away.

On their return, Mr. Lee decided to remove from the neig hbou rhoo d; and

so it happened that eight years passed away since the time Ellen said farewellto Wa lter Pemberton, before she met him again. Meantime, he had becomea widower.

Wh en Ellen was twenty-four, she would have attracted attention everywhere as a graceful, accom plished, and refined wom an. Mo re mature in

judgment than in years, wi th a m ind hi ghl y cultivated, manners formed byintercourse w ith the best society, and a taste in dress faultlessly exquisite,the most careless observer would have recognised her at once as a high-bredlady. A great part of this improvement was due to her father, who,perceiv ing the mistake he had made in leavin g a girl with so quick a mindand vivid imagin ation so muc h to her ow n gu idance in intellectual matters,

had tried to retrieve his error b y makin g her his friend and compa nion aswell as chi ld; and, between the two, the natural affection common to therelation of parent and child had dev eloped into a sentiment of profound,tender, and unlimi ted confidence .

About this time, business required that some members of the Lee familyshould return to the Grange for a little whil e ; and, as M r. Lee had becomesomew hat of an invalid, he deputed Ellen and her youn ger brother Henr y to

go in his stead. Ellen en joyed very muc h this return to the haunts of her

chi ldhood; and her rides and walks into Alford to see her old friends there

were frequent. An undefined feeling, partaking somewhat of the nature of awish yet dread, divided her heart whenever she thought o f Wal ter Pemberton. Yet, on the whole, she decided she would far rather not meet him.

Lat e in the afternoon b efore she was to leave, she was walkin g home fromher farewell visits at Alford, idly musing, as her slow footfall crushed theearly daisies, on the past and present, and congratulatin g herself, yet with akind of regret, for whic h she took herself severely to task as foolish andcontemptible, on having escaped a rencontre that might have awakened toomuch feeling even yet—for Ellen's was rather an affectionate, long-suffering,

than a resentful nature—when a hasty step and a " Good evening, Miss Lee,"disturbed her reverie, and startled her for a mo men t so, she could hardly

return the salutation. Wa lter Pem berto n was beside her, and evidentlyinten ding to be her comp anion for the rest of the way.

After the first feeling of surprise and annoyance was over, and Ellen's self-possession had returned, she was glad that this had happened. No w she

could compare the beautiful and heroi c ima ge of her early love, which evenyet had kept a sort of secret throne for itself in the deepest recesses of he r



J u n e 16 , I860.) "USEFUL INFOR MAT ION AN D AM US EM EN T. 99

heart, and beside which all the men wbom she had met showed slight and

unwor thy, with the real being , and see ho w he stood the test.

They conver sed; and Ellen weighe d and criti cised his words , so meagre in

ideas, so incorrect in express ion, with the exqui site nicety of a mind trained

to appreciate sense in co nversation and preci sion in lang uage b y lon g inter

course with the educated and refined. Her taste, even more than her judg

ment, condemned him. She looked to see if she could still recognise the

wonderful regularity and beauty of feature that had made him seem to her

like a being apart, an emb odimen t of the old Grecian statues. She met his

glance bent on her with a look of mingled admiration, respect, and surprise.

T'he years that had passed over her since they p arted h ad added to her

tharms. Al l that she had in early youth , she still retained. Th e freshness

and the round ed contour were still ther e; and, besides her high- tone d,

Upright mind, her delicate nurture, her gentle, loving heart, strengthened by

time and patient culture, had triumphed over her irregular features, and

given to them an expression at once so attractive and so full of dign ity, that

by every one the epithet lovely would be ascribed to her.

A chang e, the same in cause, but yet different in effect, had passed over

Walter ; His mind, too, had left its traces on his countenance. The poor

and gross elements of his nature had marred and blurred the glor ious casket.

T h e almost god-like beauty of his early years had passed away with his yout h.

Al l about him now was of the earth, earthy; and Ellen's love, as it had sprung

up in. a few hours, faded and died, for there was a worm at the root. Now ,

her only wish was to escape from her long walk with one who recalled so

many memories that made her shrink within herself, and blush with vexation

and self-reproach.

Th e walk and the time were suggest ive of all such recollect ions . Th ey

hardly passed a shrub or tree that did not recal some vow from him, some

tear or word of love from her. Each saw that the other was remembered.

To her, the memory brought only shame and annoyance—to him, a feeling of

gratified vanity and a triumphant elation, that, unfortunately for him,

overpowered prudence. Blinded by the thick film of self-complacent egotism

and folly, he ventured to allude to the past with regret, an d ask hope for the

future. He spoke of her father's crue l unkindness in separating two so fondly

attached, and hinted that, though his relations in life had changed, his feelings

had always been the same.

Elle n heard him to the end. The only remark to which she vouchsafed a

reply was the one that referred to her father.M

Yo u mistake, Mr. Pem

ber ton ," said she, calmly, in a low , clear tone, vibrating with repressed anger

and scorn, " in callin g my father unkind. He has always bee n my best and

truest frien d; and I have no greater cause for gratitude to him than for the

course he pursued on the occasion to which you refer. I have felt that for

year s; but never have been so fully convinced of it as now. Good evening."

They parted at the very tretfwhere once she had wept so bitter ly, with her

head upon his shoulder, promising eternal truth. She could not endure to

think of it. Those three months, that once in her foolish fondness she called

the happiest part of her life, she would now have blotted from her memory at

almost any sacrifice. She valued her own opin ion of hersel f; and it lowe red

her in her own esteem to think she had given care and love to such a man.

Disenchanted completely, she returned to her father's house. She married,long after her days of romance were over, one whom her judgment and taste^

as well as heart, approved. P. F.

T H E L I L Y . — A SIMILE.

T h e boisterous winds with force assail,

A n d devastating sweep the vale ;Y o n l i ly, bending to the gale,

Submiss ive b o w s its head ;

But past the storm, and Phoebus bringsHis cheering rays, with zephyrs' wings ;

T h e flower elastic upward springs,Its fears of danger, fled.

So 'neath the sto rm of adverse fate

T h e virtuous heart, in goodness great,

W i t h constant ho pe will patient wait,

W h i l s t heaven is overcast.

Secure , wit h placid front and mie n,

Though c louded no w, the sun serene

Wil l shed his g l o r y o'er the scene

W h e n stormy winds are past.

P E N N A .

S E L F - W I L L ; OB, THE H A S T Y M A E R I A G E .

CHAPTER X .

T he comfort of meeting their son and soothing their parental anxiety by at

leasb witnessing his c onduct , and at times sharing his society, was denied to

Lord and Lady Arden, for long ere their plan of visiting the continent could

be put in execut ion, the caprice and restlessness of Edgar h ad found a new

object of pursuit. They received intelligence from him that he had met a

gentleman who pro posed visiting the Greek islands, and the prospe ct of novelty

such a scheme held out to him was too tempting to be reject ed. He had

determined to acco mpan y his friend on the projected tour, and had no doubt

that he should return to Engl and a different man, cured of his restless disp o

sition, and restored to health and peace. He expatiated largely on the benefits

he was to derive from the excur sion, and spok e confidently of returning from

it an altered being, seeming quite t o have forgotten ho w lately he had ackn ow

ledged that the little grat ificati on hi s travels hitherto had afforded him arose

he was conscious from his own state of mind, whic h had cast its own sombre

shade on every object; but the time was not ye t arrived when hewas to be

convinced that it actually was his own fault that he was not, like others,

capable of real enjoyment. / -

Lady Arden sighed as she perused his letter, for she distrusted his sanguine

predictions, but to oppose was vain. She had ever been accustomed to practise

resignation to the decrees of Provide nce, and her forti tude did not now forsake

her. To Lor d Arden the cond uct of his son was a source of affliction so acute

that it threatened to shorten his days, and to the unceasing efforts of his wife

to support his spirits it was probably owing that he did not sink uhder it.

The communication between the m and their old friends the Denbe ighs wa#r

quite suspended. Sir Herber t could not forget the disappointment he had

sustained, and tho ugh happy in the virtues and merits of Sir Edwa rd Anville,

he had never ceased to regret secretly the extinc tion of his hopes with regard

to Edgar.

Soon after Lady Anville's return to Engla nd, the marri age of her friend,

Lady Elizabeth, took place, and it was shor tly succ eeded by that of their

mutual c ompanion, the lively Emil y Warham , now Duchess of Charlemont.

In the happiness of her early companions Sophia took a share, though he*

ow n was considerably damped by the deplorable state of health to which Sir

Edward was reduced, and her life for some years was passed in attending him

to the different places to which he was ord ered b y his physi cian, and finally

in a long and gloomy attendance on a sick bed. Devot edly attached to her,

Sir Edward could seldom bc* j he r from his sight lon g tog ethe r; and every

virtue which Nature, aided by the attentive care of Lady Caroline Newton,

had impla nted in the breast of Sophia, shone forth in a situation the mo st

trying to a young and beautiful woman of a disposition to enjoy the advan

tages her situation conferr ed; but Sophia passed the ordeal with honour to

herself. No temptati ons could allure her to quit the apartment of her

husban d, and in soot hing his hours of suffering, and the delight she saw her

presence afforded him, she found an ample recompense for all her self-inflicted

privations.

F r o m Miss Irvi ne, Lady Anvill e's meritorious conduct reached the ear of

Lady Arden , wh o felt an added pang from the recollection that her son had

thrown from him in her " A pearl richer than-all his tribe," and in this

excellent woman had rejected the means of happiness once within his reach.

T he accounts from Ed ga r spoke of the pleasures of his tour, his rapture at

the beautiful classic scenes through whi ch ne trav elled, and his resolut ion to

view all of Greece and the Mediter ranean that he could explore before he

returned to his native country. Wi th Greece he was charmed, " though

living Greece no mor e. " Still, all he saw w&s new and wonderfu l. In his

letters to Irv ine he was enthusiastic o n the subject. He was on the poin t of

Athens. " The re, " said h e, " we must pause some time. My mind I hope

is in a better frame to view and enjoy the wondrous ruins of Athens, than it

was when I contemplated those of Home, and I anticipate infinite gratifica

tion from viewing the stupendous monuments of art which abound in this

ancient cit y. I am charmed with what I hear o f it, but do not fear that any

fair Athenian, any lovely Ida of Athens, should detain me there a willing

captive. To female beauty I am in future a perfect Stoic, and shall encounter

Grecian loveliness with the apathy that on that subject will henceforth sway

my feelings. No ! Inanimate forms alone and the great works of antiquity

will employ my time and engage all my attention; and in contemplating the

wonders of the Parthen on, the Acropolis, and the ruins of the Temp le of

Theseus, I shall cease to remember that sorrow and imprudence have

embittered the days that are gon e by, and shall be a ccumul atin g a store of

future pleasure in "conversing with you, and in relating and comparing all we

have both read and seen."

Irvine, like Lad y Arden, was not so sanguine as to imagine that Edgar

had yet attained tnat state of mind calculated for real happiness. That he

wished his friends to beli eve so was evide nt; but there was an ill-supported

gaiety in the style of his letters which convinced those who knew him intimately, that his vivacity was not from the heart.

Tw o years elapsed in long and extended wanderings. At that period Edgar

returned into It al y; and at Naples, which he had not before visited, fixed his

abode for some time. Fr om thence he visited Sicily, and at last became

acquaint ed wi th some families of distin ction, in who se society he lost the wish

of returning immediately to Englan d. Time insensibly wore away, and still

he lingered. No t that he disliked his native land, or preferred a continental

residence, but that he long rejected, even with loathing, a return to those'

scenes which reminded him of his early errors. Lo ng since had he been

convinced how widely he had erred in judgm ent, but he could not bear the

retros pect; and it was not till added years and experience had corrected that

pride of heart which had led him astray that he felt and acknowled ged his

ow n insufficiency and the over -weening vanity which had misled him. He

seldom mixed with the English who resorted to Naples, and therefore heard

little of his own country except from the letters of his mother and Ir vin e;

and the only circumstance that recalled it and its inhabitants forcibly to his

memory, and bitterly revived thfc former incidents of his life, occurred at a

masqued ball given by the Marchesa della Cara, which he visited in company

with some Italian friends.

T he palazzo of the marchesa was much frequented by the Eng lis h; but

beneath the disguise of a masque they were not distinguishable, and Edg ar

never voluntarily sought their soci ety. A female masqu e in the habit of an

English peasant girl on this evening afforded him no small amusement by her

wi t and vi vaci ty; and he was strongl y tempted to think, from her manners

and appearance, that she was his countrywoman in reality. Desirous t o

ascertain w hethe r she actually was Engl ish , he accented her in that language;

and her answer convinced him h e was right in his conjecture. In a masque

rade tone he added, " Thou art a long way from home, pretty maiden. Wh at

part of England , I pray thee, hast thou strayed from?"

" N o t farther than yourself, signor, I suspect," she replied. " M y happy

home was once the town of ——-, in •• • shire."

T h e place she named was only a mile or two from Arden Hall , and an

involuntary start was visible as the name reached his oar.

" Do you know the spot , s.ignor ? " said she.

" Th e name is familiar to me ," he answered. " I have visite d that part of

England formerly. Know you any great family in that vicinity ? " „

" Th e Arden estate," she replie d, '4 s adjoining to the place I speak of. It

belongs to an excellen t noble man, whose son is in this part of the Continent

now, I am told."u

And are you also acquainted with him ? " asked Edgar .

MI have no wish to know more of him than I do at present/* she answered?

£ and that, save by report- is little enou gh, Li ke me, I understand, he is



100

wandering somewhere on this side of the Alps; but, if you are English, youmust ha ve heard of h im ; he refused th e hand of one of our first British

beauties."" Ind eed ! " said Edg ar, with affected surprise. " But pe rhaps his heart

was pre-engaged."" Oh! he has no heart," she rep lie d; " or, if he has, it is in substance

like adamant, a nd so frozen by self-conceit that I hear not even Italian sunscan thaw its icy conte xture . In E ngl and he is esteemed a perfect maleprototyp e of a certain Barbara Allen famed in son g."

Edgar could not forbear laughing at this whimsical description of himself,tender as he was on the subject.

" But was there no allowanc e," said he, " to be made for this unfortunate

man, or is he to b e conde mned withou t mercy for not falling in love with alady he had never seen, for such I understand was the case ? "

" You appear to be well informed on this matter," said she, arch ly. " Butif you should happen to know the gentleman in question, pray do not tellhim what I have been saying, nor, for the world, whisper in his ear that thelady he reject ed is one of the happiest of her sex in marriage. It w oul d be apity to destroy that happy fence of vanity which encircles his heart an ddefends it from attack."

Edgar looked steadfastly at her without again speaking, for she had assailedhim where most vulnerable, and, in an instant, all his old feelings wererecurring with violence, and while he hesitated what answer to make to sucha singular attack, the mask, say ing, " Be sure you do not repeat my flippancyto yo ur friend, if he should happen to be such ," glided from his sight, and lefthim standing alone in the crowd forgetful of all around hi m save the singularbeing who had so strangely discovered him, for that he was known to her hecould not doubt.

Edgar saw no more of the fair peasant, but her words rang in his ears longafterwards, and it was some mont hs ere he could think on her with compo sure;

he had vainly tried to trace the mask. There were numerous Engl ish presentthat evening, but not one with whose name he was acquainted, and he wascompelled to remain in uncertainty.

Months and even years rolled on, and still Edgar loitered in Naples and itsenvirons till, roused by the expostulations of Irvine, who informed him of theincre asing i ll health of his father, he at length dete rmined to bid adieu toItaly and return to his native country. Wit hin the last few months a greatalteration had taken place in his disposition and s entiments ; he seemed tohave awakened from his long dream of vanity and become at length sensibleof his errors and anxious to atone for them. And what wonderful cause hadwro ugh t such a chan ge in a min d heretofore so elate with self-satisfaction an dthe pride of huma n reason ? It had bee n accomplished by no miracle, nor hadan y supernatural pow er been called forth to recal h im to the path of peace ; thesimple efforts of one humbl e individua l had sufficed, and the naturally strongmind of Edgar was rapidly regaining its full powers when Irvine's warningsreached him.

Th e painful idea of his father's da nger and of having himself contributed toit, ma de Ed gar wre tched, and he felt as if he could not too soon fly to England ,

solicit his father's forgiveness for his lon g negl ect, and render his parents 'latter days happy by his presenc e. No t, as formerly, wer e his plans hastilyformed and rashly execute d ; he no w took time for deliberation and becameonly more confirmed in his resolution.

Edgar was not long in bidding adieu to his Italian connections; he hadformed no strict intimacy with any of that country except one individual.Thi s was a pious ecclesiastic , to who m he had become accidentally know n ; aman of eru dition and wo rth, wh o, pleased with the desire he perceiv ed in theyoung Englishman to gain information, had kindly assisted him, and by theaid of Father Paulo, Edgar had made no inconsiderable additions to his stock of knowledge. Gradually he had become very intimate with the good monk,whose quiet, good sense, placid demeanour, and unaffected piety, early in their

acquai ntance had irresistibly interested h im. Th e faults in the character of Edg ar were easily discernible, and when on increasing intimacy he laid openhi s heart to hi s ag ed friend, and related to hi m the narrative of his wanderings, it required much less discernment than Father Paulo possessed notto see that his o wn imp etuos ity of character had le d to all his subsequentmisfortunes. Gent ly, and with no bitterness of reproof, the good man attempted

th e task which yet could never be effected, of convin cing Edga r of this truth;but for Father Pau lo the vict ory was reserved . In the retirement of a monastery near the foot of Vesuvius, and ove rlooki ng the site o f the ruins of Pompeii , the holy man lived—

Remote from man, with God he passed his days. Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.

Here Edgar was permitted to visit him, and while rambling amidst thewonderful monume nts o f antiquity, and viewing the effects of that divine visitation which laid lo w the pride of two ancient cities, with no compani on buthis aged friend, whose mind, raised by constant religious meditation above thethings of this world, seemed already in heave n; the trifles which had hithertoengaged his time and attention diminished in his ey es ; he wondered that hecould so long have remained insensible to his own errors and his best interests,and when Irvine's letter, stating his father's illness, reached him it found himin a frame of mind best calculated to lead him to act as the writer wished.

By the advice of his m onitor, Father Paulo, Edgar instantly prepared forhi s return to England, and of this faithful friend he took a last leave with

feelings of veneration and attachment, which accompanied him to the grave,and often in after years was he hear d to declare that the precepts and adviceof the good monk had laid the foundation of that reform of character whichle d to the permane nt happiness of his future life.

CHAPTERX I ,

Exact ly eight years had elapsed since the period of Edgar Arden's quittingEnglan d, when tmce more he made his appearance in the great wo rld.Rigidly adhering to his determination, he had never once breathed the name

of Lad y Anville or her friend, even to his mother or Irvi ne; but perhaps hewould have been as wel l pleased if they h ad n ot so pertina ciously observedhis former injunctio ns to silence on the subject. In vain by distant hints

and inuendoes did he try to lead to it. Lad y Arden did n ot seem to under

stand him, and Irvine resolutely avoided all allusions to the Denbeigh family.He certainly did not think Edg ar's former co nduct merited the gratificationhe could no w have afforded him , and all his friends joined in conce aling fromhim every particular of the fate of the wo man he had rejected.

W h e n , after a s omew hat lo ng stay at the Hal l, Edgar did visit town , it isprobable that a latent wish to hear of the fair friends would have prom ptedhim to inquiries whic h, from various sourc es, woul d have procured him theinformat ion he so ug ht ; bu t his pride see med to forbid the exertion, and he

resolutely refrained. It is true that at the opera or the theatre his eyes werecast round with a look of eagerness that seemed to tell he was seekingsome particular object. It was on one of these occasions that, in a box at nogreat distance, he perceived his old travelling compa nion Warham. Therecognition was mutual at the same moment , and War ha m almost imme diately joined him, and now first Edgar heard of his sister's marriage.

" Emily ," said Warham, " though become a widow by the death of theDuke o f Charlemont, who was considerably older than herself, is still the.lifeand spirit o f the gay wo rld. Yo u must suffer me to introd uce you to her.Her house is the most delightful in Lond on, and I know you will like heramazingly."

Edg ar tac itly assented, and was presented by his friend to the Du ch ess ;she was a fine, elegant woman, with a countenance of extreme animation andarchness, an d of manners the most goo d-na ture d and easy. In a ver y shorttime Edg ar foun d himself perfectly at ease with her, thou gh on first enteringthe box a confused association of ideas, to which the recollection of his formerdetermination to avoid Emily W arh am had una voidably led, made him appearabsent and embarrassed.

It is very possible that the duch ess, when his nam e was pron ounc ed byher brother, could accou nt for the con fusion whic h, in spite of his wishes,would appear. He r eyes, by nature remarkably keen and penetrating,seemed to dart a hasty glance over his person; and n o doubt every circumstance relating to hi m, in whi ch, for the sake o f her friend, she had once

taken sucji an interest, occur red to her mind ; f or the look she gave him waslong impressed on the memory of Edga r, but it was transient. In an instant

she reco vered the graceful ease whic h in g eneral distinguished her, and she' entered into a livel y conve rsatio n with the gentl emen of her p arty, with outagain regard ing him with any peculia r expressio n. He r wit was brilliant andkeen; but there was no appearance of ill-nature. On the contrary, good

humour beamed from her laughing features, and spoke in every action.

Before he was aware of it, E dga r foun d himself on the best possible termswith his n ew acquainta nce, and had promise d to dine with her in comp anywith Warham on the following day.

It see med as tho ugh the duchess was now desirous to cultivate an in timacywith the man wh om she had form erly so severely censured. She receivedhim at her ow n splendid mansion w ith a cordia lity the most pleasi ng; she

was evidently assiduous in her attentions, and directed her conversation morefrequently to him than to others, though there was a large party present.Speaking of Italy and of Rome in part icula r, she said, " I find from mybrother that we were very near meeting yo u the re; but I suppose, like manyother sensible travellers, you preferred the society of its inhabitants, an dwisely recollected that yo u could enjoy that of your own country at home."

Edg ar hesitated a moment, for his conscience suggested truly that hedeserved no such praise; but as he could not explain the real motives of hisconduct, he only said, " Perhap s I shou ld have acted still mor e wisely if Ihad yielded to the solicitations of Warham, and joined your party."

" Y o u could not have failed in finding it agree able, " she said ; " th ou gh o nrecollection, some of the ind ividuals that composed it, I believe were knownto you."

" N o ," said Edgar ; " they were all strangers to me," and his countenanceassumed an expression bord ering o n sadness, whic h in an instant seemed tocheck the utterance of someth ing the duchess was on the point of saying withthe same archness of look which had so powerfully struck him on his intro-troduction to her the preceding evening. Almost turning her face from him,

she only quietly said, " I belie ve, indeed , that my brothe r said you were notknown to %e Anvilles."

Edga r summ oned up all his resolution and answered, " N o , to my misfortune, I am not."

The duchess looked as if she knew not what to rep ly ; and after a mome nt'spause Edgar went on.

" Your Grace," said he, " must be aware that peculiar circumstances of mylife rendered an introduction to Sir Edward Anville a matter of delicacy, whichin the then irritable state of my mind and spirits I felt unable to encounter;and ev en now , tho ugh years hav e rol led on, and the affair by the wor ld isforgotten, it is a subject to whi ch I can never bear allusion with any com

posure even by my chosen friends."

The duchess only gravely bowed, and turned from him. Edgar followed her,and another opportunity almost immediately occurring, he said, " I need not,I think, ask you r grace to pa rdon me, and to make allowa nce for the petulanceof a disappointed man."

" I rather think it is I wh o ough t to ask pardon for inflictin g unintentionalpain," said she, with a smile of irresistible good hum ou r; " but the fact is,

Mr. Arden, that yo u had formerly the ill-fortune to excit e my most determinedinveter acy. Tha t time is however, as you observe, ove r and ough t to beforgot ten. By me it shall be no more alluded to, thoug h methinks you shouldendea vour to bear a recurrence to it with out discom posur e, seeing that it ismarvellously likely that even in this very room, if you are not frightened fromfrequentin g it, you may chanc e to meet some of the a ctors in this very terribleaffair; for it must b e kn own to yo u that they are amo ngst my earliest andmost intimate friends."



June 16, I860.] U S E F U L I N F O R M A T I O N A N D A M U S E M E N T . 101

Ther e seemed now an openin g for learning what he most particularlywished to know, and availing himself of it, he said, with as much indifferenceas he c ould assume, " Lad y Eliza beth Keswi ck, too, was inclu ded in y ourcontinental party, I think."

" She was," answered the du chess; " and you know , of course, that she nolonger bears that name."

" I have heard that she is married," he replied; "b ut her present name ortitle I never recollect to have been told."

" Is it possible," said the duchess, "that you are ignorant that she marriedthe Marquis of Bid efo rd! ho w very singular ! " and again the keen brilliant

eyes of her grace darted on him the same peculiar look as before.

Edga r was puzzl ed to explain its meaning. " But wo me n," thou ght he,

" are fond of mystery, and she is wishing to embarrass me by conne cting theidea of Lady Elizabeth with that of her friend, but I will disappoint her; "and after answering with an air of indifference he turned the conversation,but the arch look of the sprightly duchess was not so soon forgotten, it dwelton his memory, and he felt certain that her grace had some meaning in itmore than her words expressed.

A few days after his introduction at the house of the duchess Edg ar wasprevailed on by War ham to ac compa ny him in he r grace 's train to anevening party at the Earl of Ashb ury's . A splendid assemblage of beautyand fashion was presented to his eyes on his entrance, and when dancingcommenced his spirits, which had insensibly been improv ing since his return

to society, were so exhilarated that he hesitated not in joining the gay throng.

One of Lord Ashbury' s daughters, a lively accom plished gir l, was thepartner Edgar selected, and the first dance was just concl uded when a generalbuzz through the room , and the look s of the co mpan y, all directed to the

door, induced him to turn his head. Only an elderly lady appeared, anddisappointment was visible on every countena nce. He inquired its cause of his fair partner.

" D o you not know," said she; "that the beautiful March ioness of Bideford is expected to be here to-night. It is her first appearancein public since the death of the marquis. Lik e a good wife, she has secludedherself from all co mpany ever since it happened two years ago , and is only

just emerged from retirement. Tho ugh you have so lo ng been absent fromthe Lon don world , you cannot surely be ignorant of her fame ."

"Re all y," he answered, " I am completely so, nor do I recollect till

yesterday that I have even heard her name."

" That," said Lady Ellen Ashbury, " is very possible, for it is not I believeof very ancient d ate, but that ,the renow n of her w ho bears it should nothave reached you I greatly wonder."

Little did his compan ion suspect the deep interest which her partner took in the lady who was the subject of conversation. The heart of Edgar beatquicker, and he listened with almost breathless attention; but, resolutely suppressing all appearance of emotion, he tried to speak with indifference whilehe said, " And is it her beauty for which she is so celebrated ? "

" He r beauty ," said Lady Ellen, " is certainly exquisite, but her characteris not less extraordinary. Wi th a very superior understanding, she has a sin

gular artlessness and originality of manner that renders her strikingly differentfrom any other woman of fashion I ever saw. She mixes with the gay worldwith the same ease and indifference as if she were in her own dressing-room.Mr. Ogle thorpe, wh o, you know , is a professed character-m onger, says she isbest described by negatives. She has no affectation; no airs of fashion ; nosmall talk; no frivol ity; in short, none of those attributes with whic*h thelords of the creation so liberally caricature females in gene ral."

"She is then," said Edgar, " a sort of rara avis, I should imagine—adescription of being," he added, with a sigh, "f or whic h I so early imbibedsuch a rooted antipathy, that I fear even the powerful charms of this cele

brated marchioness would fail to eradicate it."

" Do not be too severe," said Lad y Ellen, laugh ing. " I should no t besurprised, I assure you, to see you yet one of her captiv es; but beware ! forshe is a merciless victor; her heart, it is said, is perfectly invul nerabl e."

" For her ow n sake we will hope it will remain so ," said Ed gar.

Notwithstanding his assumed indifference, however, Edg ar could not hear of the acknowledged excellenceof the woman he had, even in the transient viewshe had obta ined of her, so greatly admired, with out an emo tion that he vainlytried to suppress; and, thoug h he scarcely allowed himself to think so, hecertainly wished much to behold again the beautiful form whic h had neverbeen effaced from his memo ry; but it so happened that he failed to encounterher personally, thou gh her praises resounded daily in his ears. It wassingular that the name of her friend, Lady Anville, never reached hi m; buthe recollected hearing of her retired habits, and he felt rather glad than otherwise that he was spared m eeting her. Of the marchioness and her fame hewas destined to hear in every company he entered; her still exquisite beauty,her talents, and her various excellencies were the themes of every ton gue ;and, as his intimacy at the house of the duchess continued to increase, hethought he had at last a fair chance of behold ing her ; but again was he disappoin ted; for, on the very day when he was to hav e formed one of a dinn erparty at Lo rd Ashbury's , where the m archioness was to have been present,

the papers announced that she had left to wn, .having been hastily summ onedto attend the deathbed of her father, th e Earl of Keswick.

From this time Edgar gave up the expecta tion ; and the charms he foundin the conversation of the duchess, a nd the society to be met with at her housespeedily allayed the impatien ce he had felt on the subject. By his friends ingeneral, it was soon suspected that th e attractions of the ga y duchess had w on

his heart; and Edgar himself had more than once thought he felt more anxietyrespecting her than for any other female sinc e the days of his first attachment

to Julia. There was so much spirit and variety in her deportment that shepreserved an incessant interest in the mind, She was not beautiful, but shewas pleasing and animated without coquetry; and Edgar had lately detectedhimself on more than one occasion in soliloqui sing, " Ho w singular it wou ldbe , if, after all, Emily W arham should become my w i f e ! " Still Lady

Elizabeth Kes wick's image reigned there as he had beheld her by the bed of the sick cottager, and, whene ver it appeared to his mind's eye, that of theduchess instantly vanished.

A t this period, a relapse of L ord Arden's indisposition engaged the wholeof his son's attention; he instantly quitted town, and for several monthsdevoted himself to filial duties. Wi th his mothe r he shared the fatigue of attending the couch of his father. He read to and soothed him by conversation in the hours of pain and languo r, and to the fond parental affection of Lord Ard en his son was amply restored ; whil e his mother, as she viewed hisconduct with delight and approbation, deplored that he should ever have beentempted to swerve from the path of duty by youthful passion. She saw and

rejoiced in the change that had taken place in his min d and habits. " An d

n o w , " thought she, " that it is too late, could he kno w Sophia Denbeig h hemust have loved her; for now, and not till now, could the heart of Edgarhave appreciated her exce llenc ies. " But all her thoughts on this subject wereconfined to her own bosom; for never in conversation with her son was thesubject alluded to . Lo ng had it ceased to be a topic of discussion with L or dArden. By mutual consent it had been dropp ed, as too painful not to recalall they had formerly suffered from their son's oppositio n, as well as thedistressing consciousness of their estrangement from the Denbeigh family, their

earliest and most esteemed friends.

After a lon g confinement Lo rd Ard en once mor e revive d, and was declaredto be in a state of convalescence. The spring was now advanced, and bothLord and Lad y Arden were anxious that their son should exchange the seclusionof the H all for the society of his friends in to wn ; and wit h spirits greatlyrestored by the recovery of his father, he once more entered the fa shionableworld. H e was received wi th all the cordiality of friendship by Irvi ne a ndhis other friends, amongst who m Wa rh am an d his sister appeared mostpleased to behold him again. The parties of the latter were amongst themost splen did and select in tow n, and Edgar was soon a constant frequenter

of them. Rep ort' s hundre d tongues were very shortly busy, and declared himon e of the duch ess's numerous lov ers, and he was often rallied on the subj ect;bat charming as he granted the fair Em ily to be, he was convinced he boreabout him a charmed heart, impenetrable to future attachment, and to all thehopes, fears, and anxieties of love. Still he scrupled not to acknowledge thatthe varied attractions of the duchess had awakened an interest which he hadonce thou ght he could never have felt again. Bu t real love I—no, that wa squite out of the question w ith hi m for ever.

CHAPTER X I I .

Though a professed satellite of the elegant duchess the heart of Edgar wasyet untouched ; and while Irvine and his sister believe d him to be fascinatedby the charms of her grace, he was in reality merely seeking his ow n amusement by frequenting her parties, which certainly were amongst the mostagreeable in to wn. The y generally consisted of the gay, the witt y, and themost celebrated authors of the age. Th e autumn months were usually passed

by her grace at her splendid mansion of Charlem ont. Ed gar was no w inclu dedin the party she had selected to attend he r there; but some engagements

detained him in town a few weeks after she had quitted it; and ratherimpatiently h e awaited the period destined for rejoini ng her. Th ou ghcertainly not attracted individua lly by the duchess, he alw ays felt ea ger forher s oci ety ; and an indefinable h ope seemed to possess his mind that heshould, throu gh her, hear somew hat on a subject that seemed interdicted byhis own family. It woul d seem, howe ver, as if the duchess had for med asimilar resolutio n; for, most provoki ngly , she evaded givi ng him any inform ation relating to the Marchi oness of Bideford , thoug h Edga r knew their inti

macy to be still great as ever, and the name of Lad y Anville had never oncepassed her lips. It was certainly strange; but once domestic ated beneath herroof, as he was now likely to be, he felt that it was improbab le he could avoidgaining some intelligence of friends to whom he knew she was so muchattached. That utter repugnance to leading to the subject himself, which asyet he had always manifested, had prevented h im from directly ask ingWa rha m what he wish ed to k now ; and he fancied he had observed in himprecisely the same evasion on this topic as he was assured the duchess hadshown towards him.

His time after her grac e left town was passed in general with Irvin eand some mutual friends. Irvin e and his sister had r eceived from theduchess an invitation to joi n her at Charlemont, but they had not decidedon accepti ng it, when Edga r re solved on payin g his father and mothera week's visit at the Hall previous to his proje cted excur sion. Hi s presencealways had the effect of raising the spirits of Lord Arden and his mother, andrejoicing in the amended health of the f ormer, his son quitted the paternal

home, and arrived accor ding to his promise at the magnificent seat of theduchess, where art and nature had united to render it one scene o f gaiety andsplendour.

The duchess and her friends were absent on a morn ing excu rsion. E dga r hadleisure to admire her grac e's superb residence, and to loung e thro ugh a part

of the grounds before their return. On re-entering the house, he obtain ed adirection to the library; a spacious an d elegant apartment, terminated by atasteful boud oir, whi ch he ha d nearl y entered ere almost envel oped by thedrapery he discovered a lady, w ho with a map i n her hand and severalothers o n the small ornamented table befor e her, seemed intent on her employment. Th e step of Edg ar on the softly carpeted floor had failed to rouse her,and he had sufficient time to contemplate as mu ch of her form as the surroundin gdrapery left visible before she perceived him. In the attempt to retreat unseen

he was discovered, and a pair of fine expressive eyes rested on his co untenanc eas, rising suddenly from the sofa, she started in evident surprise. Comp elled

I no w to apologise for his intrusion he adv anc ed; she heard him with the graceful ease that betokened familiarity with high life, and saying that the Duchessof Charlemon t and her friends woul d soon return, she took with her tbe v

maps from the table and retired.

Edgar followed her thro ugh the library wit h his eyes gaz ing with



T H E F A M I L Y HERAL D — A DOMESTIC M A G A Z I N E OF

involuntary admir ation on tfoe most finished and perfect form he had ever

beheld. He thought he had never contemplated real beauty till now, and for

on e short moment of his life only had he ever seen anything resembling the

grace and elegance of 'the lovely stranger. Throwing himself on the

sofa from which she had risen, he continued in one attitude till the entrance

of the duchess and her party recal led hi m from the reverie into which his late

encounter had thrown him. The l ively conversation that ensued, though

it failed to banish the beautiful Unkno wn from his memory , at least

succeeded in diverting his attention for the time. No mention was made of

her, and Edgar, though unwilling to analyse his own motives for his silence

on the subject forbore recurring to it. Tha t it was the Marchioness of Bidef ord

he had seen, and in her the well- remembered Lady Elizabeth Keswick, he couldnot doubt . Thou gh matured by time and past youth's first early bloom, she

was st ill as beautiful as when he had behe ld her by fee bedside of the dy ing

cottager, and all his anxiety on the subject returned. At length his long

suppressed curiosity was to be gratified, for that she was one of the guests at

present resident at Charlemont seemed oertain. Aga in , ho w singula r appeared

the cond uct o f the duchess, who in enumerat ing the names and titles of the

company she expected had omitted that o f the marchioness. Could it be

design ? Perhaps the marchioness in memory of the slight shown her friend

still retained her ancient prejud ice against him, and his first idea was to quit

Charlemont again immediately , but a few minutes' reflection determined him

to await an introductio n to the marchioness, and be guided in his behaviour

by her manner towards him.

The duchess ralli ed him on his absence and thought fulness, but it inc reased

when dinner was served and no fair stranger appeared in the eating-room;

but scarcely had the co mpany assembled when, " Where 's the marchioness ? "

andu W i l l not the marchioness join us to-day ? " were sentiments that reached

his ear from more than <me voice.

" The marchioness desires the duchess to excuse her ," was the answer.

" M r . Arden, you have never seen the Marchioness-of Bideford, I think,"said the duchess with a look so full of meaning that Edga r was tempted t o

think she had heard of his inter view of the morning , and in rather a hesitating

accent he answered, " I unint entionally in truded this morning, soon after my

arrival, on the retirement of a lady a stranger to me. Proba bly she was the

marchioness."

" M y dear Mr. Arde n," said the duchess, " i f you have ever seen the

Marchioness of Bideford , it is impossib le to forget her, she is one of those fated

to make an indel ible impression. Be warned, therefore, and remember I have

given you notice of your danger ."

" Pardon me, " saM Edgar, assuming a tone of r aill ery; " but I can appre

hend no greater danger than that I already have to encounter. At all events

I will brave it ."

" Indeed I believe you may," she answered, " though, believe me, you may

find the trial greater than you are aware of."

In the evening when Lady Ellen Ashbury, always a great favourite of

Edgar from the good humour and unaffected sweetness of her manners, with

her sisters and some others of the comp any had formed in concert and were

engaged in the music -room, attended by Mr. Ogle thorpe and most of thegentlemen, Edg ar in conversation wit h the duchess had lingered in the

drawing-room. She had jus t intimated to him her expectation of seeing

Irvine and his sister at Charlemont within a few days. " For t hou gh," said

she, " Mr. Irvi ne is one of the gravest o f the grave, and has not the smallest

scruple at issuing his protest aga inst some of the amusements and delights of

the fashionable world , even tho ugh they are such as I myself partake of, and

thoug h Miss Irvine is a complete pattern lady, yet there is so much respect

due to their characters, and they are so intrinsically excellent that with all my

frivolity I love \h em bot h, and never am happier than when they contribute

to form my home circle."

Edgar was delighted with this spontaneous tribute to the worth of his

friends, and it raised the fair speaker hi gher than ever in his opini on. She

sa w his approbation in his countenance, and laughingly said, " Now then that

I have with such well-timed policy made you my friend for ever by acknow

ledging my admiration of these good folks, we will join the musical party,"

and rising she walked towards the music-room.

Through the opened folding doors they saw Lady Ellen at the piano,

surrounded by most of the company , while apart from the rest at a smallwork-table, apparently intent on her work , sat the grace ful form whom Edgar

had disturbed in the boudoir.

" Oh, the dear mar chio ness !" cried the duchess at sight of her, and darting

forward was in a momen t at her side, w hile Ed gar left alone followed her

with his eyes.The beautifu l profile of the marchioness now in full view brought decided

conviction that she was the identical lady he had beheld at the cot tage. His

looks were eagerly fixed on her, and he thought that the cordial smile of

welcome with which she received her friend added new charms to a face more

lovely than he could have imagined in the wildest dreams of fancy. Intently

he observed them, and once he tho ught he saw a side glance of the duchess

directed towards hi m; but t he marchioness appeared quite unconscious of his

vicinity, and continued cha tting in a lo w tone With her friend till the latter

arose, and beckonin g Edgar said, " Do , Mr. Arde n, assist me in forming a set

fo r a dance. W e sadly need something inspiritin g j ust no w. "

Glad to be employed ^ Edgar obeyed her commands, and seeking La dy

Ellen Ashb ury. who had just risen from the piano, he claimed her hand and

her assistance to arrange the party. Wh en they had formed the quadrille onemore lady only was required; while Lady Ellen was casting her eyes round in

search of one that was disengaged, Edgar ventured to say, " D o e s the

marchioness never dance ? "

" N o , " she answered,u

very seldom indeed. She has the least display and

the fewest pretensions of anybody in the world."

" With the highest claims to all that is excellent and praiseworthy," said a

voice behind them.

It was the critic, Mr. Oglethorpe, who spoke. Edgar k new him for a keen

observer and a man of good talents, and he had heard from Lady Ellen that

his .admiration of the marchioness was unbounded. He had more than oncenoticed that this gentleman had observed him with a sort o f watchfulness,

singula r m an indifferent acquaintance, and, know ing his talents, Edgar had

made some advances towards h im ; b ut they had been ungraciously received

and invariably repulsed by Mr . Ogletho rpe, with a coldness almost amounting

to rudeness.

Unaccustomed to such a reception, Edgar had retreated, and if he had not

thus accidentally met him at Charlemont, where it was the boast and delight

of the duchess to collect such characters as rendered her house a scene of

entertainment to her visitors, it is probable neither would ever have known

more of the other. Fro m the usual distance of his manners towards him,

Edgar was not a little surprised by this abrupt address, but, ready to add his

testimony, with more presence of mind than he usually manifested, he

answered, smil ing, " Those claims will, doubtless, be too generally allowed

for the gauntlet to be taken up, at least, by any one present."

" A n d are you, Mr. Arden, one of those who acknowledg e t h em ?" said

Mr. Oglethorpe, with one of his singular and scrutinising glances.

" M y own personal knowledge of the marchioness," replied Edgar, "i s too

imperfect to allow me to decide on more than the beauty which is too exquisite

not to ensure universal admirat ion ; but the opinions of those on whose

judgment I have the firmest reliance have confirmed the public decision in

her favour."

" You had better improve that knowl edge, sir," said Mr. Oglethorpe, with

more sternness than Edgar thought he had any right to assume. " I t may

teach you some useful lessons," and so saying he abruptly walked away.

" Surely," said Edgar, to his fair partner, " Mr. Oglethorpe is a very

singular character."

"Undoubted ly ," she answered; "his severity is proverbial, and woe to

those who come under his lash. Ho w you have incurred his displeasure youbest know, but it appears that he has marked you for some of his ungracious

animadversions."

" Of the cause I am as ignorant as yourself," he replied.

That Edgar was right in fancying Mr. Oglethorpe regarded him with more

than common interest he was every hour more certain, though why he should

observe «him at all times remained a mystery.

CHAPTER X I I I .

It was the fate of Edgar to behold the woman who had unconsciously

occupied so much of his thoughts for some years past in a character the most

difficult to support with honour and consistency.

Amongst the company at Charlemont, which was now daily augmenting in

number, there appeared at least three formidable competitors for the favour of

the elegant marchioness. Sir Henr y Sackvill e, a most determined and

persevering admirer, seemed to have come there purposely to promot e his suit.

Colonel Sidmouth, an amiable accomplished man, whose who le heart seemed

devoted to the same fair object^ paid her almost exclusive attention, and the

young Earl of Carwillan, rich, gay, and violent ly in love, pursued her withmore than common ardour. In every gentleman that composed the party she

had more or less- an admi rer; but these three were declaredly attached to her.

Th e perfect ease and composure of her manner towards them, her entire

freedom from all coquetry, and the exempla ry prudence of her whole deport

ment were too singular and too complete not to attract the approbation she so

well merited.

Thrown at a distance by the continual presence of her three lovers, Edgar

began to wish he had never approached Charlemont, and had nearly made a

resolution to quit it preoipitately, but that, conscious of his own motives, he

feared they wou ld be suspected by others, and the melancholy satisfaction of

keeping his ow n secret he resolved should be his. He dreaded the

penetrati on of the duchess, and, to avoid her raillery, assumed as much indif

ference of manner as possible , and dedicated his attentions chiefly to her and

Lady Ellen Ashb ury. But, thou gh unable to approach more nearly to the

marchioness, he was far from a disinterested spectator. Secretly, out vigi

lantly, he watched her conduct, and he felt convinced from observation that

her heart was wholly untouched by the numerous pretenders to her favour.

Her total exemption from all pretensions or affectation rendered her sostrikingly different from every other fashionable woman, that she scarcely

seemed to be of the same species. Muc h the greater part of her time was

passed in her own apartment, which she seldom quitted till dinner, pursuing

quietly her ow n occu pati on; but when she did appear it was impossible to

discover from her manner or words how she had been employed, plainly

proving that no wish to affect singula rity actuated her conduct . Her entrance

was invariably watched by the three pretenders to her han d; and from that

moment she was surrounded for the rest of the day with undaunted persever

ance by the trio, who resolute ly barred all access to her from others ; and it

was several days after their arrival ere Edga r had an opportunity of

addressing any conversat ion to her, and then it was the consequence of an

incident which discovered to him another trait in her amiable, unassuming

character.

It was in the earlier part of a very beautiful morning that Edgar, having

seen most of the gent lemen and* several of the ladies with them engaged in

fishing, that, more inclined for solitude and musing, he directed his steps

another way, and loung ing over the duchess's domain was surprised to observe

the marchioness issue from a cottage which stood in a pre tty isolated spotbetween the mansion and the village, but not in the direct road to either. A

glow brighter than the pure colour that generall y irradiated her delicate

complexion suffused the cheek of the marchioness when she beheld him.

According to her usual custom she had breakfasted alone , and had not been

seen that day by the company in the house. The slight emotion which had ,

tinged her countenance on behol ding him was quickly suppressed, and in her

wonted unaffected manner she returned the greetings of Edgar.



June 16, I860.] USEFUL I NFORMATION AND AMUSEM ENT . 108

" Y ou are as yet a stranger here ," she said, When Edga r intimated his surpr ise

at meeting her ; " and are not aware of the delightful rules and regul ations

made by our dear duchess for the comfort and accommodation of her guests.

Amongst them that which enacts that ever ybody shall be left at entire liber ty

to act according to their own inclination, and shall never be forced into

company contrary to their own wishes, is to me the most valuable ; as such is

her grace's mental activity that she contrives for herself more occupation than

she can possibly get through, and as by perseverance in hav ing the morn ing

to myself I have some time at my own disposal, I am enabled to afford her

assistance. A daily visit to the village school, from which you just saw me

come, is a favourite amusement of mine ; and now you have the expl anat ion

of my secret excursi on, for I am no friend to mysteries ."

Justas she spoke , the duchess appeared; she had come out purposely to

meet her friend. Tha t peculia rly arch expression of countenance , whi ch Edgar

had so often no tice d, was visible when she saw by whom the marchiones was

atten ded; and it seemed as if the latter tried to suppress any observation her

friend was i nclined to make, by relating her visit to the school, the progress

of some of its little members, and some anecdotes which were interest ing to

her who had established it.

" I believe, Mr. Arden," said the duchess, "that Lady Ardeii is very

celebrated in this way. I have been tol d by Miss Irvine of the excellence

and munificence of her charitable establishments."

" I am ashamed," said Edgar, " to acknowledge that my long absence from

Englan d has made me reprehensibly ignorant in that particular; but my

mother's known benevolenc e is such that I have no doub t her charities are

rather increased than diminished since the time that it used to be a favourite

employment in my school vacations to go forth on her charitable missions."

" Well," said the duchess, " now that you have done roving, you must

retrieve your character, and not again desert your country."

" I have no intention, believe me, " said Edgar, " o f ever again quit ting

England."" I am heartily glad to hear that you are become a more rational being

than I had once reason to think y ou ," said the duchess, laughing , " thoug h I

had not, at the period to which I allude, the hon our of your acquaintanc e."

"Spare me," said Edgar, seeing at that moment the br ight eyes of the

marchioness cast on him and instantly withdrawn. " Spare me, I conjure

you, when I acknowledge candidly that there is one event in my life to which

I can never with any composure bear an allusion."

" Beall y," said the duchess; " then I beg your pardon, and promise never to

offend again ; " and she gaily turned the conversation to the infinite relief of

Edgar, who felt a great dread of hearing his affair with Miss Den be igh

discussed before this, her particular friend. Perhaps he was not very anxious

to revive it in her mind, conscious that his conduct appeared to no advantage

throughout. The good-natu red duchess performed her promise ; and no

further allusion to former subjects of regret caused him any embarrassment.

Irvine and his sister arrived at Char lemon t; and the cord iality of their

reception from the marchioness greatly surprised Edgar ; for though he knew

there was an acquaintance, he was unprepared to observe such a degree of

intimacy as he found subsisted. His admirat ion of the marchioness was soonvery evident to his friends ; andSvhen Irvine rallied him on it, his sister grave ly

advised him to desist, adding that she shou ld herse lf be very sorry to see

Mr . Arden become attached to her friend.

" And why, my dear madam, should you regret a circumstance which

might eventually condu ce to my happiness P" said Edgar. *

" Do you then think it probable," said Miss Irvine, " that the marchioness

can have forgotten your treatment of Miss Denbeigh ?"

" There aga in! " cried Edgar, pettishly. " Ever does that unfortunate, ill-

omened affair, like the ghost of Banqito,arise to appal me, and to interfere

between me and any prospect of felicit y."

"T hu s it must ever be with our errors," said Irvine ; "t he y will arise in

terrible array against us, in spite of every precaution. Certainly it is perfectly

natural, as my sister justly observes, that the Marchioness of Bideford should

be rather tenacious on the subject of Miss Denbeigh."

" I cannot agree with yo u, " said Ed ga r; " it is ca rrying friendship to a

romantic and reprehensible height, I think, when it tends t o such determi ned

malignity as to forbid all forgiveness of an unintentional injur y."

" Smooth your ruffled plumes, good friend," said the duchess, who hadaccidentally overheard the last sentence, "and le t me be umpire in the terrible

affair—for such it would seem by the cloud that lowers on your imperial

brow." *

" No t for world s," said Edgar, with all his native impetuosity. " I pra y,"

he added to Miss Irvine, "that this subject may not again be mentioned,

lest it should compel me to quit the socie ty of friends I re gard, who, I trust

will in future bear in mind that the feelings they are too apt to wound by a

recurrence to former events, are yet scarcely restored to their proper tone."

So saying, he hastily walked away, and through the glass doors of the

conservatory disappeared into the garden.

Th e loud and seemingly involuntary laugh in which the duchess indulg ed,

as soon as Edga r was out o f sigh t and hearing, rather disconcerted Miss

Irvine, whose gentleness and grav ity wer e so different from the airy, volatile

spirits of the laughter-loving duchess.

" L e t him fly to solitude, poor youth," exclaimed the latter, " and solace

himself with the delusive idea of having the secret all to himself, while we

enjoy the laugh at his expense. Yes, most magnanimous sir," she continued,

apostrophising the absent Edgar, " y o u are now just feeling what I havealways wished might one day or other be yo ur lo t, and most devou tly do I

hope you may be punished as you amply deserve ."

" Your grace is surely too severe on Arden no w r," said Irvine; " f rom what

I know of his heart (and I believe few men kno w it better), I am of opinion

that the punishment of his pertinaci ty has not been delayed till this time. I

have every reason to believe that it was the immediate consequence of his

errors." - *

" Yo u are partial, Mr. Irvine," returned the duchess, " but I am willing to

allow that, great and almost unpardonable as Mr. Arden's faults have been in

my eyes, they are mixed with many amiable and endearing qualities, and when

he has undergone the necessary probation, I think it is possible he may prov*

a very deserving character. Just at present hi s pride is bitt erly wounded at

finding himself over head and ears in love with our dear marchioness. H e

scarcely owns it yet to his own heart, and with resolute blindness he thinks

it is unsuspected by any other human being, little supposing that I have

watched every look and action, and derived infinite amusement from the

discovery."

" Do not be a merciless vict or," said Irvine, laugh ing, " and consider thatEdg ar has all his life been a spoiled child. Adversit y, however , has had the

happiest effects on his mind, arid I am greatly mistaken if even you r graceere long does not acknowledge, that he is entitled to your pity."

" O h ! pity I will already accord him ," she replied, laughi ng; "f o r to a

proud heart like his I can conceive no greater mortification than that which

my prophe tic spirit tells me is in store for hi m, " and so saying , she left the

brother and sister to talk of Edgar and the passion he had evidently imbibed

for the fair marchioness.

(To be concluded in our next.)

V U L C A N ' S M A R R I A G E . — A N A N T I Q U E STUDY.

There was jo y throughou t the azure dom e

Of mighty Jove's Olympian home—

Thro ugh court, and aisle, and crystal hall,

Soft strains of ange l musi c fall,

A n d countless v o ices l^-mn, in lays

Of heavenly sweetnes s, Hym en 's praise.

Se e ! amid the tuneful choi r,

Ap o l lo strikes his golden lyre,

A n d radiant forms advance.

Y o u n g Heb e stre ws the wa y with flowers,A n d gaiiy the rosy-bosomed hours

Thro ugh Heaven's wide portal dance.

Great Jov e forgets his thund erbol t the

while ,

A n d heaven's blu e vault reflects the

splen dour o f his smile.

Fierce Mars foregoes his crested pride,

A n d Pallas lays her shield aside ;

O'er the purple waves the mermaid s fair

Rise , shaking back their golden hair ;

A n d scaly sea-gods, wond erin g, lean

From thei r coral beds to watch the scene.

Se e ! in a chariot drawn by doves,

Soft sighs, and tears, an d fluttering loves,

Attend a bridal pair.Toil-stain'd is he—sore Labour's son;

She, radiant as the summer sun*Y o u n g an d surpassing lair—

'T is sweaty Vulc an; and he bears away

Beauty 's and Lov e's brigh t queen, to be

his bride to-day.

In days of old, whe n Greece was youn g,

This tale her noblest poets sung ;Its moral still floats on time' s ti de—

" Le t To i l to Beauty be allied."

Still let the mind soar out beyond

Th e close, dark air of labour's b ond,

T o wed itself to aught that's fair.

In those realms many-ma nsion 'd, wher o

Rules the enchantress Art—

T o wo o bright thoughts through Fancy's

b o w e r s ,

Or brin g hom e melo dy' s soft showers,

To soothe the weary heart—T o court a patriot-lore with wizard pen,

Or win a name for aye where science holds

her reign.

Or. H .

TH E LA DY OE TH E EEL L HOUSE.

C H A P T E R X X I Y .

W i t h a beating heart Leicester Wilburn was waiting in the luxurious littleroom to which he had been conducte d. Everyt hing bore the stamp of wealth,

guided by the most exquisite taste,

" An d I have dared to dream of her ! " he mentally exclaimed, as the contrast

of his own poor home flashed across his mind . " An d ye t,H

he added, looking

at his fine figure reflected in an opposite glass, " and yet, but for the accident

of wealth, I might be her equal. An d wealth may still be mine. My genius

has been acknowledged by some severe judges, and what will not a man of

genius aspire to, if he has an object to work for?—a mountain summit,

however distant, however far above him, on which to fix the eyes of his

a m b i t i o n ? "

In the midst of his dream the door opened, and Guendolen stood before him.

I f her apartment had impressed him with t he idea of wealth, what could he

think of herself as she stood there, resplendent as an Eastern queen? He

started and actually looked abashed ; but Guendolen, thinking as little of her

diamonds as she would had they been only so many daisy chains wreathed

around her, held out her hand and clasped his with a hearty shake,

" What is amiss ? " she said, feeling that his hand slightly trf -mbled, and

was cold as death.

" Nothing," he replied, " except that I fear I bring you bad news. That

is the name of the gentleman for whom the tortoise-shell cabinet was purchased,"

and he gave her the paper that he had received from Mr. Perkins.

She turned pale as she read it, but quic kly recovered and threw the paper

into the fire, saying, " It is as I feared, and I am in the power of my worst

enemy."

" Oh, do not say so ! " said Leicester, kneeling at her feet and seizing her

hand, which he pressed enthusiasti cally to his lips. " Let me wo rk for you,

fight for you , die for yo u. Tel l me what I can do, for my life is at your

service."

" Dear friend, I ful ly believe it, " she replied, raising him from his knee,

" and when service can be rendered b y you do not doubt that I will demand it.

Ha rk !" she exclaimed clin ging to his arm, as a voice speaking to her maid

wh o waited in the ante-room, struck her ear. " He is coming; I wo uld not

have him see yo u. Go behind that curtain and do not speak nor stir, whatever

ma y happen, unless I call upon you by name."

Leicester was hardly ensconced in the recess of the window behind the

heavy curtains, through the ope ning of whi ch he contrived a small space tolook through, when Sir Frederick Elphinstone entered the room.

" Ho w is this, Sir Frederick ?" said Guendolen, rising haughtily from the

chair into which she had thrown herself. " Ho w is that you intrude upon me

unannounced?"

" Where is your visitor ? " he abruptly demanded.

" H e is g o n e , " she replied, striking the little gong upon the table to summon

her maid.



10 4 THE FAMILY HERALD—A D O M E S T I C M A G A Z I N E OF [June 16,1860.

" I have sent your maid upon an errand that will occupy her some time,"

said the baronet.u Yo u use great freedom, sir, in disposing of my servants," said Guendolen,

indignantly; " I require her attendance, and I desire also to k now why she

admitted you into my presence without my permission."

" I have a rig ht to enter your rooms when it pleases me, Lad y Elphinst one "

" Yo u address me by a title which you withhel d when I would have accepted

it, and which I now wholly disclaim," returned Guendolen. " I am not, and

never will be Lady Elphinstone."

" Yo u cannot help it, sweet," he retorted. " No w sit d o w n ; and let us

discuss this question calmly. "

Guendolen sat down, though more from the fear that her trembli ng lim bs

would refuse to support her, than from any wish for a prol onge d discussionwith Sir Frederick.

" My plans," he said, " are all arranged; thoug h I should not have unfolded

them to you for some weeks, but for a circumstance which I shall explain to

yo u presently. As soon as Sylvia's marriage is over, I intend to take you on

the continent, leaving the proofs of our marriage in the hands of my

lawyer." *

" What proofs have you ? " exclaimed Guendolen, with a look of defiance

that her failing heart belied.

" I have the proof," he replied," the proof that you have been endeavouring

fo r months to obtain from your aunt, and which is now in my possession."

" An d Lady Elphinsto ne's fortune ? " said Guendolen. " Yo u have

squandered that away ; how will yon refund it to her ? "

" Her family are wealth y," he replied, with a shrug o f the s houl ders ; " they

must manage to give her another. Wh en a fountain is dry we cannot obtain

water from it."

" A n d your son," continued Gu endole n; "ha ve you no consideration for

him, whose prospects you will blacken with illegitim acy ? "

"I will give him to you, dearest," said Sir Frede rick. " Yo u will bringhim up better than his own mother . W e must go abroad, and remain there

beyond the r each of the Engli sh law. One country will do as well as

another. A h ! when y ou came here first, thinking, like a little Quixo te as

yo u were, to personate the character of a dragon, and compel me by the fear

of being claimed as your husband, to give way to the whims of my fool of a

wife, you little imagi ned how glad I should soon become to have those claims

established. Yo u little thoug ht that I should be the first to assert them."

"Little, indeed," replied Guendolen; "but there is no accounti ng for the

fickleness of man. After your former treatment of me, how could I suppose

that I should ever be anything but an object of aversion to you ? "

" L o o k the re! he said, pointi ng to a mirror w hich reflected her at full

leng th; " the change is not in me, but in yo u. "

She cast an impatient g lance towards t he mirror, and turned away; yet

maintaining an outwar d calmness, for she was meditating a plan of escape,

while turning over in her agitated brain Sir Freder ick's motives in paying

her this untimely visit. It was strange, she thought , that he should commu

nicate his plans to her so early, instead o f lull ing her to repose till all was

ripe for action. The fear with which he had inspired her at the time of her

marriage returned upon her w ith almost its original force, no w that she

found herself again in his po we r; but she resolutely conquered all exhibition

of it and preserved an appearance^of indifference which quite deceived him.

" And now ," she said, looking up, " that you have explained you r views

with regard to me, I suppose our interview is at an end. I will reflect on

what y ou have said, and let you kno w my determination. The law is of

course not to be resisted."

" Too cool, sweet lad y," said Sir Frederic k, with a disagreeable laugh, "t oo

cool and unconcerned by half. Y ou are planning some pretty trick to cheat

me , or you would not talk so composedly of being my wife."

" Y o u f o r g e t , " replied Guendolen, " t h a t I have still three weeks to consider

of the subject. Even a sentence of death would not seem so very awful with

that interval before it ; and a thousand things may happen between this and

then—we may one or both of us be dead "

" Or y ou ma y have made your escape, " he said, interrupting her. " But

does it not strike you, Guendolen, that I must be a fool, to give yo u this long-

warning ? "

" W h y so ? " she asked. " You have the law on your side, and that is all-

powerful."

" A n d do you not wish to k n o w , " he said, taking a seat beside her,

" w h y I choose this occasion to make this explanation to you ? "

" Th e fact alone concerns me, " she repli ed; "t he motive is of n o

consequence."

" I wi ll explain the m otive , nevertheless," said he. " I have watched you

narrowly to-night, Guendolen, and I am convinced of what I b efore suspected

—you love Captain Greville." *

"Heaven forbid!" said Guendolen, assuming a look of resentment.

"What!—when I know that he is engage d to your daughter ? Fo r what do

yo u take me, Sir Frederick ?"

" Your love for hi m and his for you was prior to his engagement to my

daughter," said Sir Fred erick. " H e saw you in Cumberland, and was for

weeks the inmate of your house."

" I can finish the tale, if you li ke, " said Guendolen , look ing full into his

face. " Captain Greville told you all this as yo u were leaving the opera- house.

Y o u immediately left t own on preten ce of visiting your estate in Northamp

tonshire ; went to C umber land ; found^ my lonely cot tage, from Greville's

description ; broke into it, with your face covered with crape, like a midnight

burglar; frightened the servant into silence; and sought me in every part,

with the intention of murdering me ."

"Hu sh! —hu sh !" he exclaimed. " H o w can you imagine anything so

horrible ? Ho w could you suspect that I would kill you ? I, who love yo u

so fond ly?"

" That love, as you call it, was not awakened until after the fatal day,

when, for your poor wife's sake, I chose to become the inmate of this house,"

said Guendolen.

" Y o u cannot dream that I would seek your life, Guend olen ," said the

baronet.

" It was not the first ti me, " she replied. " Wh en my father died from

poison—which Heaven forgive me if I wrong you in suspecting to have been

administered by your orders—it was b y mere accident that I escaped. And

w ho but you could have an interest in my death ? "

" Y o u do not, you cannot suspect me," interrupted Sir Frederick.

" N o ! " replied Guendolen. " I t is far beyond suspicion—it is absolute

moral certainty."

" Nay, my love, dismiss such dreadful 'ideas from your mind," said the

baronet, " I could not desire your death."" Y o u could," said G uend ole n; " and yo u did, while you thought that,

living, I m ight at any momen t cause you to be called upon to disgorge your

wife's dowry, which you were then rapidly squandering."

" Guendolen, you would make me out to be a monster."

" Nay, I only show you the truth," said Guendo len ; " and if the portrait

is too faithful, and too hideous in its faithfulness, the fault lies in the original,

and not in the copy . "

" I will be rev enged for all this," said Sir Frederick , through his closed

teeth, " though I hardly know whether I love or hate you most. Do you not

yet ask me why I have come here to-night?"

" I am never inquisitive about what does not concern me, " she replied,

coolly.

" It does concern you, " said he, possessing himself of her hand, w hich she

struggl ed in vain to withdraw from his grasp, " you look so transcendently

lovely to-night that I am come to tell you again that you are my wife, and

that I claim from you the rights of a hus band."

" Y o u will not dare ! " she exclaimed, starting up and turning pale.

"There is no daring about it, l ove , " he said, passing one arm round herwaist in spite of all the resistance she could make, " and if there were I would

dare and do anything to possess you. See, here is my autho rity /' he cried,

drawing forth the register and holding it before her tantalised eyes. " There,

look at it, look at it. Your own signature! Yo u cannot deny that. It is

my authority for suit for the restitution of conjugal rights, whi ch I now

proceed to institute."

He*smothered her with kisses, still holdin g the paper in his right hand.

In the struggle they had approached close to the window behind the

curtains of whic h Leicester Wil bur n was conceal ed, his blood boiling with

rage, longing to rush to her assistance, but still remembering her injunction

to remain conceale d whatever migh t happen.

CHAPTER X X V .

As the paper d anced temptingly before the opening of the curtain, Leicester

Wilburn could no longer resist the temptation, but putting forth his hand

took it gently from that of the baronet, and thrust it into his breast, prepared

to defend it, if necessary, to the last extremity; but Sir Frederick, not

suspecting the proximity of a third person, either supposed that he haddropped the paper, or in his excitement was not aware that it was no longer

in his hand. Guend olen at the same moment , by a viole nt effort, reached the

bell, and rang it violently . Immediatel y the voices of the servants were

heard at the ante-room door. Guendolen shrieked " Help ! " and " Murde r! "

Sir Frederick, casting a fiendish glance upon her as he heard the door of the

ante-room burst open, and a violent attack commenced upon that of the

boudoir, beat a hasty retreat by the back way throu gh the passage that led

to the stables, and had hardl y closed the door behind him when three or four

servants rushed in from the ante-ro om. At the sight of the disarranged

furniture, and the figure of Guend olen , with her hair dishevelled, her dress

disordered, her eyes flashing wildly, her chest heaving rapidly, and her frame

tre mbli ng with terror and excit ement , the same idea seemed to seize upon

all—that a ro bber had concealed himself in her room, and had attempted

to possess himself of the valuable ornaments she wore. Th e proofs of a

desperate st ruggl e, the table cleared of its valuable ornaments, b y the

dragging off of the cover which she had clutched at, and one of her bracelets,

which lay in glittering fragments on the floor, confirmed them in their first

impression. She herself was l ying hal f supported upon a chair, just as Sir

Frederick had flung her down, and to o much agitated to speak. He r maid, who

had entered among the rest, ran t o her assistance, and two police men, who by

this time had made their appearance, were anxious in their inquiries whether

she was hurt.

" No, no," she replied, "not hurt, only frightened."

They then began to search the room assisted by the men serv ants ; but

when they approached the place where Leicester Wilb urn was concealed.

Guendolen's presence of mind speedily returned.

" N o t there, not there," she said, starting towards the window. " He went

that way," and she pointed towards her bedroom.

In a moment, the whole pac k were in full cry upon the scen t. Th e un

fastened doors were evidence that some one had been that way out, and

when they reache d the stable, a sleepy lad roused himself up sufficiently to

say that somebody had passed out a minute before, he could not tell who, but

it looked very much like Sir Frederick. The policemen eagerly rushed out,

but there was not a soul in the mews to give them any information, and by

the time they reached the street Sir Fred erick had quie tly passed in at the

front door by means of his latch-ke y, and finding the hal l deserted by all the

servants, wh o had been attracted to the other end of the h ouse by the hub bub

at Guendolen's door, he reached his dres sing-room unseen, where he smoothed

his disordered hair, washed the drops of passion from his brow, and went

coolly to investiga te the cause of the distu rbance .

Guendolen, meanwhile, was in the greatest fear that Leicester Wilburn

should be discovere d. She place d herself in a chair b efore the curtain i n such

a way that no one could look behind it wit hout disturbing her. She was



June 16, I860.] USEFUL INFOEMATION AND AMUSEMENT. 1 0 5

anxious to have the rooms cleared and the doors fastened, hut the police were

still busy with their examinations, and she could not get rid of them

immediately.

" Wha t sort of looking man was he, ma'a m ? " said one of the policemen.

" Yes , what sort of looking man was he ? " said another voice, at the sound

of which all the servants fell hack , disclosing to her astonished eyes the figure

of Sir Frederick, who had just entered through the ante-room.

Guendolen's heart bounded with rage as she beheld hi m; and for a moment

the idea of denouncing him crossed her brai n; but having no desire to

publish private affairs, she restrained herself, and took the best revenge she

could.

" H e was tall ," she said, keeping her eye upon the baronet , "rather

slender, dressed in b lack , with black hair, moustach ios, and a swarthy com

plexion, aquiline nose, bushy eyebrows, good teeth, and rather a thin face."

Sir Frederick winced as she gave his portrait so accurately, but the policehad no idea of loo kin g so near for the origina l,

" There was some stranger who came here not an hour ago," said the

baronet, turning to the servants, " who amongst you saw him ? He was

doubtless an accomplice."Several voices replied, volunteering a description'of Leicester Wilbur n, and

the police looked round eager for information, but they were quick ly silenced

by Guendolen.

" This is perfectly absu rd! " she exclaimed, " the gentleman who called

this evening is well known to me ."

" Yo u had better take his description, nevertheless," said Sir Frederick,

with a significant look towards the police ; " the attempt at robbery so soonafter he had been admitted to my cousin's rooms, and had an opportunit y of

opening all those doors to the stables, is, at the very least, suspicious."

" If you please, ma' am," said the policeman, deferential ly, " it is my duty

to take his description."

" Do as you please," she said, " it can do him no harm. My only objectionis to placing the portrait of an honourable man in co mpany with that of a

worthless scoundrel ."

" If you will be pleased to give the name and address o f the party, ma'a m,

that will be quite sufficient."

" I will drag into this disgraceful question no name whi ch I respect so

highly," said Guendolen, resolved to defeat Sir Frederick's jealous curiosity,

which was on the alert when he heard the policeman's suggestion.

" T h e burglar's object was no doubt to steal your jewels," said the police

man, after he had taken down the depositions of the servants; " c a ^ y o u tell

me anything that passed, ma'am ?" 4k:

" His object certainly was robber y," she replied . " I am too much agi tated

at the present moment to say more, except that in the st ruggle I succeeded

in ringing the bell. I will answer any further questions to-mor row ; but at

present I must beg to be left to recover myself. Good night, Sir Frederick,"

she added in a pointed manner, which in the presence of the police and

servant he could not but obey. " Wa i t in the ante-room, Jeannette, until I

call you."

As soon as the room was cleared, she drew the bolt to secure herself from

intrusion, and summoned Leicester from his hiding-place." Yo u are in possession of my secret," she said, sinking wearily into a

chair, and motioning him to take another ; "chance has confided it to you, but

I feel certain you will guard it honourably."

" I am in possession of something mor e," said Leices ter, wh o appeared

even more agitated than herself at the scene that had passed.

"W h at do you mean ? " exclaimed Guendolen, starting up and casting on

hi m a mistrustful look.

" D o not condemn the whol e human race for the crimes of one man," said

Leicester, divining the cause of her alarm. " Thi s," he said, "pr odu cin g the

paper which he had snatched from Sir Frederick, " this is what I have

obtained possession of; that ruffian held it close beside the curtain, and

thoug h at the risk o f incurr ing your displeasure, if he saw me, I snatched

it from his hand. Fortunately he did not miss it. It was hard for me to

keep quiet, and see you s truggl ing with the villain ; bu t I thought that the

fact of my being concealed in your room might prove injurious to yo u, and

therefore I waited till you should call on me for help."

" Yo u acted as my best friend," she said, givin g him a grateful look, " the

possession of this paper is worth everyth ing. I am once again free from thathateful man."

" Will you not destroy it," said he ; " that would set you free for ever."

" I should like h im to see it destro yed," she replied, " otherwise he mig ht

not be convinced that it was no longer in existence."

As if in answer to her wish Sir F reder ick' s voice was now heard in alter

cation with the maid, who objected to his entering her mistress's apartment.

" Hide yourself," she exclaimed, "h e has come to look for it, and for one

moment he shall see it."

" Be careful what you do ," said Leicester, anxiously , " your strength is no

match for his ; he will overpow er you and have it back again."

" D o not be afraid," she replied ; " I will manage better than that."

She opened the door, and Sir Frederick hastily entered.

" I have lost somet hing," he said, " and I dropped it in this room, I know."

" C o m e in, Jeannette," said Guendolen to the maid, " come in, and help Sir

Frederick in his search."

"What is it, sir ? " asked the girl. " Is it a ring ? "

" N o , no ," said the baronet, " a paper."

" Here are some papers," said Jeannette, "that we picke d up off the floorafter the robber had thrown them all about."

These papers lay on a table at some distance from the fire-place beside

which Guendolen was standing. He instant ly bega n his search amongst

them, when Guendolen , taking the fatal document from her bosom with a

trembling hand, dreading that even at the last moment he might start forward

and seize it, placed it on the glowing embers.

" Look here, Sir Frederick!" she cried, when it was half consumed.

H e sprang forward, but before he could snatch it from the fire, the last

morsel was destroyed, thou gh it still retained its form, and a few words

continued legible.

" Look close," she continued, with a tone o f triumph. " Yo u can still

decipher enoug h to kno w what it is. There, do yo u see where those names

are written ? Al l that is past now. Y ou have found what you want. Sir

Frederick Elphinstone, leave my apartment."

Grinding his teeth and stamping with rage which he did not dare exhib it

before Jeannette, he rushed o ut of the room.

" You may go, Jeannette," said Guendolen. " It is late, and you are tired.

Is the company gone ? "

" Y e s , ma'am," replied the mai d; "th ey all went soon after there was the

alarm about the robber."

" Very well," said her mistress. " No w go to bed . I shall not require

your further attendance to-night."

" Oh, ma' am! shall you not be afraid to « leep in this lonely part of the

house by yourself ? "

" I am not afraid," she replied. " N o thieves would venture on a second

attack during the same night."

Th e girl reluctantly withdre w. Guendolen again bolted the door, and

summoned Leicester from his concealment,

" Yo u must go , my kind friend," she said, shaking h im warmly by the

hand, " I will show you out by a back way. I am to o agitated to talk more

to-night , but I will see you to- morr ow."

" I shall not rest till I know that you are no longer within reach of that

bad man," said Leicester, looking on her with grave affection, and still holding

the hand that she had giv en him. " Pard on the apparent rudeness of the

question, and think, if you can, that you have a brother beside you—you will

leave this house, will you not ? "

" Certainly I shall," replied Guendolen, "and that early to-morrow."

" Ye t to-nig ht you remain here, exposed to fresh attempts ! " said Leicester.

" Oh ! that I dared ask to stay and protect y o u ! "

" An d if I needed protection I would ask you to stay, or to take me to a

friend's house, or give me an asylum for the ni ght in your own home —so

entirely do I trust you . As entirely, " she added, warmly, "a s I distrust Sir

Frederick . But 1 shall be safe for this night, and to-morrow I go. No w

follow me."

She then led the way through the passage towards the stables.

It was strange to see a splendidly-dressed woman in evening costume

descending the ladder into the stable, but Guendolen stepped along with the

manner o f one who was accustomed to it. The horse thro ugh whose stall

they passed uttered a lou d neigh, for he was G uendolen 's favourite , and

recognised his mistress more b y her step than by the faint light that pene

trated a window from a gaslight outside. Leicester drew back the bolts and

raised the lat ch; a flash of lig ht at the further end of the mews showed him

that a policeman was inspecting the fastenings of the mor e distant stables.

A whispered " good-night , " and he started away into the street. Guendolen

listened for a moment ; there was no sound to be heard but the tramp of the

returning guardian of the nigh t. She softly shot the bolt s and hastened back .The knowledge that she was free from Sir Frederick was delightful to Guen

dolen ; 'but the hope that had once accompanied the aspiration for freedom was

gone for ever. Like the prisoner who only leaves his prison to d ie, her freedom

came too late ; it is true she had now nothing to fear, but she also had n oth ing

to hope. In a fortnight Harry Greville' was to be married to Sylvia. Sir

Frederick had consented to these hasty nuptials that he might the sooner b e

able to carry off his own prize, and though his object was now frustrated, she

was aware that he was anxious to secure this marriage for his daughter , for

whom he would not be likely to find again so favourable a match.

Th e fire went out while Guendolen sat l ost in a maze of sad thought and

bitter recol lecti on; the lamp was extinguished and the early rays of morning

began to struggle through the curtains before her mind was recalled from the

past to the present. She looked round like one who is suddenly aroused fromsleep, then glanced at her jewe lled arms and splendid dress, and started up

shivering with cold. She drew bac k the curta ins in her dress ing-r oom and

admitted the sunbeams, that fell full upon her gorgeously attired figure.

She surveyed herself from head to foot, and a sad reverie again fell upon her

as she noticed her pale face, heavy eyes, dishevelled hair, and disordered dress.Th e mournful figure before her was a fitting symbol of her wasted life and

dreary future. She turned from the mirror in disgust, snatched off the jewel s

and threw them in a heap upon the table, qu ickl y disrobed herself and went

to bed, where in a short time she forgot the ag itat ing events of the' past day .

C H A P T E R X X V I .

The next day Guendolen had the satisfaction of seeing Frank sent off to a

village on the sea-coast, where, under the cha rge of a clergyman of hig h

character, he was to pursue his studies, and r egain his strength. She then,

having directed Jeannette to pack up her trunks with all speed, betook herself

to Frank's old schoolroom, where she understood that Mr. Lorimer was now

sufficiently recovered to sit during the day. Miss Lor imer was as usual wit h

her brother, and both looked astonished at Guendolen's appearance.

" I have a few words to say to you, Mr. Lorimer, " she be gan in a conciseand business-like way, " which will be best said in private, i f your sister will

have the kindness to withdraw."

Miss Lorimer cast down her eyes, and retreated into her brother's bedroom,

leaving the door slightly ajar. Guendolen said nothing, but shut it quietly,and walked back to the priest , whose pale face turned yet paler under her

severe gaze.

" M r . Lori mer," she said, " I am about to leave this house; but, before I

go , I must see you out of it."

" May I ask what authority you have, Mrs. Elphinstone, for using this

language, and dismissing me from Sir Frederick's house ? "



1 0 0 TH E FAM ILY HEB AL D — A D OMEST IC MA GAZ INE OF June 16, 1860.

" Simply the authority given me by the power of enforcing my request,"

she replied, " l o u r health is a sufficient excuse for goin g at once, and taking

with <you your sister, whose care you of course require; and, as Frank is

gone, your services are no longer needed here."

" Has Sir Frederick authorised this dismissal ? " said he, while an angry

flush overspread his pale forehead.

" Sir Frederick knows nothing of my comin g here, " she answered. " If he

did, if I were to detail to him the motives on which I aGt, it is not a quiet

recommendat ion to absent yourself that you would receive, but you woul d be

scourged out like the ungrateful cur which you have proved yourself."

" Mrs. Elphinstone ! a cur ? " he exclaimed, starting up.

" Call yoursel f by whatever name y ou choose," she said ; " but answer me

this—how came you by that blow ? Lad y Elphinstone, yourself, and one

person beside, could tell the truth about it, and if Sir Fred erick knew thattruth "

" S a y no more,—say no more. It is enou gh; I understand yo u perfectly ,"

he said, hurriedly . " I see the necessit y for leaving, I quite agree with yo u,

and your wishes shall be obeyed."

" I give you two hours to prepare," said Guendolen. " If you are not gone

by that time, Sir Frederick shall know all."

" N o , I defy your malice, proud woman," said Mr. Lorimer, suddenly

recollecting the secret of which he had become possessed while executing Sir

Freder ick's mission to Mrs. Martin. " Sir Fr ederick will not dare to send me

from his house, I kno w too much of his family affairs."

" The utmost that you can kno w, " she said, " is that there once existed a

document pro vin g a certain marriage." Tha t document was destroy ed last

nigh t, and your bare assertion on the faith of an old woman's gossip can

afford no proof of its existence. If it could, Sir Frederi ck would be only too

glad to obtain it ; but he is a jealous and vindictive man, and though, for his

ow n pleasure, he woul d have annulled h is present marri age, he wo uld be not

on e whit the less implacabl e in his vengeance on the wo uld -be seducer of his

wife. Remembe r the time appointed. Let the house be clear of you in twohours, or Sir Frederic k is informed of the full extent of your misconduct, as

he shall be also if you ever attempt to return, or to renew your intimacy with

any member of this family."

" H a v e you no .regard for Lady Elphi nst one ?" said Mr. Lorimer.

" W o u l d you expose her to d isgra ce ? "

" On the contrary, I w ould save her from it," she repl ied; " I woul d save

her from disgrace and crime, and, therefore, I bid you , her father confessor,

to quit the house. All further conversation is useless; I have told you my

resolution. It is not to be shaken."

She left him as abruptly as she had entered, and went to bid farewell to

Lady Elphinstone and Sylvia. After seeking them for some time she found

them deep in consultation with the milliner respecting Sylvia's wedding dress.

He r heart sickened at t he sight, bu t she was not one to sh ow her feelings on

every occasion, and her sufferings passed unsuspected.

" I have come to say good bye ," she said, holdi ng out her hand to Lady

Elphinstone, " and to thank you for your kind hospitality during these many

months."

" G o i n g ! " repeated Lady Elphin sto ne; " Na y, surely you will wait forthe wedding!"

" O h ! Cousin Guend olen !" exclaimed Sylvia, " I thought you would be

on e of my bridesmaids."

" I cannot be your bridesmaid, clear, though I will come to see you on your

wedding-day, if p ossi ble; but I am called suddenly away now, and have no

time to lose. Mr. Lorimer is about to leave the h ouse, " she whispered,

drawing Lady Elphinstone aside.

" Going away!" repeated the poor little lady, looking as pale as death.

" Y es , " replied Guendolen, "i t will be a grief to you no doubt to lose your

father confessor, and such a good trustworthy guide for a weak nature like

yours as he has proved himself to be. He is going, never to return; and I

am desired to say from a person who may be trusted not to speak unless

compelled to do so, that the penalty of his presenting himse lf in your presence

again will be a full relation to Sir Frederick of the occasion on which he

received that blow on the head. Yo u need not be alarmed; the person is

discreet, and will not injure yo u ; but be cautious in your conduct for the

future. Good-bye, Sylv ia, " she continued, in her usual tone. " I shall see

yo u again on .your weddi ng da y,"

She hastily withdrew, and spent the two hours which she had promised to

allow Mr. Lorimer for his preparations in pacing up and down her half

dismantled rooms, and makin g some few final arrangement s. She dismissed

her carria ge, which was a hired one, and directed Jaco b to take her two saddle-

horses, and pl ace them at l ivery, where he was to watch over them as the

apples of his eyes until he received further orders from her. Jeannette and

her page she dismissed with han dsome gratuitie s an d recommen datio ns to

Sylvia, who was glad to engage them.

Before the two hours laid elapsed the Lorimers , who were never at a loss

to frame an excuse for anyth ing they had a mind to do, had left the house.

Miss Lorimer wept and made a SGene at part in g; but her brothe r wisely

avoided personal adieux, sending messages by his sister, and pleading in

excuse for his sudden departure a violent attack of sickness which compelled

hi m to go with out delay into a different air.

Fearing that Lady Elphinstone m ight be indiscreet enough to seek a fare

well interview with Mr. Lorimer, Guendolen placed herself in the recess of a

window which she must pass if such were her int entio n. In a few minutes

the rustle of a silk dress cau ght her e ar; she turned round and confronted

the foolish lady, who was almost run ning in the directio n of the study.Guendolen looked at her in silence.

" I am go ing , " stammered Lady Elphinstone, " I am g oing to fetch some

of Frank's books that were forgotten. The y must be sent after hi m."

" Surely, my dear f riend, you are not bou nd to accoun t to me for your

act ions," said Guendolen. " But allow me to suggest ," and she drew Lady

Elphinstone's arm within her own, " that it would be better to send one of

the servants for the books; they are probably dusty, and would soil your

hands."

" I would rather fetch them myself," said La dy Elphinsto ne; " it will give

me an opportunity of saying good-bye to poor Mr. Lorimer without appearing

to go for the purpose."

" Hav e a little mo re self-respect, for Heaven' s sake," excl aimed Guendolen,

losing all patience . " I f he has the decency to avoid a farewell interview, in

the name of common sense follow his example."

Lady Elphinston e suffered her j udi ciou s friend to lead her away without

further resis tance; and Guendole n remained with her until the cab drove off

with the wort hy broth er and sister. She then hastened her own departure,

which she was desirous of accompl ishing before Sir Frederi ck's return from

his morning lounge at the clubs. As the footman closed the door of the cab,

which, to Lad y Elph instone's horror , she preferred to use instead of one of

the carriages, she desired him to direct the driver to go to the Great Wes tern

Railway Sta tion ; but when she had got out of sight she changed her course,

and drove to Mrs. Mayfield's.

" I come once more t o j o u a lonely wanderer," she exclaimed, throwing

herself upon the broad bo'som of her kind nurs e; " I have gained what I

wanted, and lost all that I cared for, and now I am once again lonely and

desolate."

" Heaven bless you, my dear chi ld! Don 't talk so, " said Mrs. Mayfield.

" Ho w can a beautiful you ng creature lik e you, with plenty of money, be

lonely and desolate ? Come, tell me what it is that has grieved yo u; tell

me all about it."

" I can't tell you, nursie," she replied, "i t is something that cannot be

helped nor altered ; somethi ng that must be borne till time cures it, because

hearts now-a-days are too tough to break. It is something that no sympathy

could relieve , or I woul d tell yo u in a minute, for I k now I should have plenty

of sympathy from you ; but I must bear it, I must bear it ." And she drew

herself up, heaved a deep convulsive sigh, and wiped the tears from her eyes." I am come to stay with you for a week or tw o, " she added in a livelier

tone, " and then I shall go back to my own dear h ills, and live there all the

rest of my life."

" And if you do I shall go too, and take care of y ou, " said Mrs. Mayfield,

resolut ely. " I am sick of Lon don ; and I hate letting lodgings, and my last

lodger , '*she said, giving Guendolen a hearty kiss, "h as spoiled me for every

body else; so I'll sell off, or let my house, and settle down to be your house

keeper and servant. Yo u kno w I always loved the country ; and I have laid

by enough to keep me from bein g a burd en to anyb ody when I am old and

past service."

" That will be very nice," said Guendolen, smiling faintly; "an d th ough

I can never be happy again, my life will be peaceful and undisturbed

by care, and I shall miss happiness the less because I have never been used to

it, and never knew what it was except for a few weeks."

" Bless the child, how she talks! " half-soliloquised Mrs. Mayfield. " One

would think she was a middl e-ag ed woman, who had passed throug h all the

sorrows of life. However, I suppose everybody thinks their own burden is the

hardest to bear ; but it does seem strange to me. that you, so handsome and richas you are, should be disappointed in love."

" Disappointed in love ! " repeated Guendolen. " Wh y, Susan, what do you

mean ? I did not say anything about being disappointed in love."

" No , my lamb ; I know you didn't ," said the old lad y; " but when a

young woman is in grief about something, and won't tell what that is, it is easy

to be understood that it is a disappointment in love. Young folks don't break

their hearts about the loss of money . Besides, if that was all your trouble,

yo u woul d tell me quic k enoug h. Yo u have lost no friend by death ; for of

course you don't grieve over your old aunt that was always such a tyrant to

you, and the dear boy that you loved so well has r ecovere d, thanks to your

care. Besides, as I said before, it is plain to see that you have been thwarted

in love. Bad luck to the man who was so wanting in taste and sense as not

to prefer you before the whole world!"

" Susan," said Guendolen, with dignity, " you must not talk in this way

I cannot allow it."

" Now , my darling, don't ye be angry with me! " cried the good woman,

her eyes filling with tears. " Now do ye forgive me if I have said anything

to offend you."

Guendolen kissed her in token of forgiveness, and then saying that she had

some arrangements to make with her lu ggag e before dinner, she went upstairs

into her dressing-room.

W h e n Mrs . Mayfield went t o summon her to dinner, she found that these

arrangements consisted in carefully examining and arranging her jewel- case.

A few rings and an odd bracelet or two she had laid aside, as if for ordinary

us e; bu t the magnificent suites, one of pearls, the other of diamonds and

rubies, with necklaces, tiaras, and every imaginable form of ornament, she

had arranged in their respective trays, ready to place in their casket.

" Tha t is right , my dear, " said Mrs. Mayfield. " You'll never want them

beautiful things in a lone co untr y plac e, and it would be dangerous to have

them with you. You ' l l send them to Mr. Fowler, I suppose ? "

" Y es , " repli ed Guendole n, " I shall place them in safety before I g o . "

She smiled sadly as she took a last look at the beautiful jewels, and con

signed them to their resting -places. Then she resolutely locked them up,

shook off the painful emotion, and descended to dinner. But it was in vain

that Mrs . Mayfi eld had exerted her bes$ skill in cooking the tempting little

dishes of which the meal was composed. Guendolen could scarcely eat a

mouthf ul; she seemed almost heart-broken, and yet, to Mrs. Mayfield'?surprise she went in the evening to the opera.

Guendolen's sole object in going to the opera was to look at Captain

Greville. He was there, handsome, agreeable, and fascinating as eve r; and

Sylvia, the very impersonation of happiness, bloomed like a rose in the

sunshine of his smiles. Sir Freder ick did not make his appearance, and Lady



June 16, I860.]

Elphinstone looked more unhappy than ever. Guendol en's eyes were notonce turned towards the stage ; and as soo n as Lady Elphinst one and Sy lviawithdrew , escorted by the l over o f the latter, poor Guendolen wrapped herdark mantle round her and glid ed out of the house, alone and desolate.Fee ling the necessity for bodil y exerti on to weary her out and make hersleep, she determined to return on foot. Though her face was hiddenby a thick veil, her elega nt figure an d graceful walk attracted the admirationof a passer-by, who familiarl y accosted her. She shrank back , and thestranger attempted to take her hand, but was in a mom ent hurled fro m off the pavement by a well-p lante d blow in the chest, inflicted by a v igo rou sarm, the owner of which .seemed to be following close upon her footsteps.

"Dare to molest this lady again and I wi ll give yo u in charge to the

police," said a roug h but well-remember ed voice at the same moment." Take my arm, Mr s. Elphi nstone," he added , in a whispe r. " Le t me seeyo u safe before that fellow recovers himself."

" Thank you, thank you, Mr. Wilburn," she replied, quickening her stepsalmost to a run. " By what fortunate accident was it that you were sonear ? "

" By no accident at all," he replied . " No t hearing from yo u all day, asyo u promised that I should, I became very uneasy respecting you." _

" Oh, pardon me— I quite forgo t my promise !" she excla imed, in accentsof contrition. -' Yo u would forgive me, " she continued, with a falteringvoice, " if you knew how much I have to make me unha ppy. An d tho ugh Ihave just been to a place of amusement, yo u must no t suppose it was pleasurethat I sought there. I went to see from a distance a friend from wh om Iam estranged, and "

" Say no more about it, dear la dy, " interrupted Leicester. " If you hadeven gone to soothe y our grief b y listening to music, what need is there toaccoun t to me for it ? "

" I owe it to myself to accou nt for a broken promise and seemin g heartless-

ness," replied Guendolen." And I owe it to myse lf to account for my havi ng lain in wait for yo u, "

said he, anxious to divert her from the subje ct of her thoug hts, which heeasily guessed at from what he had hea rd Sir Frederic k say respecting CaptainGreville. " Hea ring nothin g of yo u, as I said before , I went to the square,and was just in time to see a carriage drive off. Thi nki ng you mig ht be init I came he re, and loitered about in the hope of catchin g a glimps e of you .W h e n the carriage went off without you I was very much alar med ; but thenext moment you passed me on foot, and so, as in duty bo und , I followed.

Which way do yo u g o ? Not back to Sir Frederick Elphinstone's house,I hope ?"

"Trust me," replied Guendolen, " I have changed my abode."

" I am delighted to hear it," said Leicester. " Y o u must have had thecourage of a lioness ever to have ventured beneath the roof of that wickedand unscrupulous man."

" I was very much dece ived, " she said ; " for when I first we nt there I hadgood reason to believe that he hated me more than any person in the world."

" Y o u r courage was shown in that," said Leic ester, " as he had attempte d

your life."" On the contrary," said Guendolen. " M y life was safer from him there

than anywhere else, for he would not venture to kill me in his own h ou se ;it would brin g d own to o rigid an inquiry upon hi m, and, besides, he kne wthat I had left some proofs of his former attacks in the hands of my lawyer,wh o wou ld use them witho ut scruple in case of my death. It is an odd ^toryfrom beginning to end, and I would relate it to you if I had time and thou ghtit would be of sufficient interest. But here we are at the door of my lodgings.Come in, and sup with me. The mistress o f the house was formerl y mynurse*, so there will be no slander created by your accepting my invitation."

This was too much for Wilburn to resist, but when they were seated at thesupper table, he regretted having come in. Guendolen forced herself to talk,

thoug h labouring under such prostration of mind that he felt he was anintruder, and long ed to make his escape if he coul d do so witho ut remark ingupon her sorrow in a way that might be unpleasant to her. He availedhimself of the first opportunity that offered to rid her of his presence, but hecontinued to wander about the street and watch the dim light in herwindows till dawn began to break.

(To be continued J

TH E P A R T I N G T O N P A P E R S .

W e are sadly afraid that ou r readers having seen Mrs. Partington, as sheterms it, "s afe ly lanced in the oshun of bashful m arri age, " m ust be content toleave her so. She herself, over-pers uaded, we have been give n to understand,

by her excel lent relative Mr. Ike , objects to any further " exposition of hermembers ; there are somethings which sho uld be artfully revealed from thesinecure of Paul- Pryin g eyes, and p'raps the sweet symphon y of 2 benighted'arts, in their fist perditio n of the suites of wedde d life, are the most sacred inth e unifurst."

" I can have no conjunction," continues this gifte d woman , " still to

scatter my sublime contusions and my scent o' mental sentences like unstungpurl upo n you r pag es ; b ut I c anno t foller step by step all the prevaricat ionsof fortune whi ch, from time to time, befell me and my faithful swan theCorpore al. But above and bey ond and moreo ver a relation of mine ses, seshe, that to right about love is ondedicate, an' h ow am I to right aboutmaredge if I do not right of love ? Oh, my youn g friends, yo u will after youare fallen into the years of iniquity (the good lady means antiquity) quiteagree with the provender and ancient bun mow, which says there is nothinglike love in the whole 'varsal world. Love gilds the pill of life ; a pill whichis as bitter as the nasty docto rs' stuff gin erally is to most of us. Do youthink we wome n woul d go through 'alf the triles and purboils that we do if it were not for the desolati on of love. From the time when we are bits of t,hings at a punis hing Hayc ade mme and co nsiderate the active verb J'aim, Ilove, Too aims, thou lovest, et settler, et settler, to that blessed time when weexpects to become the mothers of a blissful pro dig y ourselves, and stick a lotof pins on a pincushion, with the cosm opolite motter of " Welcome, little

stranger," we haul think upon love.

" As for Ik e, for it is Isaac to wh om b I relude, (he was named after Wa lto n's

Angular, for the Corporeal was very fond of piscational exerc ises, and usedto troll in a fish and troll out a song at the same time)—as for Ike conjecturing about women righting about love, why it's all fudg e it is, and that's

"the Heb re w of it. I never read one of the Roma nse of Ree l Life, which areso poplar now, in which there was not a deal about matches, the tinder

passion and the fire of affliction. Th e authors of the w eaker six are verystrong in that way; but the men are no better: there is half-a-dozin g towun and six to the other. The y all like it. The re was the two M iss Little-chaps (the dorters of Deac on Littlechap of Salem town ), they came spick andspry in their go- to-m eeti n' clothes the othe r day to see m e, and arter theyhad matriculated a pumpkin pie and a huge quantity o' tarts as they sot in acorner like two little red daisies on one plant, bless me i f they didn't beg into tork about Love. An d they spoke quite sensible like , an' sed someth in'about a cumfble home and a settlemint. But princeap olly they forked aboutI's, blue, and black, and brown, and air too, and wen they had predisposed o'that subjic k, they began to tork abou t dresses, and clothes , and ri bbin, andcrinolean ; but they soon returned to L o v e ! A nd m i ! warn't it fun for anol d un like me to hear it .

" People may say what they likes, Mr. Hedditur, but men and women weremade to look for'ard to love, specially women ; and supposing that the matter

is naturally combusted no 'arm can come of it. It's them poor creeturs asdurstn't marry that phears luv, but I don't. How eve r, as afore sed, as mynearest and deerest think as I shou ldn' t giv e to the worl d and to the greatEuropean and Amerikin prosperity my idees on the subjick, the best way willbe for me to conform to their prejudg ements, and to put a perio dical en d tomy memeries, so if you will return my M.E.SS ; I will promise as before togive you my noceans on things in gene ral, and still contribu te m y pair o'graffs to your widely calculated journal."

Upon consulting (in consequence of this letter) with Mrs. Partington, wefound that her ideas were quite, as she said, "fix atu re s" on the matter; and

therefore— at least for the present—we must take leave of the memoirs of this excellent old lady, hopi ng again to meet her, and at no very distant

period, in the fields of literature.

B E A U T I F U L M O O N .

Beautiful mo on ! shining so bright ,Shedd ing you r pale beams around us at

night ,Cheering the sai lor whils t on the lea,Watch ing your rays playing on the calm

sea,Peep ing th rough casemen t s f rom your

b r igh t throne above ,Beaming on maidens d reaming o f love ;Oft midst the scenes of revelry here,Y o u n g loving eyes you r pale beams rever e.Beautiful mo on ! shining so brigh t ,Shedding your soft rays around us at night ,Luring yo ung love rs far from their h o m e ,Whisp 'ring their love t hemes as onward

they roam.

Soft shining mo on ! s i lvery l ight ,Pal ing the stars wi th your lustre so bright ,Wak ing the songsters 'm idst leafy shades,Fi l l i ng wi th melody dark forest glades ;Th e streamlet is gl iding so calmly along,Cheering the heart with i ts mur mur ing

song,

The landscape, l ike fairyland, loo king sogay ,

In fancy we wander, and th ink 'tis theday .

Beautiful m oon ! shining so brigh t ,Shedding your soft rays around us at ni ght ,Lur ing you ng lovers far from their h o m e ,Whisper ing so f t love t hemes as onward

they roam.

E . V . D .

A S E N S I B L E R E P L Y . — A blind man hav ing walked the streets with a lightedlantern, an acquaintan ce met hi m, and excla imed in some surprise, " W hy ,what is the use of that light to you ? Yo u know every street and turning—it

does you no good. You can't see a bit the better."—" No," replied the blindman, " I don 't carry the li ght to make me see, but to preven t fools fromrunningagainst me."

T H E L A T E L A D Y M O R G A N ' S M A R R I A G E D A Y — A L O V E S T O R Y . — " When

she was very yo ung , a Mr. Cros sley, wh o was you nger still, became so attachedto her as to offer marriage. She told him she wou ld have accepted him atonce bu t that neither of them cou ld boast of possessing a single shilling , andthe result was a prospective engagement, to be realised only so soon as meanswere apparent for their future subsistence. To devise this, she suggested as a

career that an applica tion shoul d b e made to the Marq uis of Hertf ord for acadetship in the Ind ian ar my ; and, as Crossley's family had some local claimstheir request was successful, and he was speedil y appoi nted to a regime nt in

[ the Presidency of Madras. The correspondence continued for some ye ars ;| though so. interruptedly that a considerable suspension took place, during

which the lady 's posit ion and prospects had been un iformly rising, and hermarriag e was at leng th solemnise d with Sir Charles Mo rga n, the ce remo ny

having taken place at Baron's Court, the seat of Lor d Abercorn , in the countyTyrone. On the morning o f the weddin g the post arrived before the procession to the church, and the sister of the bride took charge of her letters fo rMiss Owenson. These she opened on her return to the house ; and amon gst

them was one from Crossley, accou nting for his l on g silence by the anxietiesof a period of uncertainty which had no w ended by his receiving some prom otion in the army, and a staff appointm ent in the service of the Niz am . This

was the long-lo oked-f or point in his career, and having at last attained independe nce he wrote to claim the performanc e of their early engagement, andpropose an immedia te union. The old lady told rue this little novel—heranimation heightened at once by the roman ce and the reality o f the story—a nd

its reco llect ion is enhan ced to me b y this having been one of the liveliest, asit was the last, interview I ever had with Lady Morgan."—FitzpatricK's JAfi

of Lady Morgan, T ^ ' v



108 [June 16, 1860.

T O C O R R E S P O N D E N T S .

T H E L A D IE S ' W EST- EN D B A Z A A R . — A Mr. Edward W. James

has writt en to us, forward ing a print ed s ta tement

under the title of " The First Half-yearly Report" of

th is conc ern, and dema ndin g its insertion in answer to

our remar ks up on it in No. 891. We feel bou nd to say

that according to this sta tem ent £ i 39 appears to ha ve j

been disbursed, whilst only £42. lis. 5d. has been J

received ; so that the promoters have ret ired with a

loss of £96. 9s. Id. The expe nses inclu de up ward s of

£5 6 for printing , stationery, and adver tisemen ts, and

on e or two item s whi ch we should hav e thoi ight un

necessary for so charitable a conce rn. Mr. James refers

Us to the solicitors wh o "w o un d the bazaar" (sic),

Messrs. King of Lincoln's Inn ; but we regret to say

that we do not find such a firm existing amongst

London attorneys, at least in the presen t edition of the

La w List, althoug h several hig hly respectable gen

tlemen of that na me are co nne cted with other legal

firms in variou s parts of London. Failing in our

at tempt to me et "Mess rs. King," we sought (and wehereby beg to infor m him of the fact) Mr. James him

self, at th e addr ess w he nc e he had dated, 14, or 12,L a m b ' s Conduit Street; but here again we were equally

unsucessful . We have no other me thod of comm uni

cating wit h hi m but thr ough our pages, and we wil l ing ly insert his s ta tement , especially as he appears to

have been very curio usly unfortunate. Thus, fixtureswh ic h were nearly new, sold for £7 . 13s; they .had

cost , accordin g to the statement, £34 . 14s. lOd. Th ewhole per centag e on the sale of g o o d s amounted

to the eno rmou s sum of £2. 3s. 6d., and the subscr ip

tions in aid of this admirable charity—for such it should

have proved—are re turned at the munificent amou nt

of £4. 4s., and this too when m any concern s with lesswo r th y aims count their tens of thousands. But the

ill luc k which attend ed the bazaar appears neve r to

have deserted it. Mr. James; wh o wit h a nob le

e c o n o m y only uses a smal l po rtio n o f half a sheet of paper to write to us, asserts that the " enclosed report

was sent round the press (sic), and advertised, and

further, been forwarded to all the contributors, as well

as thei r wor k deposited for sale been returned (carriage

paid) thro ugh Messrs. King , of Linco ln's Inn. " We

use Mr. James's own words , which c o n v e y the mean

ing, i f ungr ammatical ; but unfortunately these words

do not exactly tal ly with our Correspondents' let ters;

an d there mus t ha ve been som e gros s error, (perha ps !

in the post-off ice ,) as we neve r received the rep ort our - j

se lves; nor, al thoug h it was dated early in March , i

have our Corresponden ts, who from all parts of thecountry write us thei r comp lain ts on the 23rd of April, I

and the 8th, 11th, and 23rd of May, & c , & c , recei ved

their g o o d s . There are here som e discrep ancies either

on th e part of Mr. James or of our Corr espon dents

and o f those householders in the neigh bourh ood of

the bazaar ( no w and long since c l ose d) who gave usm u c h information ; nor does our personal experie nce !

tend to reco ncile the m, save in one way. But havin g Idone our dut y to our Corres ponden ts, and also, in all

fairness to the bazaar, w e b eg to leave those w ho hav e

sent w or k to, or who are otherw ise creditors of theconcern, to apply to the solicito rs, or to Mr. James, at

the addresses given ab o v e ; and we certainly hopethat they will have greater success than we hav e had.

A D A seems to subscribe to the Byro nic doctrine that—

Man's love of man's life is a thing apart;

'Tis woman's whole existence.

Very true, proba bly ; sound s prett i ly, and looks well

on gilt-ed ged paper, bu t is it true in reality ? We dou bt

it, and would place it amo ng tho se broa d ass ertions

which it is not safe to as broad ly contra dict. If w e

unreservedly accept it we must not believe that a ny

man ever died of a bro ken heart through unrequited

or betrayed l ove , when, as is well kno wn, the contrary

has too often been the case. The correct theor y, it

appears to us, wo u l d be , tha t as men and wo m e n cannot

l ove like the angels but only as human bein gs, the

exposi t ions of the sentimen t must vary with the

character and temp eram ent of the individu als. Refined

me n will dote upon coarse-minded women, and ladies

brimful of pathos and delicacy, and with a superior

tone of mind, will give thei r hearts and fortunes to men

w h o m less educated wo m e n wo u l d disdain to associatewith, much less marry . Ho w is this to be accounted

for unless we accept the suppo sition that there is no

fixed rule in the matte r? Poets have a license, and

there is no ha rm in acce ptin g wha t they write at its

occul t value.

E D IT H L. — Farme rs bel ong to th e mid dle classes of

society. A gentleman farmer has long been quoted as

the beau ideal of an Engli shma n. He is to the cou ntr y

what the shopk eeper is to the town. Ba t breathing

an unadul terated atmo sph ere h e has very little of the

appearance of the citizen in him. If he r anks b e l o w

the lawyer and ph ysic ian in intelligenc e he is socially

their equal, and in s om e respe cts thei r superior, for

his rang e of infor mation is wide and varied, so that y ou

may safely acce pt the add res ses of a farmer so far as

his positi on is conce rned . If, as th e " Yankees " say,

his " surroundings " are all right, he wo u l d be a bett er

match than a village lawyer or doctor, either of w h o m

ma y have to wrig gle throug h a life of poverty for

half a century.

T. A. J.—The uncultivated m ind mus t be reac hed by

means of allegory, and such passages are the symbolicallanguag e of the East. An abstract idea takes no hold

upon such mind s, and hence the teachin g of the m is best

accomplished by parables and startling allegories. The

sentence simply expresses the necessity of not allow

in g any lesser duty, ho wever paramount i t may appear

to us, to interfere wi th the wor kin g out of the salvation

of ou r ow n souls. That is the first duty, to wh ich all

others should give place.

MARRIAGE WITH COUSINS.—The paragraph on th is subject

in N o. 891 has ex cited muc h inte rest in our readers,

and has called forth various letters, the majority of the

writers asking advice, and one or two adverting in an

angr y spirit to the conc lusio ns to be draw n from it.

Our readers will remember that stat ist ics are veryhard facts, and that our quotation from an American

scientific journal is bond fide. We cann ot say and un

say ; and, seriously speaking, altho ugh the stat ist ics

quoted by us may rule high , yet there can be no doubt

"but that near relatives should not marry. Colerid ge

has left it upon record that the grea test curse whi ch

can torment the conscience of any man is the reflec

t ion that by accid ent or inadver tence he has perpetu

ated disease or defo rmity up on his harmless childre n.

No w if the o bserva tions we ours elves have mad e and

th e stat ist ics we have quoted be true, th e Ohio Legislature is not only right in dealing with the matter, bu t

all other governments should at o n c e do so. That of

95 child ren born to cousin s 44 shou ld be idiots and 12scrofulous, is a fact so depl orab le, that th e State should

certainl - interfere, jus t as it do es when an unventi -

lated and mal odo rou s place produc es its annual crop

of deaths by fever. O ur ow n exp erie nce of the marriages

of near relatives is not favourab le to them . We alsok n o w of idiots and others of defectiv e mental po wer s

through such marriages. L o v e , like other passions,should be cont rolle d, and can be very well . There is

no more actual reason that b o y s should fall in l ovewith their cousins than with thei r sisters, which

latter wo u l d be thoug ht monstrous. Yet formerly

whole nations married their sisters, as Xanthus who

preceded Herodo tus tells us ; and were only cured

of doi ng so by the race dyi ng out. Many dwarfs

and o ther monstros ities, such for instance as the

A z t e c s , are said to have be en the pr og eny of

cousins. When our Correspondent (W IL L IA M P IP E )

quotes a certain Royal Hou se, he places arms in the

hands o f his opponent. Does he not know that

scrofula and othe r hereditary diseases haunt that

Royal House ? Does he not know that the Bourbons,wh o are cousin wedders, have retreating foreheads and

ape-like h eads?—that the Braganzas were half idiots,half melancholy despots? Does he not know that

our best farmers, Coke of Leicesterand others, produ ced

the finest s tock by crossi ng the b l o o d ? T oo mu ch fine

ol d " b l u e b l o o d , " as the Spaniards say, nev er helps arace, and never wi l l ; the small forms, pallid c o m plexions, and general decay amo ngs t thos e admir able

people, th e Society of Friends, we have heard at t r ibutedby one of their own n umbe r to cousin-marrying, andcont inual ly wed din g in Quaker families. We would

no t offend an y one ; but in suc h cases truth must besp o k e n ; and the marriage of cousin s we thin k injudi

c io u s , that of dou ble and treble cousins posit ively

injuriou s, and direful in its conse quenc es. The

Church had g o o d reason fur her forbid den degrees of consanguin i ty , and it will be a sad day when those

behests are repealed. In these thin gs we may safelytrust to the wisdom of our ancestors. A Corr espon dent

wh o signs with th e magic word L O V E may gather our

opinion f rom th e foregoing. If possible, do as we

poin t out, alth ough in his case the cousin-sh ip is

s im p le ; so also wi th IGNATIUS, who sends us anelaborate s che me of the degree s of b l ood relat ionship,

and who has g o o d reason for his belief that th e c o n tinued fresh b l o o d will nullify any injurious effects.

Other Correspondents will see by the above that we

cannot consci entiously abandon the conclusions which

our paragraph forces upon every reflecting mind.

G E O R G E , T H O M A S , AN D J O H N . —In the solution of the

first arithmetic al quest ion of No. 883, give n in No. 886,

yo u forget that when the snail arrived at the top of thepole he was no longer liable to slip d o wn a t night ;

and whe ther he was or not, the time in whi ch hearrived at the top is the time require d. Thus, at the

end of 23 days and as ma ny nights, th e snail has

ascended 345 inches, leaving only 27 inches to the top

of th e p o l e . No w, as he ascend s 31 inches every day

before he b egins to slide dow nwa rds , it is evident he

has gained the top before th e c l ose of the 24th day.

But as the Pr opo und er of the question does not say

ho w many h ours of each day the snail keeps asce ndin g

before he begin s to de scend , we are at a loss to kno w

ho w man y hours of the 24th day are occupied in attain-

ing the sum mit of the p o l e . In the solution which wepubli shed, 24 hour s wer e allo wed as the ascend ing day,

giv ing 23 days, 20 hours, 54 minutes. 2 secon ds, for th e

time requir ed. But allo wing 12 hour s for the ascend

in g day, the tim e is 23 days, 10 hours , 27 mi nutes ,

1 second.

M A R Y N U R S E . — C h a r a c t e r depend s upo n conduct. The

lines of the c oun tenan ce are ind exe s to the conscience.

But as every rule has an except ion , we must not jud ge

others too harshly. Suffering makes sad havo c with

the " hum an face divin e ; " a nd w e should in all suchcases t ake to our " heart of hearts " the convict ion that

othe r peop le are as g o o d as ourselv es. Shakspear e

has told us there are sermons in stones ; and if any of

us l o o k for the m we can readily find the m.

F L O S . — A n engage d you ng lady, thou gh not quite as free

as the perfumed summer breeze, should bear no c o r o net but that of maidenly l iberty on her innocen t b ro w.

But we have noticed in our t ime that a particular,

exact ing , and jealous lover make s a very tame husba nd.

Th e dign ity of the lady takes the sting out of the g en

tleman's uncalled-for presumption.

M IN N IE C . — Y O U b l ew the l ight out , instead of nourishi ngthe flame, and of course y ou are now jus t as mu ch in

the dark as before it had ma de its reappearance.

Read our art icle on Modern Matrimonial Engagements

. in No . 738.

B. B.—It was not the Quakers' advice, t he y only adopted

it ; it was the pr actice of R o m e under the Emperor

Augustus, as the Roman satirist tells us—and what

fruit did it bear ?

Two SURBITON L A S S I E S . — W e sincerely trust the young

me n of Surbiton are n ot so bad as yo u describe them.

Unfortunately, tobacco-smoking is on e of the manias

of the age ; an d ho w can we get rid of vio lent social

anomali es but by a gentle cours e of moral correctiv e

medicine ? When ladies wield the wand of womanly

discipline in earnest, then, and t he n only, will the

" w e e d " be banished from respectable society. Bu t

we have hear d m any married ladies declare that if

thei r husbands will smok e the cigar, in " th e na me of

g o o d n es s " let them smo ke it at ho me ; and this, say

we , is sensible generalship.

C O N STA N C E. —Th e " wi d o w ' s peak," a term given to a

tuft of hair wh ich gro ws in the centre of the f orehead,

is often a sou rce of annoy ance to y oun g person s.Sometimes at tempts are made to remove it by depilatories, and at other s by the scissors. It is better , h o w ever, to al low it to g r o w , and, when long enou gh, to

brus h it on one side with the hair. It is essential to

turn it always one way.

C L A R A V.—Don' t be in too great a hurry. Many trite

sayings are true, such as "stil l waters are deepest."

So wait till he comes again, and when he asks you to

take his arm for a walk, repl y archly, in placing it

with in his, " ye s, and yo u too, as it's leap-year." Thatwill bring him to b o o k better than all the po utin g in

the world.

N E L L IE G . — T h e bo w was perhaps neither demanded by

"etiquet te," n or indicative of " impudence ." Situated

as the gentl eman is, it was perhaps si mply the recog

nition made by a pastor to one of his flock. If you

want a g o o d dye for the hair consult our article on thesubject in No. 835. The handwriti ng is pretty g o o d .

D I D O . — Y o u do no t r ead carefully our replies to Corres

pon dents . See wha t was said to A SCOTTISH LASSIE in

No . 82 9 ; to M I R A N D A in NO . 844; to A S U F F E R E R in

No . 8 5 1 ; to D A I S Y in No. 87 6 ,; and to R O S E in No. 88 0 ;

let these replies act as an antidote to the poison of the

apostle of fire and brimstone.E MIL IE .—Ba ske t t 's folio edition of the Bible, printed at

Oxford in 1717 , has a mispr int in th e headline, The

Parable of the Vinegar, instead of " The Parable of t heVineyard ; " hence the name, " Vinegar Bible."

FLORA. — Refrain from malt liquo r, and take more

exercise, particularly in the early mor nin g; a walk

before breakfast is the best ant idote.

G O O D H A M . — T o softe n the br istles of a hard brush, let

the brush soak repeatedly in warm water, in which is

dissolved a little crude soda.

A MECHANIC. — Hor ns may be softened i n scal ding

water; they can be polished with buff leather and

tripoli powder.

O T H E R C O M M U N IC A T I O N S R E C E I V E D . — G. R . — B. B . —

S. T . — A . E . — B R U N O . — A S U B S C R IB E R (use name or

initials; it is a misquotation from Prior's Henry and

Emma ; th e word s are, " Fine by degrees, and beauti

fully less ").—J. F. ( every information ma y be had onapplication at the institutio n). — T. B. (ap ply to a

solicitor, instructing him to tile a pe t i t ion) .—O RI O N

(all are equally g o o d , an d well managed).—E. S. (not

under t we n t y -one ) .—L OUISE (at the Swiss Consulate,2 1 , Old Broad Street, City, E C . ) . — Q U I L L (by advertise

ment, or private recommendation). — A B R A H A M (if you

cannot play by ear you must learn the n o te s ) . — Y O U N G

GIPSY (as in garb; yes, to each o f the other threeques t ions ) .—G ERTRU D E B. (Agapemone is pronouncedag-a-pee-mo-nee ; yo u may learn all abo ut i t in Nos .

6 0 1 , 603, 605, and 80 7 ; l a d y l i k e ) . — A . B. C. (all his

acts speak for themselves; consult papa or mamma

about accep ting the ring) . - S A R A H L . (we cannot

repeat recip es; send two stamps for the number by

p o s t ) . — M . R. (it was the trite compl aint Of want of

) gal lant^ , and l ove of s m o k e ) . — A 1. (yes, the Prin

cess Royal was a minor; for marriage-licences seerep ly to VENUS in No. 824) .—POSSESSOR (take out an

admini strati on-su mmons thr oug h a solicitor, if the

will has not been proved) .—R. A. T. (sufficient for

you, and for him also, if they were two separate pay

m e n t s ) . — S A R A H A. E . (apply to Messrs. C o c k s & Co.,

Music Publishers, New Burlington Street , W.) .—

A D A O. (it is only a civil contract, entered into at the

Registrar's of f ice ; fifteen d ays, and t wen ty- on e days'

notice). — A U N T L IZ Z IE (app ly to Mr. Mitchell, Red

Lion Court, Fl eet Street, E.C ., for all particulars).—M A X L. (acquaint your friends, or you may be prepar

in g a life of misery for the f u tur e ) .—MI N N I E VESCI

(why should you complain? If they are content , who

is damaged?) .—G. QUILTER ( o n l y in passenger-ships,

and waiters are always preferred to c le r ks ) .—N EP TU N E

(i f they enjoy it, none) .—B. B. (spare, but nutritious

diet, muscu lar exerc ise, and e xpo sure of the b o d y to

the actio n of the a t m o s p h e r e ; . — E M M A G. (of Mr.

Charles Go odman , bookseller, No. 407 , Strand, W . C . ) .

— M A Y R O S E (gather ye rose-buds while ye may ; butdon ' t mar ry a man you cannot r e s pec t ) .—S A RA H

GEORGINA ( " I asp ire to rise, yet I fear to fall" ; in

othe r wor ds, " I am a cowa rd wit ho ut a littlee n c o u r a g e m e n t " ) . — A L E X (all dep end s up on its exten t

an d annual profits). —DOCEO (i n Rose's Biographical

Dictionary).—HELIOTROPE (do they correspond?).—

E. S. C . D . (under parental control t i l l twenty-one).—

T. A . (in No. 82 : see also No, 4 9 2 ; send four stamps

for the two by p o s t ) . — L A U R A A. W. (do not let that

distur b y ou ; but fol low the counsel of yoiir friends).

— E . M. A. (ask your med ical attendant to reason with

h im ; or get your minister to speak to him).—C. X. N.

(the liver is pr obab ly out of orde r ; consult a me dc al

m a n ) . — A D A M . (no ; but he is living).—Miss P. (o n lyin f ro l i c ; let him keep i t ) . —A M I C U S V E R I (they are

only to be obtained authentically from the Heralds'

Visitations ; many of these have been publish ed, and

are access ible to t he advertisers). — J. W . (what is

French clay ? ) .—HAMPSTEAD BRAMBLE (see Nos. 719

an d 728) . — M I N A M . (see No. 526). — W. M . (see

" Wedding Process ion" in No 175 , 3d. free).



i lo T H E F A M I L Y R E K A L i ) — A D O M E S T I C M A G A Z I N E O F [June 16, 1860.

be expected of their hardy followers, should necessity and patriotism callthem forth to declare once more their super iority in- her defenc e : and itwould be equally trite to recount the daring which has been displayed by suchgallant officers as Parry, Ross, Franklin, and M'Clintock. Suffice it to saythat these and thousands of other names might be added to that roll, which byits length and its brilliancy only tends to show to the British sailor, of what

ever rank, the hardships and the skill, the perils and the glo ry to wh ich hisrace are heir s; so much the mor e so, seeing that it is on her Nav y that ol dEngland so confidently depends.

R E M E M B E R M E !

Rem emb er me !—who can fo rge tThose touch ing words by fond l ip s

s p o k e n ,"When eyes are d im m' d wi th dew y tears,

A n d hearts with grief are nearly b r o k e n ?

R e m e m b e r m e ! T h e part ing w o r d sOf friends, perhaps about to sever

Fo r days, for mon ths , i t ma y be years ,P e r c h a n c e o n earth t o part for ever.

R e m e m b e r m e ! W h e n death is nigh,A n d s o m e l o v e d spirit fast is fleet ing,

Those accen t s s eem to shadow fo r thThe p rom ise o f a Reathless m e e t i n g .

R e m e m b e r m e ! W h a t depth of loveThose s imple words a t once reveal ;

They see m the language of the heart,A sad, and yet a swe et appeal .

H . D .

F A M I L Y M A T T E R S .

Ambition, energy, industry, and perseverance are indispensable for success

in business.

Ther e cannot live a more unhap py creature than an ill-natured old man,

wh o is neither capable o f receiving pleasures, nor sensible o f doin g them to

others.

T H E C L OS E OF L I F E . — I t wil l afford sweeter happiness in the hour of death to have wiped one tear from the cheek of sorrow than to have ruled an

empire.

L O V E OF OR NAM E NT . — T he ' love of ornament creeps slowly, but surely, intothe female heart. A girl w ho twines the lily in her tresses, and looks atherself in the clear stream, will soon wish that the lily were fadeless and thestream a mirror. W e say, let the youn g girl seek to adorn her beauty, if shebe taught also to adorn her mind and heart, that she may have wisdom to

direct her love of ornament in due moderation.

S P R I NG DI S E AS E S . — Any housekeeper would be considered demented whowould keep up as fierce a fire on the hearth in the spring as in mid-w inter .On the contrary, as the days grow warmer, less and less fuel is used, until thefire is not kindle d a t all. One of the two main objects of eating is to keepthe body wa rm ; an d it need not be argued that less warmth is required insummer than in wi nte r; but if we eat as heartily as the sp ring advances aswe did in cold weather, we shall burn up with feve r, because we have made to omuch heat. The instincts of our nature are perfectly wonderful. To our shame

is it that we not only do not heed them, but oppose them, fight against themwith an amazing fatuity. As the warm weather comes on, we are ail consciou sof a diminution o f appetite, and w e either be gin to apprehend we are about toge t sick, or set about stimulating ourselves with tonics, and bitters, and variouskinds of teas, with a view of purifyin g the blood. How many swills of sassafras-tea has the reade r taken to that end ! N o such purification wou ld beneeded if we would follow Nature's instincts, and eat only with the inclinationshe gives us, instead o f taking tonics to make us eat mo re, when w e actuallyrequire less. Observant persons have notice d that as spring comes on there isless relish for meats o f all kinds, an d we yearn for the early spring ve getables,the " green s," the salads, the spinach, the radishes, and th e like. W h y ?Just look at it ! Meats have more than fifty per cent, of carbon, of the heatingform principl e. Veget ables and fruit have ten per cent., five per cent., oneper cent, of heat! Potatoes have eleven per cent., turnips three per cent.,gooseberries only one. Literally, incalcula ble are the good results which wouldfollow a practical attention to these facts. Tho se who are wise will take notonics for the spring, will swallow no teas to purify the blood, nor imaginethemselves to be about getting sick because they have not in May as vigorous

an appetite as in December; but will at once yield themselves to the guidanceof the instincts, and eat not an atom more than they have an inclination for, tothe end of a joyous spring-t ime and a summer of glor ious hea lth; while thosewh o will eat, who will stimulate the stomach with tonics, and " f o r c e " their

food, must suffer with drowsiness, depression, and distressing la ssitu de; andwhile all nature is waking up to gladness and newness of life, they will haveno renov ation and no well-sp rings of joyous and exuberant health.— Mall's

Journal of Health.

A R O S E B U D I N T H E P A R K .

wise. Still it comforts me that it takes a long time for the weakest motherto spoil a very little child; to transmute its naturalness into artificiality, andgraduate lip, eye, and br ow in fashion's school. So I love to watch them,encumbered as their gracefuln ess often is with fine trap ping s. It is anarticle in my creed that a pretty child looks prettiest when plainly dressed,an d that a plain one never can be made pretty b y "f uss and feathers." I

sa w a little girl-thing, the other day there, shaking her flossy golden ringletsabout under a sensible hat, and todd ling before me on the green-sw ard w iththe funniest little feet that ever nes ted a dimpl e. I wanted to see the faceunder that ha t; so I stooped down— uncertai n what reception I should meet,and peeped under the brim. No t a droo p of the clear ey es; not a blush of shyne ss; but, instead, two of the sweetest parted lips in the worl d, put

trustingly up to kiss me. I' m not ashamed to say that there was a big lumpin my throat, and a moisture abo ut my eyes as I returned it, or that I looked

after her till she was out of sight, and prayed Heaven she might never give akiss less purely, or where it wo uld be less valued. I have felt the dewy

fragrant touch of those little lips often since, though I d on't know whatmothe r's pet I blessed ; nor does it matter. F A N N Y F E R N .

S C I E N T I F I C A N D U S E F U L .

A correspondent assures the Vnited Service Gazette that, unless means are

devised for preventing the d ecay of the oak-tree by the insects that produce

gall-nuts, there will not be a single oak left in the course of a few years.

It appears, from experiments of Lieutenant Rod man, United States

Artillery, that guns lose nearly half their strength by being bored after beingcast solid, and if cast hollow upon a cold core, they were not only somuch stronger, but twenty times more durable. A gun east hollow was frred

2,500 times, while one bored from the solid burst at the seventy-third round.T o DETECT COTTON I N W O O L L E N F A B R I C S . — T h e presence o f cotton in a

woollen fabric may be easily recognised by the following tests. W h e n boiled

fo r twenty minutes in a solution o f nitrate of mercury the woollen fibresacquire a red colour, but the cotton fibres remain colourless. When the fabricis boiled with caustic soda solu tion (sp. gr. 105) the wool dissolves, but the

cotton is only slightly affected. Picr ic acid also stains wool yellow, but hasno auction on cotton.—Chemical News.

L A R G E B U R N I N G G L A S S . — A n ingenious artisan, residing in Islington, hasfabricated a burning-glass of most extraordinary powers . Its diameter is3 fee t; its pow ers are astonishing ; the most hard and solid substances of theminer al wor ld, such as platina , iro n, steel, flint, & c , are me lted in a fewseconds on being exposed to its intense focus. A diamond, weighing 10grains, exposed to this extraordinary lens for h alf an hour, was reduced to

6 grains, during whi ch operation it opened and foliated like the leaves of a

flower, and emitted whitis h fumes, and when closed again it bore a polishand retained its form.

A L O O M - M A D E S H I R T . — Thom as Hall , a linen-weave r in Ireland, hasfinished a shirt entirely in the loom. It is woven throughout without seams,and very accurately and neatly gathered at the neck, shoulders, and wrists.Th e neck and wrist-bands are doubled and stitched ; there is a regular selvage

on each side of the brea st; and where stitching ordinarily is, so it is in this

shirt. In short, it is as per fectly finished as if made by an expe rt needlewoman. The shirt has been exhibited to several persons in the linen trade,

wh o are com plet ely satisfied that it is actually the producti on of the loom,

without any assistance from the needle.

H O T W A T E R F O R G R E E N F L Y . — W e have made some experiments inorder to ascertain how high the temperature of water may be, without injuryto very you ng shoots of roses that may be cove red with gree n fly or aphis,when applied as a remedy. W e find the insect readily killed at 120°. Oneplant of Paul Perras, which was plunged three times, for a second each time,into wat er at 1 35 °, has a very few black spots o n the tend crest o f the leaves.Th e insects were instantly killed. Wate r at this temperature is thereforeperfec tly safe for any thin g. As, a reme dy against all soft-skinned insects, we

regard this as the most simple and effectual d isco very ever made.— AmericanGardener's Monthly.

Wh en I get soul -and -bod y weary I like to stroll into the park, sit quietlydown, and watc h the children with their nurses. I have sometimes imaginedthat the park-keepers oftener lift up the children of pretty nurses, to see theswans, and the ducks, than those under the charge of ordinary o ne s; but I may

be mistaken. I think, too, that I can pick out every child there who has asensible mothe r. She neither e xpos es its little bare beautiful leg s to the

treacherous winds of early spring, nor puts out her baby's eyes with adazzling white veil, nor dresses h er chi ld so fine that it cannot sit down onone of the seats, nor imprisons its busy hands in stiff kid gloves, putting thus

a veto upon its near acquaintance with pretty pebbles or sticks, or a chancedaisy or a buttercup, if her child is deformed, she does not render thepoor little creature's misfortune mo re conspicuou s by a show y costume. If herbo y has g row n big enougli to be ashamed of long, g irlish ringlets about his

shoulders, she does not insist upon sacrificing his in cipient manliness to herabsurd vanity. Wi th these old fogy views you may be sure that my list of children w ho are blessed with sensible mo thers is rather limited than other-

V E N T I L A T E T H E C H U R C H E S A N D T H E SCHOOLS.

W e have pointed out in No. 882 the necessity of ventilating the shop.Those observations apply not on ly to the tradesma n's shop, but also to theworksho p or factory. The fearful decadence of the health of the inhabitants

of such towns as M anchester, Oldha m, and Sheffield, which are in truth butcongreg ations of workshop s, is n oto rio us; the pale wan faces of the dwellers

there to o truly tell the wan t of pure , clean , fresh air.Passing no w from the private shop to public institutions we are compelled

to admit the same radical fault—the want of that element which is " the breath

of life."

In our churches, schools, and assemblies, people who g o there suffer more orless from this evil. It is proverbial how persons, you ng and old , suffer fromcolds, bronchitis, and influenza; all of which are said to be " cau ght, " whenthey return from some public place of assembly. The question naturally arises,

ho w is this ? The answer is, that it is caused by the sudden change which thebody undergoes in passing from a heated impure air to that of the natural

temperature, contain ing also its proper proportion of elements. Man requiresfor his health one gallon of air every minute of his life ; the individuals of achurch congregation are rarely, if ever, supplied with a quarter of that quantity.Only at the cathe drals is the air space in pro por tio n to the worshipers. A man

o f large lungs inhales about twenty-five cubic inches of air at each respiration;

he breathes eleven times a minute, and thus requires nine and a half cubic feetof air every hour. No w when there are a thousand persons under one roof

(some of the metropolitan church es and chapels contain 2,500 persons) for a



June 16, I860, j U S E F U L INFOBMATIQN A ND A M U S E M E N T . I l l

couple of hours, it is evident that twenty thousand cubic feet of air are required

to supply that which is necessary for existence to these thousand persons in a

pure atmosphere, so that of course a much larger quantity than that is required

in order that a current can be established to remov e the effete matter of

exhalation.

Th e evils of vitiated air are also more to b e guar ded against, be cause

persons can live in it wi tho ut be ing aware o f its d anger , as far as their

sensations are conce rned. Wh e n we enter a crowded assembly on a cold day

the air is always at first r epulsive and op pre ss ive ; but these sensations

gradually disappear, and we then breathe freely, and are uncons cious of the

quality of the air. Science, however , reveals t he fact that the system sinks

in action to meet the con diti ons of the imp ure air, but it does so at th e expense

of having the vital functions gradually depressed, and when this is continueddisease follows. No disease can be thoroughly cured when there is a want of

ventilation. It is related that illness continued in a family until a pane of

glass was accidentally broken, and then it ceased; the window not being

repaired, a plentiful supply of fresh air was admit ted.

Th e practice of building sepulchral vaults under the churches was f raught

with the greatest eyil to the health of those who went i nto the edifice for

sacred purposes. But with few exceptions it is now interdicted by the

legis latur e; still a great deal in the way of improve ment has to be done.

Nearly all the churches in the empire require some artificial means of ventila

tion to render them physi cally fit receptacles for the body during a prolon ged

service. The Sunday schools also, as a general rule, are very ill vent ilated;

and lessons in the second hour are far worse render ed than in the first,

solely arising from a semi-lethargic coma, that comes over the pupils breathing

a carbonic air, whi ch has already d one duty an d been inhal ed by others

several times. Howe ver it is to be regretted, it is yet true that people will

sometimes sleep during the sermon. No w, the minister must not be twitted

with this, for with the oratory of a Jeremy T aylo r or a Tillo tson people

could not be ke pt awake in an atmosphere charged with carbonic gas, theemanations of a thousand listeners. The churchwardens should ventilate

the churches, and see that the cong regations have sufficient air for breathing •

if people go to sleep they are more to blame than the preacher. S. P .

S T A T I S T I C S .

More than £125 ,00 0,0 00 has been paid as Inc ome Tax since it was re

established by the late Sir Eobert Peel.

There are 1,000 manufacturers of cigars in Philadelphi a. The weekly

production of cigars is estimated at six millions, which is equal to 31 2

millions annually.

Since the commencem ent of the year 1854, 347 gentlemen then in the

House of Commo ns have ceased to have a share in the deliberations of that

august assembly. The average of a parliamentary life is about twelve years.

T H E CO I N A G E . — A return relating to the operations o f the M int is now

issued. The number of sovereigns coined in 1859 was 1,5 47, 603 ; of half

sovereigns 2,203, 813—a greater number than those of the former year, when

803,234 sovereigns and 855,578 half sovereigns were coined. The total value

of all the gold coinage manufactured at the M int during the last ten years

was £54,490,265.

M A L T . — T h e total number of quarters of malt made in the Uni ted Kingdom

from the 1st of October, 1858, to the 1st of October, 1859, was 6, 122 ,8 92;

of which number 5,068,646 quarters were made in England, 691,258 in

Scotland, and 362,988 in Ireland. Duty was paid on. only 5,463,010 quarters ;

the remaining 659,882 quarters being free from duty, either on the ground of

exportation or for being for distillery purposes. The brewers used o f the

above quantity — in Engla nd, 3,077,84 9 quarters; in Scotland 168,104

quarters ; and in Ireland 296,6 13 quarters; or a total of 3,541,766 quarters.

The quantity used by the victuallers was—in England, 889,764 quarters;

in Scotland, 24,774 quarters; and in Ireland none. Th e retail brewers in

Engl and also used 410,09 8 quarters; giving a total used by brewers, victual

lers, and retail brewers, of 4,866,402 quarters.

PUBLIC EDUCATION.—The Vote for Education, Science, and Art, in the

Civil Service estimates, is to be £1, 305 ,91 2—a decrease of £22, 541 upon thevote of last year. The first item for Pub lic Educ ation in Great Britain is

£798,167, a decrease of £38,753. Th e grant for pupil teachers continues to

absorb more than a third of the entire su m; there are n ow no less than

15,224 of the m; the stipend begins at £ 10, rises gradually to £2 0, and is

paid for five years, the schoolmaster also recei ving a gratuity of £3 or £ 5

a year for the special instruction of the pupil teacher. There is then a

charge of £100,000 for the Training Colleges, to which the great body of the

pupil teach ers p roc eed for a year or two at the end of the five, with the

advantage of a Queen's scholarship or exhibition to meet the expenses, unless

they fail to obtain the mini mum number of marks on examination . There

are nearly 2,800 students in the training colleges.

WATCHES AN D WATCHMAKING. — The nuniber of watches exported by

Switzerland in the year 1858, independentl y of vast numbers smuggled , was

346,894, the value of which, supposing one out of three to be gold, would be

£1,166,800. Th e returns of the Gol dsmith s' Hall of England, tor the same

year, give, as made in London, 83,614 silver watches, and gold watches,

26,870; in Chester, 13,648 silver watches, and gold watches, 8,200; and in

Coventry 16,000 silver watches—in the whole, 146,332, of a total value of

£670,486. Thus, as compared with Swiss product ion, our number is one-

third, and our value one-half. Moreover, in 1856, 90,000 watches were

imported into E ngl and ; in 1858, 99,329 ; and, during the present year, no

fewer than 100,000 foreign watches passed the Cus tom House for ho me

consumption. In 1857 we exported to Ameri ca 14,141 watches of home

manufacture; of foreign, 400 ; our own Colonies of Australia taking of

British manufacture only 3 , 082 , whilst o f foreign make the y took 6,7221

V A R I E T I E S .

Th e Ellison Water-Colour Collection of Painting s has bee n deposited in the

South Kensington Museum, and is now exhibited to the public.

One hundred men could not carry the amount of the national debt of England

counted out in ten-pound Bank of Engl and notes, notwith standin g the lightness

of the paper they are printed on.

Th e secretary of the At lantic Telegr aph Company announces that an attempt

is being made this summer to restore communica tion throu gh the cable (2,050

miles in length), and that an expediti on has already been sent out for that

purpose. It is asserted that the wire may be lifted for any depth and

examined.

Westminster old bridge is rapidly coming down, and Westminster new

bridge as rapidly springin g into existence. Mr . Page, the architect of the

beautiful structure which is to span the river between West mins ter and

Lambe th, has devised an ingenious plan for pullin g down the old bridge with

out inconv enience to the publi c traffic, by constructi ng a temporary wooden

bridge on the eastward side for foot passengers only, which is approached from

the recesses on the M iddle sex and Surrey side.

T H E N E W W I N E DUTIES. '—In the Customs Tari ff Act , just printed, the

new wine duties are set forth. Fr om the 29th Febr uary to the 31st Decemb er

next, the duty on impor tation is 3s. the gallon, with a drawback . On and

after the 1st January, 1861 , if imp orted in bottles, the duty is to be 2s. the

gallon, or so much according to the degrees, varying from Is. to 2s. the gallon.

The Commissioners of Customs are to determine into what ports in Great

Britain and Ireland wine may or may not be imported.

THE LATE ARCTIC E X PE D I T I O N .— Th e gold medals of the Royal Geo

graphical Society have been presented to Lady Frank lin and Sir F. L .

M'Clintock, and on the presentation of the freedom of the city to Sir LeopoldM'Clintock, Sir Roderick Murchison stated that "th e House of Commons

has resolved that due h onour shall be done to the Frankli n expedit ion, by

commemorating the services of Frankl in, and erecting to him a great national

statue or monument, upon which will be inscribed that he was the first

discoverer of the Nor th- Wes t Passa ge." He added, " There can be no more

appropriate site for such a record than near the Nelson monumen t in Trafalgar

Squar e; for it oug ht to be remember ed that Sir John Franklin served under

that great naval hero."

ANOTHER ARCTIC E X P E D I T I O N . — M r . Parker Snow is anxious for a final

expedition to the Arctic regions, for the purpose of ascertaining the fate of

the crews of the Erebus and Terror. H e is not satisfied wit h the result of

Sir Leopold M'C lin tock 's discoveries, and he proposes, if public generosit y

will place £3,5 00 at his disposal, to proceed on his explorations in 1861. He

will enter the North-West Passage by Behring's Straits, and will mainly

direct his attention to a close examination of Kin g Willia m's Land and

the coast adjoining the mout h of the Great Fis h R ive r and the Boothi an

Peninsula. The enterprise receives the support of several influential persons,

who have formed themselves into a committe e for the promo tion of CaptainSnow's laudable, but we fear hopeless, project . La dy Frankl in is said to have

guaranteed the " preliminary expenses."

ARTIFICIAL M E M O R Y . — D r . Pick, from Vienna , is deliv ering a cour se of

lectures at 17, Harley Street, W ., "O n Preserving and Impro ving the

Me mo ry "—t ha t wonderful faculty which is the basis of intellectual life,

and possessed by all creatures. Several instances are mentioned of the

retentive m emory of the ant, the bee, and the elephant. Dr. Pick 's

system of improvi ng the memor y principal ly consists in always associating

one idea to be remember ed with another. Thus a lon g train of ideas

may be remembered by their association, as War —Crime a—Russ ia—The

Chancery Court—Chancery Lane—Fleet Street—Omnibuses—Temple Bar

—Turnpik es — The Country Road — The Stage Coach — The Railroad—

Steam-Engine—Stephenson—Coal-Mines—Coals—Power of England. Thus

the chain o f thought draws up, as it were, Memory from its well by many

links. Upon a number, composed of a hundred units or more, being dictated,

the Professor will reproduce the same from memory, beginning from right

toleft or left to right, repeating them either in groups of three, or

continuously.

T H E R I D D L E R .

T H E RID D LE R'S SO LU TIO N S O F N o . 89 1 .

E N I G M A : Bay. C H A R A D E : Mass-acre.

R E B U S : Athens; Philip of Macedon; Rhodes; O ak; Nile.—APRON.

Th e fo l lowing answer all: Tootell. —Pattison.—C. J. L . — A m a z o n . — ( E d i p n s . - Enigma and Charade: Edmun d.— Sadler.—Lemuel .— Errington.—Hinton.—Muta ( n o ) .

—W . A. E. D.— G. F. C . — H a r b l e d o w n . — H . W. —Iris.—W. J. R. — Glad io lus .—Dora .—J. L. J.-—-Eni gma and, liebus: J e s s y . — B r i m m e r . — J o n e s . — U m p i r e . — G o l d i n g .

Enigma : M i l l s . — F . P . — H e m s l e y . — A n n e H.—Estephania—Crayford.— Ros a M . —Ethel.—Maurice G. Charade: W e s t e r n . — A n d r e w . — Dinah.— Clara J. Rebus:W o o t t o n . — C a m b r i a . — E d w a r d . — G . M. C—Samuel H .

ARITHMETICAL QUESTIONS.

1. There were six women, and the flannel cost lOg^. per yard. The mm laid out should

have been £5. 14s. 2id., instead of £5. 14s. 2^,1, and the result obtained by geometrical

progression.

2. He would travel 640,800 yards, or 364 miles 160 yards.

3. The Diameter of the Greater Circle is 165"6S52, and that of each of the Lesser Circles,

49-5597.

Th e fo l lowing have sent solutions to all: Veri t as .—Howel l s .— Edmund.—"Wardle.—•,

Carr.—Sadler.

To 1st and 2nd.—E m m e r s o n . — K i l l o e . —Brightson.—Lingard.To 2nd and 3rd.—Steele.— D. S. D.—Buglas s .To Int.—Ittis.— Mills. To 2nd.—Jones .— IM>3 Intacta.—Bonnycastle.—Lemuel.—*

Smith.—H i n d e . — W o l l a s t o n . — G a p p . — F . P.—Jtivenis.—TooteAl,To Oata—Mills (nearly).—Mossby,



1 1 2 . THE F A M I L Y H E R A L D . ; [ Ju n e ie, i860.

R A N D O M R E A D I N G S .

What is that which can he right but never wrong ?— A n angle.

When an actor " brings down the house," where does he take it to ?

Th e quickest way to make a tall man short is to borrow all the money he

has got.

Lovers have more occasion than any other class of persons to talk patheti

cally about the lost 'arts.

Particular Lady: Is your veal really fresh, sir ? Honest Butcher ; Y es 'm ,

'twas born and killed yesterday !

Many beautiful women when walking in the streets seem very angry if

they are gazed at, and sadly disappointed if they are not.

There are some men so rascally, that it is only the fear of showing them

our pockets, that prevents us from turning our backs upon them.

Thomas Hood once admonished a gos siping Christian to beware lest her

piety should prove, after all, to be noth ing better than Mag-piety.

Jeremy Taylor says that " a good wife should be a looking -glass to her

husband ." But we think she might and should make him see in her some

thing better than himself.

A lawyer e ngaged in a case tormented a witness so much with questions

that the poor fellow at last cried for water. " The re, " said the judg e, " I

thought you'd pump him dry ! "

A young fellow having been charged with getting drunk the night before,

and wishing to justify himself, declared that he never was drunk, nor never

meant to be, for it always made him feel so bad the next morning.

" W i l l you have cat-sup ? " asked a pedantic gentleman of Au nt Priscilla,

at a dinner-tabie. " Dear me, no ! " she replied, with a shudder. " I' m fond

of cats in their places; but I should as soon think of eating dog- soup."

A doctor and a military officer became enamoured of the same lady. A

friend asked her which of the two suitors she intended to favour. She replied

that " it was difficult for her to determine, as they were such kill ing creatu res. "

Some person whom Quin had offended met him one day in the street and

stopped him. " Mr. Q uin ," said he, " I—I—I understand that you have

been taking away my na me. "— "Wh at have I said, s i r ? " — " Y o u — y o u —

yo u called me a scoundrel, si r. "— "O h then, keep your name, sir," replied

Quin, and walked on.

A man with a rag -bag in his hand was picking up a large number of pieces

of whalebone whic h lay in the street. The d eposit was of such a singular

nature that we asked the quaint -looking gatherer how he supposed they came

there. " Don 't know," he replied, in a squeaking voice, " 'spect some un

fortunate female was wrecked hereabouts."

Th e first sympt oms of love in the wisest of the world' s philosophers were

certainly very remarkable. " Lean ing ," says Socrates, " my shoulder to hershou lder, and my head to hers, as we were reading together in a book, I felt,

it is a fact, a sudden sting in my shoulder, like the bit ing of a flea, which I

still felt above five days after, and a continual itchi ng crept into my heart."

Smith had quite a small nose, and was cross-eyed, while Jones had a very

large nose. Meeting on e day, Jones , after look ing with a comical expression

at Smith, remarked, " Luc ky for y ou, Smith, that you're cross-eyed; for if

yo u wa'n't, you never could see your nose. "—"L ucky for you, Jones,"

instantly retorted Smith, " that you're not cross-eyed; for if yo u were, you

never could see anything but your nose."

Th e wealthy Marquis de Aligre, who died some time ag o, was so parsimo

nious that, seeing his servant one day with a smart-looking hat, he reprimanded

hi m for his extravagance. " But it is the old hat yo u gave me ; I had it

ironed for a fra nc. "—" Ah, " said the marquis, " but I did not know it could

be restored. Here is the franc you paid —I will take the hat," and he forth

with transferred the renovated beaver to his own head.

Tw o legislators were recently conversing upon the subject o f voting, when

on e of them inquired, " W e l l , now , but what is a man to do when h e

don't know anything about a matter ? " — " W el l , " replied the other, " I have

go t two rules about that; when anything comes up, I keep my eyes open,

and vote as somebody else does whom I beli eve to be honest, or else I vote

against it. I believe, as a genera l thing, the safest way*is to vote against

everything."

A good story is told of an old usurer who went one day to visit a forme r

borrower, who had since fortunately g rown from poverty to independence-

They went into the garden. Passing along a wal k flanked on either side with

flowers of great bearuty and variety, the visitor made no remark until he came

to a potato patch, w hen he exclaimed, " My friend, you' ll have a fine crop of

potatoes there!"—"That ' s just like you ," said the proprietor; "w he n

gentlemen and lad ies pass through my garden they look at the flowers ; but

when a hog comes in, all he can see is potatoes!"

A Paris correspondent relates the fo l lowing: " I heard an amusing

anecdote the other day, illustrative of Frenc h incompetenc y to master any

foreign language. A youn g married lady, wedded to a German or a Dutc h

man, was making purchases in the Chaussee d'An tin. At length she desired

the things purchased might be sent to her address. " A n d your name,

ma' am?"—" li e ally, sir, I am not acquainted with my name ; I was the

Princess Tremouille, and I have married the Baron —Tenter —Tente r—If y ou

will call my servant, wh o is at the door , I think he know s."

D A Y A N D N I G H T . — A widow lady named Day, havi ng married a gentl eman

named Knight, a wag perpetrated the fol lowing parody at her expense :

* I' l t D ' th i d dl i d

A R A C Y M A X I M . — Y o u cannot more insult a man than by telling him he

knows nothing of horse-flesh.

H A R D L A W S . — A lectur er on the capabilities of Australia is r eported to

have said that " The re were hills and ranges of marble, some of it as pure as

that of which the statutes of Athens were made."

E RRO RS OF T H E PRESS.—Typographical errors come in odd sometimes.

Th e other day we were reading a descript ion of enthusiastic demonstrations

at a political gathering, when the ty pe went on with—" The air was rent

with the snouts of three thousand peopl e ! "

GENUINE W I T . — " M r , O'Flaherty," said a pompous fellow, " you would

be a lon g time in Irel and before a squire would ask you to dinne r." —"Ah ,

then, troth I would, your honour," responded Mr. O'Flahert y; " and your

honour would be a long time in Ireland before they would make you a squir e."

SIMPLICITY.—A young Scotch girl inquired of a gentleman, in broad Scotch,

the road to Tremon t Hou se. He desired her to follow him, and asked her

ho w long she had arrived from Scotland. " Sax weeks, your honour." On

their arrival at their destination, she very coolly inquired, " Noo, sir, wal ye

jus t tel l me hoo ye kenned I was frae Seotlan' ?"—New York Paper.

N o w H E ' L L K N O W ! — H a y m a n , a famous artist one hundred years ago,

was a wit . One of his associates was always compl aining of ill nealth and

lo w spirits, with out bei ng able to assign any particu lar malady as the cause.

One evening at Hayman' s club it was mentioned that this malade imaginaire

had been married the day before. " Is he !—and be hanged to him ! " said

Hay man. " No w he'll know what ails him."—Prior's Life of Malone.

D O I N G A Y A N K E E . — A stout gentleman, well known in China, was lately

feted at Taiwan for two or three days, the " observed of all observers, " he

being an immense man, and a good specimen of a trans-Atlantic Anglo-Saxon,

but the series of crowded visits he received at last became troublesome, and

he foun d he was being made too much of. The fact was he was being

exhibited, a charge being made for the exhibition !—Twelve Years in China.

INGENIOUS ORDER.—A Volunteer Rifle captain, desi ring to cross *a field

with his compa ny, came to an openin g in the fence large enough to admit

tw o persons , but no more, to pass abreast. Unfortunately he could not

remember the words of command which would have accomplished the difficult

tasjf of filing through ; but his ingenuity did not desert him, and therefore he

ordered a halt, and then sa id— " Gentlemen, you are dismissed for one

minute, when you will fall in on t'other side of the fence."

T o o G RE A T A TEMPTATION.—An Irishman, entering the fair at Ballina-

gone, saw the well-defined form of a large round head bu lging out of the

canvas of a tent. The temptation was irresisti ble; up went his shillelah—

down went the man. Fort h rushed from the tent a host of angry fellows to

avenge the onslaught. Judg e of their astonishment when they found the

assailant to be one of their own faction. " Oc h! Nicholas," said they, "a nd

did ye n ot kno w it was Brady O'Brien ye hit ? " — " Truth, did I not," says

h e ; " bad luck to me for that same; but sure i f my own father had been

there, and his head look ing so nice and convanient, I could not have helped

myself."

CL E RI CA L WI T . — A popular preacher, who, like Orator Henley of old, does

no t object to the introduction of a j oke in his sermons, does not confine his

bon mots\o the pulpit . At a meeting of his supporters in behalf of the

building of a new chapel, the list of contributors being read over, there

appeared successively the names o f " Duk e, Knig ht, and Ki ng ," the latter

down for five shill ings. " Dear me ! " excl aimed the preacher, " we have got

into grand company—a duke, a knight, and a King too !—and the King has

actually given his cr ow n! —w ha t a liberal monar ch! " Directly after a

" M r . P i g " was called out as having given a guinea. "T ha t, " said the

clerical punster, " is a guinea pig."

SERMON F E E S . — A story, which went the round of Oxford "high tables "

a few years since, relates how a poor woman , having lost her husband,

requested the "pa rs on " to preach the usual eloge. He kindly expressed his

consent, adding that his charg e was two guineas . " Oh, y our r everence ! "

wasthe answer, " I be a poor widow woman, and cannot spare so muchmoney."—"Well ," said the parson , " i t is contrary to my usual rule to take

less, but I don' t mind obl igin g an old parishioner in trouble, and so will say

only one guin ea."— " Oh, sir; but the good man has left me next to nothing,

and there will be his funeral to pay for, and what not, and sure, too, you'l l

be having the burial fees. Can't you then do it for ten shillings ? " — " Yes,

I'l l do it," was the angry reply, " but it will be the greatest stuff you ever

heard."—Universal Review.

H O W T O G O I T . '

Go it st rong in you r praise o f the absent—some of it will be sure to get

around.

Go it strong when taking up contributions for a charitable purpose. It

will pay.

Go it strong when you make love to a pretty widow. More people have

erred by too little than too much in this particular.

Go it strong when you make a public speech. Nin e people out of ten

never take any allus ion unless it cuts like a short -handled whi p or a cudge l.

Go it st rong when you advertise. Business is like architecture—its best

supporters are full columns.

Go it strong, and pay the printer. Never grudge him his price. Recollect

it is he who brings customers to your very door , who otherwise would never

discover your whereabouts.

Published by BENJAMIN BLAKE, 4 2 1 , Strand, London, W . C . , to whom all

C i i f h Edi b dd d

Family Herald June 16 1860

Documents

Transcript of Family Herald June 16 1860