THE 
 
 WIDOWED BRIDE 
 
 LAMIA. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT-MARLBOROUGH-STREET. 
 
 . 1851. 
 

 PREFACE, 
 
 The following Narrative is offered as the 
 result of some reflection, and of some ex- 
 perience also, of the want of sound and 
 deeply-seated religious principle in the educa- 
 tion of the gifted few, who show, from early 
 youth, the indications of a superior mind. 
 
 The most careful attention of parents is 
 commonly directed to the slow and less ex- 
 citable capacities of children, whose want of 
 quickness is erroneously supposed to require 
 more guidance, because, at a certain period, 
 they have need of more tuition : while the 
 
 M585644 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 precocious intellect of the forward boy, or 
 sensitive girl, is left, it is thought safely, 
 to their own responsibility on no better 
 grounds than that " they are able to do any- 
 thing they please, when they like it." 
 
 The unfortunate victims of such negligent 
 education, are doubly to be excused for their 
 faults, as well as pitied for the acute feelings 
 of sorrow and rennorse, with which they are 
 sure to be, sooner or later, visited; when, 
 the illusion of their youth having faded, seek- 
 ing rest and finding none, the very talents 
 and sensibility with which they have been 
 endowed, become their most implacable tor- 
 mentors. 
 
 No end can be more lamentable, than that 
 of one who is then conscious, for the first 
 time, of the hollow views of Science, and the 
 deceitful colourings of Art, of the void of 
 Rational Philosophy, as applied to the pros- 
 pects of Immortality : whose mental weak- 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ness is unsupported by Faith, whose physical 
 sufferings are not alleviated by Resignation. 
 This, alas I may occur to the finest and naost 
 cultivated, if not most regulated minds; to 
 .the best and most kindly natural dispositions, 
 to which Philosophy and Letters, Art and 
 Science, are but as snares, if unaccompanied 
 by the Guardian Angel of Religion. 
 
 How frequently it happens, that the imagi- 
 nation, that earliest developed of all powers, 
 is encouraged, to the neglect of sound moral 
 training, and even a judicious secular learn- 
 ing ! How many are those, who, in some- 
 what later years, think that they have made 
 all necessary sacrifice in abandoning Poetry 
 for Philosophy, Fancy for Instruction ! They 
 are benighted in that false light of a civilized 
 and over-polished age, which confounds Mind 
 with Soul, Reason with Morals, and worldly 
 Wisdom with that higher Wisdom, that is not 
 of this world. 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 To such there remains but one resource, 
 dim, perhaps, yet true: the inward feeling 
 of the wounded heart flying with Love, but 
 also with holy fear, towards the mercies of 
 its Maker. The heart, blind guide at first, 
 may still be trusted at that hour, when 
 Reason fails and Learning leads astray. 
 
 These simple principles are attempted to 
 be exhibited in the present Tale: and it is 
 sincerely hoped that such readers as are 
 serious enough to look beneath the surface 
 of a Novel — and the Author desires no 
 others — will find their working satisfactorily 
 exemplified in the 
 
 "CONFESSION OF LAMIA." 
 
 And as the moisture which the thinly Earth 
 Sucks from the Sea, to fill her empty veins. 
 
 From out her womb at last doth takea birth 
 And runs a Nymph along the grassy plains. 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 Long doth she stay, as loth to leave the land. 
 From whose soft side she first did issue make ; 
 
 She tastfes all places, turns to ev'ry hand. 
 Her flow'ry banks unwilling to forsake : 
 
 Yet' Nature so her streams doth lead and carry. 
 As that her course doth make no final stay, 
 
 'Till she herself unto the ocean marry. 
 Within whose wat'ry bosom first she lay : 
 
 Ev'n so the Soul, which in this worldly mould 
 The Spirit of God doth secretly infuse. 
 
 Because at first she doth the earth behold. 
 And only this material world she views. 
 
 At first her mother Earth she holdeth dear. 
 
 And doth embrace the World and worldly things; 
 
 She flies close by the ground, and hovers here. 
 And mounts not up with her celestial wings : 
 
 Yet under Heav'n she cannot light on aught 
 That with her heav'nly nature doth agree ; 
 
 She cannot rest, she cannot fix her thought. 
 She cannot in this world contented be. 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 Then as a bee, which among weeds doth fall, 
 
 Which seem sweet flow'rs with lustre fresh and 
 gay; 
 
 She lights on that, and this, and tasteth all, 
 
 But pleas' d with none, doth rise, and soar away : 
 
 So, when the soul finds here no true content. 
 And, like Noah's dove, can no sure footing take, 
 
 She doth return from whence she first was sent. 
 And flies to Him that first her wings did make. 
 
 SIR JOHN DAVIS, 
 
LAMIA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 '*I sit in my grief; I wait for morning in my 
 tears ! Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead. Close 
 it not till Colma come. My life flies away like a 
 dream : why should I stay behind ? Here shall I 
 rest with my friends, by the stream of the sounding 
 rock. 
 
 " When night comes on the hill ; when the loud 
 winds arise, my ghost shall stand in the blast, and 
 mourn the death of my friends. The hunter shall 
 hear from his booth, he shall fear, but love my 
 voice ! For sweet shall my voice be for my friends : 
 pleasant were her friends to Colma !" — ossian. 
 
 On a fine autumnal evening in the year 
 1 8 — , the sun was seen setting over the quiet 
 village of Rainham in cloudless splendour, 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 LAMIA. 
 
 while the rising moon, quickly succeeding to 
 the station so lately quitted by the orb of 
 day, illumined a scene of tranquil and do- 
 mestic interest such as is seldom to be found 
 near the more busy haunts of men. 
 
 Kainham is situated in the most pictu- 
 resque, if not the most cultivated part of 
 the county of Suffolk ; formerly one of the 
 great possessions of the Poynings family, it 
 had passed by marriage and descent into a 
 branch which bore the title of Lord Rain- 
 ham, a name which will frequently occur 
 in the course of the present history. As 
 Lord of the Manor, the late Lord Rainham, 
 who had died two years previously, had pre- 
 sented his nephew, the Reverend H. Lucy, 
 to the living, and he had lately married and 
 settled, apparently for life, in the cheerful 
 but retired parsonage of Rainham. 
 
LAMIA. 6 
 
 It was Mr. Lucy's simple but happy home 
 upon which the now brilliant moon shone 
 forth in all her calm and kindly lustre, as 
 if willing to lend a benevolent colouring to 
 the picture upon which her rays were form- 
 ing. 
 
 Seated at an open window, of a room that 
 was the clergyman's study, was Mr. Lucy 
 himself, thoughtfully gazing upon the beau- 
 tiful scene before him-^the peaceful village, 
 the venerable spire, for which the Suffolk 
 churches are celebrated, the fragrant garden 
 newly and tastefully laid out by his own 
 hands — yet thinking not exclusively of the 
 happiness of his prospects, but rather of her 
 who was to share them with him. As he 
 mused, sometimes looking up to the blue 
 vault, spangled with stars, sometimes to the 
 church which was to be his principal care, 
 
 B 2 
 
i LAMIA. 
 
 he would ever and anon turn to one who 
 was standing by his side, and who, without 
 uttering a word, seemed so thoroughly to 
 partake his thoughts and feelings, as to prove 
 that a state of heavenly circumstances might 
 possibly exist in which neither speech nor 
 language should be necessary to the perfect 
 communion of hearts of the same quality in 
 feeling and intelligence. Such an ethereal 
 magnetism is hardly to be found on earth ; 
 but if it exists anywhere, it may be sought 
 in the domestic companionship of the con- 
 scientious clergyman, and a wife worthy of 
 him. 
 
 And she, the wife, was she worthy of him, 
 worthy of her station? for the clergyman's 
 wife has a station, which has its dutieSj and 
 worthily do they fulfil them. 
 
 Her appearance was soft and pleasing, fair 
 
LAMIA- B 
 
 and child-like in feature and complexion, 
 earnest and thoughtful in expression : in 
 which she was strongly contrasted with the 
 dark and masculine character of her hus- 
 band's countenance. He, evidently several 
 years older than his wife, was endowed with 
 a physiognomy rather handsome than pre- 
 possessing, rather grave than stern, which 
 it might have been termed by those who 
 had the misfortune to incur his displeasure. 
 But his gravity as well as his calmness was 
 the result of trials, experience, and above aU, 
 of his predominant virtue — self-control: his 
 was a formed, a schooled character — his wife's 
 a perfectly natural one; he had seen and 
 learnt something of the world, she — nothing. 
 The Lucys had not been long settled at 
 their new parsonage, before they began seri- 
 ously to occupy themselves in all that con- 
 
6. LAMIA. 
 
 cerned the welfare of their parish. The 
 simple distribution of charity in the shape 
 of money is so easy to those that have it, 
 that its merit sinks to a low point indeed 
 compared with that of those who give their 
 time, their care, their talents, to the wants, 
 physical and moral, of the poor. To deny 
 all merit to those who dispense willingly of 
 their fortune, would be absurd, for in many 
 cases money is the thing most needed, where 
 trouble, however willingly bestowed, would 
 do nothing. And great and noble objects 
 of charity may be well accomplished by a 
 sum of money, which, if indiscriminately 
 given in what is called charity, would be 
 as water added to the ocean. Yet the 
 clergyman's morning walk among his poor, 
 whose character he studies, whose wants he 
 knows, whom he assists by his advice, and 
 
LAMIA. . T 
 
 fortifies with his discourse, is worth more 
 than the rich man's guinea, given to impor- 
 tunity, and forgotten as soon as given. 
 
 The usual discussions between Lucy and 
 his wife, fell upon their means of improving 
 their parish, particularly with regard to edu- 
 cation, in which country parishes are so 
 frequently deficient. A secret cause added 
 to the earnestness with which Mrs. Lucy 
 endeavoured to make herself mistress of the 
 whole theory and principles of the education 
 of children, both as to talent and character, 
 so often overlooked by fond and indulgent 
 parents. She had early prospects of be- 
 coming a mother, and the fairy dreams of 
 future domestic happiness, the education of 
 her children from playful childhood till the 
 age of promise, visions of their growth, 
 talents, improvement, and perhaps celebrity. 
 
8 LAMIA. 
 
 to the time when they might become the 
 props of their parents' declining age ; these, 
 alas! too often deceitful reveries, were now 
 the constant pictures of her mind. Some- 
 times, indeed, they would be clouded by a 
 conscious shudder at the many chances and 
 accidents of infancy and youth ; for Emma 
 Lucy was far too sensible not to be aware 
 that the most blessed home and family is 
 not always exactly like a day-dream — that 
 illness, singularity of temper, slowness of 
 capacity, may thwart the views of the most 
 careful mother, and that even should her 
 whole flock of children turn out quite perfect, 
 her own health and other worldly circum- 
 stances might interfere to prevent the com- 
 pletion of that happiness she looked forward 
 to. But who for that would wiUingly check or 
 dim the bright vision of the young mother ? 
 
LAMIA. y 
 
 It was the constant practice of Henry 
 Lucy to direct the reading and studies of 
 his wife, and to finish, as it were, the for- 
 mation of her character, that last but not 
 leagt part of education, by inducing her to 
 take up his own favourite books, and by 
 commenting and illustrating their subjects 
 in such a manner as to draw her attention 
 to rather a deeper cast of reading than is 
 commonly acceptable to women. 
 
 They had been engaged, a few minutes 
 before the time at which this narrative 
 begins, in reading tbat most beautiful part 
 of Milton, the first part of the Fifth Book of 
 Paradise Lost — comprehending Eve's dream 
 and the following passages. He had been 
 explaining to her the inimitable beauty of 
 the poetry, if considered only with regard to 
 its singularly well-chosen words and forms 
 
10 LAMIA. 
 
 of expression, the musical rhythm of the 
 lines, and the faultless taste in which Eve's 
 presentiment of evil is disclosed in the purest 
 simplicity of language. Her yet innocent 
 mind could not be better contrasted with 
 the impending shadow of crime. This purity 
 of diction, this perfect justness of expression, 
 this delicacy of taste in the choice of words 
 which are to transfuse the soul of the poet 
 into that of the reader, seems to have 
 been caught by Milton from the Italian 
 poets. Among them, indeed, it often dege- 
 nerates into verbal niceties and conceits, 
 which the stronger mind and character of 
 Milton, and of his native tongue have con- 
 spired to avoid. 
 
 Henry Lucy had finished his observations, 
 and both he and his wife were, whilst in- 
 spired with this most sublime production of 
 
LAMIA. 1 1 
 
 sacred poetry, naturally led to contemplate 
 the sublimest work of the Creator — a star- 
 bespangled sky. Just then a comet, for 
 whose predicted arrival they had both been 
 some days watching, in celestial splendour 
 emerged from behind a light cloud, and 
 seemed to cast its downward beams upon 
 the head of Emma Lucy, as she stepped lightly 
 on the turf to take a broader gaze at the 
 heavens. There is nothing that expands the 
 mind to ideas of greatness and omnipotence 
 more than the survey of the heavens in the 
 field, or even the study of astronomy in the 
 closet; the comparison between what we 
 then contemplate, and any conceivable object 
 within our grasp in this world, shows so 
 completely and convincingly the utter small- 
 ness of us and our concerns, that they lead 
 the most unwilling observer to acknowledge 
 
12 LAMIA. 
 
 that there must be things greater than him- 
 self in heaven, before whom man and his 
 works stand powerless and contemptible. 
 
 Such were the thoughts that passed 
 through the minds of the pious couple, as 
 they slowly crossed their modest lawn, and 
 inhaled the perfume of the jasmine and 
 honeysuckle that covered their little veranda. 
 But on one side, perhaps, these thoughts 
 went deeper than on the other. 
 
 Emma Lucy, without being at all super- 
 stitious, was decidedly poetical ; which qua- 
 lity, in some constitutions, goes a step or 
 two towards the other. In her own fa- 
 mily, she had been called romantic; which 
 character, if limited to her thoughts, or 
 extended occasionally to her words — not to 
 her deeds — she in some measure deserved. 
 Perhaps, at the present moment, she was 
 
LAMIA. 13 
 
 more anxious to see into futurity than ever 
 she had heen; and had she been her own 
 mistress, and some pretended foreteller of 
 events near, she might have yielded to the 
 temptation of consulting him. But she was 
 married, and prudent. 
 
 She was deeply struck with the strange 
 analogy to human life, which, with regard to 
 comets, seems to have suggested itself to 
 the thinking part of mankind, in all coun- 
 tries and ages. The certain prediction 
 (within limits) of their appearance within 
 our sphere ; their rapid, beautiful, and tran- 
 sient course ; their equally apparent rapid 
 dissolution, or at least vanishing into regions 
 far beyond our ken, to reappear at some 
 future day : all these points of resemblance 
 between the comet's heavenly career and that 
 of man upon earth, made a strong impression 
 
14 LAMIA. 
 
 upon her imagination. She fancied she saw 
 what had led mankind to attach the appari- 
 tion of a comet to the fate and life of indivi- 
 duals ; and though History speaks only of 
 the great and powerful as subject to their 
 influence ; yet a leaning to this persuasion, in 
 a mind constituted like Emma's, was enough 
 to fill her with serious thoughts, and to sink 
 her spirits perceptibly. 
 
 Her husband chid her gently for her un- 
 wonted gravity, and inquired the cause. 
 
 " I cannot," said she, " get over the 
 appearance of that comet. Not that I con- 
 sider myself of sufficient importance to be 
 any way concerned in its mysterious mes- 
 sage, whatever that may be; but I have 
 seen it ; it has raised thoughts of awe and 
 dread within my breast ; and those thoughts, 
 though excited by a casual, yet sublime sight, 
 
LAMIA. 15 
 
 appear to me to be sent on purpose. When 
 God so forcibly calls our thoughts to heaven^ 
 it is to make us think how soon we may, or 
 may not, be there.'' And she wept. 
 . Henry kissed the tears from her eyes, and 
 for once was at a loss how to reply. He 
 would not check religious feeling in any one, 
 but he saw that her sensitive nature was not 
 in a state to be coldly or drily reasoned with, 
 and wisely resolved that his affection should 
 sustain her spirits, and his reason her under- 
 standing. 
 
 On their return to the house, they found it 
 so much later than they had imagined, that 
 Emma reminded her husband of the hour for 
 family prayers, for which their little house- 
 hold were regularly assembled at eleven 
 o'clock. This duty, now universally per- 
 formed in clerical families, and in many 
 
1 6 LAMIA. 
 
 others, was not so general a few years back, 
 during the youth of Mr. Lucy, as it has 
 since become; and he was indebted to the 
 pious mind and religious education of Emma 
 for the regular and never-failing observance 
 of it. Their domestics, two maids and a boy, 
 entered the room, and, kneeling round the 
 same table as their master and mistress, 
 profited by their good example in rendering 
 their nightly devotions to heaven. 
 
 On Sunday nights, this interesting family 
 service was varied by the addition of a very 
 short sermon, or a page or two of moral 
 teaching selected by Mr. Lucy. 
 
 The servants had not left the room five 
 minutes, when one of the maids returned, 
 and said : 
 
 " A messenger, Sir, is come from the 
 Abbey, to say that Lady Rainham is ill, and 
 
LAMIA. ] 7 
 
 desires to see you as soon as you can come 
 to her." 
 
 Such a message to Henry Lucy, whose 
 heart was always open to the call of his 
 parishioners, was sure to be instantly attended 
 to. He turned, with an air of distress and 
 agitation, to his wife, saying to her : 
 
 " This is urgent, my dear ; go to rest, and 
 think not of my being out for so short a 
 distance on this fine summer night." He 
 quickly took his hat and departed, not with- 
 out a hasty but sympathetic kiss from Emma. 
 She, however, quickly collected her thoughts, 
 and retired to her apartment. 
 
 The arrangements of a country parsonage 
 do not commonly offer much for observation 
 or description, but the taste and education of 
 Emma Lucy made this an exception. In a 
 little bay-window stood a small work-table, 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
"T8 LAMIA. 
 
 on which was usually to be seen a vase, filled 
 with flowers, a few books of rather a serious 
 or poetical cast, and the little memoranda 
 relating to her village school, and the other 
 useful parts of a clergyman's parish duty. In 
 all these she was the true helpmate of her 
 husband, upon whom, as well as on them, she 
 never failed to pray God's blessing, before she 
 sought her snow-white pillow ; and on the 
 present occasion it was not omitted. She 
 took a last look from her lattice-window over 
 the dewy garden, sparkling under the bril- 
 liant harvest-moon, and redolent of the fra- 
 grance of honeysuckles, and other climbing 
 plants, which covered the house ; and closing 
 turned towards a little cradle, and some 
 other things, carefully placed near her bed- 
 side, and paused, gazing thoughtfully at them. 
 Thoughtful, indeed, she was, but happy : her 
 
LAMIA. 1 9 
 
 • tranquil slumbers were as the repose of the 
 blessed. A few of her own sketches, and 
 copies from old masters, adorned the walls of 
 her chamber ; amongst which was Raphael's 
 heavenly Madonna and Child, with the little 
 bird ; on this divine image of innocence and 
 holy love her eyes involuntarily rested ; it 
 was the last object on which her mind dwelt, 
 waking : the first that her fancy presented to 
 it, sleeping. 
 
 Meanwhile, Henry had soon crossed the 
 park, into which there was a gate opening 
 upon the rectory, and by an easy path of half 
 a mile, found himself before the porch of 
 Rainham Abbey. Finely thrown out in all 
 its picturesque irregularity, by the sharp 
 chiaroscuro of the moonlight, he stopped a 
 moment to admire the scene, though oft ad- 
 
 c 2 
 
20 LAMIA. 
 
 mired before ; when, recollecting his business, • 
 he rang the bell, and entered. 
 
 There is nothing that tends so completely 
 to unite the past with the present, as the 
 reflections that arise from the contemplation 
 of the relics, or the monuments of ages long 
 gone by. Of all such monuments, an an- 
 cient building, whether it be church or castle, 
 coUege or manor-house, is perhaps that which 
 speaks most powerfully to the imagination. 
 This arises from the natiural association of the 
 place with those who have planned, built, in- 
 habited, and made use of those very walls 
 which now shelter their descendants, or con- 
 tain the altar at which so many generations 
 have knelt and prayed. A feeling of com- 
 munity with those no longer on this earth, 
 but who have borne the same names, spoken 
 
LAMIA. 21: 
 
 the same tongue, and enjoyed the same plea- 
 sant scenes or animating sports, as ourselves, 
 calls up feelings of affection and reverence in 
 some places, of awe and respect in others, 
 which may be termed superstition by the 
 philosopher, or dotage by the politician ; but 
 which is nevertheless akin, near akin, to some 
 of the best feelings of our nature* Such are 
 the real traditions of a country, the best lega- 
 cies of the middle ages, which preserve the 
 spirit and form without hindering the growth 
 or development of the substance. In no 
 country are the materials of such traditionary 
 feeling more profoundly marked than in 
 England ; nowhere have they produced such 
 good fruit, or so favourably coloured the 
 national character. And in no part of 
 England is this nacre the case than in the 
 
22 LAMIA. 
 
 East Anglian counties of Norfolk, Suffolk, 
 and Essex. 
 
 Rainham Abbey was a fine specimen of the 
 Elizabethan or Tudor age, and possessed all 
 the advantages of those highly picturesque 
 and stately buildings. Slightly discoloured by 
 the venerable effects of time, but quite per- 
 fect in its outline, and little damaged in its 
 details, it gave an excellent example of the old 
 English manor-house. Most truly are they 
 English, for the same are not seen among 
 the castellated habitations of feudal times in 
 Scotland, Ireland, or the continent, where force 
 and rapine long prevailed, since security or 
 the security of plunder were there the main 
 object, while in England, gradual civilization, 
 and knightly, and even courtly splendour have 
 kept pace with feudal independence. 
 
LAMTA. 23 
 
 On entering the spacious porch, the way 
 led first into a corridor, on the left hand of 
 which two arched doors, opening in a richly 
 ornamented oak wainscot, supporting what in 
 olden times had been a music gallery, gave 
 access to a vast and lofty baronial hall, so 
 placed between two principal courts of the 
 building as to allow of being hghted on both 
 sides by lofty stone windows, blazoned with 
 arms and family devices. 
 
 After moimting two or three steps, at the 
 end of the hall, and passing a dehcately 
 carved oriel window, enriched with the Rain- 
 ham Arms, and York and Lancaster Roses, a 
 square recess made way for a corner staircase, 
 enclosed in a turret, going up to the top of 
 the house, communicating with a formerly 
 splendid, but now neglected, state apartment 
 ranging nearly all round the building. The 
 
24 LAMIA. 
 
 present inhabitants now lived chiefly on the 
 ground-floor. 
 
 To arrive at this, it was necessary to pass 
 through a small door on the opposite side of 
 the hall, which opened into one of those irre- 
 gular, unaccountable spaces, to be found in all 
 old houses : a sort of passage-lobby, the use 
 of which, as originally intended, it was impos- 
 sible to divine. Ill-lighted by a lancet-win- 
 dow, irregularly broken by a step down, and 
 two steps up, in the middle, with a crooked 
 wall, and an angular recess in the centre of 
 it, a rough brick pavement, and an old door or 
 two stopped up, this was the present vestibule 
 to the inhabited part of the Abbey. It joined 
 a cross-gallery, out of which the doors into the 
 suite of lower rooms opened ; and at the 
 very extremity of these lower rooms was the 
 apartment inhabited by Baroness Rainhanfe 'a 
 
LAMIA. 25 
 
 It is a singular characteristic of the English 
 mmd that, with few exceptions, our travel- 
 lers of all ranks, no matter with what tastes 
 or ohjects they visit foreign countries, pre- 
 serve an innate desire to end their days at 
 home. Hence it is often seen that the rich 
 and luxurious, who spend more than half 
 their lives in vain pursuits, or in restless 
 ramblings over France and Italy, and even 
 more distant climes, have constantly in view 
 some fiiture time when they look forward to 
 passing some quiet years in their own country. 
 This feeling it is that enriches so many of 
 our manor-houses with the spoils of anti- 
 quity, or the gems of modern art; which 
 adorns our Gothic halls with that pleasing 
 variety of Italian paintings, Grecian sculpture, 
 antiques of every classic land, and the more 
 
26 LAMIA. 
 
 grotesque, but rich adornings of Africa or the 
 East. 
 
 Surrounded by such luxuries, not the 
 effeminate luxuries of enjoyment so much 
 as those of a refined taste, lived the Baroness 
 Rainham, to whose private apartment Henry 
 Lucy was now admitted, by her favourite 
 and confidential maid, Valerie Vauban. At 
 the door of the antechamber stood an Arab 
 page in the picturesque dress of his country, 
 certainly incongruous to his present situation, 
 but not the less striking, as he stood under 
 the light of an alab^ter lamp suspended 
 above his head. This antechamber itself 
 was an ancient wainscoted room, ornamented 
 with rich oak carvings, and a ceiling whose 
 beams had once been splendidly gilt. On 
 the walls hung two or three modern pictures 
 
LAMIA. 27 
 
 which suddenly arrested Henry's attention. 
 The largest of these was a remarkably fine 
 view of Venice which had been a favourite 
 sojourn of Baroness Rainham — the next was 
 a group of two beautiful children, sisters, at 
 play upon a verdant lawn shaded by old 
 oaks, the scene of which could be nowhere 
 but in England; and the third was covered 
 by a veil, which Henry paused before he 
 ventured to draw aside. Nevertheless, after 
 a moment's hesitation, he lifts the veil and 
 gazes with strong emotion upon the portrait 
 of a beautiful young^'kdy, fair as an angel, 
 but with a grave and serious expression of 
 countenance, befitting perhaps more the 
 angelic than the mortal nature. She was 
 represented as about seventeen, habited in 
 a rather antiquated dress of white satin, her 
 fair hair braided with pearls, and a fan of 
 
28 LAMIA. 
 
 peacock's feathers in her hand. It was 
 doubtless a beautiful portrait of an equally 
 beautiful subject. 
 
 After a transient glance Henry closed the 
 veil, and proceeded to the inner-chamber. 
 
 Lamia, Baroness Rainham, was a tall, 
 handsome woman of thirty, of pale rather 
 than fair complexion, set off by deep black 
 hair and eyebrows, such as are seldom seen 
 in Britain. Her deep-set eyes and jetty eye- 
 lashes, contrasted with the whiteness of her 
 skin ; and the drawn, extenuated look of her 
 features, and of her marble hands, bore wit- 
 ness to long-continued suffering, as well as 
 to previous conflict of mind and passion. 
 Stretched on her couch, the once graceful 
 form scarcely moved, and the pale lips 
 seemed incapable of utterance. 
 
 On seeing the lamentable state to which 
 
LAMIA. 29 
 
 his once beautiful cousin was reduced, Henry 
 was deeply affected ; but feeling that it was 
 necessary to overcome every sign of emotion, 
 he made a strong effort, and approached her 
 sofa. 
 
 " I am here. Lamia, dear Lamia," said he, 
 and was again silent. 
 
 At the sound of his voice, the poor suf- 
 ferer turned and fixed her still bright but 
 feverish eyes upon his face, and with an 
 almost convulsive struggle replied, in a broken 
 voice : " Henry !" 
 
 Even this slight effort was nearly too 
 much for her, and her watchful attendant 
 Valerie, and the physician. Dr. Schuler, who 
 had till now been unobserved by Henry, 
 stepped forward and offered some cordial to 
 the exhausted patient. Her marble face, 
 shaded with ebon tresses, which hung in 
 
30 LAMIA. 
 
 disorder over her shoulders, seemed to regain 
 a transient colour, and being carefully raised 
 upon her bed, she essayed once more to 
 speak in scarcely living accents to her deeply 
 affected cousin. 
 
 " Henry," she said, " you see me once 
 more, but how do you see me? not as 
 formerly, the gay, the admired, the spoilt 
 child of fortune and the world, but the un- 
 happy, the dying — " and her voice trembled — 
 " shadow of what I once was. O, Henry ! it 
 is terrible to think of death — it is terrible 
 even to think of life as I now think of it, 
 and have known it. I hardly know whether 
 to rejoice at having reached home, a home 
 that has so many, many recollections I would 
 wish to efface. It seems as if in death I 
 have all I once loved — now I love nothing— 
 and retain all I hate, all that hates me. 
 
LAMIA. 31 
 
 Love me? none love me. I am no longer 
 fit for this v^orld, still less fit for another." 
 
 An hysterical seizure put an end to this 
 distressing scene, and Henry was preparing 
 to withdraw, when Valerie whispering that 
 she knew her mistress, who was now in a 
 state of torpor, had more to say as soon as 
 she was able, entreated him to remain. 
 
 After a considerable interval of rest, if rest 
 it might be called, which rest was none, the 
 troubled spirit beckoned him again to her 
 side, and with surprising calmness, the result 
 rather of weakness than of self-possession, 
 said : 
 
 " Henry, I am better now, I feel I shall be 
 able to say more to-morrow; Dr. Schuler 
 shall call on you in the morning, and tell 
 you when he would advise you to come. 
 Come to me every day, while I am ill ; it 
 
32 LAMIA. 
 
 will not be a long task that I exact of 
 
 you." 
 
 Symptoms of agitation reappearing on the 
 countenance of the patient, the two attend- 
 ants motioned Henry to retire, which Lamia 
 perceiving, and not objecting to, for she was 
 truly exhausted, let him depart without other 
 notice, than fixing her wild eyes upon him as 
 he withdrew. 
 
 With heavy heart he left that ancient hall, 
 conducted by the Arab page to the porch, 
 when he once more stepped out into the ver- 
 dant park, beneath the placid moon, which 
 shone, unconscious of the woe within. A 
 rapid walk once more brought Henry to his 
 own door, or rather as his heart then more 
 loudly pronounced it, his happy home ; bless- 
 ing Heaven for the contrast it presented to 
 the scene he had so lately quitted. 
 
LAMIA. 33 
 
 Late the next morning, he met his amiable 
 wife, at their cheerful breakfast-table, where 
 Emma, fresh from sleep and blooming as a 
 rose, could not refrain from observing the 
 pale and anxious looks of her husband. In 
 answer to her very natural inquiries, he said : 
 
 " I had a painful duty to perform last 
 night; my visit to my cousin has recalled 
 many feelings of younger days, and has, I 
 confess, oppressed my spirits. I will, at an- 
 other time, more explicitly account for it. At 
 present, dear Emma, follow your accustomed 
 occupations; I must wait at home for the 
 report I expect of poor Lamia's condition 
 this morning." 
 
 He then briefly related the pitiable state in 
 which he had found her, and went to his 
 study animated with the desire of arranging 
 some plan of discourse with his cousin, 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 LAMIA. 
 
 should she be able to bear it, which might 
 prove serviceable to her in the evidently dis- 
 tressed state of mind to which she was 
 reduced. 
 
 We will not follow Emma through her 
 morning's walk ; suffice it to say, that after a 
 vi^t to some poor, sick families, and to 
 others who, though not sick, were equally 
 pleased to be noticed by the Rector's wife, 
 she ended, as usual, with that which was her 
 favourite and perhaps most useful charge, 
 the village school. She felt that it was a 
 part of her duties that she best understood, 
 and she wished particularly to become ac- 
 quainted with the female population of a 
 parish in which she expected to pass all her 
 life, with a view of knowing their characters 
 and inspiring them with confidence at any 
 future period. None but those who have 
 
LAMIA. 35 
 
 witnessed such scenes, can tell at how small 
 an expense of gifts, of trouble, of time, or 
 even of money, the young may be en- 
 couraged, the middle-aged pleased, and the 
 old comforted ; nor how much better the task 
 is performed, imless in extraordinary cases, 
 by the clergyman's wife than by the clergy- 
 man himself. Half the parishioners must be 
 women, and an additional proportion children 
 of either sex, all of whom come more 
 naturally under the care of a woman than of 
 a man : and it is in this, perhaps, that the 
 excellence of our parochial system may best 
 be proved, and its superiority to the celibacy 
 of other Churches. For even granting that 
 there is something more noble, more saint- 
 like, more exclusively devoted to religion as 
 an abstraction, in the anti-matrimonial law of 
 the Roman Church ; allowing, for argument's 
 
 D 2 
 
36 LAMIA. 
 
 sake, that in spite of its evils as a general 
 rule, the individual priest stands higher as an 
 insulated being, wholly devoted to the loftiest 
 idea of his Church as the grandest and most 
 heroic form of Christianity : yet it would be 
 wholly and entirely impossible to lay the 
 simple, modest virtues of the parson's wife 
 under ban, or to prove that her sphere of 
 active charity, guided by the pure light of the 
 Gospel, can be repugnant to our religion. 
 Exalt the principle of the celibacy of the 
 clergy as you will, the practice of the clergy- 
 man's wife is there as a triumphant refuta- 
 tion of your false and untenable position. 
 
LAMIA. 37 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 " What is the cause that unbelief doth so strongly 
 put forth itself? The inevidence of the object of 
 faith : that is, when things are clearly brought 
 to the understanding, but, through its weakness, it 
 is not able to see the reason of them. The object is 
 clear, but the mind is dark. 
 
 '* You think too meanly of God, when you think 
 He hath much ado to forgive. He expects your 
 acknowledgment and repentance, and then you are 
 friends." 
 
 THE DESERTED SOUL's CASE AND CURE. 
 
 Meanwhile, Henry was anxiously and 
 painfully arming himself with such materials 
 as a small but well-chosen library of divinity 
 
38 LAMIA. 
 
 and the resources of a sound and cultivated 
 understanding would give him for the con- 
 versation which he foresaw must soon take 
 place between himself and his cousin. He 
 knew well how difficult it is to convince 
 those whose bias or previous habits of 
 thought indispose them to religious medi- 
 tation. Henry knew that minds in such a 
 state of obscurity and depression must be 
 approached with care, and as he was deeply 
 interested in the condition of his cousin, he 
 took the determination to sound her present 
 feelings without delay. 
 
 While he was thus meditating, a mes- 
 senger from Rainham brought him a note 
 from Dr. Schuler, giving a favourable ac- 
 count of his patient, and stating her willing- 
 ness to see him as soon as possible. Henry 
 immediately repaired to the Abbey. 
 
LAMIA. 39 
 
 On reaching Lamia's apartment, he found 
 that she had been removed to a more cheer- 
 ful room, opening from that in which he had 
 last seen her, and looking upon a small 
 enclosed garden, into which a glass door gave 
 admission. Upon a paved terrace, in front 
 of the windows, stood some fine orange- trees, 
 whose flowers spread a delicious perfume 
 through the rooms. Some antique vases, 
 filled with scarlet geraniums, stood between 
 them ; and clusters of roses hung before the 
 ancient casements, and half concealed the 
 light. Some small pieces of stained glass, 
 a Madonna's head, a St. Margaret, and the 
 arms of Rainham still ornamented these 
 Gothic windows ; while a corner-turret hung 
 with luxuriant ivy, a venerable witness to the 
 age of the time-honoured fabric, closed the 
 garden on one side. 
 
40 LAMIA. 
 
 Near the door, reclining on a couch, from 
 which she could have a view of the garden 
 and enjoy the Oriental luxury of flowers and 
 perfumes in which she seemed to delight, lay 
 Lamia, unaltered in appearance from what 
 she was the night before, but calmer and 
 more subdued in expression. 
 
 After greeting her cousin, she said : " You 
 find me still ill, still wretched, but prepared 
 to converse with you, if not in your own 
 manner, at least in that which the study of 
 philosophy and some experience of the world 
 have taught me. Ah, listen to me," she 
 cried, with more earnestness, " mine is no 
 transient flash of incredulity, prompted by the 
 sneer of ridicule or by the wit of atheists. I 
 have deeply studied and reflected on the very 
 nothingness of this world, and am for that 
 reason persuaded that I myself am nothing 
 
LAMIA. 41 
 
 also — and to nothing shall return. Tell me 
 not of the beauty of religion, of a system you 
 have made for yourselves, ye interested people. 
 Tell me not of feelings, of virtues, of loves, 
 of hopes and fears to which I find no echo in 
 my own mind, I heed them not ; I hope not, 
 neither do I fear." 
 
 While the words were on her lips, spoken 
 with increased effort, which was gradually 
 approaching a vehemence at which Henry was 
 alarmed, her colour became more deadly pale, 
 and she trembled. 
 
 " Yes," she said ; *' I do fear — coward that 
 I am — I fear I know not what, and that 
 drives me to madness !" 
 
 " Be calm, Lamia," said Henry, greatly 
 shocked. " Let us reserve these discussions 
 for a calmer moment." 
 
42 LAMIA. 
 
 Lamia remained silent, but her eyes gave 
 token of the conflict within. 
 
 " Oh ! " said she ; "I have suffered. 
 Pardon my violence, for the tortures I endure, 
 and which I cannot much longer bear, have 
 made me take the most compendious way of 
 curing them. There is but one cure for the 
 wretched. I know it. I have it. Ha !" 
 
 Her eyes glanced suddenly at a phial, which 
 Dr. Schuler hastily removed, saying : 
 
 " You have had too much of this — be 
 quiet !" 
 
 Henry was struck with the decided tone of 
 the physician, which made him suspect that 
 Lamia's state of mind was such as to require 
 control, and he was not less surprised to see the 
 air of subjection with which she submitted to 
 it. He resolved to have some private conver- 
 
LAMIA. 43 
 
 sation with him. Henry accordingly stepped 
 out upon the terrace, whither he was soon 
 followed by Dr. Schuler. 
 
 The Doctor was a grave, but rather pedantic 
 specimen of the foreign style of medical man. 
 His quick eye, and very decided manner, 
 showT.d that he had talent, while his desire to 
 convince his listeners of his learning upon all 
 subjects, rather took oiF from the effect of 
 that which he really possessed. He was an 
 M.D. of the University of Prague, and had 
 imbibed strong national prejudices, which, 
 together with a philosophical turn in matters 
 of religion and politics, had contributed to 
 make travelling more agreeable to him than 
 staying at home, exposed to the vexations of 
 German police. 
 
 Whether Lamia's ideas, which always had 
 a tendency to expatiate in the vague mazes of 
 
44 LAMIA. 
 
 philosophy, to sound the unfathomable, and 
 to penetrate the unknown, had benefitted by 
 the Doctor's conversation, as much as her 
 malady had been alleviated by his skill, is a 
 question which may admit of doubt. Such, 
 however, was Dr. Schuler, and it was to him 
 alone that Henry could make any observation 
 upon the sad condition of his cousin, to whom 
 his care and attention had indee(^been unre- 
 mitting. 
 
 The Doctor began by remarking : 
 " I fear, Sir, you find a great change in 
 the appearance of Lady Rainham since her 
 departure from England. It is, indeed, my duty 
 to tell you, as her near relation, that her last 
 state is every way deplorable, and her mind, 
 acute and quick-sighted as it is, begins to yield, 
 not from weakness, but from being fatigued, 
 and worn out with suffering. Some causes of 
 
LAMIA. 45 
 
 mental disquiet there seem to be, of which, 
 of course, I know nothing, that evidently 
 aggravate the disorder ; but when the human 
 frame, from repeated shocks of pain and 
 spasm, and, at last, from nervous fear and 
 apprehension of such attacks — even when 
 they do not actually come on — loses the 
 power of recruiting its strength, from rest, 
 sleep, food, or medicine, there is but one 
 end to look for, he it sooner or later." 
 
 Henry was deeply moved at hearing, 
 from such authority, that there was nothing 
 to hope for his cousin, but recovering him- 
 self, asked if she had never tried the mys- 
 terious remedies of mesmerism, of homoeo- 
 pathy, or hydropathy ? 
 
 " Alas ! yes," replied the Doctor, " her 
 suiferings have led her to try everything, with 
 or without advice ; I, as you may suppose, 
 
46 LAMIA. 
 
 have studied and practised all the German 
 methods, and, after much experience, I come 
 to the conclusion that they are all true, all 
 equally founded on the immutable principles 
 of Nature, and intended by that universal 
 mother for the benefit and advantage of her 
 children. But if you ask me why we do not 
 better succeed, why we so often fail, I tell 
 you, we know nothing of these principles 
 beyond their existence, and in all but the 
 empirical part of our profession, we are but 
 quacks ; philosophical, if you please, but still 
 quacks. 
 
 " Her Ladyship having tried all these 
 methods, at last took to chloroform, and was 
 so much pleased at the cessation of pain 
 she experienced from it, that she would 
 speedily have annihilated her existence, had I 
 not peremptorily forbidden it. She has since 
 
LAMIA. 47 
 
 returned to the copious use of opium, which 
 alternately raises and depresses her spirits, 
 till either way they are beyond control, and. 
 Sir, it is sad to see how that brilliant wit and 
 imagination, that acute perception, with 
 which she is naturally gifted, are gradually 
 dimmed by its use. I must allow her 
 either stimulus or sedative: she would 
 prefer, because it interests her mind in a 
 philosophical point of view, some more 
 scientific and mysterious treatment, such 
 as the supernatural witcheries of mesmer- 
 ism, or the minutely material action of 
 homoeopathy ; but I think opium the least 
 active, and therefore the less hurtful, brut 
 it is her ruin, and will, ere long, bring her 
 pain to an eternal cessation." 
 
 At this moment they were interrupted 
 
48 LAMIA. 
 
 by the appearance of Valerie, who sum- I 
 moned the Doctor to her mistress, and told 
 Henry that she was now in a state of 
 lethargy, which was the only rest she knew, 
 and recommended him to return the next 
 day at the same hour, when Lady Rainham 
 would, if her usual condition was prolonged, 
 be better able to speak to him. He promised 
 to come, and, with a heavy heart, went home. 
 He saw that there was no time to be lost, 
 and that he must take courage and speak, ere 
 it was too late. 
 
 He returned on the morrow, and on being 
 ushered into Lamia's room, he was grieved 
 to find her apparently weaker than the day j 
 before, and in every particular, but the fire of \ 
 her fine wild eyes, oppressed by an universal j 
 feebleness. She spoke first : " Henry, I fear i 
 
LAMIA. 49 
 
 to die !" were the only words she could utter 
 — words which spoke volumes to his heart, 
 which was well nigh full to bursting. 
 
 " Lamia !" he said, " I come not now to 
 fatigue you with deep argument or lengthened 
 disquisition ; the soundest reasoning and the 
 most eloquent preaching have less force 
 than the simple Word of God upon a mind 
 wearied like yours with pain. I come first to 
 tell you I am stiU your friend and cousin — 
 stiU bound to you by ties of former fellowship 
 and affection, and solemnly to beseech you 
 to open to me all that now preys upon 
 and clogs your soul. Treat me as a brother, 
 as a faithful though humble servant of God." 
 
 "Henry," she feebly repeated, "Henry, I 
 fear to die !" 
 
 " O, Lamia !" he exclaimed, " say not 
 so ; or, if you say that, say more I" 
 
 VOL. L E 
 
50 LAMIA. 
 
 " Ah ! I have more to say — much more ; 
 but now, alas ! I cannot. I would, but can- 
 not speak out. Ah ! Henry, you who are so 
 good, forgive me — forgive ; you — you forgive 
 injuries, do you not ? You — you are a Chris- 
 tian ! Forgive — forgive — a Christian ! Ah ! 
 what am I ? ah !" 
 
 Her wild and incoherent manner alarmed 
 Henry, who moved to recal Valerie or the 
 Doctor, neither of whom were in the way, 
 when Lamia beseechingly turned her im- 
 ploring eyes upon him, and said : " Have 
 patience with me. Forgive — oh ! the past — 
 forgive the past ! Oh ! that I had a friend, 
 a sister : I once had an angel sister. Yes, 
 she is gone now, never to meet again. Yes, 
 had she lived, my lone and solitary heart 
 would have had one to love ; one that would 
 never have deserted me, would have gone 
 
LAMIA. 51 
 
 hand-in-hand through life with me, and 
 perhaps — perhaps — led me to God. O, 
 Innocence ! great is thy power !" 
 
 After a pause from mere exhaustion, she 
 raised her dark eyes wildly towards him. 
 
 " Henry, you are married, you are ; I 
 knew it not : yes, I knew it, but not in time. 
 Had I, so surely had I hiuried home to 
 forbid the bans : to poison — yes, to poison — 
 bliss that was not mine. To sow dissension ; 
 to cause separation between her and you. 
 Oh! what torment; my brain is on fire. 
 Forgive — forgive — no, I meant it once ; now 
 I wish you nothing but happiness : I cannot 
 die hating i/om." 
 
 Henry saw it was time to put an end to 
 this painful scene. Her utterance was becom- 
 ing every minute more hysterical, and hastily 
 summoning her attendants, he returned home. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 LAMIA. 
 
 There is nothing in the whole circle of 
 human malady so distressing as the mixture 
 of sane and insane, in the ravings of those 
 whose mind is, though temporarily, off its 
 balance. None can enter into the feelings, 
 or cloudy ideas, of the poor maniac ; and it 
 is not absence, but distortion, of ideas, that 
 governs them. It were cruel to condemn 
 Lamia for her false ideas and conceptions 
 then ; but fearfully astray must they not have 
 gone before ! 
 
 There is something inexpressibly awfiil in 
 considering the frail link that binds soul to 
 body ; and this, too, from deeper considera- 
 tions than mere terror of death. How can 
 one man in health, however feelingly he be- 
 holds the sufferings of another, really enter 
 into his sensations, however warmly he may 
 sympathize with his pain ? Death and mad- 
 
LAMIA. 53 
 
 hess, or even the smallest aberration of intel- 
 lect, are things from their nature inexplicable 
 by the sufferers themselves ; and therefore no 
 one should pretend, or dare, to interpret 
 the actual feelings of the insane, or of the 
 dying. 
 
 Lamia was gifted by natiu-e with a re- 
 markably clear intellect, which had not, how- 
 ever, been improved by her peculiar education. 
 One thing, indeed, resulted from it, in her 
 present state of pain and distraction, that even 
 when racked by torments of brain and body, 
 imable to give utterance to her thoughts, or 
 speak her wants, those thoughts were as 
 clear and collected as ever ; and on her re- 
 covering, she could slowly recollect what had 
 passed through her mind in the midst of 
 agony. 
 
 Some days had elapsed, during which 
 
54 LAMIA. 
 
 Henry never failed to pay his morning and 
 sometimes evening visit to his cousin, and 
 was ahle, though she never minded, to hold 
 some longer conversation with her than at 
 first her agitation permitted. When calm, 
 her regular features and still lustrous eyes, 
 shaded by raven hair, recalled the beauty of 
 her youth, such as he remembered her in 
 early days during her parents' life. To those 
 times she rarely alluded, and with no plea- 
 surable impression ; it seemed as if her youth 
 had brought her into scenes of some terrific 
 nature, which she now looked back upon 
 with horror, and the remembrance of which 
 always threw a cloud over her discourse, 
 though Henry partly guessed her mysterious 
 meaning. And when the unhappy Lamia 
 implied her having deep, almost inexplicable 
 guilt to answer for, she never sought, either 
 
LAMIA. 55 
 
 in weakness or in strength, to excuse her 
 sins ; but, with vehement despair, and with 
 the most frantic expressions, made a point of 
 proclaiming herself one of the guilty. 
 
 Henry was for a long time at a loss on 
 what ground to take his stand. The English 
 Church not requiring as of necessity priestly 
 absolution, hardly requires or authorises the 
 clergyman to employ that severe questioning in 
 use among the Roman Catholics. At such mo- 
 ments, when the flame of life is quivering in the 
 socket, questions are worse than useless ; spon- 
 taneous confession, if the state of the dying per- 
 mit it, is all that can be expected. To encourage 
 that, then, was now Henry's principal object. 
 
 Lamia, in one of her respites from suffering, 
 which now grew more rare, though the in- 
 tensity of pain was by degrees subsiding into 
 a melancholy prostration of strength, men- 
 
56 LAMIA. 
 
 tioned his wife — and mentioned her in terms 
 which Henry interpreted as expressive of 
 good-will and interest towards her. 
 
 This for many reasons not now to be 
 narrated, surprised him; and thinking it a 
 good opportunity for raising some softer 
 feelings than those usually reigning in Lamia's 
 breast, he said : 
 
 " In that point, my dear cousin, I am 
 happy. I am blest in home and in com- 
 panionship with one suited to her situation, 
 and therefore suited to me." 
 
 " I know, I know," she replied. " I know 
 what amiable young creatures may be ; but I 
 see them not, I have no common tie or feel- 
 ing with them. If I asked about her, it was 
 for your sake." 
 
 " Well," said Henry, " that is enough; I 
 accept your meaning, and accept it for her. 
 
LAMIA. 57 
 
 Believe me there is none, after myself, so 
 interested for you as Emma." 
 
 " Emma, Emma, is that her name ? Where 
 is she ? let me see her. She is good, she is 
 innocent. Will she indeed see me ? will she 
 pity me? will she forgive? O, Iris, Iris, 
 would to God you were left to me!" A 
 flood of natural tears interrupted her, and 
 gave seasonable relief to her excited brain. 
 
 As soon as Lamia had recovered herself, 
 she resumed : 
 
 " Had my sister lived, had I had such 
 a companion and friend through life, my 
 mind would not have been locked up like a 
 sealed book to all confidence and counsel. 
 Isolated and misunderstood as it has been 
 my fate to be, my mind has grown dark and 
 gloomy, my thoughts have been locked up in 
 themselves ; what wonder then if wickedness 
 
58 LAMIA. 
 
 throve in them ? I know my wretched state. 
 I know not God, though I fear him, dread 
 him — as I dread the evil one. Tf I must 
 soon appear before my stern Judge and 
 Creator, oh ! what — what shall be my plea ?" 
 
 " God be merciful to me a sinner !" ejacu- 
 lated Henry, solemnly. 
 
 Lamia repeated the words, clasped her 
 hands, and fell back, sobbing. Her cousin, 
 afraid of paroxysm, would have called her 
 attendants, but recovering herself with eiFort, 
 she exclaimed : 
 
 " And must not I first believe ? what do 
 I believe? I believe in wrath, terror, ven- 
 geance, as surely as I do in crime, too surely 
 — or in — nothing !" 
 
 " And in mercy ?" said Henry. 
 
 " Mercy! no mercy for a wretch like me. 
 I believe in the vast, the universal power of 
 
LAMIA. 59 
 
 the evil one: I feel him, I know him, his 
 power, his revenge is sure — '' 
 
 " And in the power of God ?" said Henry. 
 
 " I would, but I cannot ; I believe but in 
 one power, whatever you call it — the power of 
 Almighty vengeance. I believe in hell : I be- 
 lieve but in what I know. What must I 
 do, how must I pray, to gain a belief in 
 Heaven ?" 
 
 " Lord, I believe, help Thou mine unbe- 
 lief !" was the solemn rejoinder. 
 
 Lamia mechanically repeated the words, 
 and seemed to feel their meaning, and as 
 mechanically repeated after them the former 
 passage : " God be merciful to me a sinner !" 
 
 Henry was profoundly moved, not only at 
 the gloomy picture of a deserted soul that 
 had been disclosed to him, but also at the 
 singular effect his apt quotations seemed to 
 
60 LAMIA. 
 
 have upon Lamia. He was encouraged to 
 proceed in his pious endeavour. 
 
 " Then," continued Lamia, " if T can at 
 last believe and pray for mercy — which I 
 shall never obtain — what hope have I to gain 
 forgiveness ? What length of prayer, of 
 penance, of good works must I go through, 
 when time no more remains to me ? Is 
 there no place for repentance, none for 
 pardon left ? My God, my God — !" 
 
 " In the name of Christ," said Henry, 
 "your sins, were they as scarlet, shall be 
 made as white as snow." 
 
 Lamia was now evidently too much af- 
 fected to bear more; she lay back on her 
 couch repeating over and over the sentences 
 Henry had quoted, like a child beginning 
 to understand its lesson, and though but half 
 understood, they seemed by degrees to pene- 
 
LAMIA. 61 
 
 trate her mind, and to tranquillize her strug- 
 gles within. She would have detained 
 Henry, but he thought it better to retire, 
 promising to bring his wife on the morrow. 
 
 This day's moving scene deeply affected 
 him, ke knew that his cousin's education had 
 unhappily floated between superstition and 
 infidelity, and he shuddered at the result. 
 
 On his return home, he thought it neces- 
 sary to open with caution his design to 
 Emma, asking her if she thought she had 
 nerve and resolution to go through with it. 
 He explained to her not only the lamentable 
 state of illness to which his cousin was 
 reduced, the wayward spirit and temper, to 
 which so much consideration and forbearance 
 were due, but also the condition of her mind, 
 for which he thought his wife's pure and 
 gentle conversation might be a more healing 
 
62 • LAMIA. 
 
 balm than the stronger remedies of argu- 
 ment or eloquence, which Lamia was no 
 longer fitted to bear. Despairing of doing 
 good by reason, he hoped that the simple 
 contact with a kind and pious heart, would 
 do more for that benighted soul than all his 
 own learning or divinity. He thought, too, 
 that he had some reason to be satisfied with 
 the impression he had made on Lamia's 
 sore and wounded spirit in their interview of 
 that day; and in this he was not alto- 
 gether deceived. 
 
 It sometimes happens that persons who 
 have never been exposed to any great trials, 
 either of feelings or courage, do, when the 
 occasion presents itself, show a greater resolu- 
 tion and judgment than those whose ex- 
 perience in such scenes has been greater. 
 Simplicity and backwardi^ess of demeanour is 
 
LAMTA. 63 
 
 often taken for timidity and want of cha- 
 racter, until proved to be the very opposite 
 quality of mind. So it turned out with regard 
 to Emma. 
 
 On opening his scheme cautiously to his 
 wife, Henry was not more surprised than 
 overjoyed to find that she joined heartily in 
 his plan of comforting his afflicted cousin 
 through her care and attention. He frankly 
 told her the difficulties of the task, and the 
 new and singular character she would have 
 to deal with, but she shrank from nothing. 
 
 " What," said she, " is my task in this 
 world but to be useful ? and the woman that 
 declines to assist her feUow-woman in neces- 
 sity is unworthy the name of her feUow- 
 creature." 
 
 They accordingly proceeded next morning 
 to the Abbey. 
 
64 LAMIA. 
 
 Hardly arrived at the door of Lamia's 
 apartment, they were met by Valerie, who 
 informed them with calm but expressive 
 grief that her mistress had passed a wretched 
 night, and that Dr. Schuler was now with 
 her, and in consequence they must wait a 
 few minutes. The fixed melancholy of this 
 woman's countenance cast a deep gloom 
 upon Emma's soul ; she who had come 
 buoyed up by the pleasing anticipation of 
 being useful, perhaps successful, in her en- 
 deavoiu-s to alleviate Lamia's afflictions, now 
 suddenly felt the foreboding of an inevitable 
 catastrophe. Nevertheless, virtuous and cou- 
 rageous, she went on. 
 
 She had time, however, while waiting, to 
 be struck with the air of elegant and artistic 
 refinement pervading the whole of Lamia's 
 habitation. It was on a scale and in a style 
 
LAMIA. 65 
 
 of living new to her, and contrasted sadly 
 with the scene within. Rainham Abbey 
 combined the seclusion of the monastery with 
 the taste of a palace ; the spacious corridors, 
 the pleasant gardens, the fragrant bowers, 
 and all the other appurtenances of luxurious 
 ease, the beauties of painting and sculpture 
 were to her as the whitest sepulchre that 
 conceals the remains of mortality. 
 
 Henry and Emma were at length con- 
 ducted to the chamber of their unfortunate 
 cousin. Dr. Schuler met them in the ante- 
 room, and said : " You will find the Baroness 
 greatly reduced since yesterday — to me, to 
 you who know her, her mind will appear 
 perfect, though miserable; but do not be 
 alarmed if in her countenance you see 
 workings that, to a stranger (turning to 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 LAMIA. 
 
 Emma), would appear like signs of absence of 
 
 reason." 
 
 Henry entered first, leaving his wife in 
 melancholy contemplation of the beautiful 
 portrait of the two sisters. In a minute or 
 two, he softly opened the door, and 
 beckoned to her to come in. Emma 
 obeyed. 
 
 Lamia was lying in much the same nearly 
 inanimate state as when Henry saw her the 
 first night he was summoned to her sick bed, 
 but when she turned her face towards him, 
 oh, what a change even from yesterday ! the 
 bright eye was sunk in its socket, the finely- 
 chiselled brow was as sculptured marble, the 
 black hair seemed blacker than before, the 
 hollow voice went to his heart, involuntary and 
 convulsive twitchings when she endeavoured to 
 
LAMIA. 67 
 
 speak arrested or distorted her words. She 
 thus began (after dismissing her two atten- 
 dants) : 
 
 " Are you then really come to see a poor, 
 wretched, dying woman ? Is it not a dream, 
 do 1 n(Jt see my beloved sister again ?" She 
 stared vacantly at Emma, and then at Henry, 
 who replied : " This, Lamia, is my wife, and 
 as such, I can promise for her that she will, 
 if you suffer her to attend you, practise all 
 that my feeling would suggest, but which a 
 woman's care will better execute." Emma 
 then approached the bed, opened her lips, but 
 was so overcome with emotion, that though 
 she never thought of flinching from her 
 purpose, she found she could not utter a 
 word. 
 
 " Oh, my sister !" ejaculated Lamia, still 
 
 F 2 
 
68 LAMIA. 
 
 fixing her glassy eyes on Emma, who found 
 courage to say: "Allow me to be as 
 a sister, and I will prove myself one to 
 you." 
 
 " Sister !" said Lamia, whose ideas, pre- 
 viously wandering, seem fixed and pleased at 
 the thought. 
 
 After a short time, by one of those 
 wonderful efforts of which nature is some- 
 times capable, she seemed to rouse herself, 
 and addressing Henry, said : " When I 
 spoke of your wife's coming, yesterday, I 
 never expected to see her. I thought she 
 would shun me — shun the unhappy. O, 
 thou whom I see, image of my lost, my 
 darling Iris, thou over whom the breath of^ 
 Heaven has never poured aught but its 
 choicest blessings — innocence and peace — 
 
LAMIA. 69 
 
 look on me — pity me — and pray for 
 me." 
 
 Gaining strength apparently as she went 
 on, she turned to Henry, and said : " All 
 night, I repeated the words you taught me ; 
 and I would — I would believe, but an evil 
 spirit possesses me, and fills me with horrors 
 of the future, such as my aching brain tells 
 me daily and hourly are but too real and too 
 surely in store for me, a sinner. Lord, I 
 believe, help Thou mine unbelief!" She 
 clasped her hands with fervour and with 
 an expression of terror that again brought a 
 fearful animation into that marble counte- 
 nance, and showed the intensity of her 
 mental agony. Her mind was always more 
 alive to pain and fear than to comfort or 
 pleasure. 
 
 Henry thought it time to interpose, and 
 
70 LAMIA. 
 
 in a kind but earnest manner, said : ^* What 
 you allude to so forcibly as that which 
 weighs heavy on your soul, it is not for me 
 to know, nor at this trying moment do I 
 mean to ask ; whatever it be, and we all are 
 more guilty than we imagine, it is within the 
 reach of pardon; but on the condition of 
 repentance. Repentance now with you, Lamia, 
 can be but from the heart : you cannot now 
 look forward to active amendment. I know 
 something of your mind, of your habits, of 
 your thought, and if you say you believe not 
 as you would wish to believe, much may be 
 allowed to the faults of education and, alas! 
 wasted time. But do you disbelieve, Lamia ? 
 Answer me that. We have no time for 
 argument." She made no answer. 
 
 "Lamia," said Emma, anxiously, but got 
 no further. 
 
LAMIA. 71 
 
 " I am not willing to disbelieve, but I am 
 not convinced'^ said she, "of all that you 
 comprehend under the name of religious 
 truth. Faith is not mine, Hope is not mine, 
 Charity is not mine, if that means to include 
 my enemies." 
 
 "O, Lamia 1" said Henry, distressed beyond 
 measure, " you were once more tractable and 
 more forgiving. For God's sake, recal your 
 words!" _\^ i^iij oJ ihmti m 
 
 " I know," returned she, with growing 
 wildness of manner, " that Faith, Hope, and 
 Charity I ought to have — beautiful and 
 heavenly virtues; but I cannot — something 
 wdthin — something here," striking her head, 
 " prevents it." 
 
 Henry thought it necessary now to sum- 
 mon Dr. Schuler, whose presence was the best 
 
72 LAMIA. 
 
 security for keeping the poor sufferer tranquil, 
 and with difficulty obtained Lamia's consent 
 to his and Emma's, departure. On the point 
 of differing with him, showing more temper 
 and asperity than ever, she yet liked to see 
 him and Emma by her bedside, and was only 
 pacified by their promise to return early the 
 next morning. 
 
 Henry and Emma walked home in silence, 
 each had too much to think of to allow of 
 conversation. After some time, however, he 
 asked her whether she began to lose courage, 
 and on her assuring him that so long as he 
 remained constant to the task they had 
 undertaken, nothing should make her swerve 
 from it, he said : " It is fortunate your 
 accidental likeness to my poor cousin Iris has 
 so fixed itself in Lamia's imagination : were it 
 
LAMIA. 73 
 
 not for that, her wayward natiire might have 
 rejected your attentions." 
 
 " I take it as a good omen," replied 
 Emma, " and an encouragement to per- 
 
74 LAMIA. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 *' The feeble eyes of our aspiring thoughts 
 Behold things present and record things past, 
 But things to come exceed our human reach, 
 And are not painted yet in angel's eyes." 
 
 GEORGE PEELE. 
 
 ** O, Ught ! which mak'st the light, which makes the 
 day. 
 Which sett'st the eye without, the mind within. 
 Lighten my spirit with one clear heav'nly ray 
 Which now to Tiew itself doth first hegin." 
 
 DAYIES. 
 
 The morning found them at the Abbey 
 gate at an early hour, where they were met 
 by Valerie with the agreeable news that 
 
LAMIA. / O 
 
 Lamia had passed a tranquil night, and 
 seemed not worse than yesterday; "but," said 
 she, " it will not last long. All night she has 
 been repeating ' phrases' of what you said to 
 her, which she seems to like, or softly 
 whispering, * Sister !' and has even slept." 
 
 By the time they were at her bedside. 
 Lamia, though she opened not her eyes, was 
 aware of their presence, and softly murmured, 
 " Sister — sister," to which Emma, with a pre- 
 sence of mind that astonished her husband, 
 answered, " I am here." Lamia opened her 
 large eyes, and looking on the truly anxious 
 friends, who alone seemed to care for her in 
 this world, sighed deeply, but spoke not. 
 They sat down by her bed, content to wait 
 and watch her, w^hich she evidently per- 
 ceived. 
 
 The instinct (for when mind is low and 
 
76 
 
 LAMIA. 
 
 oppressed it is but that) of the sick is some- 
 times wonderful. The increased sensibility, 
 not activity, of the nerves to outward sensa- 
 tions is more or less known to all who have 
 suffered severe illness ; it seems as if the very 
 inmost powers of the soul were quickened, 
 and threw off what we commonly call mind, 
 or intellect, almost as a material incumbrance 
 like the body which contains it. 
 
 So it was with Lamia. Addressing them 
 both, she said : " You are my only friends, 
 desert me not. My mind is weak; nay, is 
 almost gone. I can bear no arguments. 
 Reason not with me. You are brother and 
 sister to me. But my soul is here, and I see 
 clearer than ever the nothingness, the despic- 
 able wretchedness of the world. But ye are 
 angels in the world. O, Iris, my sister! 
 my sister ! hear me. There is no religion — 
 
LAMIA. 77 
 
 all is false, all is hypocrisy in the world. 
 You are the only Christians it has been my lot 
 to find at the last ebb of life. Talk not to 
 me, I cannot follow you. But I know your 
 goodness, because I feel it. Your souls seem 
 in contact with mine — how unworthy to meet 
 them. If anything wiU save my wretched 
 soul, it is your kindness, your virtues inter- 
 ceding for my guilt." 
 
 Henry, anxious to put an end to this 
 incoherent raving, offered her a glass of some 
 cordial which stood near, but she would take 
 nothing but from the hand of Emma, 
 towards whom she seemed drawn by an 
 attraction she could not resist. 
 
 " My story is a long one," said she, " and 
 one day, Henry, you may find it in yonder 
 box, of which I give you the key. FuU 
 soon will you see it. Tell me, Henry, once 
 
78 LAMIA. 
 
 more, those words of comfort you pronounced 
 yesterday; but in spite of which, Henry, I 
 fear to die. I was wild, I was mad, I believe, 
 yesterday ; I would beUeve, I would forgive, 
 but who will forgive me ? I dread the wrath 
 to come: I dread not leaving this hollow 
 world." 
 
 Henry again slowly pronounced the sen- 
 tences she desired, and added: "Pray, Lamia, 
 and you will believe, you will forgive, even 
 as you will be forgiven. Even Solomon, on 
 dedicating his glorious temple, could only 
 offer up his prayer to God in saying, * When 
 we pray unto Thee from this Thy Temple, 
 hear Thou from heaven Thy dweUing-place — 
 and when Thou hearest — Forgive !' '* 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the 
 intense attention Lamia paid to these words, 
 those sunken eyes which alone Hghted up 
 
LAMIA. 79 
 
 that pallid countenance no longer capable of 
 the effort of muscular expression, gave, as it 
 seemed to Henry, tacit but implicit assent to 
 all he said. After a silence, in which all 
 seemed plunged in deep feeling, her low 
 voice was heard to utter slowly the word 
 " Forgive !" She made no further attempt to 
 speak, and Valerie and Dr. Schuler, who 
 now entered the room, signified to her 
 visitors that they had better withdraw. 
 
 Five or six days longer did the poor 
 Lamia linger on in the same state of mind 
 and body, hovering, as it were, between life 
 and death. Her mind, now incapable of 
 grasping a new or extensive subject, was only 
 to be reached by the most direct and marked 
 expressions. Henry's experience taught him 
 that the double operation of mentally com- 
 prehending any proposition, and subsequently 
 
80 LAMIA. 
 
 making the application to herself was more 
 than in her present condition she could hear, 
 or he hope for. 
 
 An ill-taught or inexperienced mind is 
 ever in danger of losing sight of that which 
 it may have comprehended and assented to 
 most easily; and it is no wonder this poor 
 woman during the few remaining days of life 
 was now eagerly catching and accepting with 
 joy the comfortable words of the Gospel 
 which her excellent cousin instilled into her, 
 it may be said, for the first time, and now 
 falling back into doubt and despair. Such in- 
 consistencies can only, in such a case, be met by 
 patience in the teacher ; and truth, even with- 
 out argument, will force its way into the 
 mind by repetition. Thenceforth, Lamia said 
 but little, though her two attendants reported 
 that throughout the night she would repeat 
 
LAMIA. ' 81 
 
 at intervals the sacred words she had heard 
 from Henry. He brought her by degrees to 
 understand, that in her eleventh hour the true 
 and earnest desire, the sincere will to believe, 
 to repent, if persevered in to the last, might 
 without now fatiguing her reason with argu- 
 ment, avail to preserve her from that wrath 
 to come which she was ever and anon in- 
 voking upon her own guilty head. He had 
 latterly, with her consent, read daily to her 
 the solemn office of Visitation of the Sick, 
 with the prayer for the soul on the point of 
 departure ; and although she never swerved 
 from what appeared to be her good dis- 
 positions when calm and free from pain, yet 
 the paroxysms, whenever they occurred, left 
 such symptoms of a confused and disordered 
 mind, and such a return to her awful terrors 
 of conscience, as nearly unnerved him. She 
 VOL. L G 
 
82 LAMIA. 
 
 hinted at dark, and almost unpardonable 
 crimes, was ready to destroy herself (an idea 
 not new to her according to Dr. Schuler's 
 significant whispers to Henry), and in the 
 same hreath declared she was innocent of all 
 but guilty thought and imagination. Latterly 
 her eyes moved with difficulty, but whenever 
 they glanced on her sister, as she persisted in 
 calling Emma, she became tranquil and even 
 moved to tears. Such charm has the mere 
 presence of innocence on the troubled spirit 
 of the repentant sinner. But her present 
 impressions, dim as they must be, were so 
 new to her, that not having the habit of 
 belief, this unhappy woman was at every 
 spasm relapsing into the mental horrors of 
 her previous incredulity, a philosophy which 
 utterly failed her in the hour of trial. 
 
 In one of her last intervals of rest, she 
 
LAMIA. 83 
 
 pointed again and again to the jasper box, 
 and Henry, having the key, opened it in her 
 presence. It contained nothing but the 
 manuscript of her confession, which she had 
 once before alluded to, and which she now 
 put, sealed, into his hands, saying, in a low 
 moan : " Not yet — not yet !" which he took to 
 mean that it was not to be inspected until 
 after her death. " I understand you, dear 
 Lamia," said he, in a tone of deep affection : 
 " you shall be obeyed in this and everything 
 you desire." She made a sign of ac- 
 quiescence, and seemed satisfied. 
 
 So much mystery hung over Lamia's life, 
 and the fact of her giving this paper, sealed, 
 and marked with the words, "Read this 
 when the writer shall be no more," showed so 
 plainly that she would not, or could not, bear 
 to have that mystery solved while she w^as on 
 
 G 2 
 
84 LAMIA. 
 
 earth, that Henry found his difficulties greatly 
 increased by it. Her frequent and distress- 
 ing appeals to him for consolation, or as she 
 called it, absolution; her mixed and con- 
 tradictory assertions of guilt and innocence 
 alternately ; and the partial knowledge he had 
 of the real circumstances of the case as 
 deserving pardon, obliged him to confine 
 himself strictly to general terms implying 
 repentance and mercy, accompanied with the 
 most heartfelt compassion. 
 
 Lamia had been brought up between the 
 extremes of scepticism and superstition, and 
 was, by a natural consequence, imbued with 
 the principles of doubt and fear. Love, 
 heavenly love, was not likely to arise in such 
 a breast, and the dim, uncertain heaven that 
 she guessed of, was almost as much an object 
 of apprehension to her as its opposite, which 
 
LAMIA. '85 
 
 she pictured to herself as far more real in its 
 existence. She had not been so ill-educated 
 as not to have a knowledge of religion, the 
 observances of a bigoted Roman Catholic 
 mother, and the arguments of an infidel 
 father had not left her in ignorance of th6 
 great want of mankind ; but her knowledge 
 Was n:6t cultivated with any intelligence of its 
 value, or trained into any habit of its duties. 
 The beauty of religion as well as its necessity 
 -were uriknowri to her. 
 
 How are the mighty fallen ! How is the 
 vanity of mind and body disclosed at the last 
 hour ! The body perishes, while the hitherto 
 close union of mind and soul (which, like 
 light and heat in the material world, vivify 
 the intellectual and moral essence of our 
 bei^) is dissolved, iM nought remains 6f 
 haughty man Mt his soul, once neglected if 
 
8€ LAMIA. 
 
 not despised, but now the only responsible 
 part of his existence. 
 
 Lamia's alternate restlessness and complete 
 prostration increased daily ; Dr. Schuler and 
 Valerie, who were both really attached to her, 
 were now in constant attendance. Henry's 
 courage left him not, though he trembled 
 violently as he saw the crisis approaching, 
 and feared for Emma, whose constancy never 
 gave way. 
 
 While speechless, she had turned her head 
 heavily on the pillow towards Emma, with a 
 look that showed she never desired to move 
 it again; when, accidentally, a curtain at the 
 foot of her bed fell, and disclosed a small but 
 most pathetic picture of the crucifixion, 
 sketched by Rubens, on the idea of his 
 sublime painting at Antwerp, before which, 
 Lamia had often seen her mother kneel, and 
 
LAMIA. 87 
 
 which had inspired her, as a child, with awe, 
 if not with reverence or affection. 
 
 Lamia feebly raised her eyes till they fell 
 upon the well-known picture; and then that 
 pale and bloodless countenance, whose features 
 had been fixed as marble, relaxed into a faint 
 smile, as if the inward workings of the soul 
 were suddenly turned from powerless despair 
 to humble hope, and as, having lived in 
 doubt, she could now die in faith. Emma, 
 who strove in vain to suppress her tears, 
 knelt by her side, and watching the gradually 
 sinking frame, then placed the poor penitent's 
 hands (as she had frequently done of late 
 with her evident assent) in the attitude of 
 prayer, while Henry repeated her favourite 
 words: "Be of good cheer, thy sins are 
 forgiven thee." 
 
 The dreaded crisis which Henry Lucy had 
 
88 LAMIA. 
 
 foreseen, was, indeed, near ; and while Emma 
 and he were looking on in breathless sus- 
 pense, a slight convulsive heaving of the 
 before-motionless form might gradually be 
 perceived, accompanied by a tremor of the 
 limbs which, in the state in which Lamia 
 was, could not be other than an indication of 
 acute suffering. The brow, fixed as it had 
 been, was suddenly and powerfully contracted, 
 bringing forcibly to her cousin's recollection a 
 strange and dark presentiment which had 
 gained strong hold of her too susceptible 
 imagination in former times, that a serpent 
 had got possession of her brain. 
 
 He had known too, and none but he, the 
 passionate feelings that had distracted Lamia, 
 both in heart and mind, in the days which 
 this painful recollection recalled, and though 
 he> strove with utmost might to repel the 
 
LAMIA. 89 
 
 odious remembrance, yet memory, that re- 
 lentless stimulator of conscience, would not 
 aUow him to reject the thought. If, there- 
 fore, it occurred to him, what must its 
 present cruel domination be over his afflicted 
 cousin ? 
 
 Her state of bodily suffering grew mo- 
 mentarily worse and worse, her clasped hands 
 remained so firmly clenched, that death alone 
 could relax their hold — a fearfully correct 
 symbol of the mind within — but they re- 
 mained clasped, as if prayer, at the last 
 moment, struggled frightfully with remorse. 
 Her eye, still fixed upon the cross — immove- 
 ably fixed — sank deeper and deeper in the 
 socket, a violent agitation of the lips suc- 
 ceeded, as if it were a last effort to utter 
 words less of the body than of the soul: a 
 terrific spasm succeeded — and all was still. 
 
90 LAMIA. 
 
 The evil one loses not his prey without a 
 struggle ; the soul, however victorious, gains 
 not her freedom without a terrific combat ; if 
 such be the case, even in the death of the 
 just, what must it not be in that of the 
 conscious, though not hardened, sinner ? The 
 best may say, with the Poet, in the words of 
 David: 
 
 " Sin, with his sevenfold crown and purple robe. 
 Begins his triumphs in my guilty throne : 
 There sits he watching, with his hundred eyes, 
 Our idle minutes and our wanton thoughts ; 
 And with his halts made of our frail desires, 
 Gives us the hook that draws our soul to hell," 
 
 It is not given to man in health to inter- 
 pret the feelings of the dying, but Henry, as 
 he marked the now dimmed eye still directed 
 to her Saviour, the now lifeless countenance 
 reposmg in peace, the hands no longer con- 
 
LAMIA. 9 1 
 
 vulsed, but still clasped and fallen, as if 
 naturally before her, could not but feel that 
 when the battle is well fought, victory cannot 
 be doubtful. His faith taught him that, to 
 the weak, strength may be given at the last ; 
 and he prayed as he knelt by the inanimate 
 clay: " O, God! may'st Thou have been mer- 
 ciful to a poor penitent !" 
 
 Emma echoed the humble supplication in 
 the true spirit of the Catholic Church, and 
 then overcome by her feelings, sank ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 Dr. Schuler, in spite of all his philosophy, 
 was deeply affected, though he kept a solemn 
 silence. Valerie was removed in a state of 
 insensibility. 
 
 It was long ere Emma could be torn from 
 the awful scene she had witnessed, and 
 Henry, far from hastening her departure. 
 
92 LAMIA. 
 
 thought it better she should give way to 
 her natural emotion on the spot, than to 
 hurry her home in the state of violent agita- 
 tion in which she then was. Now all was 
 over, her calm self-possession entirely forsook 
 her ; and her husband, himself overcome by 
 the sudden relaxation of the stretch to which 
 all his faculties had been exerted, to say 
 nothing of bodily fatigue during the last 
 fortnight, was far from able to support her 
 in the trial. At last the entrance of a 
 servant with lights, which had been called 
 for by Dr. Schuler, warned them that even- 
 ing had sei^ in, and the village apothe- 
 cary, who had always been in attendance, 
 whispered significantly to the Doctor, asking 
 if he had any further orders. There having 
 been no establishment in the Abbey, beyond 
 sonie village servants, everything now fell on 
 
LAMIA 93 
 
 Dr. Schuler to arrange, and he, with feeling 
 and propriety, asked Henry's counsel and 
 assistance. 
 
 Henry saw the object, and requested that 
 he would call on him the next morning at his 
 own time, being quite imequal to attend to 
 any business at that moment. 
 
 But perceiving it was dark, for the autum- 
 nal evening was fast closing in, he begged 
 the apothecary to accompany Emma and 
 himself across the park, after which they 
 had but a step to go to their parsonage. 
 Valerie, for the time, was quite unable to 
 assist in anything, so they left Dr. Schuler, 
 and some under- servants alone in their late 
 mistress's apartment, until the apothecary 
 should return. 
 
 Sad were the reflections of this small, but 
 melancholy party, as they slowly paced the 
 
94 LAMIA. 
 
 now gloomy corridors, and issued into the 
 wide and deserted park. Not a word was 
 spoken. Emma, painfully alive to all she had 
 seen and heard, hardly knew where she was, 
 and suffered herself to be supported, or rather 
 dragged along, by her two attentive com- 
 panions. 
 
 Henry's mind was occupied with the 
 natural reflections which would occur to a 
 minister of religion after the event, ushered 
 in by such mysterious circumstances ; and the 
 contrast between the present dark, sad walk 
 across the park, the wind sighing among the 
 trees, the falling leaves, the chill, dank 
 atmosphere, and the bright summer's night in 
 which he had traversed the same ground in 
 hope a few weeks previously, weighed heavily 
 on his spirits. No man, perhaps, had more 
 fortitude than he, and he had shown it ; but 
 
LAMIA. 95 
 
 fortitude is not always to be commanded. He 
 dreaded secretly the opening of the unhappy 
 Lamia's confession, which he carried closely 
 pressed to his bosom, for he had a real affec- 
 tion for her. He had loved her sincerely, in 
 spite of her faults, some of which he knew 
 toa well. 
 
 Emma, almost unable to walk, nearly 
 fainted twice before reaching their humble 
 home, which, after some delay, they en- 
 tered with heavy hearts, and retired to bed, 
 but not to rest. 
 
 Why should we faint and fear to live alone. 
 Since all alone, so Heaven has will'd, we die ? 
 
 Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own, 
 Knows half the reasons why we smile or sigh. 
 
 The next morning, after an early break- 
 fast, Dr. Schuler, who had walked down to 
 
96 LAMIA.. 
 
 the parsonage, accompanied Henry back to 
 the Abbey. Their talk, as might be sup- 
 posed, was chiefly of the long ill health and 
 great bodily sufferings of the lamented Lamia ; 
 and Henry learnt, for the first time, the extra- 
 ordinary malady to which she had been sub- 
 ject ever since Dr. Schuler had known her. 
 He assured Henry that it was not a compli- 
 cation, but a combination of different, and 
 even of opposite affections of mind and body, 
 such as it had never before been his lot to 
 witness, and for which, as a physician, he did 
 not believe there existed any remedy, scarcely 
 even an alleviation. Her reason, he said, 
 was at once sharpened in some points, and 
 confused in others, by the effect of pain on 
 the cerebral nerves, in like manner as her 
 bodily strength was at times totally prostrated, 
 at times also, almost superhumanly reinforced 
 
LAMIA. 97 
 
 by the spasmodic struggles of constitution 
 against disorder. Such a mingled state of 
 affliction, he said, could never, with all the 
 advantages of this world, have borne up 
 long against the encroachments of returning 
 malady, and however trite and commonplace 
 the remark of death being a happy release, 
 never was there a case in which, speaking as 
 a physiologist, he thought it more literally 
 true. 
 
 By this time they were arrived at the 
 Abbey, where Henry was struck with a 
 sudden chill, by the sight of a few articles 
 of black, which the servants, un-ordered, had 
 thought it necessary to put on, and which 
 more forcibly than anything, because visibly, 
 recalled to his senses, that this was the house 
 of death. Indeed, where death is not abso- 
 lutely sudden or unexpected, the anticipation 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 LAMIA. 
 
 of it as an event, as simply a certainty that 
 must even shortly arrive, takes off much from 
 the shock felt by the sincerest and most 
 affectionate mourners. But when the coarse, 
 material, and tangible proofs of that event 
 appear to be acknowledged by all around, 
 when the heart can no longer postpone or 
 repel its feelings, then the inevitable revulsion 
 comes with the double force of fearful expec- 
 tation and irremediable reality. 
 
 Henry, regardless of all around, and occu- 
 pied with contending emotions, found himself 
 half intentionally, half not, in the very 
 chamber of death, before he was aware of 
 it. He had need to summon all his for- 
 titude before he could approach the couch, 
 whereon still lay all that remained on earth 
 of Lamia. Closely covered, all but the head, 
 she lay, an image of such repose as her life 
 
LAMIA. 99 
 
 had seldom exhibited, but which gave to 
 Henry's not impartial heart a picture of 
 what, with sound health and regulated un- 
 derstanding, so gifted a person might have 
 been. That marble brow no longer clouded 
 by any expression of pain or passion, the 
 sunken cheeks and colourless lips, not now^ 
 swayed by consciousness of any bodily suf- 
 fering or mental affliction, spoke volumes to 
 Henry, as he thought of past days. Her 
 white skin, shaded by her long black tresses, 
 and the sharpened bust-like outlines of her 
 fine features, and sadly closed eyes, were all 
 that survived, if it may so be said, of her 
 beauty; but it was beauty, beauty in 
 death. 
 
 Henry's tears flowed fast. He repeated 
 mentally, but not exactly, Dr. Schuler's 
 words : " Speaking as a Christian, death is a 
 
 H 2 
 
100 LAMIA. 
 
 happy release." Nobody could be more free 
 from superstition, no one more firmly was 
 persuaded that, as he gazed on the lifeless form 
 before him, the spirit was not there ; that 
 all he had loved, cherished, cared for in 
 Lamia, was for ever departed ; yet he could 
 not leave the late tenement of the heart, the 
 mind, the soul of a cousin, to whom he 
 had been so sincerely attached, without an 
 effort that cost him a violent, though momen- 
 tary pang. 
 
 He left, at last, the gloomy pile, and slowly 
 taking the longest path back to the parsonage, 
 partly to vary the scene and avoid unwelcome 
 observations, partly to indulge his own melan- 
 choly reflections, he repaired to his own home. 
 There he found Emma, whose spirits and 
 strength, now aU was over, were beginning to 
 fail, and who was anxiously awaiting his return. 
 
LAMIA. 101 
 
 In the trouble of the previous night and 
 morning, prayers had unavoidably been 
 omitted ; but on this evening, Henry thought 
 it right to re-assemble his household, and to 
 add to his accustomed readings, that solemn 
 prayer for the dead, who depart this life in 
 God's faith and fear, together with the 
 absolutions, which he pronounced with a 
 deep and earnest tone of authority, that 
 left a lasting impression on all present. He 
 made no allusion to the present, which all 
 readily understood. 
 
 When they had retired, Emma, musing, 
 broke a long silence, by saying, timidly: 
 " In poor Lamia's case, there was more fear 
 than faith, I am afraid." 
 
 The husband gently chid her, and showed 
 how the fear of God implies, by necessity, a 
 faith in him, and that although fear may 
 
102 LAMIA. 
 
 exceed faith greatly in degree, as a natural 
 consequence of human weakness, yet faith, 
 which is an effort of mental strength and 
 grace, may in its humble, but steadfast 
 aspirations, be accepted as equivalent in 
 sincerity to our fears. Alluding to the 
 traditional persuasion, that all things will be 
 made clear to the soul released, he ex- 
 plained that however sinful, wilful ignorance 
 of matters of religion might be, our con- 
 ditional ignorance was hardly even a mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 That evening, Henry began to read the 
 following paper, forming the confession en- 
 trusted to his hands before death by the 
 unfortunate Lamia. He read it alone, re- 
 serving to himself the right to communicate 
 it to his wife, at some future period, as cir- 
 cumstances might occur. He opened the 
 
LAMIA. 103 
 
 manuscript with feelings the reader may 
 be enabled to conceive, who is sufficiently 
 interested in the foregoing portion to follow, 
 in its tangled and wandering narrative, the 
 errors and sufferings of an unhappy and 
 misguided woman. 
 
104 / LAMIA. 
 
 CHAPTER .IV. 
 
 "And thou, my soul, which tum'st with curious eye 
 To view the beams of thine own form divine. 
 
 Know, that thou canst know nothing perfectly. 
 Whilst thou art clouded with this flesh of mine. 
 
 " How senseless then and dead a soul hath he 
 Which thinks his soul doth with his body die. 
 
 Or thinks not so, but so would have it be, 
 That he might sin with more security." 
 
 SIR JOHN DAVIES. 
 
 LAMIA TO HENRY. 
 
 Henry — dear Henry, in what terms 
 shall I address you? How, at this last 
 approaching moment, can I find words to 
 express all that my restless, ever-aching heart 
 
LAMIA. 105 
 
 feels at the very sound of your name — at the 
 remembrance of past years — at the thought 
 of times long gone by ? Ah ! now too 
 surely do I recognise in you the one true 
 friend and faithful cousin — the chosen com- 
 panion of my youth — in whom alone, among 
 the votaries of a false and hollow world, I 
 can look for truth, for affection, and for 
 exculpation. 
 
 In thus addressing you, Henry, in the 
 most solemn manner in which it is possible 
 for one human being to communicate with 
 another, in speaking to you, yet blooming in 
 the freshness of life, with a voice that will only 
 reach you from the depths of my sad and early 
 tomb, I must, before proceeding with my 
 eventful story, beg and entreat you, Henry, to 
 grant me, for the last time, two simple 
 requests. 
 
106 lamia; 
 
 First, I implore that you will forgive me 
 all the injuries I may have done you: for 
 pity's sake, Henry — and you know that I 
 would spurn pity, but in the grave — forgive 
 all that I have done, or meant to do. My 
 only hope for rest from pain, vexation, and 
 calumny, is in death. 
 
 Next, I beg you to remember that, what- 
 ever feelings these, my dying words, may 
 raise in your sensitive and too irritable 
 breast, I speak from that place to which no 
 answer of yours can penetrate. I know your 
 feeling heart. You will exclaim, remonstrate, 
 recriminate, upbraid, perhaps, your poor 
 Lamia, not undeservedly ; but, remember you 
 cry to the dead ! In my grave I cannot 
 answer you ! and, even if my spirit be allowed 
 a dim consciousness of what passes upon 
 earth, the shade of Lamia cannot reply to 
 
LAMIA. 107 
 
 you. No, no ; annihilation is my lot ! or, if 
 not that, some existence of pain like that I 
 would so willingly escape from. 
 
 But my story must be told, and, Henry, I 
 would rivet your attention to the outpourings 
 of passion, I would have you thoroughly 
 penetrated and embued with the feelings of 
 pride and jealousy, doubt and suspicion, 
 which I know full well myself have been 
 the ruling passions of my character. 
 
 You may not, perhaps, remember the 
 difference there was between my father and 
 mother in education, religion, and even in 
 natural disposition. I was passionately 
 attached to both of them. I loved them 
 partly from natural feeling, partly from a 
 burning desire I have felt all my life to be 
 loved myself for myself; an innate tact 
 
108 LAMIA. 
 
 showed me that to be loved, I must love, and 
 I devoted myself to my parents. 
 
 My father you knew well, but were not, 
 perhaps, acquainted with his early history. My 
 mother you hardly remember. 
 
 Differently constituted as they were in 
 many respects, my father and mother were 
 decidedly attached to each other. He had 
 been educated in the full tide of the 
 philosophical spirit of the last century, and 
 endowed as he was with earnestness of in- 
 quiry, and talent to prosecute and profit by 
 it, he soon mastered what was then known 
 of the ethical and natural sciences; and, as 
 might have been expected from such a cha- 
 racter, went far in all the fields of new dis- 
 covery. Often have I heard him repeat his 
 conversations with the first philosophers of 
 
LAMIA. 109 
 
 that day, and express his admiration of the 
 eagle-spirit which led them to break the 
 trammels of convention, and to brave the 
 censures of an ignorant and bigoted world. 
 Their instruction formed his mind ; and from 
 constantly following up every new physical 
 discovery, every clever mechanical invention, 
 and fathoming in reflection every bold meta- 
 physical speculation, he became so habituated 
 to the idea of man's being himself the first 
 power of the universe, that he ended by 
 being little more than nominally within the 
 pale of Christianity. My father had ambi- 
 tion, and desired to excel, whether in the 
 closet or the field — in public debate or in 
 study. He went on, till, being as convinced 
 of man's eventual power over the elements, 
 and possible control of all the forces of nature, 
 as he was of man's intellectual superiority to 
 
110 LAMIA. 
 
 all created beings, he saw nothing that the 
 mind of man was not equal to conceiving, or 
 the hand of man would not, at some future 
 period, be capable of executing. In a word, 
 Lord Rainham*s comprehensive mind united 
 the Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy of 
 the ancients, with that of the schools of phy- 
 sical and metaphysical investigation among 
 the moderns. 
 
 No wonder that, in his position, these free 
 opinions, joined to a fine temper, an amiable 
 private character, and a large fortune, made 
 him at once courted and encouraged as a 
 young man by all that part of society capable 
 of conferring distinction. A less even dispo- 
 sition would have been spoilt by the assur- 
 ances he received from the elder part of those 
 of his own rank, as well as from the heads of 
 the philosophical and artistic world, that he 
 
LAMIA. 1 1 1 
 
 was fitted to take his place among the leaders 
 of this nation, whenever it might please him 
 to make an effort. 
 
 One of the branches of rational science 
 to which my father was most partial, and in 
 which he had advanced to great proficiency, 
 was astronomy. From him I learnt the prin- 
 ciples of that elevating, and at the same time, 
 bewildering study, which has been my chief 
 contemplation in hours of solitude and travel, 
 and which has raised my mind from the cares 
 and distractions of my harassed youth to the 
 splendid mysteries of the universe. My 
 father's sound sense, joined to the special 
 talent for discrimination and analysis for 
 which he was remarkable, did not allow him 
 to display his peculiar opinions in the shape 
 either of levity, or of disrespect for creeds and 
 doctrines venerated by the world in general. 
 
112 LAMIA. 
 
 No, he steadily pursued his philosophical views, 
 and calmly proclaimed his incredulity, rather 
 than his infidelity. You, Henry, will say the 
 difference is small ; it may be so, and I enter 
 not into fine distinctions. One thing I must 
 add : religion had not been seen in my father's 
 family under the most attractive form ; and 
 without anticipating my narrative, I will hint 
 that the puritanical severity of his mother 
 had driven him from the society of the 
 Church. 
 
 Of my own mother, whom you can hardly 
 remember, and whose memory has had so 
 strong an influence, as I think, upon my 
 own character, I will speak later. At pre- 
 sent, I win recal to your mind my sister, 
 who was seven years my senior, and, as I 
 was always reminded, a great contrast to 
 myself. 
 
LAMIA. ,1^2 
 
 . Iris had a thoughtful, reflective mind, ca- 
 pable of deep study and steady application: 
 her slow acquirements were always solid, 
 and highly appreciated by our parents; 
 while my more quickly mastered accom- 
 plishments did not, as I conceived, meet with 
 all the praise that was due to them. Had 
 Iris possessed genius in proportion to her 
 amiable disposition, and to her other qualities, 
 she would have approached perfection. 
 
 Her childish beauty early attracted all 
 that saw her, and called forth, in too great a 
 degree, the exclusive preference of our pa- 
 rents. Favouritism in a family is an insi- 
 dious worm, that destroys the benefit of the 
 most careful education : it sours the sweet 
 affection of brother and sister, distorts the 
 natural feeling of parents and children, and 
 creates enmities or jealousies for life. In 
 
 VOL. I. ' I 
 
114 LAMIA. 
 
 after age, dissensions will occur; but it 
 should be the first object of parents to make 
 their children feel perfectly equal before them, 
 whatever their different talents or qualifica- 
 tions may be. 
 
 Iris was beautiful ; her fair hair streamed 
 in luxuriant tresses over her shoulders, while 
 her blue eyes lit up a regular and placid coun- 
 tenance, whose rosy bloom would have borne 
 comparison with the blush of the morning. 
 So much older than me, she was every way 
 more advanced in our vouthful studies : 
 and was, I must now, alas ! confess, en- 
 dowed by nature with a sound understand- 
 ing for her years, which my subsequent life 
 and errors have too well shown my want of 
 I pay this late tribute to my poor sister — 
 would I had been earlier aware that genius 
 will only fill the sails, but wisdom must guide 
 
LAMIA. 115 
 
 the rudder, in a voyage through life ! It is 
 true, I had talent enough to surpass her 
 with ease in later years; but, as a child, I 
 made no allowance for the distinction natu- 
 rally and intelligibly awarded to her, who 
 stood before me in every way; and then 
 began the germ of that jealousy, which has 
 been the root of all my faults. 
 
 That jealousy or envy — for now I spare 
 not myself, 1 am willing to give it the worst 
 of names — poisoned the cup of childhood; 
 and, by indulging in this vicious feeling, I 
 deprived myself of a sister's friendship in 
 youth, when it is as useful to the younger, 
 as amiable in the elder. Not that we quar- 
 relled — no, her equanimity of temper, and 
 little susceptibility to impressions, not to 
 say a certain consciousness, or rather assump- 
 tion, of mental superiority in myself, pre- 
 
 I 2 
 
116 LAMIA. 
 
 vented that ; but we had little community of 
 feeling, and consequently no sister-like inti- 
 macy. On common occasions, we loved 
 each other well enough — we would have 
 done anything to serve each other, as a 
 duty ; but, as I have only to condemn my- 
 self, I must own that, on the slightest provo- 
 cation, my temper, always warm and ungo- 
 vernable, excited me to demonstrations of 
 passion, of which the calm spirit of abstrac- 
 tion — for such, in truth, was Iris — had no 
 idea. 
 
 Her calm, unruffled judgment made her 
 a favourite with my father, who easily under- 
 took the direction of her mind, and almost 
 masculine course of reading. Classics, ma- 
 thematics, science in all its branches, were 
 familiar to her ; and though I was far from 
 despising such acquirements, I soon found 
 
lAmia. 117 
 
 that my volatile, lively disposition, in spite of 
 great quickness in learning, was less prized 
 than the studious attention of my sister. 
 
 My childish ambition was ever to be the 
 first in every company, and to be considered 
 superior to my sister in abihty and brilliant 
 accomplishments, if not in learning and infor- 
 mation. It will hardly be believed that this 
 feeling was totally independent of vanity. I 
 read ; I laboured hard to outdo my sister, and 
 to justify my own pretensions ; but that was 
 not enough with such counteracting qualities 
 as I own I possessed, to make me such a 
 general favourite as my placid sister. I bore 
 this ill, but I bore it in silence. 
 
 I cannot complain that my father neg- 
 lected me ; on the contrary, he was proud of 
 my talent, and, as you know in after life, gave 
 me every encouragement to mental and 
 
118 LAMIA. 
 
 artistic cultivation. When he learnt to know 
 and appreciate my real abilities, more especially 
 after my sister's death, he abandoned the 
 idea of making me the learned philosopher that 
 she was evidently likely to become, and urged 
 me to perfect myself in my own tastes, to 
 which he himself, through me, became more 
 and more attached. 
 
 But his high genius would not be content 
 with the mere artist ; his taste required the 
 life that animates the inert block — that bids 
 the canvas glow, and gives a soul to the ethe- 
 real sounds to which the voice of nature, or 
 the resources of science, give utterance — that 
 life without which Music herself is but a 
 tinkling cymbal. I entered warmly into his 
 views, and my pursuits were thenceforth 
 guided by his tastes, and matured by his 
 judgment. It is a great mistake to suppose 
 
LAMIA. 1 1 9 
 
 that the education of daughters should be 
 conducted exclusively by the mother; a 
 father's superintendence and counsels are, at 
 a certain age, quite as requisite ; while the 
 more girls are distinguished for originality 
 and talent, the more they require a strong 
 and experienced understanding to guide 
 them. 
 
 I come at last to the description I must 
 give you of my mother, or rather my re- 
 collections of her. As I was but eight years 
 old when she died, my memory serves me but 
 little with regard to her ; but I have heard so 
 much since, that I can sufficiently well com- 
 plete the picture. She was, as you know, 
 the daughter of an Italian nobleman of the 
 city of Salerno, and allied to the highest fami- 
 lies of Bologna. Extremely beautiful, well 
 
1 20 LAMIA. ^ 
 
 educated for her country, and of a most 
 amiable though high-spirited disposition, she 
 was at the same time most devotedly subser- 
 vient to her religion, to its ministers, and to 
 all its minute observances. Indeed, the little 
 I recollect of her, is chiefly connected with her 
 fasts, her penances, her prayers, and her libe- 
 ral almsgiving. My sister and I were both, 
 of course, brought up in what was meant to 
 be much more than the externals of the 
 Roman faith ; with me, it certainly went no 
 further than a blind imitation of my mother's 
 religious practices ; with my sister, it may have 
 gone deeper. Our mutual want of confi- 
 dence prevented us from knowing each 
 other's minds on this or other subjects. My 
 father, with his peculiar opinions, let us alone ; 
 and after my mother's death, we were never 
 
LAMIA. 121 
 
 called on for any religious duties we chose to 
 avoid, and the confessor was forbidden the 
 house. 
 
 It is time that I should speak of this 
 man, who played no unimportant part in the 
 interior politics of the family. I never could 
 bear him ; my nature, violent but straight- 
 forward, was in utter discord with his wiles. 
 Educated as my sister and I were, in the 
 forms and, as my mother fondly thought, the 
 principles of the Roman Catholic Church, we 
 were continually in contact \N'ith him, and that, 
 as you may imagine, was to me, a constant 
 penance. He was a man of great ability, learned 
 as a Benedictine, skilful as a Jesuit, servile as a 
 Capuchin, yet proud, as if the whole Papacy 
 dwelt in his mind, and depended upon the 
 exercise of his talents. His cleverness and 
 information, for a time, ingratiated him with 
 
122 LAMIA. 
 
 my father, and his superstitious sanctity made 
 him equally attractive to my mother; but 
 to us children he was always odious. He 
 bitterly hated the Church of England, and 
 took up more readily with the free opinions 
 of my father than with any description of 
 Protestantism. He had lived much in the 
 world, and knew it well. 
 
 Father Dominic was of the order of Ser- 
 vites, or servants of the Virgin, an order 
 remarkable for its bigotry and superstition. 
 The revolution had ejected them from their 
 convent, for which indeed the reverend father 
 was but little fitted, and he resolved to labour 
 in the interests of his Church in the world 
 itself, rather than to bury his talents in a 
 hermitage. Circumstances had introduced 
 him at Rome to the family of the Anselmi, 
 Dukes of Valmontone, to which my mother 
 
. LAMIA. 23 
 
 I 
 
 belonged ; a step in his career, which he did 
 not fail to turn to the best advantage for his 
 future progress. Himself a native of Lom- 
 bardy, he had in youth had many opportunities 
 of acquiring general and modern literature, and 
 scientific knowledge, by no means common at 
 Rome at that time ; and had his moral courage 
 been equal to his acquirements and abilities, 
 he might have aspired to some conspicuous 
 post in the Papal Government. But I never 
 saw a man so devoid of that spirit, which in 
 general arises spontaneously from conscious- 
 ness of superiority — wherein Father Do- 
 minic was not deficient — if from no other 
 source. 
 
 The education of the Anselmi family, 
 
 and of course their spiritual direction, was 
 
 I thus entrusted to a priest, who, far from 
 
 wishing to impart to them much or any 
 
124 LAMIA. 
 
 of his more enlightened views, made use of 
 his own superiority to keep them in the 
 dark. He knew well the faults, social and 
 political, of his own country, hut studiously 
 forbore to hint them to his pupils. He was 
 perfectly informed of the new discoveries of 
 science, of the extension of liberty, of useful 
 arts, of commerce, navigation, geography, but 
 restricted his course of instruction to the old 
 routine of the propaganda. 
 
 He made my mother and sister believe 
 that nothing of worldly aifairs, of which by 
 accident they might hear, was certain, every- 
 thing was doubtful, nothing was true but the 
 missal and breviary, and of course the legends. 
 In the times of trouble, their prayers, their 
 penances, and voluntary inflictions, were to 
 save the Papacy and religion throughout the 
 world; and many were the pilgrimages and 
 
LAMIA. 125 
 
 painful services, many were the offerings and 
 ceremonies we poor girls had to go through 
 for this object. My mother has often tried 
 to excite me to such acts of piety, of the 
 efficacy of which she was firmly persuaded, 
 and though I was but a child, yet I assure you 
 the trifling observances she imposed upon 
 me, under authority of Father Dominic, gave 
 me so great a disgust to all their religion, that 
 it needed not my father's scepticism and 
 smiles to confirm it. 
 
 There remains but one person more to be 
 described, in order to let you into the interior 
 life of our family. My mother, and Father 
 Dominic together, would not let us have 
 any governess but a Roman Catholic ; and 
 after a great deal of difficulty in getting my 
 father to consent to our having a foreigner^ 
 for he thought us in many respects only too 
 
126 LAMIA. 
 
 foreign already, they reduced the question to 
 this : Was it better to have an Irish Catholic 
 or a foreigner ? The Irish my father rejected 
 at once, on account of her small accomplish- 
 ments in languages, and finally agreed to 
 taking a Westphalian Catholic, who was 
 highly instructed, and promised to be a more 
 agreeable companion to my mother than the 
 other could have been. 
 
 Madame Catherine de Vlotho, a widow, 
 was about five-and-thirty, of agreeable ex- 
 terior and manners, and educated in all foreign 
 accomplishments. She had been for some 
 years, in company with an aunt, sub-governess 
 in a large Bohemian family, with whom they 
 had occasionally travelled ; but had principally 
 resided in Prague and Vienna. She had, 
 therefore, seen more variety than most young 
 governesses ; and made herself so charming 
 
LAMIA. 127 
 
 in our eyes, as a companion in our games, 
 as well as a teacher of our lessons, that Iris 
 and I became speedily and warmly attached 
 to her : indeed, she acquired such a hold on 
 our affections, that we confided our little 
 secrets, confessed our little faults, far more 
 readily to her than to our parents, or to the 
 confessor. Though apparently as much de- 
 voted to religion as either of them, she never 
 obtruded the subject; and my father, who 
 never thought upon that subject, but as of any 
 other scheme of moral philosophy, found her 
 the most sensible of Roman Catholics, and 
 the most discreet of governesses. 
 
 Such was our household; and, blessed 
 as we were with everything needful or orna- 
 mental in this life, our circle was generally 
 most agreeable. We little ones had no cares, 
 and we were not sharp enough to see, or wise 
 
128 LAMIA. 
 
 enough to suspect that there were cares among 
 our elders. 
 
 Before entering, however, upon the period 
 when a darkened horizon first shadowed the 
 bright promise of the morning of my life, 
 I must recal to you, what perhaps you have 
 heard and forgotten, that my father's and 
 mother's marriage was reaUy a love-match. 
 Being every way suited to each other, accord- 
 ing to notions current in the world, because 
 they were both rich, handsome, noble, and 
 young, one only obstacle interposed itself to 
 their union — the difference of religion. My 
 father, in his own secret mind, would have 
 less scrupled to leave the one than to adopt 
 the other ; but the idea of public recantation 
 seemed to his mind a moral cowardice, of 
 which he, his family, and nation, would have 
 cause to be ashamed, and it revolted him. 
 
LAMIA. 129 
 
 Great was the opposition they had to con- 
 quer, on the part of the Anselmi family, of 
 the priests, and even of the Papal Govern- 
 ment ; which was only appeased, and dispen- 
 sation granted, through the interest and 
 address of Father Dominic. 
 
 It was only by my mother's promising 
 to educate her children as Catholics, and to 
 become doubly bound, as a devoted daughter 
 of the Church, in employing her future 
 fortune and influence in England to the 
 furtherance of Papal designs, that the adroit 
 Father Dominic obtained the requisite leave 
 to celebrate the wedding. I should add, 
 that such were the offers he made in her 
 name to the Cardinals, and to which he 
 bound my poor devoted mother by all the 
 mysteries and powers of the confessional. 
 The first use he made of his newly-acquired 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 LAMIA.. 
 
 power was to exact from her a nomination 
 of himself as chaplain and director to the 
 family, in order to wield their influence in 
 England. 
 
 For many years my parents continued 
 to live in uninterrupted happiness : the priest, 
 occupied with his deep designs, gave no symp- 
 toms as yet of the trouble he was ultimately 
 to occasion. At length, as I have heard, 
 about the time of my birth, moved by some 
 cause which was not apparent, but probably 
 resulting from the total want of success which 
 he experienced in endeavouring to turn my 
 father's credit or influence to a political or 
 religious account, he began covertly to sap the 
 foundations of otir domestic happiness. The 
 strong sense of my father being proof against 
 his machinations, the artful monk addi-essed 
 himself to my amiable and accomplished. 
 
LAMIA. 131 
 
 though certainly weak-minded, mother, and 
 insinuated his doubts as to the propriety of 
 her marriage with a heretic. He dwelt on 
 the original impropriety of the match, and 
 scrupled not to declare that, had it been pro- 
 posed during less revolutionary times, and when 
 the Papal power was less exposed to liberal 
 influence, the Holy See would never on any 
 account have granted the dispensation in its 
 favour. He even hinted that the duty of a 
 faithful daughter of the Church ought to induce 
 her to try to break the marriage, and that the 
 vocation of a saint, which he knew my mother 
 aimed at, would, on its dissolution, call her, 
 as by the voice of Heaven, to take the veil in 
 some secluded nunnery of Italy. 
 
 Her stiU unextinguished regard for my 
 fether, and yet more, her maternal feeling for 
 her daughters, whom she could not bear to 
 
 K 2 
 
132 LAMIA. 
 
 leave to the implied stain of doubtful legiti- 
 macy, roused my mother to resistance. She 
 at once courageously refused to consent to 
 such a step, and the insidious confessor found 
 it prudent to discontinue his busy and unwel- 
 come remonstrances. 
 
 He had done, however, but too much. 
 He perfectly succeeded in casting doubt over 
 the mind of my mother, and had the satisfac- 
 tion, such as it may be to minds of that 
 stamp, of embittering the union of two per- 
 sons who had hitherto been as happy as mor- 
 tals are permitted to be. 
 
 Such was the state of things in which 
 my early childhood was passed. My father 
 at that time began to suspect the manoeuvres 
 of Father Dominic, and became evidently 
 •estranged from him ; but, unfortimately, that 
 did not mend matters with regard to my 
 
LAMIA. 133 
 
 mother. She, from long habit, from super- 
 stitious fear, and perhaps from ignorance of 
 monkish craft, still continued to believe the 
 wily Jesuit her friend, and to treat him with 
 the same attention as heretofore, only evi- 
 dently becoming more in awe of him. He, 
 quickly perceiving this, insisted more and 
 more upon her guilt, imposing upon her fre- 
 quent penances, and painful rites and ob- 
 servances, which I remember her practising 
 to the day of her death, which they contri- 
 buted to hasten. Insensibly all this intrigue led 
 to what Father Dominic had at heart — the 
 gradual estrangement between husband and 
 wife ; while my poor mother, unable to resist 
 or to remedy the growing evil, sank gradually 
 under her affliction. I was then seven years 
 old, and Iris fourteen. I remember the last 
 year perfectly well, when I observed my 
 
1 34 LAMIA. 
 
 mother invariably shudder at the approach of 
 her evil genius. I cannot tell you how I 
 learnt to abhor that man. His serpent-like 
 softness, and with it his serpent-like wisdom, 
 gave me an antipathetical feeling towards all 
 religions that I never got over. I loved my 
 mother, but she never could get me to enter 
 warmly into her worship, principally because 
 I saw it was also Father Dominic's. 
 
 My mother's health now grew rapidly 
 worse, and was not a little injiu-ed by the 
 rigorous fasts which she, or rather her 
 confessor, imposed upon herself I was a 
 frequent witness to these scenes, and was 
 myself sometimes compelled to take part, 
 with my sister, in the nightly prayer services, 
 which were regularly celebrated in my mo- 
 ther's little oratory, at Rain ham. I was so 
 overdone with prayers and observances, that 
 
LAMIA. 135 
 
 since that time I have never entered the 
 room. My calm and placid sister, to whom 
 everything came alike, and who, in her 
 outward deportment, could so school and 
 command both her mind and features, as to 
 make place and occupation almost indifferent 
 to her, went through all the tedious cere- 
 monies as if she liked them — a sort of 
 complaisance I could never either adopt or 
 counterfeit. 
 
 Iris, without being a hypocrite, was 
 blessed with such an impassible temper, or 
 rather such unimpressionable feelings, that she 
 could steadily go through with things that I 
 well knew to be against her taste, which 
 would have revolted me in five minutes. She 
 was therefore, as may be supposed, a greater 
 favourite in the sick chamber than myself. 
 Not that I shunned it, on the contrary, the 
 
136 LAMIA. 
 
 more I saw Iris endeared to our parents, the 
 more I wished to excel her in all the careful 
 attentions my mother stood in need of. But 
 my hastiness, and little accommodating man- 
 ner as a child, were sufficient to ensure my 
 failure as a nurse ; and I often retired to my 
 room vexed with myself, cross with Iris, and 
 out of humour with everybody. My 
 wretched education as to character did not 
 enable me to correct my faults, and nobody 
 else took pains with me. Madame de 
 Vlotho at that time was entirely occupied with 
 Iris, as the most forward and most promising 
 pupil, and I was left to silence and tears. 
 
 To all this mismanagement, of which I 
 have only slowly and of late become in some 
 degree sensible (for it is with difficulty one 
 can recal and readjust the feelings, and even 
 the facts, of childhood), I attribute, in great 
 
LAMIA. 137 
 
 measure, my subsequent ill health and ner- 
 vous sensibility to external impressions. 
 When one reaUy begins to see clearly into one's 
 own character, it is like looking back upon 
 life from the next world. 
 
 My mother, to her last hour, was kind to 
 me, and liked to see me near her, but she 
 preferred taking everything from the hand 
 of Iris. I was too young to understand, not 
 too young to feel. The intelligence and 
 readiness of the elder, naturally enough made 
 her services the more acceptable ; I was fool- 
 ish enough to see nothing but the preference, 
 and my heart grew cold to Iris, as if she had 
 wilfully wronged me. 
 
 My father's affection at this trying time 
 seemed to have revived, he was carefully 
 attentive to my mother, and kind to us, but 
 always avoided the presence of Father Do- 
 
138 LAMIA. 
 
 minic. I heard him in after-life say, that the 
 clever knowledge of the world exhibited by 
 the officious priest, during the first years of 
 their intimacy, constantly recurred to his 
 mind, after Father Dominic had changed his 
 play and taken up the tone of bigotry and 
 superstition ; and that the double character 
 disgusted him more than the unsuitableness 
 of either line to his clerical vocation. My 
 father had no love for priests, still less for 
 Jesuits, to whose society it turned out after- 
 wards the reverend father was secretly 
 affiliated ; neither was he shocked at world- 
 liness by itself in any class. But his natural 
 good taste could not endure the compromise 
 between the service of two masters — a bar- 
 gain between God and Mammon. 
 
 While we all were in the greatest sus- 
 pense about my mother, Iris and I were 
 
LAMIA. 139 
 
 suddenly summoned to receive our grand- 
 mother on the terrace of the Abbey. The 
 evening was drawing to a close, and the 
 magnificent view across the park, towards 
 the broad and distant valleys of Suffolk, was 
 heightened by one of the most brilliant sun- 
 sets I ever saw. It might have served as a 
 model for a Claude. The streams of light 
 descending between the rugged and gnarled 
 boughs of the aged oaks, the golden and 
 transparent hue imparted to their foliage, the 
 rich tints of the verdant turf melting into 
 the soft purple of the liquid distance, all this 
 gave a soothing but melancholy tint to the 
 scene around, which was in harmony with the 
 feelings of our minds within. 
 
 Gladly would I have exchanged the 
 formal reception we momentarily expected, 
 for liberty to roam about the park in this 
 
140 LAMIA. 
 
 delicious twilight ; for young as I was, and 
 generally very lively, I yet loved the strong 
 contrasts of girlish spirits, and deep solitude 
 and contemplation. I was, moreover, sen- 
 sible of some great impending event : I had 
 thought little of death, but I had already 
 those nervous susceptibilities, which are often 
 called presentiments, and which are, doubt- 
 less, combined with other mysterious causes, 
 the groundwork of much and various super- 
 stition. 
 
LAMIA. 141 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ** Oh, ye who are sae gude yoursel ; 
 Sae pious and sae holy, 
 Ye've nought to do hut mark and tell. 
 Your neebor's fauts and folly ! 
 Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill. 
 Supplied with store o' water ; 
 The heapit napper's ebbing still. 
 And still the clap plays clatter. 
 
 Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, 
 
 And shudder at the niffer. 
 
 But cast a moment's fair regard, 
 
 "What makes the mighty differ ? 
 
 Discount what scant occasion gave. 
 
 That purity ye pride in ; 
 
 And what's aft mair than a' the lave. 
 
 Your better art o' hiding." 
 
 burn's address to the unco' gude. 
 
 The sinking sun had just gilded with a 
 
142 LAMIA. 
 
 ray of fire the tall turrets of Rainham Abbey, 
 when a carriage drove up, and the Dowager 
 Lady Rainham was announced. 
 
 I will not dwell upon her appearance, I 
 shall say enough of her, and of her friend, 
 Miss Grimscourt, afterwards. Iris was de- 
 puted by my father to accompany her to her 
 apartment, whither he soon followed them. 
 Miss Grimscourt remained to sup with 
 the priests, the two governesses, and my- 
 self. 
 
 I never thoroughly made out why, on 
 this occasion, I was not allowed to attend 
 my grandmother as well as Iris, but I 
 saw the preference given to her with a 
 degree of secret displeasure, which I am 
 sure gave the tone to much of my feeling 
 towards her during the whole of many 
 future years. 
 
LAMIA. 143 
 
 The great hall and long corridors of the 
 Abbey were to me now more gloomy than 
 ever ; for some time past, as if by common 
 consent, the inmates and servants had kept 
 the house quieter than ever, as if in hourly 
 expectation of the melancholy event that 
 every one foresaw must come. Now, the 
 sudden and rather noisy irruption of strangers 
 and servants at once put everything in the 
 household out of its usual course, and viewed, 
 in connection with thoughts of illness and 
 death, it appeared to me so completely out 
 of time, place, and keeping with the sad 
 event we were expecting, that it gave me a 
 sickening feeling of disgust that I could not 
 conceal. 
 
 The governesses, if I may call Valerie one, 
 were kind to me, and prevented, as far as 
 possible, my independent manners from 
 
144 LAMIA. 
 
 making too strong an impression on our new 
 visitors. 
 
 I have hardly, as yet, made ,any mention 
 of our governess, Madame de Vlotho : quiet, 
 and ladylike, she attempted little active direc- 
 tion of our minds, but exerted a steady 
 control over my sister and me in all our 
 childish misdemeanors. We were both of 
 us much attached to her, and I believe I owe 
 what little self-possession and force of mind I 
 possess entirely to her teaching. The polish 
 of her foreign manners, so conciliating and 
 respectful to all the elders of our family, so 
 kind and endearing to us, shone out with the 
 utmost lustre of contrast to the conceited 
 haughtiness of my over-righteous grandmo- 
 ther, and her more condescending, puritanical 
 friend ; and, though so young, I remember to 
 have been ashamed of the comparison. 
 
LAMIA. 145 
 
 Madame de Vlotho was a widow, and had 
 seen much of the troubles of Germany in her 
 youth, and had found some difficulty in 
 making her way to England, in which country 
 she hoped to find an asylum for life. She 
 had brought with her a young girl, daughter 
 of a French family in humble life, with whom 
 she had become acquainted in times of dis- 
 tress, and this girl, Valerie, was at that time- 
 my attendant, and only real friend and com- 
 panion in the world. Iris, lovely and highly 
 educated as she was, resembled me too little 
 to be my friend. Always a standard of 
 comparison with whom I was to be measured, 
 she became to me rather an object of jealousy 
 than affection. She listened to Miss Grims- 
 court's lectures on the sinfulness of everything, 
 indifferent, or even innocent in our eyes, wit 
 the greatest patience, whilst I could not endure 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 LAMIA. 
 
 them. In short, Iris was perfection — I was 
 condemned and a reprobate. 
 
 Among her other studies, Iris was de- 
 voted to astronomy. A pavilion, which you 
 know very well, in the park at Rainham, had 
 been fitted up for her as an observatory, and was 
 weU furnished with instruments. My father, 
 who spared no expense in purchasing new or 
 improved instruments, or models of machinery, 
 and other useful inventions, selected himself 
 all those destined for Iris, and took a pleasure 
 in assisting her in her observations, and in 
 helping, or teaching her to work the more 
 difficult problems. Tall, pale, calm, and 
 ethereal, she might truly have personified the 
 Queen of Night on issuing fi-om that temple 
 of science wherein she read the abstruse laws 
 of the heavens. When not accompanied by 
 iny father, she was usually attended by our 
 
LAMIA. 147 
 
 respectable tutor, Dr. Buchanan, a most 
 learned, and deeply-read, scientific scholar, 
 whom my father had invited to live with him, 
 more as a friend than as a dependent. 
 
 Dr. Buchanan was a tall, grey-headed 
 man, much past the middle age, whose very 
 countenance and appearance gave the idea of 
 abstract science. A profound scholar, a 
 thorough mathematician, and a worthy and 
 humane citizen of the world, he was 
 ready to assist every one from the stores of 
 his erudition, without imposing on any the 
 onus of accepting either his philosophical or 
 his religious opinions, which, in fact, were 
 little known to anybody. 
 
 The supper, at last, took place ; and then 
 only had I an opportunity of seeing, for the 
 first time, what sectarian bitterness and 
 animosity can effect in distorting the hearts 
 
 L 2 
 
148 LAMIA. 
 
 and understandings of otherwise well-educated 
 people. Young as I was, I shall never forget 
 the first meeting of Miss Grimscourt with 
 the priests, whom, in a private whisper to 
 my grandmother, I had heard her designate 
 as the enemy. 
 
 I had forgotten to mention that, at my 
 mother's earnest request, Father Dominic 
 had invited two Roman Catholic dignitaries 
 to visit her, not having foreseen the pos- 
 sibility of having a Calvinistic party to enter- 
 tain them with. And a great diversion it 
 must have been to the Reverend Fathers, if 
 I may judge from the amusement which I 
 derived from it myself. 
 
 Spiritual pride is in itself so odious, and 
 has in accusation been so liberally heaped by 
 one Church party upon another, that it is 
 difficult to say where the strongest imputa- 
 
LAMIA. 149 
 
 tion of it rests. I, who have been all my life 
 an impartial and not very friendly observer of 
 all churches and sects, must say, that on 
 that memorable night, the low church party 
 seemed to me much the least humble. The 
 priests, on the contrary, laid aside aU their 
 lofty airs, and spoke, though not willingly, 
 on religious topics, yet with all the occasional 
 charity of the most polished and well-bred of 
 their creed. 
 
 Miss Grimscourt, the while, dressed in an 
 unbecoming blue-grey, which served to make 
 her naturally sallow complexion assume a 
 deadlier hue than before, employed herself in 
 eating much and talking more, as if she 
 were a chosen vessel to disseminate the 
 Gospel to the elect. Between her mouth- 
 fuls, or rather platefuls, she held forth 
 upon the sinfulness of fasting, in which 
 
150 LAMIA. 
 
 she was certainly sincere. She descanted 
 on the wicked world we live in, the la- 
 mentably small number of those that serve 
 the Lord, of which small number she 
 and her pious friend, Lady Rainham, were 
 undoubtedly two chosen souls. She ab- 
 surdly tried to convince the reserved and 
 high-bred ecclesiastics of the privilege her 
 little select conventicle enjoyed in sitting un- 
 der the ministry of the godly Mr. Ebenezer 
 Eliason, one, in whom is no gwle. He it was 
 who made their ways straight and their calling 
 and election sure. " For," emphatically, said 
 she, " I consider myself as sure of my salva- 
 tion as that I sit here." 
 
 The enemy were so well-bred and silent, 
 that the voluble lady thought she had achieved 
 a victory, and never discovered her next 
 neighbour to be — her greatest horror — a 
 
LAMIA. 151 
 
 monk! But enough of her for the pre- 
 sent. 
 
 As for my grandmother, I had never 
 heard her name mentioned but as a Calvinist^ 
 which, in our house, was synonymous with 
 everything severe and repulsive. She did not 
 disappoint my expectations. She came now, 
 in her notions of exclusive hoHness, to watch 
 the dying movements of, at least, a sincere 
 beHever, as if her presence could be of utihty 
 to one who did not share her own puritanical 
 doctrines. The redoubtable Miss Grimscourt 
 war a follower of the sect, whose business 
 was to enlarge upon and exaggerate the 
 opinions of her patroness in her presence, and 
 in her absence to eulogize her perfections. 
 She evidently did not at all approve of either 
 of our governesses. Madame de Vlotho 
 was ignorant of the vast and essential dif- 
 
152 LAMIA. 
 
 ferences between Presbyterians and Anabap- 
 tists, Wesley ans and Whitfieldians, and 
 Valerie she thought too young and giddy 
 (though, in fact, a modest, yet animated 
 girl) to be entrusted with any branch of 
 education whatever. 
 
 Valerie, in truth, had all the light and 
 natural vivacity of a French girl, combined 
 with a steadiness beyond her years. Her 
 attachment to me was unbounded, and has 
 continued unalterable through life. 
 
 At last we were informed by a hurried 
 message from the upper apartments that my 
 poor mother's state was rapidly growing 
 worse; and the priests first, and afterwards 
 myself, with the governesses, were summoned 
 to her ante-chamber. 
 
 Worldly and philosophical as I may have 
 been thought since, and little as I had even 
 
LAMIA* 153 
 
 then imbibed the habitual superstition of our 
 Church, I confess I cannot even now, as I am 
 writing, look back to that moment without a 
 shudder. We were about to lose her whose 
 heart had ever been devoted to her children, 
 though the narrow circle in which her mind 
 had been permitted to move, thanks to the 
 Jesuits, had ill fitted her for the active or 
 educational duties of a parent. I now see all 
 this, and! epent the hasty and undutiful feel- 
 ings which my headstrong youth sometimes 
 led me into towards her. 
 
 Father Dominic, with all the assumed 
 authority of a spiritual counsellor, aided by 
 the innate disposition of his nature, now 
 aifected to rule my mother's apartment. 
 None were allowed to approach or to enter it 
 without his permission ; and he even endea- 
 
154 LAMIA. 
 
 voured to exclude my father from her 
 chamber. 
 
 In this attempt he did not succeed ; my 
 father, taking my sister and myself with him, 
 placed us by her side. In feeble accents she bid 
 him her last farewell : perfectly aware as she 
 was of her hopeless state, and inwardly consoled 
 by the aid of her religion, she calmly confided 
 us to his especial care, saying Httle about me, 
 whose future (I was then eight years old) was 
 far beyond her ken ; but much about Iris, her 
 darling — her lily, as she was wont to call her. 
 Iris was then fourteen ; and I knew that her 
 education, for the next important years of her 
 life, had deeply engaged my mother's atten- 
 tion. She then kissed us both, and said 
 something in a whisper to my father, which I 
 think related to our being kept steadfast in 
 
LAMIA. 155 
 
 her religion, for she pointed to that little pic- 
 ture of the Crucifixion, which, from her me- 
 mory, and not from my superstition, has ever 
 been my favourite, and sunk exhausted by 
 the effort. 
 
 My father was deeply affected, and only 
 by an exertion answered audibly : "I will, I 
 promise," which Liy mother undoubtedly heard 
 and understood, for she smiled peacefully, and 
 tremulously moved her hand towards him. 
 He imprinted on it kisses and tears. 
 
 However unsuited in many respects, my 
 father and mother had never swerved from 
 the love, faith, and affection in which they 
 had early been united. 
 
 Some signal was now made by an at- 
 tendant, and the priests entered. My father, 
 who knew his remaining during this last rite 
 
156 LAMIA. 
 
 of the Church would but disturb my mother's 
 dying moments, allowed himself to be drawn 
 away : we were suffered to remain. This 
 great distinction was made in our favour as 
 supposed sharers in all their superstition: 
 how far that was from the truth I need hardly 
 inform you. 
 
 Certainly, I had no inward feeling, nor 
 much outward show, of attachment to my 
 mother's religion ; but, in spite of this luke- 
 warmness, and of the positive dislike I had 
 imbibed, in common with my father, to the 
 priests, I was touched at this last, this parting 
 solemnity of the Church on earth. If it have 
 no other value, the calm serenity, the holy 
 peace it seemed to impart to my dying 
 mother, was, in my eyes, sufficient to make it 
 a redeeming quality to the abject superstition 
 
LAMIA. 157 
 
 of the assistants. Such is the sacrament of 
 extreme unction to the faithful Roman 
 Catholic. 
 
 When all was over, we were, of course, 
 removed from the chamber of death; and 
 then I remember the first great contrast 
 between Iris and myself became apparent. 
 She, with aU her powers of mind devoted to 
 the subduing of outward signs of grief, 
 earnestly demanded to be conducted to her 
 father ; once in his presence, she tried, by her 
 own composure, to calm the poignancy of his 
 sorrows. I, on the contrary, after giving 
 way to a childish and passionate outburst of 
 affectionate feeling, was conveyed, by the 
 tender care of Valerie, to my room, where I 
 cried myself to sleep, amid dreams of alternate 
 heaven and horror. I felt, though I cer- 
 tainly, at that age, could not have expressed 
 
158 LAMIA. 
 
 the thought, I felt already that my opportunity 
 was gone for ever for making my heart and 
 individual self understood by any kind, 
 endearing parent or friend in this world. In 
 a word, I foresaw at once my fate to be mis- 
 understood through life. Such has been, alas ! 
 the case ; and as the ill-appreciated are always 
 severely judged, I see clearly that all my 
 subsequent unhappiness is mainly traceable to 
 the early bereavement of a mother's love. 
 
 She was gone ! That mother who, had 
 she lived, would doubtless have gradually 
 warmed in her affection towards me, as she 
 would have seen my talents and character 
 become worthy her care and attention; she 
 would then have revived the early impres- 
 sions of her originally good education, and 
 would have exerted herself effectually for the 
 development of my youthful understanding. 
 
LAMIA. 159 
 
 The funeral was so arranged that the 
 Roman Catholic rites having been performed 
 in the great haU of the Abbey, the last earthly 
 remains of my poor mother should be duly 
 deposited in the chapel, which was the 
 established resting-place of the family. 
 
 This chapel, which was a remnant of the 
 Abbey Church, had been most fortunately 
 preserved in all its pristine integrity. Itself 
 a work of the finest period of art — ^namely, 
 the thirteenth century — it was also adorned, 
 without being filled, with various monuments 
 of the Rainham family. The tall, graceful 
 windows were constructed with the purest 
 taste of Gothic flowing tracery, and trans- 
 mitted a dim and solemn light through the 
 magnificent remains of painted glass which 
 ornamented them. The high, arched roof of 
 sculptured oak, here and there gilded, as has 
 
1 60 LAMIA. 
 
 been the case in most of the Suffolk churches, 
 was hung with time-worn banners and arms 
 of the Rainhams ; while the pavement, 
 variegated with monastic tiles and ancient 
 tombstones, bore strong witness to the 
 frequent tread of feet and knees of holy 
 pilgrims in days of yore. 
 
 The massive beams of the roof sprang 
 boldly from figures of angels, strongly pro- 
 jected into light from the deep shade that 
 relieved their graceful outlines from behind ; 
 whilst in a niche, on the gospel side of the 
 altar, the statue x)f the first Abbot, 
 which had wonderfully escaped the ravages 
 of time and of the Puritans, stood with 
 its hand raised, in the attitute of benedic- 
 tion over the faithful in the choir below. 
 On the opposite, or epistle side, a correspond- 
 ing niche, with fretted canopy, exhibited a 
 
LAMIA. 161 
 
 figure of a Baron Rainham, founder of the 
 Abbey, in complete armour, with his shield 
 duly emblazoned with his arms. Below these 
 protecting guardians of the Abbey, was the 
 spot chosen by my mother herself for her 
 earthly repose, at a respectful distance from 
 the altar. 
 
 It was only the fortuitous existence of 
 these figures, together with one of St. Ernul- 
 phus, patron of the Abbey, over the altar 
 itself, that reconciled the priests to the 
 interment taking place at all, in what 
 they considered as a desecrated place of 
 worship. 
 
 They had previously taken care that all 
 the few Roman Catholics of the neighbour- 
 hood, who were well known to them, should 
 attend, as well as some foreigners, of whom 
 there were always some in habits ot intimacy, 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
162 LAMIA* 
 
 or of correspondence, with my mother. They 
 had also got together a strong choir from the 
 Roman Catholic chapels in that part of 
 England, and gave the De Profundis and the 
 Requiem, the Dies Irse and the rest of 
 their ritual for the dead, with an effect and 
 apathos that quite overcame the whole as- 
 semhlage. 
 
 My father's fine figure as chief mourner, 
 especially when the procession moved into 
 the chapel, struck every one. The moving 
 torches, the quantity of lighted tapers gleam- 
 ing to the roof, the solemn music, made a 
 sensible and nervous impression on me I 
 shall never forget, but which my reason did 
 not respond to. I wept, I felt, I was moved 
 deeply, the action was violent on my nerves, 
 but no reaction of mind replied to it. I 
 was not a bad or unfeeUng girl, but in 
 
LAMIA. 163 
 
 all my agitation, I say it, I recognised no 
 God. 
 
 I win not stop to moralize. Iris and I 
 were not supposed to form part of the scene, 
 but we were there in a corner apart, with 
 Valerie and Madame de VIotho, all, of 
 course, in the deepest mourning. Iris was 
 incapable of controlling her feelings, because 
 she felt the religion of the sacred rites and 
 ceremonies. I knew her thoughts, though she 
 sparingly confided them to me. She was 
 thinking of her father, and his fiiture solitary 
 life. She felt herself an orphan. 
 
 Miss Grimscourt, out of sheer curiosity, 
 put her head in once to see how the enemy 
 conducted these matters ; but, on seeing the 
 priests, the tapers, and, above all, the large 
 cross on the sable pall that covered the coffin, 
 she made a sudden retreat from the enemy's 
 
 M 2 
 
1 64 LAMIA. 
 
 country. Hearing the sad but solemn 
 chanting of the choir, she exclaimed : 
 "These are not the hymns of our chapel," 
 and hastened to report all these horrors to 
 the Dowager Lady Rainham. She had 
 charitably made up her mind that we were 
 all doomed to everlasting perdition, and re- 
 tired to rest more satisfied than ever that no 
 good came of living in old Abbeys, and, 
 above all, that nobody served the Lord out 
 of her own parish. In what county or 
 diocese that might be, I never inquired ; 
 determined, if ever I found it out, to turn 
 my steps the other way. 
 
 The account which Miss Grimscourt 
 brought to my grandmother, of what she 
 termed the nefarious and heretical perversion 
 -of our Christian privileges to worse than 
 heathenish purposes (this lady was in the 
 
 . Tr 
 
LAMIA. 165 
 
 habit of dealing in unmeasured terms), in- 
 duced her to make a singular proposal to my 
 father. This was no less than to take bodily 
 possession of my poor sister Iris, carry her 
 off to her own dull Calvinistic home, and 
 educate her in the only true religion, namely, 
 her own. Not a word was said about me ; 
 and I am only too thankful that the superior 
 attractions of my elder sister were the means 
 of saving me from the offer. 
 
 My father, however, steadfastly refused ; 
 his recent promise to my mother could not in 
 honour be tampered with ; and if his daugh- 
 ters were to be exposed to the risks of an ultra- 
 religious education, he father preferred the 
 Catholic to the Methodist. 
 
 The ladies soon after took their departure, 
 and returned to dogmatise and drill their own 
 unhappy Sunday-schools, and edify their 
 
166 LAMIA. 
 
 neighbours with histories of the Popish family 
 at Rainham Abbey. We were all, according 
 to them, going to the dogs, and much fur- 
 ther, our own way ; it was a sin to see the 
 poor children left in spiritual darkness and 
 ignorance of their privileges of entering such 
 societies as the evangelical coterie at Lady 
 Rainham's ; and my father, it was shocking 
 to think of him. For aught he cared, the 
 Abbey was an Abbey still: they had seen 
 abbots and monks, and aU their superstitious 
 devices, in the midst of a nominal Protestant 
 family. Miss Grimscourt prophesied we 
 should come to a bad end, here and here^ 
 after. 
 
 Their retreat was shortly followed by that 
 of the priests, unregretted by the whole 
 household. My father henceforth deter- 
 mined to keep aU ecclesiastical interference 
 
LAMIA. 167 
 
 from either party at a distance. What I 
 chiefly remember of all this is, that I gained 
 a degree of liberty I had never before en- 
 joyed ; and that the bigotry of the two sects 
 made such an equal impression upon my 
 youthful mind, that I have since impartially 
 avoided both of them. What each said of 
 the other, might equally have been said &?/ 
 the other, with a mutual interchange of the 
 characteristic sectarian jargon. 
 
 My father, after a short time, occupied 
 his thoughts with plans for a splendid monu- 
 ment, to be erected to my mother's memory : 
 the parishioners, to whom she was endeared 
 by character and benevolence, which over- 
 come all differences of religion, petitioned to 
 have it erected in the parish church, which is 
 now yours ; but my father, though much 
 touched by this simple and honest expression 
 
168 LAMIA. 
 
 of truly Christian sympathy, as contrasted 
 with the fanaticism of the two virulent secta- 
 rian parties he had so lately been engaged 
 with, thought it better to avoid remarks, and 
 perhaps a discussion, with the then parson, 
 who was not so tolerant a man as you, 
 Henry. 
 
 He designed himself a stately monument, 
 of the finest Italian marbles, ornamented with 
 statues emblematic of the Virtues, with all 
 their attributes, to be sculptured by the first 
 artists in London. He himself composed the 
 epitaph, in beautiful English verse, and in 
 the most classical Latin, in which there was a 
 true and amiable character of his wife, a pa- 
 thetic vein of poetical expression, and not 
 one word of any description of religion. 
 
 From this moment, a new light seemed 
 to open to me ; from this moment, my per« 
 
LAMIA. 169 
 
 sonal recollections of people and things seem 
 properly to begin. Childhood can certainly 
 recollect some few things from very early 
 days ; but the difficulty of confirming or sub- 
 stantiating those early efforts of memory, and 
 the readiness with which events repeated to 
 children are afterwards believed by them to 
 have actually passed before their eyes, render 
 such reminiscences of very doubtful authen- 
 ticity. Several circumstances, however, con- 
 tributed to engrave this important period of 
 my life indelibly on my memory. 
 
 Although I had every reason to rejoice 
 that my grandmother's plan for educating one 
 of us after her own fashion had fallen to the 
 ground, yet I could not be blind to the fact 
 that my sister had been preferred to me. 
 That single circumstance was enough to em- 
 bitter our relations to each other, and to make 
 
170 LAMIA. 
 
 my young mind retreat within itself, and 
 brood over its supposed wrongs in gloom and 
 silence. Not that I wished to be the victim 
 of a stiff old lady's caprices, or to endure the 
 penance of a Methodistical school-room, 
 whither neither the amiable Madame de Vlotho, 
 nor my beloved Valerie, would have been 
 allowed to attend me; but my sister, as 
 was natural, had been thought of before me, 
 and that idea rankled in my heart. 
 
 I was then but eight years old. Iris 
 scarcely fourteen. She, from the privilege of 
 age, as well as from the greater consideration 
 her progress entitled her to, was almost a 
 woman, or treated as one ; I, stiH a neglected, 
 but high-spirited, child. 
 
 My feelings had been more than once 
 irritated, by observing in how unceremonious 
 a manner my father was, on certain occasions. 
 
LAMIA. 171 
 
 treated by the priests : courtly and flattering at 
 ordinary times, they would, when their re- 
 ligion was concerned, become resolutely 
 haughty and uncompromising. This had 
 been remarkably the case when they had 
 peremptorily refused him the entrance to 
 my mother's chamber, after extreme unction ; 
 a time, wheji all worldly cares being left be- 
 hind, and all future ones, as far as religious 
 consolation teaches, being smoothed away, he 
 thought the claims of his, the nearest earthly 
 tie, might be entitled to remain unsevered to 
 the last. But no, Jesuitism forbade it, and 
 he would not disturb her last moments by 
 contesting it. He felt it, nevertheless, deeply, 
 and this it was, I think, which led him to 
 introduce into her monument a figure of the 
 most aerial grace, representing Psyche just 
 escaping from the detention of a serpent ; 
 
172 LAMIA. 
 
 embodying in this classical shape, at once his 
 own philosophical idea of the soul, and his 
 notion of the wily subtleties which beset 
 it, under the most specious disguises on 
 earth. 
 
 ' -These last duties performed, our whole 
 tenor of life changed, as I will proceed to 
 inform you in the following pages. 
 
LAMIA. 173 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ** Les stoiques disent ; rentrez au-dedans de vous 
 memes. C'est la oii vous trouverez votre repos, 
 Et cela n'est pas vrai ; des autres disent, sortez 
 dehors cherchez le bonheur en vous divertissant. 
 Et cela n'est pas vrai. Les maladies viennent; le 
 bonheur n'est ni dans nous, ni hors de nous. II est 
 en Dieu, et en nous." 
 
 PASCAL. 
 
 I HAVE sufficiently informed you of the 
 state of our family affairs down to the period 
 of the death of our lamented mother, to make 
 it evident that the change which was about 
 to ensue was as total as could well be con- 
 ceived. . 
 
1 74 LAMIA. 
 
 My father had heen of late so tormented 
 by one or the other extreme of religious 
 fanaticism, that prejudiced as he already was 
 against priestcraft in general, nothing more 
 was wanting to induce him to declare open 
 war against all ecclesiastical systems, and 
 their officious interference in any shape what- 
 soever. Nevertheless, as a man of strict 
 honour, and guided by a sense of his last 
 promise to his wife, he made no objection to 
 the continuance of our education as Roman 
 Catholics, nor to the regular observances of 
 that creed on the part of Madame de 
 Vlotho and of Valerie. 
 
 In the meantime, no pains were spared 
 to advance and perfect our mental cultivation. 
 We had the best masters, and our father, who 
 was well qualified for the task, took a peculiar 
 pleasure in watching our progress in the 
 
LAMIA. 175 
 
 usual studies of our age, and in drawing 
 forth what seemed to he in each the pre- 
 dominant taste or talent of our minds. He 
 had been himself so much of a cosmopolite, 
 and mixed in such various societies at home 
 and abroad, that he was able at once to 
 interest us by his information, and to en- 
 courage us by pointing out the objects to 
 which our studies were directed. This, 
 indeed, is a point very much neglected in 
 the common routine of education ; the young 
 are taught the rudiments of all branches of 
 knowledge, but it is usually left to them 
 to apply the means placed in their hands. 
 
 As we grew up, we benefited by the 
 intellectual society which my father con- 
 stantly assembled around him, and our tastes 
 were formed, and our talents developed by the 
 frequent intercourse we had with the first 
 
176 LAMIA. 
 
 characters of the day, whether in politics, 
 literature, or art. Both Iris and myself, 
 though far from neglecting literature for its 
 own sake, showed so decided a preference for 
 all that related to science and art, that my 
 father unhesitatingly resolved to allow us full 
 scope to gratify our tastes in that direction, 
 while he reserved to himself the power of 
 directing our readings in the department of 
 pure literature, which he enlightened and 
 embellished by his observations. 
 
 Some years rolled on, which were the 
 happiest of my life ; not the less so, that I 
 have nothing of peculiar interest to relate 
 concerning them. My sister and I differed 
 considerably in our tastes, she taking to the 
 abstract studies of natural science, I to the 
 more fascinating charms of art. My father 
 had very early indulged her in building a 
 
LAMIA. 177 
 
 small, but perfectly well-furnished observatory, 
 to which he now added a pretty little garden 
 and conservatory, the vestibule to which con- 
 tained a selection of specimens of every 
 branch of natural history. 
 
 This was called Iris's Museum, and so 
 completely was she devoted to it, that it was 
 with difficulty she was induced to quit it for 
 the common duties of society, or the super- 
 intendence of her father's house. Dr. 
 Buchanan was still there, guiding her astro- 
 nomical researches, conducting her through 
 the mazes of mathematics, and thinking her 
 at last to be little less than a celestial being, 
 called down from the spheres above as a wit- 
 ness to the transcendent powers of his own 
 profound philosophy. 
 
 I, on the other hand, devoted myself 
 almost exclusively to music: the only exact 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 LAMIA. 
 
 science that I could bear was that of mathe- 
 matics, because it led me to the deep-seated 
 mysteries where lie the principles of divine 
 harmony, and in this I was a perfect en- 
 thusiast. 
 
 Valerie deV'Oted hefself to me exclusively; 
 sometimes a teacher, at others a companion, 
 we grew to love each other with a degree of 
 aifection not always to be found between 
 •sisters. The secret of this was that we had 
 TX^ jealousies. Her position, as Well as cha- 
 racter, removed aiiy such idea ; and she was 
 ^6 proud and so gratified by my progress in 
 every accomplishment or mental acquirement, 
 that, if vanity be my failing in any degree, I 
 must lay it to the charge of Valerie's unspar- 
 ing commendations. 
 
 My music master waS a Dr. Isaac Men- 
 doza, a Portuguese Jew, well instructed in the 
 
LAMIA. 179 
 
 old Italian and German schools of music. He 
 gave me a severe taste in the art, which I 
 have always retained in spite of the paltry 
 taste now prevalent in England. 
 
 I wiU not detain you with our progress 
 through these last years of our education, 
 although they comprehend so great a portion 
 of my life. I have lived, it seems, far longer 
 in less time, in half the number of years 
 elapsed since that period. 
 
 In so large a house as Rainham Abbey, 
 it was easy for my father to give each of us 
 a separate and complete apartment. We had 
 each a sitting-room, opening into the picture- 
 gallery, which to me, who delight in all the 
 manifold ways of conveying soul and passion 
 to the minds of men, was a supreme enjoy- 
 ment. I once told my father, who surprised 
 me in a deep reverie, as I contemplated a 
 
 N 2 
 
180 LAMIA. 
 
 lovely painting of Coreggio, in which a most 
 graceful dance of nymphs was represented 
 with the glowing yet harmonious colouring 
 characteristic of that master, that it was 
 music to the eyes — an expression that so 
 highly delighted him, that I date from that 
 day his altered and increased estimation of 
 me, which I never afterwards forfeited. It 
 was singular that Iris, though capable of em- 
 ploying great powers of mind in abstruse 
 science, indefatigable in calculation as in in- 
 vestigation, had no value for the mind itself, 
 or the powers and progress of the human 
 race. She used the mind as an instrument 
 to get at factSj but cared neither for it nor its 
 qualities when not in use. It was her tool, 
 her machine, hardly a part of herself. It 
 foUows that she had the utmost distaste to 
 everything metaphysical. 
 
LAMIA. 181 
 
 Iris, regardless of the sensation her grow- 
 ing beauty excited among the society that 
 frequented Rainham Abbey, employed her- 
 self assiduously in the preparation of a work 
 upon the yet uninvestigated distances be- 
 tween some of the stars, and listened only to 
 such conversation as could assist her in the 
 prosecution of her favourite studies. Seated 
 in her observatory on some brilliant star- 
 light night, and sweeping the heavens with 
 her telescope, she seemed the impersonation 
 of some celestial spirit descended from one 
 of those bright spheres which formed the 
 object of her devotion. To her this life 
 was religion, philosophy, love— everything : 
 her calm and abstract nature asked no more. 
 Her very form was the type of that marble 
 beauty we attribute to the Queen of Night, 
 
182 LAMIA. 
 
 cold and statue-like, and equally adapted to 
 an earthly or a lunar orb. 
 
 She was the especial favourite of Madame 
 de Vlotho, who was proud of her acquire- 
 ments, and by nature far better adapted to 
 her than Valerie. We had thus each of 
 us a companion fitted to our respective dis- 
 positions, and you will imagine easily that 
 the family moved on in harmony, if not in 
 unison. 
 
 • What was I doing all this while ? you 
 will naturally ask. I will tell you. I was 
 cultivating music with the utmost diligence, 
 endeavouring to master all its difficulties, both 
 of composition and execution; and, at the 
 same time, of studying all the few cha- 
 racters that my still youthful position gave 
 me an opportunity of meeting, for the pur- 
 
I^>iiA. 183 
 
 pose of forming a correct idea of the human 
 mind. I early formed a design of diving deep 
 into the dispositions and motives of mankind, 
 and, not satisfied with my sister's tranquil 
 pleasure at the discovery of material phe? 
 nomena, I bent all my powers towards the 
 intellectual and moral world. She was con- 
 tent to know how anything happened ; I was 
 never so, unless I knew why it happened. 
 My father's philosophy, also, tended very 
 much this way, ^fxd in silence and reflection 
 I pursued my day dreams, and resolved, truly 
 or falsely, my knotty problems. My voice 
 was not neglected : no musician can be perfect 
 without the power of softly, but correctly, 
 expressing his musical ideas to himself; mine 
 being a contralto of considerable powder, drew 
 great admiration from our society. This sort 
 of success was w^hat I principally enjoyed ; I 
 
184 LAMIA. 
 
 was first in my art, the incense of praise was 
 not lost on me ; and in this line there could be 
 no jealousy between me and my sister. The 
 studies of history and general literature 
 pleased me not ; but if I saw the portrait of 
 a hero, the statue of a philosopher, then the 
 personal interest in the man, the desire I 
 had to emulate the fame of any one, all 
 conspired to give me a taste for the history 
 of the one, or the philosophy of the other. 
 Beethoven in music, Raphael in painting,. 
 Michael Angelo in sculpture, these were my 
 idols ; I would fain have celebrated each 
 resnlendent genius after my own fashion,, 
 respectively in his pecuHar art, and my bold 
 flights at one time actually commenced a 
 musical hymn to Beethoven, and contem- 
 plated, as soon as I should be sufficiently 
 advanced, a painting (allegorical) in honour 
 
LAMIA. 1 85 
 
 of Raphael, and a classical group in com- 
 memoration of Michael Angelo. 
 
 I now come to a period which you, Henry, 
 must remember as weU as myself: though at 
 the age at which I then was, every arrival at 
 the Abbey was a novelty, the visit of a cousin, 
 whom I had rarely seen before, was an event 
 that far exceeded in interest the comings and 
 goings of our common guests. 
 
 You came to pass the Christmas vaca- 
 tion at Rainham, fresh from Oxford, whither 
 you were only to return for a few months, 
 for the purpose of a degree, after which you 
 were expected by my father, your guardian, 
 to make choice of a profession for life. You 
 may imagine with what mingled feelings of 
 expectation and curiosity your two cousins 
 looked forward to your visit at the Abbey. 
 Though we had seldom met, I was tolerably 
 
186 LAMIA. 
 
 well acquainted with you ; at least, I thought 
 so, by my father's description of you, which 
 may have been biassed by his affection for 
 your late mother, his half-sister, but which 
 did not the less incline us to give you a fa- 
 vourable reception. Iris might then be fairly 
 considered as launched in the world, as far, 
 at least, as with her tastes she chose to be so ; 
 but to me, who had hitherto only seen the 
 world in a distant perspective, your arrival 
 was an occurrence of no smaU moment. 
 
 I was occupied in the picture-gallery, at- 
 tempting to copy a lovely " Holy Family," by 
 Murillo, the master whose exquisite simpli- 
 city and nature has always made him my 
 favourite, when my father, who generally su- 
 perintended this part of my studies, was 
 informed of your having arrived. 
 
 I was left, therefore, for some time alone 
 
LAMIA. 187 
 
 in the gallery ; and, as usual, when left to my 
 own reflections, I tried to analyze the causes 
 of the different impressions awakened in us 
 hy the different styles of art. On either side 
 of the Murillo hung paintings of other 
 Spanish masters, a noble portrait of a " Cas- 
 tilian Grandee," by Velasquez, and a bold 
 composition of the "Return of Columbus 
 from America," by Alonzo Cano. Opposite 
 to these were placed the softer works of the 
 Italian school, mostly upon historical or clas- 
 sical subjects. You will easily account for 
 this choice, but as a history of art, it is as im- 
 possible to exclude all religious subjects from 
 a collection of pictures, as it would be to form 
 a library of history and philosophy, with the 
 omission of what relates to religion and the 
 Church. The human mind has many sides, 
 andj think what you will of them, those sub- 
 
188 LAMIA. 
 
 jects must have their place in any compre- 
 hensive view of the history and progress of 
 the human race. It is of little use to view 
 man as he is, without passing in review the 
 varying phases of man as he has been. 
 
 Sculpture was also one of my favourite 
 arts — as, to my mind, embodying more of 
 material and tangible reality than the mere 
 representations of painting. 
 
 One of the pictures in our gallery which, 
 doubtless, you will remember, was known by 
 the name of the "Confessional." The painter's 
 name was unknown, but the work itself be- 
 spoke a conception of the highest genius. It 
 was of some ancient Gothic school, of the 
 first revival of art, and though placed in the 
 Spanish series, it always struck me as being 
 rather more in the style of early Roman 
 painting. Often have I looked at it with 
 
LAMIA. 189 
 
 intense attention, till wrapt in the romance I 
 figiired to myself as its interpretation, I 
 turned away with a shudder from the har- 
 rowing ideas it gave rise to. What an awful 
 engine is that of the confessional to be 
 wielded by man ! How it makes one fear 
 the power, and hate the instrument ! Father 
 Dominic, as long as he ruled in the house, 
 would never let us look at that picture. 
 
 The subject was one of great simplicity, 
 but of tremendous expression. A woman 
 kneeling, or rather throwing herself recklessly 
 forward, endeavoured in vain to catch the 
 gown of a monk, who fled from her in horror. 
 His features were so much concealed by his 
 hands in which his face was buried, that their 
 expression could only be guessed, not seen; 
 a fine idea of the artist, who knew how very 
 far feeling goes beyond the power of the 
 
190 LAMIA. 
 
 pencil. The woman's countenance, which 
 was beautiful as far as the violence of agita- 
 tion and remorse could allow her natural 
 physiognomy to be judged of, was only visible 
 through a dark but transparent shadow, cast 
 by a veil which she was in the act of raising 
 with one hand, while she sought to detain 
 the priest with the other. 
 
 Such was the pictiu-e: the composition 
 artless, the outline correct, but hard, the 
 colours dim, the rehef and shading but im- 
 perfect ; yet that painting spoke with more 
 force of truth, and a more intelligible lan- 
 guage than the most finished Guides and 
 Salvators that surrounded it. And yet the 
 name of the painter, whose sublime genius 
 conceived and embodied that scene of 
 horror, is lost to fame and to posterity ! 
 
 It had once occurred that my father, in 
 
LAMIA. 191 
 
 speaking of this picture, had called the monk 
 a Jesuit. I never shall forget the scowl that 
 came over the hard features of Father Do- 
 minic at that moment. The offence he 
 seemed to take at this casual phrase was so 
 great, that his habitual self-possession barely 
 enabled him to get over it ; and I even think 
 he would have failed in the effort had he not 
 luckily bethought himself to remark, in his 
 driest manner, that the order was not founded 
 tiU a century after the time, when that auda- 
 cious painter had dared to meddle with the 
 Church. 
 
 But I must return from my digression. 
 You arrived, Henry, and my father led 
 you into the gallery, and introduced you to 
 me. Iris was sent for, and the governesses 
 followed. 
 
 I was then fifteen, my sister twenty. 
 
192 LAMIA. 
 
 You were, as I was told, about two-and- 
 twenty, fresh from Oxford, where you had 
 gained great credit by your talents and appli- 
 cation. 
 
 It is a sufficiently great event to a girl 
 of fifteen to see a young man of that age, 
 tall, finely formed, with fair complexion and 
 light hair, Grecian features, high forehead, 
 and determined mouth and expression, enter 
 the room unexpectedly, to cause her to pay 
 rather more than ordinary attention to the 
 appearance of her visitor. How I behaved I 
 know not, but I well remember the entrance 
 of Iris, radiant in all her beauty, cold and 
 composed in manner, fuU of dignity and self- 
 possession. Her age gave her at once the 
 advantage of woman's beauty, as well as of 
 the superior tact and manner, which even the 
 most engaging children, or mere girls, are 
 
LAMIA. 193 
 
 always deficient in. She was indeed admi- 
 rably fitted to do the honours of her father's 
 house, the perfection of civility and good 
 breeding, distant, yet above trifles, and un- 
 distinguishing in her manner to all. 
 
 As for my particular position at that 
 period, it was rather singular. Not of an 
 age to be emancipated from tuition, I yet 
 learnt no more than I liked. Idle, yet fond 
 of knowledge, respecting Madame de Vlotho, 
 but not obeying her much, spoilt by Valerie, 
 learning my favourite science from Mendoza, 
 rather as a condescension on my part than a 
 work of instruction on his, I did, it must be 
 owned, follow my inclinations more completely 
 than perhaps ever fell to the lot of a girl of 
 my years before. 
 
 Mendoza could hardly be said to teach 
 me, yet I learnt much from him ; his deep 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
194 LAMIA. 
 
 science enabled me to pick out all I wanted to 
 learn, while his modest demeanour and in- 
 defatigable perseverance in the practice of his 
 art, made him ever ready to yield to my way- 
 ward and irregular fits of application. No 
 other professor could have suited me so well, 
 and I think that no other pupil would 
 have excited his musical energies to the 
 pitch that I did, with my alternate genius 
 and industry. 
 
 I dare say, however, that you have not en- 
 tirely forgotten those days, and that Rainham 
 Abbey, then new to you, and your uncle's 
 kindness, made some impression on your 
 memory, whatever the appearance and cha- 
 racters, so strongly contrasted, of your 
 cousins may have done. 
 
 Although I confess to a tolerably high 
 estimation of my own abilities, yet it must 
 
LAMIA. 195 
 
 not be supposed that I got on entirely with- 
 out any trouble on my part. I need not 
 describe to you the loss of temper and 
 patience, the floods of tears, the disappoint- 
 ments I felt at not being always capable of 
 conquering difficulties in music at first sight. 
 Thanks, however, to my real love for the art, 
 and the pleasure it gave me, and also the 
 little taste I had for actively occupying myself 
 with any other (though I admired many), I 
 made at last very great progress ; thanks also 
 to the equally great perseverance of Mendoza, 
 and to his extraordinary patience with all liis 
 wilful pupil's temper and caprices. 
 
 He was, indeed, proud of my attainments 
 in his art, and considered, with pardonable 
 vanity, that a good scholar is the best proof 
 of a good teacher. 
 
 It is time, however, that I should resume 
 
 o 2 
 
196 LAMIA. 
 
 the thread of my story, and revert to you, 
 whose arrival was at that moment the great, 
 or little, event of the house. 
 
 A few days, nay, hours, at that age, is 
 sufficient to make a better acquaintance than 
 years at a later period of life. We soon 
 learnt to know each other, as we thought, 
 well ; and the result of my hasty judgment 
 — my opinions were always formed instanta- 
 neously — was, in a few words, what I am 
 going to relate. 
 
 You began by paying an equal share of 
 attention and civility to each of us, and at 
 first it seemed that the superior prominence 
 of Iris in the family did not prevent you from 
 trying to acquaint yourself quite as intimately 
 with me. But, in a short time, I could per- 
 ceive that your severe judgment forcibly 
 repressed the rising interest you were begin- 
 
LAMIA. 197 
 
 ning to take in me, and some reproofs, which 
 I dare say my wilful, desultory, and unformed 
 character much needed, convinced me that 
 you saw nothing in me, as yet, but a mere 
 child, forward in intellect, perhaps, but back- 
 ward in manner and the world. 
 
 It was but natural that Iris should then 
 prove the principal attraction, both in society, 
 in study, and companionship. You were 
 ever in her observatory, or in that corner of 
 the library where the ponderous tomes which 
 Dr. Buchanan and my sister daily consulted, 
 stood free from any intrusion of mine. You 
 adjusted her telescope, noted her observations, 
 and were the first to proclaim in the family 
 the results of her nightly sweeping of the 
 heavens, and her daily calculations deduced 
 from them. You were each morning in her 
 conservatory, selecting winter-flowers for the 
 
198 LAMIA. 
 
 breakfast nosegay, with which Iris was regu- 
 larly presented on her appearance at the 
 table ; in short, your every action showed 
 your appreciation and admiration of my 
 sister. All this was not lost upon me ; and, 
 though at my age I had no right to look for 
 attentions, yet my self-love was wounded, and 
 my jealousy awakened to a pitch that you, 
 Henry, who now know me, can too easily 
 picture to yourself. 
 
LAMIA. 199 
 
 CHAPTER VII; 
 
 " Sin, with his sevenfold crown and purple robe. 
 Begins his triumph in my guilty throne : 
 There sits he watching, with his hundred eyes. 
 Our idle minutes and our wanton thoughts ; 
 And with his baits made of our frail desires. 
 Gives us the hook that hauls our souls to hell." 
 
 6. FEELE. 
 
 The idea once taken up that you disliked 
 me, or, rather, that I had failed to retain the 
 small, but evident interest you had shown 
 towards me on your first arrival, it daily 
 gathered strength, and rankled in my heart. 
 
200 LAMIA. 
 
 while my mind was not strong enough to 
 reject the feeling. Your earnest and steady 
 devotion to the necessary studies for the 
 profession into which you were about to 
 enter, led you, not unnaturally, to judge all 
 moral and religious questions strictly and, to 
 our notions, severely. My feelings were cer- 
 tainly not sufficiently bigoted to my ostensible 
 form of religion to feel very acutely wounded 
 by your praises of Protestantism, but when 
 the recollection of Miss Grimscourt — the only 
 personification of strict Protestantism I had 
 seen much of — rose in my mind, I detested 
 yoiu- Protestantism as much as I had formerly 
 feared and hated the Popery of Father Dominic. 
 With all this I admired your talent, and 
 acknowledged, though very secretly and 
 silently, the good advice you were continually, 
 as an elder brother rather than as a distant 
 
LAMIA. 20 1 
 
 connexion, bestowing on me, your unworthy 
 cousin. I saw how often you were right — I 
 knew how often I was wrong ; and Valeria 
 made the same sort of observations that I Mid. 
 " Ce monsieur ne fait pas de complimens," 
 she said, " son genre n'est pas celui d'un jeune 
 elegant Francais." Iris alone, cold, calm, and 
 reserved, seemed to receive your attentions 
 much as the Diana of the Louvre might listen 
 to the respectful devotions of the Apollo of 
 the Vatican. 
 
 Your taste for music was but just then 
 developing itself. You had heard far more 
 and finer music than I had ; but it is with 
 some, even of those afterwards most blest 
 with taste for that divine art, that the true 
 feeling is awakened but late. Others again 
 receive it, as it were by inspiration, in early 
 infancy. I often wished, when you were in 
 
202 LAMIA. 
 
 a humour to treat me with prose, to exclaim 
 to you in the poetry of Shakespere : 
 
 " When in music we have spent an hour. 
 Your lecture shall have leisure for as much." 
 
 Such, in short, as I have described, was 
 the state of parties at Rainham in that me- 
 morable winter : well and long have I pon- 
 dered over them. 
 
 My observation of the natural ascendancy 
 which my sister seemed to gain over every- 
 body, and principally over yourself, made me 
 endeavour, by all means in my power, to rival 
 her in your estimation. It was no growing 
 passion on my part, it was simply an effect of 
 what I saw, acting upon a most jealous dis- 
 position. Had I at that time possessed more 
 insight into character, instead of being a mere 
 enthusiastic girl, I should have seen that you 
 
LAMIA. 203 
 
 were far from holding me so cheap as you 
 imagined, and tried to make me believe you 
 were doing. On the contrary, with a little 
 more penetration, I might have seen that 
 even your reproofs and counsels, though 
 somewhat in the Bachelor of Arts' style, were 
 a sign of interest and regard on your part ; 
 whether this discovery would have satisfied 
 me or not, is a different question. As it was, 
 my experience did not go that length ; and, 
 like a foolish girl, I resented the real kindness 
 of the tutor — forgive the word — because I 
 failed, as I thought, in captivating the atten- 
 tions of the young man. My silly jealousy 
 rose sometimes in secret to such a pftch, that 
 I hated you — I hated my sister — I hated 
 everybody. In those moods, nothing but the 
 magic powers of sound availed to calm my 
 disorder : music alone was capable of soothing 
 
204 LAMIA. 
 
 my irritated feelings, or of giving a turn to 
 thoughts so inimical to my repose of mind. 
 
 Sometimes I tried another line of con- 
 duct. I tried to win you to my side by the 
 charmed numbers of Mendelsohn or Bach ; 
 there, indeed, I had my revenge — my 
 triumph. You were studying for the Church ; 
 and, naturally, music was the first, if not the 
 only accomplishment, to which your future 
 calling was adapted. Your voice, Mendoza's 
 direction, and my accompaniment, were 
 enough to enable us to get up some very 
 pretty music, and to bring you to a correct 
 practice and knowledge of chants, chorals, 
 and the better style of hymns and psalmody, 
 which you were intent on introducing into 
 your future church. There, indeed, I had 
 you to myself I have even, by a touch on 
 the instrument, called you back involuntarily 
 
LAMIA. 205 
 
 from following the impassible Iris, who did 
 not care whether you followed her or not. 
 
 I conquered you also in another point — 
 in making you ride with me : that I believe 
 really made you feel something towards me. 
 I was then under your care ; you protected, 
 rather than followed: my father, too, who 
 usually accompanied us, seemed to sanction 
 our being so much together. Yet, when quite 
 at liberty, you ever in preference sought Iris ; 
 and then my burning jealousy returned, and 
 returns now, when I think of it. I hope you 
 endoctrined her with your divinity and your 
 homilies. I hope she gave you some of St. 
 Thomas Aquinas in exchange for Ridley and 
 Latimer. When you brought her the accus- 
 tomed bouquet from her conservatory, were 
 the camellias and azaleas sweeter for your 
 scholastics ? 
 
206 LAMIA. 
 
 And sometimes when you left me to 
 gallop alone and inhale the breeze of freedom 
 over our Suffolk downs and heaths, when my 
 eager horse, who seemed to share the passions 
 of his mistress, snuffed the air of liberty and 
 bounded along on the green turf, while you 
 preferred driving Iris in her pony-phaeton to 
 the village, then how I vaunted myself, and 
 vowed enmity to you and to mankind. But 
 as my years increased and my character 
 formed, my father's care and interest in me 
 rose in proportion, and that was a great set- 
 off to my cause, and recalled me from many 
 meditated pranks and follies. 
 
 Iris had her own avocations. She was 
 kind to her poor neighbours, especially the 
 sick and infirm. I give her great credit, as I 
 do to aU such pains-taking ladies, but I am 
 not one of them. I agree that those who 
 
LAMIA. 207 
 
 devote time, talents, and attention to the poor 
 and needy, deserve far more their gratitude 
 than those who only contribute to their aid 
 in money; and to such as go through all 
 such distressing scenes as such personal care 
 and attention implies, the highest praise is 
 due. In a country parish it is, or may be, 
 easy and not distasteful, comparatively speak- 
 ing, to attend minutely to the poor, to help 
 them in mind and means rather than in 
 money, and to become individually acquainted 
 with their families and their circumstances; 
 but in a town, in London, what resolution, 
 what courage, as well as temper and discre- 
 tion, is not necessary to those whose benevo- 
 lence draws them towards the poor. 
 
 My charities were always in money, and 
 came in aid of all that Iris, with her more 
 active exertions, did for the cottagers. My 
 
208 LAMIA. 
 
 father, on his part, did all that enlightened pro- 
 prietorship and judicious management can do 
 for an estate. He gave alike to all, whatever 
 their sect or religion. You, I remember, full 
 of your academical notions, offered to read 
 discourses to them, at which my father only 
 smiled. 
 
 Schools were left entirely to Iris: I had 
 no talent that way, nor indeed patience for 
 tuition, had my talents been of that sort. 
 The clergyman was then growing very old, 
 and we found that all we did was done better 
 without his assistance, though some of our 
 neighbours, we knew, thought that the 
 Church was not sufficiently considered. Of 
 course, we only despised such observations. 
 
 I was not uncharitable in disposition, 
 and always felt for positive woe ; but I could 
 never interest myself enough about my fellow- 
 
LAMTA. 209 
 
 creatures to care for them en masse. I was 
 a philosopher, and therefore more or less a 
 misanthrope in disposition, though not a very 
 mischievous one. I knew pain and wretched- 
 ness must exist, and I was most willing to 
 relieve them as far as I could ; but why must 
 I witness them ? I was thankful to Iris that 
 her inclination took that branch of duty off 
 my hands. , " 
 
 A new event was now spoken of in our 
 family as likely to occur. My father one 
 morning announced to us that he shortly 
 expected a visit from an old friend of his. 
 I supposed I looked all curiosity, for he 
 added : " You, Lamia, know nothing about 
 him, but Iris — " Iris here looked very 
 conscious, which made me immediately sus- 
 pect something was going on. I knew that 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
210 LAMIA. 
 
 my father looked forward to unite Iris with a 
 gentleman of rank, but small fortune, many- 
 years her senior, and the thing had been at 
 times distantly alluded to in the family. Per- 
 haps it had been more nearly settled than I, so 
 much younger than my sister, may have 
 heard of, as there was not much confidence 
 between us. 
 
 " Who is coming, papa?" said I. 
 
 "My old friend, Lord HelveUyn,'' he replied. 
 This was enough for me, as I had heard whis- 
 pers connecting Iris's name and the title of 
 Marchioness together, but was not aware that 
 there was anything yet thought of in earnest. 
 She gave a tacit consent, I suppose, but per- 
 haps consulted the stars and Dr. Buchanan, 
 whom we used to call her astrologer. Henry, 
 I imagine, was not consulted on the occasion. 
 
LAMIA. 2 1 1 
 
 The Marquis of Helvellyn was a nobleman 
 of ancient lineage, but moderate possessions, 
 his two estates of Caer-Wyhn and Pen-y- 
 Rhol, being all he had to live on, out of 
 the vast property bewteen Carmarthen and 
 Merioneth, once belonging to the family. 
 
 You may judge how ill-suited to Iris he 
 was, being only ten years younger than our 
 father. He had seen much of him in Italy, 
 had travelled with him, and now wished to 
 prove his friendship, by giving him his eldest 
 daughter and heiress in marriage. 
 
 Lord Helvellyn had filled some diplo- 
 matic posts with great distinction, and was 
 already thinking of marrying somebody, pre- 
 paratory to fixing himself in an embassy he 
 hoped to obtain. He wanted fortune, he 
 wished for beauty, talent, and all the agremens 
 
 V 2 
 
212 LAMIA. 
 
 of an ambassadress, a lady who would shine 
 brilliantly in public, and be equally contented 
 and domestic in private life ; one who could 
 understand a little of politics to talk of with- 
 out meddling in them, and retire at last to 
 the mountain throne of Helvellyn and its 
 lakes, learn the language of the natives, and 
 die, if not live, a Welchwoman. 
 
 I think I have pretty well explained 
 to you the state of things in our house at 
 that period. You are not now perhaps 
 aware of it, but there was a time when 
 your manner greatly changed towards me. 
 The long and solitary rides, the little 
 odd tete-a-tete conversations, the smaU 
 familiarities of our cousinhood, were by de- 
 grees avoided, then given up on your part in 
 a way of which I, though so young, was vain 
 
LAMIA, 213 
 
 and jealous enough to be deeply sensible. 
 You began to seek the society of Iris with 
 greater assiduity: you showed her much 
 stronger marks of affection than me, 
 studying and conversing with her in pre- 
 ference to me, but yet not, as it seemed, with 
 any feeling beyond the affection of a near 
 relation. Yet the preference was there, and 
 that was quite enough for my jealous heart to 
 feed on. 
 
 Still more envenomed food did it draw 
 from the circumstance that, Iris began now 
 to show faint but evident traces of a decided 
 preference for you. You know how beautiful 
 she was, how her calm and somewhat inani- 
 mate countenance rose with the slightest 
 degree of expression ; well, your presence — 
 your attentions, raised that expression, when 
 
214 ' LAMIA. 
 
 nothing else could. Sometimes a delicate 
 blush, like the reflection of sunset on a soft 
 stiU lake, glows upon her alabaster com- 
 plexion, and an unwonted light in those eyes — 
 deep-blue, long-lashed eyes — sparkles with a 
 brilliancy excited by no other's presence or 
 conversation. My jealous watchfulness, I 
 believe, discovered this change in Iris, 
 while unseen by the rest of the family. I 
 watched, and nourished my jealousy in secret. 
 My father at this time went suddenly up 
 to London, to meet his friend and former 
 ward, Lord HelveUyn, just come over on 
 leave of absence from his station abroad. 
 > Lord Helvellyn's father had been a man 
 of great talent and eccentricity, which latter 
 quality he had indulged, much to the injury 
 of his fortune and successor. Having squan- 
 
LAMIA. 215 
 
 dered away all but the old family seat of 
 Gaer-Wynn, which he jocularly said ought to 
 have been Caer-Lose, to suit his ill-fortune, 
 he one day, in a fit of insanity, brought on by 
 the deeply embarrassed state of his finances, 
 committed suicide. He left one child, a 
 minor, to the guardianship of his firiend. Lord 
 Rainham. 
 
 My father took a great liking to the 
 youth thus left in his charge. He educated 
 him abroad, in order to prepare him for a 
 diplomatic career, which he considered the 
 best on all accounts for a man of his rank, 
 but small present means, to embrace. The 
 young man took greatly to this plan; and 
 having great natural abilities, and no want of 
 application for their improvement, he suc« 
 ceeded in his studies beyond the most san- 
 guine expectations of his guardian. 
 
216 LAMIA. 
 
 When of age, he rose rapidly in his pro- 
 fession, his interests being always carefully 
 looked to by Lord Rainham. Their love for 
 art, their foreign studies, their philosophical 
 ideas, were aU so much alike, that although 
 my father was so much the elder of the two, 
 yet he treated his former ward more as a 
 brother than a son. Lord Helvellyn pushed 
 these philosophical tendencies much further 
 £han his guardian, and his character, in cer- 
 tain strict circles, was not the more esteemed 
 for it; but on the other hand, the gay, the 
 clever, the witty men of the world, and all 
 that mixed society which is so fascinating 
 abroad, loved and courted him. However, 
 I shall have ample occasion to speak of him 
 and his character hereafter. My father was 
 so complete a specimen of a philosopher him- 
 self, that he thought that, after a certain age, 
 
LAMIA. 217 
 
 every one was best left alone ; therefore, from 
 him Lord Helvellyn certainly received no 
 strictures upon morals or conduct, though my 
 father did not, by example, lead him into any 
 devious paths. 
 
 My father's idea of uniting him to his 
 favourite daughter proceeded from his fond- 
 ness for his society, and appreciation of the 
 intellectual part of his character, and a wish 
 to be the means of retrieving the ruined for- 
 tunes of the Helvellyn family. He would 
 thus keep Iris and her husband always near 
 him, and they would make Rainham their 
 home. This, as his title descended to the 
 female line, would, by a reasonable arrange- 
 ment, keep up the succession without a break. 
 I was to have, under this scheme, a fortune 
 of ten thousand pounds at once paid, the rest 
 being entailed with the barony. 
 
218 LAMIA. 
 
 The journey to London, on the present 
 occasion, was to hasten the arrangement, 
 there having been as yet but a sort of tacit 
 agreement between my father and Lord Hel- 
 vellyn upon the subject. My father intended 
 that he should resign his post when his mar- 
 riage with Iris should be declared, in order 
 that the new menage should then fix itself 
 permanently at Rainham Abbey. 
 
 During my father's short absence, my 
 jealousy, from several circumstances, was con- 
 tinually on the increase. I was conscious 
 that, as I grew older, I did not deteriorate in 
 person — my glass told me I had no longer 
 the sallow skin, the heavy eyes, the thin face, 
 that made me always, when a child, post- 
 poned by superficial observers to the blooming 
 Iris. 
 
 An event which took place about this 
 
LAMIA, 219 
 
 time enlightened me more as to the state of 
 my own feelings than anything else could 
 have done in the even tenor of our life at the 
 Abbey. You must remember the fire there — 
 that fire, in the escape firom which you were 
 one of the principal actors, and which had 
 nearly reduced our noble mansion, and all 
 within it, to a heap of ashes. 
 
 My father, you will recoUect, was gone to 
 London, to meet Lord Helvellyn. He had 
 left us, that is, his daughters, with Madame 
 de Vlotho, and Valerie, and yourself, the sole 
 occupants of the house. I should add Dr. 
 Buchanan, whom I forgot, because it was 
 usual for everybody to forget him, inasmuch 
 as, in his philosophy, he had the haT)it of 
 forgetting everybody, everything, and even 
 himself, as the sequel will prove. 
 
220 LAMIA. 
 
 The learned Doctor inhabited, in the east 
 wing of the Abbey, an apartment which was 
 remote from every one, except his servant. 
 After the family had retired to rest, it was the 
 Doctor's custom to sit up, pondering on the 
 future, or calculating his past observations, 
 in order to be ready with some plan of study 
 or operation in the observatory, should the 
 weather permit Iris to repair to her favourite 
 study. He had passed the better half of a 
 night in watchfulness, when, probably, he was 
 overcome by sleep — for he could afterwards 
 give no account of what had happened — a 
 blaze of fire was seen to issue from the case- 
 ment of his chamber, and the whole wing was 
 speedily, to all appearance, one mass of flames. 
 The alarm was soon spread; the terrified 
 domestics ran scared in all directions ; you. 
 
LAMIA. 221 
 
 ever active and intelligent, were on the spot, 
 directing, and taking part in, every measure 
 that was adopted, and were the principal 
 cause that the Abbey itself was saved from 
 destruction. Suddenly, however, you were 
 missed from the scene ; the servants, as they 
 have since told me, saw you everywhere one 
 minute, and nowhere the next. They were 
 under the greatest alarm for your safety, for 
 they felt their efforts were about to prove in- 
 effectual for want of your presence and 
 instinct of command, which had carried them 
 so far through the awful conflagration, when 
 you were seen, by the lurid glare issuing by 
 a side-door from the body of the building into 
 the garden, bearing a lifeless form in your 
 arms. 
 
 Who was that favoured one whose life 
 was dearer to you than your own, whom you 
 
222 LAMIA. 
 
 sought through fire and smoke, and whom, 
 by God's blessing, you were able to transport 
 into a place of safety ? What being was that 
 who, in such a crisis, called forth all the 
 courage, all the energy of your nature, and 
 prompted you to risk death, rather than leave 
 her to her fate ? 
 
 That one — that happy one — was Lamia ! 
 I felt — how shall I say I felt ? — when, sud- 
 denly snatched from my couch, half suffocated 
 with rolling clouds of smoke and sparks, I was 
 first dragged, then lifted, then carried in arms 
 I felt that I knew, and heard the words : 
 " Courage, dear Lamia !" in a voice I could not 
 mistake. I felt the pressure of your hand, 
 the beat of your anxious heart. I fainted ; 
 I was as one dead ; but happy. I saw I was 
 cared for, and by Henry ! 
 
 You brought me down (trust me to tell 
 
LAMIA. 223 
 
 you the story better, perhaps, than you could 
 relate it yourself), you laid me on the grass 
 at a sufficient distance from the conflagration, 
 which was at that moment terrific, and when 
 rousing myself I turned round to thank — no, 
 only to see — my deliverer, you were gone. 
 The awfulness of the catastrophe, the dream, 
 as it were, that I was in, so bewildered me, 
 that I nearly lost my senses. Madame de 
 Vlotho and Valerie, who were both safe, were 
 quickly at my side, with Iris, whose apartment 
 was far removed from danger, but who had 
 her own reasons for anxiety. 
 
 Again you were wanted in the crowd, 
 which had increased by the arrival of some 
 helps, and many impediments from the 
 village, and the sounds : " Where is he ?" " Is 
 he safe ?" " There he is ! no — ^yes !" and such 
 
224 LAMIA. 
 
 contradictory exclamations, which I knew could 
 not relate to any but Henry, were heard on . 
 all sides, and added not a little to my agita- 
 tion. I never shall forget that night, that 
 sense of danger, that scene of death — for 
 such it seemed — combined with my own 
 inward feelings of gratified self-love. I was 
 the one you had selected to preserve. 
 
 But where were you meanwhile ? You 
 were seen coming a second time from the 
 flames, but from the other extremity, half 
 leading, half supporting, an ancient servant of 
 the house, a gardener, whose habitation in 
 the offices you knew was the nearest to 
 danger, and whom your courage and humanity 
 alone saved from destruction. 
 
 Then, however, I observed for the first 
 time the effect which care for you had upon 
 
LAMIA. 225 
 
 my sister — ^when you were missed, when' the 
 cry for you among the people became general, 
 her agitation exceeded her usually great 
 powers of repression ; and though on such an 
 occasion the evident danger to any one, even a 
 stranger, may excite and explain emotion, and 
 though the bystanders thought Iris's anxiety 
 to pnoceed from feelings of simple humanity, 
 yet I, who knew her, saw that nothing but the 
 deepest trouble of soul could occasion a 
 similar demonstration in so impertiu-bable 
 a being. Judge my feelings thereupon, and 
 my jealousy. 
 
 Henry, what was your conduct after 
 this ? After having given me that proof of 
 tenderness, after having, in fact, saved my 
 life, and shown me that you did it not from 
 mere pity, but from the heart, you suddenly 
 changed your behaviour to me, and devoted, 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 LAMIA. 
 
 yourself anew, and with greater zeal, to please 
 my sister. My feelings were not proof 
 against this, my plan was quickly laid, and 
 though it costs me much to make the con- 
 fession of my crime, for it is no less, yet 
 I will do it. Oh ! pardon me, for I 
 have suffered years of remorse for it since 
 then. 
 
LAMIA 227 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Hermia. God speed, fair Helena ! Whither away ? 
 
 Helena. Call you me fair ? that fair again unsay. 
 Demetrius loves your fair : O, happy fair ! 
 Your eyes are loadstars, and your tongue's sweet air 
 More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear. 
 When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear. 
 Sickness is catching ; oh, were favour so ! 
 Your's would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go ; 
 My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye. 
 My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody. 
 Oh ! teach me how you look, and with what art 
 You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart. 
 
 MIDSUMMER NIGHt's DREAM. 
 
 My fether returned the day after the 
 fire, ufiaccGmpanied by Lord Helvellyn. His 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 LAMIA. 
 
 first act, after looking into the extent of the 
 damage done, was to thank all concerned, 
 and most especially yourself, for the efforts 
 that had been made, and with success, for the 
 protection of his house and property. He did 
 not say an unkind word to the Doctor, the 
 philosophical though unconscious cause of the 
 whole disaster. 
 
 When things had returned a little to 
 their former course, my father resumed his 
 practice of riding with me, and I found that 
 I gained every day in favour and ascendancy 
 over him. I own I was not scrupulous enough 
 to refrain from turning this new-grown power 
 to advantage. 
 
 He, not unnaturally, asked me for an ac- 
 count of what I had seen or remembered of 
 the fire. I told him correctly of all the 
 particulars of the occurrence itself, and did 
 
LAMIA. ' 229 
 
 not undervalue the exertions you had made 
 for the general safety ; but, I added, what I 
 had neither proof of, nor in the depths of my 
 heart believed (though I was quite ready to 
 believe it, had there been any plausible 
 evidence of the fact), that you were en- 
 deavouring to win the heart of Iris for 
 yourself I thus plunged into the path of 
 falsehood, and so violently animated was I 
 against you and my sister conjointly (though 
 against neither of you as separate in- 
 dividuals), that I ventured to give what I 
 called proofs of it, in what I had observed 
 of your behaviour to Iris. I might have 
 added that which would have been true, 
 namely, that I had seen her show signs of 
 sensibility to your attentions but that was 
 truth, and falsehood was now my game. I 
 
230 LAMIA. 
 
 tremble as I write these lines, but, Henry, re- 
 member this is a confession. 
 
 My father, greatly agitated at this news, 
 which threatened the break-up of his favourite 
 schemes, begged to know whether Iris en- 
 couraged you. I might have said that if she 
 did not, she was at least not insensible, but, 
 with an air of candour, I pledged myself that 
 Iris was incapable of deceit, and that her 
 affections were, to my knowledge, so entirely 
 free, that her father's wishes in anything 
 relating to her establishment in life were sure, 
 when known, to be the guiding thought of 
 her heart. I went so far as to say that 
 she wished privately that a match with 
 Lord Helvellyn might be the fate intended 
 for her. 
 
 If this last was a falsehood, it was a very 
 
LAMIA. 231 
 
 indirect one, for, in fact, I knew nothing of 
 my sister's mind upon the subject. 
 
 How can I expect, Henry, that you, frank 
 and honourable as I know you to be, can 
 ever forgive the baseness of which I here ac- 
 cuse myself, of which I confess myself to have 
 been guilty, without reserve ? I feared that 
 my father, if he once perceived that Iris, calm 
 and dispassionate as she was, had made up 
 her mind to prefer you, whose talents and 
 good qualities she had means of appreciating, 
 to Lord Helvellyn, a stranger (of whom, if 
 she heard anything, it might have been of a 
 doubtful character), would certainly give way 
 to his affection for his daughter, and even 
 sacrifice his cherished plans to an accordance 
 with her wishes. Fearing this, I tried all I 
 could to separate you from my sister, in order 
 
232 LAMIA. 
 
 that there might be no danger of a rupture of 
 the match between Lord Helvellyn and Iris. 
 Then you might be mine, or not, just as I 
 pleased ; at any rate, you would not be my 
 sister's husband — an idea abhorrent to my 
 jealous soul. 
 
 My father listened to me attentively, and 
 seeming re-assured by the statements I gave 
 him that Iris was quite indifferent to you, 
 told me he should not mention the subject to 
 her, which, indeed, I begged him, for obvious 
 reasons, not to do. After a long private con- 
 versation with you next day, which I have no 
 doubt you well remember, I saw with plea- 
 sure that you were recommended to return to 
 Oxford for your degree, with a promise of the 
 living of Rainham parish as soon as it 
 should fall vacant. You went : I triumphed ; 
 
LAMIA. 233 
 
 but what a triumph, success without satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Iris was visibly affected at your departure. 
 Her very delicate complexion became still 
 more beautiful, her fine form grew daily 
 thinner, and her appearance careworn and 
 anxious, while she redoubled her assiduity in 
 the studies to which she more than ever 
 devoted herself. My father thought her 
 anxiety arose fi*om the rather awkward po- 
 sition she was placed in, with respect to Lord 
 Helvellyn, and was more tenderly careful of 
 her than ever. I saw her pining away day by 
 day, and every fading charm gave a bitter 
 pang to my guilty conscience. 
 
 Lord Helvellyn came not ; he was gone to 
 Wales on business, and was then on a visit to 
 a maternal uncle, a Mr. Powell, of Llan 
 
234 LAMIA. 
 
 Rhys, but Lord Rainham expected him daily, 
 and hoped that his arrival would set Iris at 
 her ease, and that the marriage might be 
 finally arranged. 
 
 Dissatisfied with myself, T grew gradually 
 more irritable, and, as I was told, more 
 spirituelle and less amiable ; Valerie praised 
 my growing expression, my black eyes and 
 hair, and my Italian look, like my mother. 
 But I had not her piety, her angelic 
 temper* 
 
 Two months nearly elapsed after the time 
 I have been writing of, before my father 
 heard one word from Lord Helvellyn on the 
 subject nearest to his heart, or on any other. 
 Indeed, as it turned out, the subject of my 
 sister's marriage was far nearer to the heart 
 of my father than of any other person. 
 
LAMIA. 235 
 
 Meanwhile her delicate health and fragile 
 beauty, while it rather increased in that tender 
 softness which is so natural, but often so de- 
 ceitful, in youth, gave hints that her health, 
 from some mental cause, was no longer so 
 strong as it had been. 
 
 Perhaps there is nothing in the common 
 course of life more melancholy than to see a 
 young person of striking beauty, and once 
 healthy constitution, gradually pine away 
 under the insidious approaches of decline. 
 And when those who have known the fine 
 vigorous child — the playful and animated girl 
 — the finally blooming young woman — see 
 her at the moment of entering into the full 
 career of life, losing by degrees the strength, 
 the spirits, which have hitherto accompanied 
 her through youth ; most of all, it is mebn- 
 
236 LAMIA. 
 
 choly to see the false but additional beauty of 
 complexion, which, for a time at least, masks 
 the decay of constitution. It is like the 
 blushing roses of Psestum, which bedeck the 
 plain, as if to conceal the malaria which sur- 
 rounds them. 
 
 In such a state was Iris. No one, how- 
 ever, seemed to perceive it, no one did per- 
 ceive it but myself. Sad as the sight was, 
 my duty now obliges me to confess that I 
 observed it unmoved. Not that I wished 
 her ill ; but I was conscious that I had begun 
 to injure her ; I could not hide from my 
 guilty conscience that had I told my father 
 the truth, aU this might not have been. We 
 never love those whom we have injured ; and 
 here is one more evil of distance and reserve 
 between sisters. Evil incitements, and wrong- 
 
LAMIA. 237 
 
 headed jealousies, may suggest themselves 
 even to the good, and much more to girls of 
 such strong passions and ill-tutored minds 
 as my faulty education had left me with. Yet 
 among loving, or even friendly sisters, how 
 quickly would not the very thought of in- 
 juring one another have been discarded. I 
 am writing a confession, or this should never 
 have met the eye of man. 
 
 At this moment arrived one morning an 
 invitation to Senhor Mendoza to accept the 
 post of Maestro di Capella, at Madrid. His 
 name was well known to the artistes of his 
 profession in Spain ; and having finished me 
 as his most promising pupil, he willingly took 
 the appointment, especially as he had been 
 very nervous ever since the fire. 
 
 Before leaving us, however, the new 
 
238 LAMIA. 
 
 Maestro composed, and dedicated to me, a 
 beautiful fugue, in which the tuneful melodies 
 of the old school were successfully enriched 
 with thie harmonies of the later, while the 
 false taste and clatter of the modern style 
 were entirely avoided. It contained move- 
 ments expressive of regret at leaving a 
 hospitable house to which he bade a tender, 
 but respectful farewell, and of bold aspirations 
 to future success and celebrity in his divine 
 art, and of enthusiastic devotion to its pre- 
 siding saint. I accepted this tribute of real 
 feeling with pleasure and pride ; but persuaded 
 him that a classical composer ought rather to 
 seek inspiration from the Muses than the 
 saints, to say nothing of my own decided 
 preference of the former to the latter. 
 
 One morning, my father and I were walk- 
 
LAMIA. 239 
 
 ing up and down the terrace at Rainham, 
 having just parted with Iris, who had left us 
 in her little pony-carriage for some of her 
 ordinary village business, when the post, 
 which you remember at that time reached 
 Rainham later than at present, was put into 
 my father's hands. 
 
 " Here, at last," said he, " is a letter from 
 Helvellyn. Skiddaw and Cross FeU are not 
 more difficult to move from their bases than 
 Helvellyn when he is on a holiday trip." 
 
 My father hastily tore open the letter, and, 
 while I was quietly, but, if the truth must be 
 told, most impatiently, awaiting from him the 
 communication of its contents, I observed his 
 countenance change ; and, as he approached 
 the end, it showed marks of a greater degree 
 of perturbation than I had ever remarked in 
 
240 LAMIA. 
 
 him. At length, he appeared on the point of 
 speaking, when, suddenly, with an effort, he 
 compressed his lips, and, putting the letter 
 roughly into his pocket, walked away with an 
 expression I do not remember to have seen 
 him exhibit on any other occasion. He 
 walked the length of terrace in silence, and 
 seemed as if going into the house by a garden 
 door, when he returned quickly, and said to 
 me: 
 
 " Lamia, I cannot speak to you now, but, 
 in a short time, I will explain what has taken 
 place." 
 
 So saying, he withdrew. 
 
 I was left to my conjectures, and, not 
 choosing to be observed, as I might have 
 been, in the park or gardens, I retreated into 
 the conservatory, where, I believe, I picked off 
 
LAMIA. 241 
 
 the heads of all the orange-flowers, to the 
 great dismay of the gardener, before I knew 
 what I was doing. 
 
 I know not how long I remained in the 
 conservatory, but, on leaving it some time 
 afterwards, I met a servant, who bad been 
 sent to seek me, and to say that Lord Rain- 
 ham wished to see me in hi& study, to which 
 I accordingly hastened. As soon as I entered, 
 I saw at once that his countenance had re- 
 sumed its usual serenity, and that the struggle 
 which the perusal of the mysterious letter 
 had caused in his mind was entirely ap- 
 peased. 
 
 ^. " Lamia, I wish you to read this letter," 
 were the only words he uttered, in placing it 
 in- my hands; and having done so, he left the 
 room^ and desired me, after reading the letter, 
 
 VOL. L R 
 
242 LAMIA. 
 
 to drop it into a letter-box, which stood locked 
 upon the table. As soon as I found myself 
 quite alone I eagerly ran over the contents of 
 the epistle, which were as follows : 
 
 " My dear Lord, 
 
 " You have doubtless been surprised at 
 not hearing from me, but you will be doubly 
 surprised at what are you going to hear from 
 me ; and, I confess, it is not without a feeling, 
 which you will shortly be able to understand, 
 that I address you at all. 
 
 "In a word, then, 1 must tell you that 
 yesterday morning, in a fit of love or folly, 
 whichever you .choose to call it, if not, as 
 most possible, of both, I married my cousin, 
 Gwyneth Powell or Ap Howell, as they call 
 it in these parts. I know she is unsuited to 
 
LAMIA. 243 
 
 me, but still more to the sort of situation she 
 is to fill when she returns with me to appear 
 as English Ambassadress at the Court of 
 Dresden. 
 
 " I must trust, and not for the first time 
 in my life, to your kindness to pardon this 
 apparent breach of a tacit agreement (I can- 
 not call it an engagement) between us on the 
 subject of your daughter, both on the score 
 that nothing definitive was settled in that 
 affair on either side, though, as a project, it 
 was certainly my duty not to think lightly of 
 it ; and, also, on that of the real haste and 
 unpremeditated execution of my present match. 
 Why was this haste ? you will say. Can any 
 one tell why he falls in love ? is my answer. 
 The fair and learned Iris was far too good for 
 me ; if Gwyneth is likely to prove little suited 
 ^ R 2 
 
244 LAMIA. 
 
 to foreign and accomplished life, except after 
 a considerable experience, Iris, with all her 
 virtues, her distinguished excellence in so 
 many ways, was as little likely to be happy 
 with a not very regular personage like myself 
 Gwyneth, I have no doubt, will be a good 
 scholar, but she wants much of V usage du 
 mondey and wiH benefit much by the contact 
 with a superior state of intellectual society to 
 wb;at she has hitherto seen in these wilds, it 
 
 " She has been spoilt, not by the worW, 
 but by being out of the world ; and, as a last 
 favour, I would beg of you, my dear Lord, to 
 ajllaw us to visit you at Rainham, the very 
 best school of preparation for a person in my 
 wife's new and peculiar position. 
 
 " Iris, I am sure, did not view the pro- 
 jected arrangement, or my humble person, 
 
LAMIA* 246 
 
 with any degree of special favour; aiid I 
 know you and I both think so much 
 alike on the subject of matrimony, that it is 
 a consolation to think that even her father 
 will not believe his daughter's happiness very 
 much affected by this alteration in her pros- 
 pects, which I have little doubt will be to her 
 ultimate advantage." f h-fc^l 
 
 9,. ■ ■"' 
 
 ■ The letter concluded with many affectionate 
 expressions of regard. 
 
 You know what men of the world are, 
 besides knowing the individuals in question. 
 You will not be surprised that my father soon 
 reconciled himself to the disappointment 
 which this careless, but clever, roue had 
 brought upon him; his only care was to 
 break the news to Iris, whom he sent for on 
 her return frorp her drive. ?, sUoiMi ai;oiY9iq 
 
246 LAMIA. 
 
 He was speedily consoled by hearing her 
 disclaim with perfect composure all interest 
 in the matter ; her calm mind was only dis- 
 turbed at the thought that her father had 
 been wounded in his feelings, and on her 
 account. 
 
 V) With her perfect consent, therefore, my 
 father wrote to Lord Helvellyn a letter, as he 
 called it, of absolution, and at the same time 
 invited him and his bride to Rainham, to be 
 present at the festivities in contemplation, on 
 the occasion of Iris's coming of age. 
 .n Iris herself, though relieved from a certain 
 anxiety by the rupture of her ill-assorted 
 intended marriage, continued to look more 
 and more delicate, alternately pale and flushed, 
 while she grew thinner every day* Lord 
 Rainham himself, who had attributed her 
 previous delicate symptoms to anxiety at the 
 
LAMIA. 247 
 
 unsettled state of the arrangement with Lord 
 Helvellyn, now began to be really uneasy 
 about her health. ^i 
 
 He wrote to you, to ask you to the birth- 
 day /e^e, without imparting his plan to Iris, 
 as he wished to judge for himself of the state 
 of her feelings. 
 
 For some little time nothing remarkable 
 happened in the family. It was thought a 
 delicate hint to the learned Dr. Buchanan to 
 give him a safety-lamp to burn in his apart- 
 ment, in order to teach him carefulness, both 
 for his own valuable papers and other people's 
 at least equally valuable property. 
 4 The worthy Dr. Buchanan was far from 
 being the last to observe the slow but evi- 
 dent change in the looks of my sister. He 
 consulted his folios, of which he had always 
 
246 LAMIA. 
 
 one to quote on any possible subject ; and 
 after searching in vain for anything like 
 medical advice in the works of Grotius, 
 turned suddenly to a dusty volume of Para- 
 celsus, in the firm expectation of finding some 
 sure and sovereign remedy for ladies' ailments 
 therein. My father, though beginning to think 
 seriously of my sister's health, could not help 
 smiling at the good old man, and his zeal for 
 his favourite pupil. He did not discourage 
 his researches among the ponderous tomes of 
 our library, knowing the interest and satisfac- 
 tion it gave to the Doctor, but gently hinted 
 that Albertus Magnus and Zoroaster would 
 be as good authorities in the case as any that 
 he was likely to discover in the whole range 
 of authors with which he was ^o intimately 
 acquainted. ^ 
 
LAMIA. 249 
 
 " The learned Swammerdammius," he 
 began one day, *' and all the Dutch Faculty 
 of Medicine, recomniend — " and he was 
 going on with much more advice, equally to 
 the purpose, when he was interrupted by my 
 father, who told him he was quite sure that 
 all the faculties in the world would recom- 
 mend pleasure and recreation on the occasion 
 of a birthday fete. He also recommended 
 the Doctor, gaily, to consult his stars as to 
 the fortunate hour for proclaiming Iris of age, 
 at the banquet, or before, or after it, or at 
 the ball ; and the excellent old man, who had 
 the kindness of true philosophy, actually took 
 up his rather broad-brimmed hat and cane, 
 and walked off straight to the observatory, 
 where he remained till long after dinner-time, 
 adjusting his instruments for the evening. 9' 
 
250 LAMIA. 
 
 Immediately after dinner he repaired to 
 his post, where he closeted himself till past 
 midnight, so that nobody could ask him a 
 question before the next morning. Iris, on 
 account of her health, had not lately fre- 
 quented the observatory, and showed no 
 desire to learn the result of the learned Doc- 
 tor's observations. To our surprise, how- 
 ever, at breakfast-time he was inexorably silent. 
 He evinced the greatest reluctance to state 
 what he had observed ; and said that no con- 
 clusion could be drawn until he had referred 
 to my sister's horoscope, which he had for- 
 merly made out, and calculated the necessary 
 deductions therefrom, combined with the read- 
 ings of last night's conjunctions of the planet. 
 
 At dinner, we teased him again for an 
 explanation, but he looked grave, and de- 
 
LAMIA. 251 
 
 clined giving any opinion whatever. My 
 father looked annoyed, certainly not from su- 
 perstition: Iris showed not the slightest 
 curiosity on the subject. a 
 
 We were all now more than ever occupied 
 with preparations for my sister's birthday; 
 and as the fete to be given was to celebrate 
 her coming of age, a large assemblage of 
 tenantry and peasantry were to be assembled 
 on the occasion. I was young enough to be 
 amused by all this, though sufficiently indif- 
 ferent to the event. I promised myself far 
 more interest from seeing and watching the 
 company, and getting an early insight into 
 the world and its ways, than from any bril- 
 liant anticipation of the new pleasure awaiting 
 me. I was not child enough to be astonished, 
 and not woman enough to think of acting a 
 part. I was, therefore, like a young girl, 
 
252 L\MIA. 
 
 merely curious to see, and perhaps to be seen. 
 By the side of Iris, and on an occasion like 
 the present, of which she was the Queen, I 
 neither wanted admiration nor expected it ; 
 and in general it is individual affection, inte- 
 rest, rather than common admiration, that has 
 been my object through life. 
 
 Iv. 
 
 mi Qi 
 
 a ^i\m *to limit 01/ j; 
 
LAMIA. 253 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " E poi quando nel ciel parean le stelle, 
 
 Sotte gioso a suo magion tomava ; 
 E 'n compagnia delle nove sorelle, 
 
 Celesti versi con disio cantava : 
 E d'antica virtu mille fiammelle, b 
 
 Con gU alti carmi ne' petti destava : 
 Cosi chiamando amor lascivia umana, 
 
 Si godea con le Muse, e con Diana." 
 
 ANGELO POUTIABTO. 
 
 ** Teco I'avessi il ciel donna congiunto 
 In matrimonio : ah che pria non venisti 
 Al mondo, o io non son piu tardo giunto ? 
 
 ** Ma questo van pensiero a che soggiorno ? 
 Se tu pur dinanzi, ed io fui un tempo avan ti, 
 Dal laccio conjugal legato intomo?" ,il 
 
 POETEY OF LORENZO DE MEDICI. 
 
 LoBJD Helveljlyn and his bride at last made 
 
254 LAMIA. 
 
 their appearance. They arrived very late for 
 dinner, after a long day's journey — the bride 
 rather fatigued — for it was then four days 
 journey from Merionethshire to Suffolk ; and, 
 as might be supposed, we were aU very 
 anxious to see and make acquaintance with 
 her. My father received them at the door, 
 and leading them into the old or Elizabethan 
 drawing-room, which you know at Rainham, 
 presented them to my sister. Her calm face 
 and dignified manner never appeared to 
 greater advantage than at that moment, her 
 graceful self-possession, which did sometimes 
 chiU the company she happened to be among, 
 was then quite in its place ; and the circum- 
 stance of her having previously been intended 
 for him who now led forward his young wife 
 to meet her, known to all present, though 
 declared to none, rather heightened the. in- 
 
LAMIA. 255 
 
 terest of the introduction. Iris, however, 
 perfectly free from embarrassment, took the 
 hand of the young and girlish-looking Lady 
 Helvellyn, and addressing some kind words to 
 her, led her to a seat. 
 
 Lord Helvellyn, though many years older 
 than his bride, was still a specimen of the 
 finest style of manly beauty ; dark, tall, 
 Spanish looking, with rather a fearless look in 
 his brilliant eagle eyes. He was so like that 
 Spanish portrait of a courtier of Philip H., 
 which you know in the gallery at Rainham, 
 a picture that had always, to my childish, and 
 even afterwards to my grown-up fancy, been 
 the very heau ideal of a man and a lover, 
 that I could not take my eyes off his coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 If my attention was absorbed by Lord Hel- 
 vellyn, his was not less so by the beauty of 
 
256 LAMIA. 
 
 Iris. He seemed perfectly astonished to fihd 
 that the cold abstraction of philosophy he had 
 heard of, and which had frightened him into 
 a rejection of her hand, was a really beautiful 
 ladylike young woman, the eifect of whose 
 loveliness was not to be denied He, in fact, 
 stood in rather an unpleasant position towards 
 her, which was not lessened by his evident 
 admiration for the prize he had so negligently 
 lost. This was enough to impress his man- 
 ner, on first approaching my sister, with a 
 degree of respectful and courtier-like politeness 
 which admirably suited his noble and roman- 
 tic character of countenance and figure. 
 
 I, all this while an unnoticed spectator of 
 the interview, had leisure to observe our 
 guests, and speedily formed my opinion. My 
 admiration of the husband was rather 
 heightened than lessened by an unaccount- 
 
LAMIA. 257 
 
 able fear I began to feel of such a superior 
 being, though that feeling mingled at the 
 same time with an earnest hope of pleasing 
 him. 
 
 Lady Helvellyn appeared by his side the 
 most natural and unsophisticated little fairy 
 possible ; quick in her movements, gay and 
 sprightly in her expression, her laughing eyes 
 sought everywhere for somebody or some- 
 thing to join in her truly youthful spirits. 
 She had evidently been a spoilt child, but 
 made up in good-nature and vivacity for 
 what she wanted in manner and tournure. 
 
 Gwyneth Powell (or Ap Howell, as her 
 father Hked to be called,) had been brought up 
 entirely in Wales, and had had her own way 
 in everything till the day when she married 
 the Marquis of Helvellyn. Her father, with 
 
 VOL. I. s 
 
258 LAMIA. 
 
 true provincial pride, in which she participated, 
 spared no pains to make her the most accom- 
 plished horsewoman of the county ; she 
 hunted, she shot, she joined in every sport, 
 masculine or feminine, that was going on in 
 the mountains of Powys. Her more ladylike 
 accomplishments were confined to playing 
 with some spirit on the Welsh harp, singing 
 her national ballads, and some of the more 
 usefdl points of housewifery, which even an 
 heiress cannot afford to neglect who lives 
 entirely en province. She had a pretty 
 little gipsy-like style of beauty, which was 
 as piquant as it was uncommon, and though 
 as little to be compared with Iris in feature 
 as in fortime, I was not altogether surprised at 
 her having captivated her noble husband's 
 affections. Being an only daughter, and 
 
LAMIA. 259 
 
 heiress to a property extensive and com- 
 manding influence in a country like Wales, 
 though not very productive in point of in- 
 come, she had been an object from her 
 very childhood to the neighbouring squires, 
 and this, perhaps, had added a little to the air 
 d^ enfant gdtee which was natural to her, and 
 which she was at no pains to repress. 
 
 Gwyneth was fond of Helvellyn, and rather 
 afraid of Iris ; not that she was quick 
 enough to remark, or suspect the impression 
 my sister had made upon her husband, but 
 rather because she felt intuitively her own 
 deficiency in so much that Iris excelled in. 
 To me, on the other hand, she showed an 
 immediate and decided preference. As I 
 liked her playful, natural manners, and 
 wanted, besides, some one to accompany me 
 
 s 2 
 
260 LAMIA. 
 
 in my long rides, our friendship daily in- 
 creased, and I attribute to that much of the 
 knowledge of Lord Helvellyn's character, with 
 which I should not otherwise have been 
 acquainted. 
 
 She was enthusiastic in her praises of her 
 native mountains, and of the wild life she led 
 there, her fishing, her otter-hunting, her 
 wild-goat shooting, and all the active diver- 
 sions of a mountaineer's life. To my youth- 
 ful and somewhat ardent temperament, all 
 this was delightful, and she made me promise 
 to come some day and join in her rustic 
 sports in the principality. 
 
 " There," said she, " you may see scenery 
 such as Suffolk does not produce ; you will 
 hear a strange language, see strange dresses 
 and physiognomy." And as she spoke, she 
 
LAMIA. 261 
 
 looked up at me with her gipsy, smiling 
 face, in her Welsh hat and cap, and red 
 shawl, which she was fond of wearing, even 
 in lowland Suffolk. 
 
 I could fancy the fresh breezes of Snowdon 
 being extremely good, both for animal spirits 
 and complexion. Her accent was like that 
 foreign tone in which both Scotch and Irish 
 begin their sentences when not used to 
 frequent English conversation, a peculiarity 
 which gave an artless charm to her mode of 
 speaking, simple as it naturally was. 
 
 Lord Helvellyn, meanwhile, was entirely 
 ignorant of the sensation he had awakened in 
 me ; he treated me civilly, and even with 
 attention, as a child of his friend, but beyond 
 this, there was nothing in his manner that I ' 
 could call flattering. He seemed, at times, to 
 
262 LAMIA. 
 
 take pleasure in startling the ladies by some 
 bold traits of character, some of what he 
 would entitle characteristic stories of the 
 ways of the world, which, to my young appre- 
 hension, were sufficiently new and astounding. 
 But his conversation was always so gentle- 
 man-like and agreeable, so clever and full 
 of point, that, although the severest criticism 
 might now and then object to the subject, it 
 was perfectly disarmed by the manner of 
 narrating it. 
 
 My father, always fond of his society, 
 usually engaged him in the discussion of 
 political subjects, which his wit enlivened, 
 while it induced us to listen to them. Thus, 
 between the solid and the gay, the novelty of 
 information on the one hand, and of sparkling 
 repartee on the other, varied, too, by the 
 
LAMIA. 263 
 
 occasional vivacity of Gwyneth, my time 
 passed more agreeably to myself than it ever 
 had done, and I felt myself, by these steps, 
 gradually mounting from childhood into 
 woman's Ufe. 
 
 Strange to say, I felt myself gradually 
 assuming a sort of superiority over Gwyneth, 
 and behaving to her, some years my senior, 
 already married, a fortune, and every way, for 
 the moment at least, holding higher ground 
 in society than myself, as if she was a young 
 girl whom it was my business to form and to 
 bring forward. This, indeed, was not far 
 from being the case, her previous seclusion, 
 and, in some things, her very young notions 
 of society, made her a scholar rather in need of 
 advice from some friend or other. Iris could 
 not be that friend, so I fairly took her under 
 
264 LAMIA. 
 
 my protection, and in a short time we 
 became inseparable. 
 
 My mental position at that moment was 
 certainly singular: unreservedly admiring 
 Gwyneth's husband, I had not half the 
 jealousy towards her for possessing him that 
 I had towards Iris for exciting his admiration. 
 I felt myself superior to Gwyneth in intellect ; 
 I knew that had I champ lihre I could easily 
 excel her in the race of attraction ; but with 
 Iris the case was different. 
 
 My father had kindly given me a little 
 pavilion adjoining the conservatory, which he 
 had fitted up as an aviary. It was closed by 
 a network of gilt-wire, and contained a 
 marble tazza, with a gurgling fountain, in 
 which the elegant Whidahbirds and Virginia 
 nightingales bathed and admired themselves 
 
LAMIA. 265 
 
 night and morning. Fresh plants were daily 
 brought in from the conservatory, which the 
 destructive little warblers daily destroyed, so 
 that the mosaic floor was usually strewed with 
 broken flowers of geranium or camellia. 
 
 Into this little sanctum Gwyneth and I 
 usually retired, in confidence. Here we sat 
 and exchanged secrets, but by no means 
 equally, as I gave her but half mine for all 
 of hers, which the guileless Gwyneth neyer 
 discovered. 
 
 I must confess that I was led to encourage 
 this intimacy, partly by the idea that my 
 attention to Gwyneth would be pleasing to 
 Lord Helvellyn, in the double view of being 
 at once a compliment to his wife and a 
 means of freeing him from her constant and 
 childish fondness. This succeeded, but as he 
 
266 LAMIA. 
 
 thus gained more time to devote to Iris, I 
 rather overreached myself by my manoeuvre, 
 as, though thankful to me for it, the profit 
 was not on my side. I found in my private 
 conversations with Gwyneth, that although 
 not in the least jealous of Iris, she was not 
 blind to the incipient defection of her husband ; 
 and one day the tears came into her eyes 
 when he declined shooting with her, and even 
 playfully said : " Your passion for the chase is 
 growing somewhat beyond reason, my dear 
 Gwyneth ; since the Spanish Princess, whose 
 amusement was shooting wild boars, I have 
 heard of nothing like you as a Diana." 
 
 She pouted, and went her way with her 
 favourite pointer, saying to me : " Three 
 months ago he was ready to shoot every bird 
 from Pen Gwyn to Aber Davatt, but it is 
 
LAMIA. 267 
 
 quite changed now." I did not reply, having, 
 in fact, nothing that I wished to impart to 
 her on the subject, but I was not, in my 
 wicked heart, very sorry that she was sen- 
 sible to a change in Helvellyn's behaviour. 
 
 The arrival of a new personage gave a 
 considerable turn to the progress of events at 
 Rainham, and I must now recal to you 
 Prince Demetrius Menzikoff, a friend of 
 Lord Helvellyn's, whom he had asked my 
 father to invite to the fetes. 
 
 The Muscovite was a very good specimen 
 of his nation. Well-bred, travelled, and dis- 
 tinguished in his appearance, he had all the 
 slyness and quiet observation characteristic of 
 his nation. He possessed a constant fund of 
 anecdote, co-lected in every court in Europe, 
 diversified with that variety of detail, which, 
 
268 LAMIA. 
 
 when applied to business that nowise con- 
 cerns them, frequently obtains for travellers of 
 his nation the reputation of gathering infor- 
 mation for their government rather than 
 themselves. This Prince was, however, a 
 clever man, and a friend of some years stand- 
 ing to Lord Helvellyn, who had a great regard 
 for him. 
 
 Doubtless, you remember the day before 
 poor Iris's ball. Nobody left the house or the 
 gardens, Lord Helvellyn and the Prince 
 lounged about the terrace and conservatory 
 the whole day. Iris reposing in her room, 
 Gwyneth running round the terraces, to 
 exercise herself and her pointers. My 
 father superintending the mighty prepara- 
 tions for the next day. Valerie and I 
 were specially charged with the flower de- 
 
LAMTA. 269 
 
 corations, which were to consist of a vast 
 profusion of garlands and festoons, to be 
 hung over the many arched doors and 
 windows of the Abbey. We had ransacked 
 the pleasure grounds for evergreens, with 
 which Valerie was gone laden into the house- 
 keeper's workroom to make them up, while 
 I had mounted the tubs of the tall orange- 
 trees in the conservatory, to gather their fruit 
 and flowers. 
 
 I was ensconced in a well-concealed, but 
 not very commodious position, between a 
 huge lemon-tree and a pomegranate, busily 
 engaged in selecting their brilliant flowers 
 and fragrant leaves for some purpose of deco- 
 ration, when two persons rather abruptly 
 entered the conservatory. I could not at the 
 moment very gracefully or safely jump down 
 
270 LAMIA. 
 
 from the tubs, on two of which, of unequal 
 heights, I was standing at once ; my hands 
 were also fuU, and I did not like to throw 
 away my beautiful bouquet. It was, con- 
 sequently, my involuntary fate to overhear a 
 conversation which was not intended for me, 
 which gave me no pleasure, but which I 
 could not safely interrupt. The speakers 
 proved to be Lord Helvellyn and the Russian 
 Prince. 
 
 " Well, Prince," the former began, " what 
 do you think of my folly now ? You always 
 used to tell me it was a great mistake in me 
 to think of marrying, and, I doubt not, you 
 have in your own mind thought me none the 
 wiser for marrying a country girl, even 
 though without merit and fortune. I have 
 hitherto led such a careless life, and have been 
 
LAMIA. 271 
 
 SO lucky, so easily pleased and self-satisfied in 
 every stage of it, that really when it came to 
 the pinch of matrimony, I did not give the 
 matter as much consideration as I shoiild 
 have done to a Beer BiU in the House of 
 Lords. And see how I am served, that is, 
 how I have served myself.'' 
 
 " I think I understand you, Milord," re- 
 plied the Prince. " I am sorry you should 
 do justice to my sagacity at the expense of 
 your own happiness ; but you know I foretold 
 how you would repent, though, of course, I 
 knew not the circumstances." 
 
 " Here am I," resumed Helvellyn, " mar- 
 ried, tied, nailed to that pretty little childish 
 paysanne, who is only suited to her native 
 wilds, and I am suddenly introduced to the 
 most divine specimen of woman's beauty I 
 
272 LAMIA. 
 
 have seen for years, and whom her excellent 
 father would have given me, with a superb 
 fortune to boot, had I had common patience 
 for myself, or decent gratitude to him, 
 who has been my greatest friend and be- 
 nefactor." 
 
 " Why you went to Wales for a wife," re- 
 joined the Prince, drily, " I never could 
 make out. For my part, if I marry when 
 I return home, I shall not seek a mate in 
 Siberia." 
 
 " It would have been better for Gwyneth 
 had she remained to frighten the goats upon 
 Carn-nan-billy with her pop-gun, which is as 
 much out of place in a Suffolk battue^ as it 
 would be in a Bohemian bear hunt. But Iris 
 is so cold, she is an abstract principle per- 
 sonified," said Helvellyn. 
 
LAMIA. 273 
 
 " Her statuesque beauty does not lose by 
 that in the eyes of artistic judges," said the 
 Prince, who was himself something of an 
 artiste, " but she will not be popular with 
 your young fashionables." 
 
 "Twenty thousand a year," said Hel- 
 vellyn. 
 
 " Cest assez/' replied the Prince. 
 
 " And there you are," continued Helvellyn, 
 " still a bachelor, quite at home in this 
 country, as you will be shortly in this friendly 
 and hospitable family, and Iris does not make 
 half the impression upon you that she does 
 upon me, who have sold my liberty for cer- 
 tain acres of Pen-y-Rhybon belonging to my 
 lady, whom they suit better than me," added 
 he, laughing. 
 
 " I prefer the young girl," quietly observed 
 the Prince, so quietly, that I suspected he 
 had an idea of somebody being within hear- 
 ing, though he could hardly have guessed the 
 young girl was in the orange-tree a few feet 
 from his elbow, in the corner of the conserva- 
 
 VOL, I. T 
 
274 LAMIA. 
 
 tory. " Is she, too, a fortune ? The delicate 
 Iris looks very likely to leave her sister with 
 one." 
 
 My attention was now roused to the ut- 
 most, and hardly breathing in my precarious 
 retreat, I waited and wondered, and wondered 
 and waited, for what was to follow. Taking 
 no notice of the latter disinterested remark of 
 Prince Demetrius, Lord Helvellyn laughed at 
 the idea of that passionate child, as he was 
 pleased to call me, though he could know 
 nothing of my temper but from report, being 
 compared with that Grecian goddess. Iris. 
 
 " How can you. Prince, be taken in by 
 that tawny-skinned little girl ? She has black 
 eyes, it is true, but we are used enough to 
 black eyes abroad, not to be fascinated by 
 them here, where they owe their success to 
 their rarity. Besides, she has a temper, I'll 
 answer for it, and temper always repels me, 
 though it strangely stimulates others. My 
 opinion of Miss Lamia is, that she will play 
 a game some day of which I should have no 
 ambition to be the victim."^ 
 
LAMIA. 275 
 
 Deeply did his words sink into my soul ; 
 I trembled with a new and unaccountable 
 agitation as I hung by the branches of the 
 trees, nearly discovering myself at the same 
 time. Those words, that voice, that proud 
 demeanour, that remark that showed he 
 had observed me, but which betrayed that he 
 thought lowly of me, all tended to electrify 
 me, and, at the same moment, I made a 
 secret resolve that, whether Lord Helvellyn's 
 words proved true or not, he should not Hve 
 without knowing something of the passionate 
 girl, and the temper he was pleased to endow 
 me with. 
 
 Fortunately for my security, the two gen- 
 tlemen, tired of pacing the conservatory, 
 went out to take their horses for a canter 
 through Rainham Park. I hastened to free 
 myself from my ambuscade, and ran off to 
 my chamber, bolted the door, and sat down 
 to reflect, if such a term can be applied to 
 my passionate feelings. 
 
 I saw myself noticed, blamed, or at least 
 disapproved, by the man by whom, of all 
 
276 LAMIA. 
 
 others, I most wished to be thought pleasing. 
 I felt attracted, yet repulsed ; for, with all his 
 severe remarks, there was nothing unkind 
 in manner, and as they retired I heard him 
 say : " Any child of Rainham's must have 
 something distinguished about her, and 
 Lamia is like her mother, too, who would 
 have been perfect, had it not been for her 
 religion." 
 
 I heard no further, but these last words 
 were a balm to my wounded soul, or rather 
 to my self-love, of which, at that age, 1 had 
 a larger proportion. I shall say no more 
 on this subject, as subsequent events will 
 sufficiently develop all the consequences 
 which that day's little adventure led to. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. 
 
THE 
 
 WIDOWED BRIDE 
 
 LAMIA. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT-MARLBOROUGH-STREET. 
 
 1851. 
 
LAMIA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Meanwhile the day sinks fast, the sun is set, 
 And in the lighted hall the guests are met ; 
 The beautiful looked lovelier in the light 
 Of love, and admiration, and delight. 
 Reflected from a thousand hearts and eyes. 
 Kindling a momentary paradise !'* 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 " The broad and yellow moon 
 Shone dimly on her form — 
 That form of faultless symmetry. 
 
 '^'Twas not an earthly pageant. 
 Those who had looked upon the sight, 
 VOL. II. B 
 
 /■' 
 
LAMIA. 
 
 Passing all human glory, 
 Saw not the yellow moon. 
 Saw not the mortal scene ; 
 Heard not the night-winds rush. 
 Heard not the earthly sound. 
 Saw hut the fairy pageant. 
 Heard but the heavenly strains 
 That filled the lonely dwelling." 
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 At last the birthday, for which there had 
 been such great preparation, arrived. The 
 usual arrangements on such occasions took 
 up the whole morning. Nothing of note oc- 
 curred till your carriage, Henry, drove up to 
 the door. I was sitting with Iris and my 
 father at the time, the other gentlemen 
 having walked out to give their opinion as to 
 certain triumphal arches, festoons of laurel, 
 
LAMIA. 3 
 
 &c., which were to decorate that portion of 
 the park where tables were laid for the te- 
 nantry, while Gwyneth, who fancied she 
 understood gunpowder, was gone to the keeper 
 who superintended the feu d' artifice. 
 
 Your carriage drove up, Henry, and you 
 were announced. Never shall I forget the 
 blush, the smile, that animated the coun- 
 tenance of Iris at that moment. You too 
 were, as I thought, under the influence of 
 some emotion as you walked up to Iris, and 
 cordially, though rather solemnly, gave her 
 your congratulations on the day, and good 
 wishes for the future. 
 
 My father, who himself showed unusual 
 symptoms of nervousness on the occasion, 
 
 B 2 
 
4 LAMIA. 
 
 immediately hurried you off into his sitting- 
 room, where you were a long time in con- 
 sultation. 
 
 In that conversation, as I afterwards un- 
 derstood, permission was given to you to 
 marry Iris, my father having no longer much 
 doubt, since the marriage and appearance of 
 Lord Helvellyn, of her preference for you. 
 What else passed, or what you may have said, 
 I know not. 
 
 The evening came, company came with it, 
 the Abbey was decked, the Lady of the Feast 
 was there. Very few persons had been in- 
 vited to stay in the house, owing to the desire 
 to keep Iris quiet before the day of fatigue. 
 My father and I, therefore, were first ready to 
 receive the guests. 
 
LAMIA. 5 
 
 The great baronial hall, long disused for 
 reception, had been tastefully fitted up with 
 light and gay wreaths of flowers, among 
 which maiden's-blush roses were predomi- 
 nant. These were backed by evergreens, in 
 which were suspended coloured lamps. Gilt 
 Gothic screens of open tracery were placed 
 in front, and the noble roof of dark oak, 
 emblazoned with family escutcheons, rose 
 above the whole in majestic solemnity. 
 
 The music was stationed in a lofty gallery, 
 formerly, as it was said, appropriated to nuns 
 alone. My father was very much pleased at 
 the contrast, and said that if he had kept 
 the priests there, his two girls woidd now 
 have been nuns, or nearly so, mournfully se- 
 
6 LAMIA. 
 
 eluded in that gallery instead of mingling 
 joyfully in the dance beneath it. I must say 
 the scenic effect was beautiful. 
 
 The hour for the ball had now struck, and 
 my father led Iris and me into the hall where 
 the company were assembled. We were 
 dressed alike in the richest white lace, a cir- 
 cumstance which seemed to cause much 
 greater pleasure to all the country ladies 
 around us than to ourselves. We had, 
 indeed, both of us a taste, a true feeling of 
 the beautiful in every branch of work or art, 
 but as fine dresses, the richest manufactures 
 were comparatively lost upon us. Iris had 
 been that day presented by her father with a 
 coronet of diamond stars in allusion to her 
 
LAMIA. 7 
 
 favourite study, which she wore in her hair 
 that night. Her heauty set off by this mag- 
 nificent but appropriate style of ornament, 
 shone brighter than ever ; and I look back to 
 the festivity of that day, the taste and not 
 exaggerated splendour which presided over 
 it, the venerable appearance of that vaulted 
 hall, the graceful form of Iris, and the noble 
 bearing of my father, Helvellyn, Menzikoff, 
 and the guests assembled, as one of the most 
 striking scenes I remember in my life. 
 
 But the lovely complexion of my sister, 
 heightened by the occasion, and flurried as 
 she was by your arrival, betrayed signs of 
 weakness too perceptible. She was ordered 
 by the physicians on no account to dance; 
 
S LAMIA. 
 
 she sat as the presiding divinity in whose 
 honour the feast had been provided in a 
 temple worthy of her. You, Henry, I re- 
 member, were most attentive to her, though 
 you cast one glance of passionate regret on 
 me, which I shall never cease to remember. 
 It was reproof, reproach, and anxiety com- 
 bined ; I answered it by asking you to waltz, 
 which you declined. 
 
 My thoughts were not left long un- 
 employed, for Lord Helvellyn soon ap- 
 proached me, and, not less to my surprise 
 than gratification, asked me to waltz with 
 him. I immediately stood up and suffered 
 myself to be led into the magic circle where 
 I was now for the first time in public to 
 
LAMIA. 5^ 
 
 thread the mazes of the dance with a partner 
 not indifferent to me. He waltzed beau- 
 tifully with all the foreign ease and grace and 
 perfect time, free from the affectation so often 
 seen in English waltzing. No jerks, no 
 jumps, nothing but the smoothest glide led 
 us through the circling dance ; always in time, 
 always in place, the clockwork movement 
 brought us true to our post with the 
 music. 
 
 Helvellyn, after some civil, but indifferent 
 words, left me for the side of Iris. He had, 
 indeed, talked to me of her during the whole 
 dance. 
 
 " There she sits," said he, " like the Queen 
 of Night, resplendent in her icy charms. No 
 
10 LAMIA. 
 
 poet could dream of a superior being to Iris, 
 could he cause one to descend 
 
 "From the celestial orb to gratify 
 His wildest longings." 
 
 I had no reason to be dissatisfied with the 
 share of general attention I received. My 
 jealousy of Iris was in no degree excited by 
 her superior beauty, her fortune, or position 
 as heiress ; those vulgar notions had no 
 place in my heart. I was content she should 
 have the share of attention and regard she 
 was confessedly entitled to, but I could not 
 see with indifference the too exclusive assidu- 
 ities of Helvellyn directed to her. Gwyneth 
 appeared not to notice them at all, but danced 
 
LAMIA. 11 
 
 gaily the whole night, and was, perhaps, the 
 happiest of the happy there. If I had 
 wanted attentions, the courtly Prince Deme- 
 trius, and two friends he had introduced, 
 the young Princes RomanzofF, from London, 
 would have sufficed. They were incessantly 
 complimenting me on something or other; 
 my dancing, my dress, my lace, in which 
 they were perfect connoisseurs, and even the 
 red camellias in my dark hair did not escape 
 without their share of admiration from these 
 practised flatterers. No Englishman would 
 have said, or, perhaps thought, half as much. 
 Prince Demetrius hegan, in earnest, to 
 show that his opinion of me, which I had 
 accidentally learnt while up in the orange-tree. 
 
1 2 LAMIA. 
 
 was really one of great admiration and devo- 
 tion. He said he hoped to pass much time 
 in England ; that Russia was a fine country 
 to belong to, not to inhabit ; ending, of 
 course, with the magnanimity of the Emperor, 
 and the offer of procuring me a splendid 
 cachemire, to be ordered expressly for me in 
 Tartary. He had the good taste to say 
 nothing of my sister this time, and I declined 
 his Oriental present as much too fine for me 
 yet. The ball passed off beautifully, without 
 accidents or contretems whatever. 
 
 Gwyneth danced her hair out of curl, and 
 childishly went and asked her husband to 
 waltz with her, when seated by the side of 
 Iris. He laughed at her simplicity, and told 
 
LAMIA. 13 
 
 her it was time for her to go to bed, and not 
 sit up so late. 
 
 Supper was at length announced, and we 
 proceeded to take our places with our last 
 partners. Mine was the moustachioed Prince 
 Athanasius Romanzoff, with whom I seated 
 myself at the long table, which had been laid 
 out in the picture-gallery. The supper was 
 most beautifully arranged, flowers, fruit, 
 evergreens, gold and silver plate, were in 
 profusion, and the music playing " Mendoza's 
 Farewell to Rainham," now brought out for 
 the first time, resounded with great eflect 
 through the long suite of apartments. 
 
 I happened to sit exactly opposite the 
 Spanish portrait, whose likeness to Helvellyn 
 
14 LAMIA. 
 
 was so striking as to be remarked by every- 
 body. He himself sat next to Iris, and on 
 my side of the board, so that I was fain to be 
 content with the antedated copy in place of 
 the living original. 
 
 After Iris's health had been unanimously 
 given and responded to, you, Henry, recited 
 those verses which I so well remember, from 
 the pathos and deep feeling with which you 
 pronounced them : 
 
 " Fair Queen of all this joyous festal sight. 
 Thy happy father's fond and dear delight, 
 "We pledge thy name on this thy natal night, 
 With many an aspiration warm and bright. 
 Quaffing the rose- crowned goblet bath'd in light. 
 Bearing thy name, sweet Iris ! 
 
LAMIA. 1 5 
 
 " With many a rainbow promise deck'd we twine 
 The votive tribute, and our hearts incline. 
 Filling the flowing cup with ruby wine ; 
 Hymning the best and fairest of her line. 
 Wise in her goodness, in her charms divine. 
 The lovely, gifted Iris ! 
 
 *' And is this all those star-lit eyes inspire. 
 Have I no deeper tone, no feeling higher. 
 To blend with accents trembhng on my lyre ? 
 Yes, by that maiden grace, that vestal fire. 
 There is a hope to which I dare aspire ; 
 A tender hope, a calm and true desire ; 
 And while I breathe it, seems an angel choir 
 Might echo back the strain 
 That bears thy charmed name. 
 My Iris!" 
 
 There is no sentiment so deceitful as that 
 
1 6 LAMIA. 
 
 which prompts us to venture to look forward 
 into futurity, not in behalf of our own selfish 
 interests or desires, but in that of those to 
 whom we wish weU. When can such feel- 
 ings, to all human understanding, be more 
 indulged than on the eve of the entrance of a 
 young and gifted creature into the full enjoy- 
 ment of her station in this world, when the 
 hardest heart could not prognosticate aught 
 but happiness to the fair being, whose 
 bright fortunes seemed already traced out j 
 
 for her? ^ 
 
 I 
 We were doomed to witness a terrible ex- j 
 
 ample of the vanity of human wishes. \ 
 
 Scarcely had our cousin ceased, with tears in ; 
 
 his eyes from the emotion he sincerely felt in j 
 
LAMIA. 17 
 
 pouring forth his wishes for the future long 
 life and happiness of my sister, when poor 
 Iris, the object of this naturally expressed 
 tribute of affection, suddenly turned deadly 
 pale, and fainted in the arms of my father. 
 Weakened as her constitution was, she was 
 unable to stand the great and unaccustomed 
 fatigue of the evening ; her affection for our 
 fond father had made her over-exert herself, 
 and the effort was too much for her. 
 
 There was a beauty in her even as she 
 sank back in her chair, which was in the very 
 moment of insensibility more striking than 
 when in the full vigour of health. The dis- 
 may of the whole company may be better 
 imagined than described. My father carried 
 
 VOL. IL C 
 
18 LAML/U 
 
 her in his arms to her chamber. I followed 
 with Valerie and Madame de Vlotho. 
 
 By the way, I heard the noise of the de- 
 parting carriages, the sad but commonplace 
 condolences of the guests, whose sincerity, 
 however, was not to be doubted. On such 
 occasions, the plainest and least expressive 
 words often cover the most heartfelt commi- 
 seration. 
 
 We afterwards found that Lord Helvellyn 
 had hastened to the stable, seized his horse, 
 and galloped to the nearest town, whence he 
 proceeded straight to London, and returned 
 the next day to Rainham, with the first phy- 
 sician of the metropolis. 
 
 His arrival was at first a great relief to my 
 
LAMIA. 19 
 
 father, whose active temperament did not 
 well bear suspense on any subject ; but the 
 
 opinion which Dr. pronounced, after 
 
 having twice visited the sick chamber, though 
 not decisive, was little calculated to raise his 
 spirits. Poor Dr. Buchanan, who felt the 
 illness of his favourite pupil quite as one of 
 the family, sat bewildered at her door all 
 day, incessantly asking for news of the poor 
 patient. 
 
 You, Henry, were grave and sad, helping 
 and assisting every one, but carefully avoid- 
 ing me. 
 
 Iris revived deceitfully for a time, but re- 
 mained confined to her own apartment. 
 
 I took my turn, with the rest of the family, 
 
 c 2 
 
20 LAMIA. 
 
 in watching by my sister, and offering the 
 trifling helps that any one is equal to by the 
 side of a suffering patient ; but, on my con- 
 fession, I am bound to say that my heart 
 was not with her. I tended her kindly be- 
 cause she was ill, not because she was my 
 sister; and I look back to that period of 
 mixed and bad feeling with more remorse 
 than to any period of my life. 
 
LAMIA. 21 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 •' Hath then the gloomy power. 
 Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres, 
 Seized on her sinless soul ? 
 Must then that peerless form 
 Which love and admiration cannot view 
 Without a beating heart, those azure veins 
 Which steal like streams along a field of snow. 
 That lovely outline which is fair 
 As breathing marble, perish ?'* 
 
 What softer voice is hushed o'er the dead ? 
 Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown ? 
 
22 LAMIA. 
 
 What forms leans sadly o'er the white death-bed. 
 
 In mockery of monumental stone, 
 
 The heavy heart heaving without a moan ? 
 
 If it be He, who, gentlest of the wise. 
 
 Taught, soothed, loved, honour' d the departed one ; 
 
 Let me not vex, with inharmonious sighs. 
 
 The silence of that heart's accepted sacrifice." 
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 One afternoon I went as usual to see her, 
 and found my father sitting by her side, and 
 holding her hand. His suddenly aged and 
 careworn look made a deep impression on 
 me : I then saw what affection suffers, when 
 real care works upon a parent's heart. 
 Henry, who had been sitting on the other side, 
 put down a book out of which he had been 
 reading to her, and left the room. Iris then 
 
LAMIA. 23 
 
 faintly asked to be left a short time alone with 
 me. My father quitted her with a sigh, 
 iis if he knew what was about to follow. 
 
 When we were left alone, Iris, \yhose cheek 
 was paler than before, except the hectic spot, 
 which was therefore only the more apparent, 
 slowly, but with a resolute effort, extended 
 her now emaciated arms, and clasped me to 
 her bosom. 
 
 Overcoming with difficulty a feeble sob, 
 which threatened to stop her first words, she 
 said, in a low voice : " Lamia, dear Lamia, 
 hear me," and paused as if to avoid a cough. 
 I, who had entered the room unconcernedly, 
 and quite unprepared for any unusual scene, 
 beyond the necessary symptoms of her 
 
^4 LAMIA. 
 
 malady, was struck to the heart by the 
 solemnity of this appeal. I, who seldom 
 trembled, shook with the apprehension natural 
 to a conscience already sore with its own 
 reflections. 
 
 When I had a little recovered myself (for 
 at that moment I was the less mistress of my- 
 self of the two)^ I sat quietly down by my 
 sister's bedside, and listened with the most 
 earnest attention that I could command 
 to her faltering and impressive words. 
 
 " Lamia, we are about to part ; and I could 
 neither quit this world in peace myself, nor, I 
 am sure, leave you at ease in it without one 
 word that must be spoken. Stay — think not to 
 soothe me by vain hopes of recovery — ray 
 
LAMIA. 25 
 
 mind is made up ; I have no regrets, no cares, 
 nothing more to think of in this life, save 
 my father and yourself, dear sister. 
 
 " It has been clear to me, but not, I hope, 
 to others, that you have till now^ (but not 
 now, I trust, dear Lamia,) been too much 
 estranged from me to fill that void, which an 
 only sister alone can fill, and which our dear- 
 est mother, as I well remember, though you 
 cannot. Lamia, foresaw that our disparity of 
 age must tend to create, should there not 
 spring up between us that affection which 
 she desired, but, alas ! did not live to culti- 
 vate. I was too much your senior for childish 
 fellowship, not too much so for the com- 
 panionship of our late years, had the bond of 
 
26 LAMIA. 
 
 intimacy subsisted between us. I have ever 
 reproached myself as your elder sister for not 
 having bent myself and my inclinations to- 
 wards you, for not having to my own satis- 
 faction supplied the mother's place we both, 
 but chiefly you, wanted. If it is my fault, 
 certainly not from want of thought (for days 
 and nights have I passed in thinking of you), 
 may Heaven forgive me ! I am ready to 
 accuse myself for neglect of you, but I fondly 
 thought you inwardly knew my affection for 
 you. 
 
 "I saw — I could not but see — your growing 
 love for Henry. Yes, Lamia, I will not now 
 reproach you, Henry was your object, and he 
 will now soon be yours. Be happy, love him 
 
LAMIA. 27 
 
 as I love him, love him for my sake. I know 
 your temper, I feel how difficult it will be for 
 you to go through life without a guide. May 
 God in heaven bless you both ! As I love and 
 freely forgive you, I say no more, nor have I 
 said this even to my father. For your own 
 sake, dear Lamia, put away from your heart 
 the gnawing, cankering worm of jealousy, 
 which poisons every relation of life, and makes 
 the most gifted mind a prey to suspicion and 
 remorse." 
 
 Exhausted by the effort. Iris once more 
 held out her arms to me, and then sank 
 heavily on the pillow. Every word she had 
 spoken had been a dagger to my conscience, 
 and the present confused state of my own 
 
28 LAMIA. 
 
 feelings rendered it utterly impossible for me 
 to reply to the effusions of her generous and 
 forgiving heart. After a pause, broken only 
 by my sobs, she resumed : 
 
 ** Dear Lamia, dear sister, let these last 
 words serve to make you remember me when 
 I am gone ; be still and ever kind to our dear- 
 est father, and you, in the many paths of 
 error to which you will be exposed, think of 
 your poor Iris, and let her voice recall you 
 from them ; think that you are obeying our 
 mother, who is in heaven, whose holy religion 
 alone will sustain you as it has done me." 
 
 She laid her hand gently on my mother's 
 crucifix, which lay always beside her, and would 
 make me kiss it. Nor did I refuse the test, 
 
liAMIA. 29 
 
 from my heart, full at that moment, I accepted 
 it, but the prophetic words of Iris sank deep 
 into my heart. Full of the most poignant 
 remorse, and struck dumb with a sudden 
 sense of my inferiority to the angelic creature 
 now ready to meet the Creator, I could only 
 seize her hand which held the holy symbol and 
 bedew it with my tears. Never shall I forget 
 that emaciated hand, that placid countenance, 
 that sharply chiselled brow, which resembled 
 more nearly a Grecian recumbent statue 
 than aught in life ; the beautiful eyes alone 
 retained their fire, and pierced with no un- 
 kindly meaning, but with the truthful ex- 
 pression of a sincere affection, my inmost 
 soul. 
 
30 LAMIA. 
 
 In the last stages of bodily disorder, but 
 when the mind retains its wonted strength, 
 the eye and mouth alone serve to convey the 
 mental impressions of one human being to 
 another. In that sad hour, the will has lost 
 its power over the muscles : no command of 
 expression in the features remains ; and the 
 anxious eye, when the voice is near extinc- 
 tion, continues to be the sole medium be- 
 tween the intellect of the dying and the living. 
 Then, in those dread moments, is the human 
 face indeed divine ; resuming the innocent 
 character of infancy, as if about to launch 
 into the childhood of another existence. 
 Such was then Iris ; such is she now, as she 
 nightly appears to my troubled spirit, to 
 
LAMIA. 31 
 
 watch over me, to warn me, to protect 
 me. 
 
 After touching the crucifix, I remember 
 no more : a sudden fiery pang darted through 
 my brain, with agony such as I never had 
 felt before, though, alas ! it has many times 
 assailed me in after years. I felt not as one 
 fainting, not convulsed, but as if my reason 
 was sensibly and materially torn from my 
 splitting head by some demoniac power, far 
 past any mortal effort to control, and I sank 
 senseless. 
 
 What next happened I know not, only 
 from the report of Valerie, who, with Eloise, 
 my sister's devoted maid, removed me to 
 my room. I had heard the last words of 
 
32 LAMIA. 
 
 Iris ; my reason had temporarily, but entirely, 
 left me. How long I continued in that 
 woeful state, I know not ; but I fancy some 
 days — an age — had past before I woke to 
 consciousness. What a waking ! Those only 
 who have been conscious of that aberration 
 of reason, to which all may be subject, can 
 conceive it. 
 
 On first recovering from my state of mental 
 vacancy, my strongest feeling was that of 
 extreme bewilderment : I knew" not where I 
 was, or what had happened. This soon gave 
 way to an unaccountable nervous sensation of 
 joy and happiness at something I could not 
 explain to myself, and which, as often as I 
 taxed my weakened nerves for a solution. 
 
( 
 
 LAMIA. 33 
 
 threw me back into a stunning insensibility. 
 I now believe that it was nothing but the 
 obscure consciousness of having passed from a 
 condition of excruciating bodily suffering and 
 mental misery, to that negative state in which 
 absence of pain is positive pleasure. The 
 first thing on which my shattered intellect 
 was capable of fixing an observation, was 
 the extreme — I have no right to say unusual 
 • — kindness and anxious attention shown to 
 me by all around me : my every motion was 
 watched ; I was scarcely suffered to touch 
 anything to serve myself ; my father was, or 
 seemed, constantly near me, with his earnest 
 but haggard look ; Valerie and Madame de 
 Vlotho were ever at my side. It seemed a 
 VOL. n. D 
 
34 LAMIA. 
 
 constant object with them to prevent my 
 wishes, and to soothe and keep me quiet as a 
 child ; my father looked constantly and kindly 
 on me, but never spoke. I thought I saw 
 other faces, but they never spoke. I 
 thought I saw the distant and the 
 dead, but they never spoke. Valerie was 
 the only one whose voice I heard or re- 
 cognised. I was not able to reflect ; I saw, 
 I felt, but I forgot instantly the passing scene. 
 I saw you all, in imagination, huddled to- 
 gether: Heaven knows who were or were 
 not there — perhaps none were real except 
 Valerie. I was weak — I was low indeed. 
 
 How often, in the pride of mind and of 
 science, have I suddenly been cast down in 
 
LAMIA. 35 
 
 after-times, by the simple and involuntary 
 recollection of that awful period of my life. 
 Whenever those peculiar pangs shoot through 
 my head, I shudder, lest a ren^ewal of those 
 days should be in store forme. ' ■ - . ; 
 
 Had I been myself, I should have re^ 
 marked the absence of Eloise from the 
 women who so affectionately tended me, but 
 I only thought of it, fortunately, when I was 
 strong enoiagh to hear the cause. 
 
 I will not prolong the narrative of those 
 dark days : suffice it to say that more than a 
 week elapsed before I was able to ask a ques- 
 tion. In nothing had my kind attendants' 
 care been more conspicuous than in their 
 evident determination never to ask me a 
 
 D 2 
 
36 LAMIA. 
 
 question while in the state I have described. 
 They did everything for me : they listened 
 patiently to my incoherent whispers; they 
 kissed my burning forehead till I slept, ad- 
 dressed me with kind words when I awoke, 
 but never fatigued my broken mind with a 
 question. To a wounded intellect, what un- 
 speakable effort it is to frame the simplest 
 answer ! On looking back, I may say that 
 my dear and affectionate nurses treated me as 
 softly and as tenderly as if I were almost in a 
 state of incipient insanity. Oh ! what then 
 must be the reality of that awfiil visitation of 
 mankind ! 
 
 At last, one day, I saw the well-known 
 face of Eloise in my room, bathed in tears. 
 
LAMIA. 37 
 
 Madame de Vlotho was evidently holding her 
 back, and trying to prevent her from speaking 
 to me. Endued with unusual strength, I rose 
 up, and, supported by Valerie, slowly went 
 towards her, and then fixing my eyes upon 
 her weeping countenance, I endeavoured to 
 speak. I could not articulate one word. 
 My effort had, however, given me confidence 
 in showing that I possessed more bodily 
 strength than I or my attendants anticipated, 
 so they did not further interfere with me. 
 Eloise understood me, and, with admirable 
 presence of mind, hastily threw a warm 
 mantle round me, looked inquiringly at me 
 through her tears, and pointed to the door. 
 My heart sank as I motioned her to conduct 
 
38 LAMIA. 
 
 me towards it. She had, I am sure, come 
 prepared, and therefore lost no time in 
 seizing my present moment of resolution, lest 
 it might fail ; and saying in my ear : " Come !" 
 her tears broke out afresh — but she still went 
 on. I throbbed all over, but I went with 
 her. 
 
 I knew, I felt — though none had told me 
 — that at my last interview with Iris, I had 
 seen her for the last time in life. I had heard 
 her last connected words, for though she 
 lingered, as I afterwards heard, a few days 
 longer, she scarcely spoke. She was only 
 heard to utter the names, from time to time, 
 of "Father! Henry! Lamia!*' but Lamia 
 had been the very last. 
 
L\MIA. 39 
 
 Thus instinctively prepared, by a violent 
 and continued effort, I reached the door of 
 my poor sister's apartment, when I was 
 nearly overcome by one of those accidental 
 contretems which do sometimes happen, and 
 which, though usually trifles, cut to the very 
 soul. Hanging against the door was the very 
 Iris-wreath that Henry had presented, with 
 those fatal lines, on the birth-night of her 
 whose earthly beauty was indeed dissipated 
 like the rainbow, to which he had compared 
 her. 
 
 Sick at heart, I pressed forward, lest I 
 should never get there, supported by Eloise, 
 and followed, unknown to me, by my attached 
 Swiss maid, Marie, who was aware what 
 
40 LAMIA. 
 
 awaited me within. At first, my eyes, dim, 
 but not then with tears, saw nothing but my 
 father, seated, his hair whitened, his look 
 fixed. 
 
 " He has never moved from her all night," 
 said Eloise, in a low voice. 
 
 My eyes seemed to open suddenly, and 
 stretch, so as to take in at once a whole scene 
 of things that, at my first entrance, had cer- 
 tainly not been imaged in my sight. Instantly 
 I became aware that I was — I can hardly say 
 standing, but present, in a room but too 
 fi'eshly remembered, by the side of my sor- 
 rowing father — at the foot of my sister's 
 coffin. 
 
 What a blow is the first certainty — the sad 
 
LAMIA. 41 
 
 reality of death ! No sooner had that cer- 
 tainty flashed across my mind, than I sank in 
 anguish at my father's knees, and embraced 
 them, sobbing, and hiding my face in my 
 hands. His grief was silent and overwhelm- 
 ing, and, indeed, beyond the stage of passion- 
 ate excitement. 
 
 He was roused, and kindly lifting me up, 
 he pressed an affectionate kiss on my fore- 
 head, and tried in vain to say something. At 
 that moment I caught the first view of my 
 poor sister's cold, inanimate face. Lying 
 shrouded in her coffin, she looked so calm, so 
 peaceful, that her expressive, but marble 
 features seemed to say, and say to me, un- 
 mistakably : 
 
42 LAMIA. 
 
 "My spirit hath found the wings of a 
 dove ; now have I flown away, and am at 
 rest!" 
 
 Her lovely eyes were closed in death, her 
 fair hair parted and wrapt in linen, but decked 
 by the fond hand of Eloise with the melan- 
 choly but simple ornaments of the dead. A 
 garland of pure white flowers lay on her brow, 
 the crown of virgin immortality. Pure white 
 flowers lay scattered in her coffin, and this 
 pious foreign custom, not quite disused in 
 England, was never more solemnly appro- 
 priate. 
 
 I summoned courage enough to kiss, a last 
 time, the pale brow, and then thought I saw 
 the death-smile on her lips. The burning 
 
LAMIA. 43 
 
 pang shot through my brain like an avenging 
 sword, and the thought that I could never 
 more, in this world, repair my injustice to my 
 sister, or show my penitence, struck me to 
 the earth. 
 
 I was conveyed insensible to my own 
 room by Eloise and Marie, and there did I 
 long lie on the bed of sickness, a victim as 
 before to racking pains of mind and body. I 
 will not give you a repetition of my 
 symptoms ; enough to know that, after some 
 weeks, youth and constitation brought me 
 round. 
 
 The same care was bestowed upon me : 
 my father found his mind best occupied in 
 attending to me ; and as I grew better, I 
 
44 LAMIA. 
 
 devoted myself, according to my sister's 
 wishes, to him exclusively. It was long 
 before I was allowed to touch music for fear 
 of bringing back my nervous pains, but at 
 last I tried and found benefit from it. It 
 pleased my father, and it soothed me; for 
 though it be true that the musical tempera- 
 ment is irritable in an extreme degree, yet 
 the practice of music relieves, by giving a 
 scope to, the irritation. 
 
 You were there, attentive to my father, 
 kind but distant to me ; you were everything 
 that is good, but you were no longer to me 
 what you. had been. O, Iris ! had you 
 known the state of my heart I Yet it would 
 have embittered your last moments to have 
 
LAMIA. 45 
 
 been aware that the Henry you were leaving 
 to me, was nothing to me. 
 
 My heart, I blush to say, was already 
 irrecoverably lost, and you, Henry, if not 
 quite ignorant of that, were at least not a 
 little indisposed towards him who had won 
 it. 
 
 The example of my sister's holy end had 
 wrought a strong impression on my under- 
 standing, and I saw clearly that her religious 
 feelings had sustained her, as they had my 
 mother, in the hour of death. I was, there- 
 fore, more nearly good at that period than at 
 any other of my life. But it was only imita- 
 tion, feeling and sensibiHty that acted on me : 
 my future life will but too plainly show 
 
46 LAMIA, 
 
 the weakness of my then sincere resolu- 
 tions. 
 
 On ray recovery, I heard that Lord and 
 Lady Helvellyn and Prince Demetrius had 
 left Rainham a day or two after my sister's 
 first illness ; Lord Helvellyn, in utter despair 
 at leaving that almost perfect being, whose 
 perpetual dignity of manner as well as solid 
 understanding and accomplishments reminded 
 him too forcibly of the mistake he had made 
 in throwing himself away on an inferior 
 though amiable person. And poor Gwyneth 
 also, who came so artless, so innocently 
 happy to my father's house, how did she 
 leav-e it ? With floods of tears, the reason of 
 which was, perhaps, not very clearly explained 
 
LAMIA. 47 
 
 even to herself. She kissed my poor father 
 like a child. I believe she came to take leave 
 of me, but beyond seeing her image dimly 
 and confusedly flitting before me with the 
 crowd of other and less welcon>e faces that 
 haunted my imagination during my wretched 
 illness, I have not any recollection of her 
 presence at that period. She was warmly 
 attached to me: our minds were certainlv 
 cast in a different mould, but not for that 
 less suited to each other ; our warm and un- 
 schooled hearts were both equally open to 
 strong and generous impressions ; we enjoyed 
 liberty whether for galloping over the plain 
 or for the free intercourse of ideas ; in which, 
 however, I was the mistress,, she the pupil. 
 
48 LAMIA. 
 
 Poor Gwyneth, perhaps she already foresaw 
 that her husband's heart might not always be 
 her own ; his adoration of Iris had been too 
 apparent for her to be quite blind to it ; but 
 she had not penetration to guess who was 
 destined hereafter to deprive her of it. 
 
 You were advised to go back to college to 
 take your degree of M.A., preparatory to 
 orders, for the purpose of becoming curate of 
 the living of which you are now rector. No inti- 
 macy, no liking, had sprung up between Lord 
 Helvellyn and yourself He could not be 
 jealous of your unavowed attachment to me, 
 though perhaps he might have been of that 
 borne by Iris to you. Both of you were self- 
 willed, proud, and resolute in your determi- 
 
LAMIA. 49 
 
 nations, therefore it is no wonder that, with 
 totally different characters, you could not 
 associate. 
 
 Lord Helvellyn's departure had been 
 hastened by his sudden recall to his embassy, 
 
 at the Court of D— , where state affairs 
 
 imperiously demanded his attention. He did 
 not leave England without writing in terms 
 of the most affectionate sympathy, and 
 strongly inviting my father, whose melan- 
 choly bereavement excited his deepest pity, 
 
 to visit him at D , an invitation which I 
 
 learnt with the greatest satisfaction, and which 
 contributed not a little to my recovery. My 
 father's failing health, indeed, required 
 some such cha%e of scene to relieve his 
 
 VOL. II. E 
 
50 LAMIA. 
 
 affliction, which time rather increased than 
 diminished. The only solace he seemed ta 
 find was in the occupation resulting from the 
 erection of a monument to the memory of his 
 beloved Iris, 
 
 The funeral had been conducted with the 
 greatest privacy, both on account of my 
 illness, and of the total inability of my father 
 to attend to any such misplaced and melan- 
 choly pomp as some persons would have sug- 
 gested to him in his sorrow. I had, in con- 
 sequence, been left in ignorance of the 
 time when it took place, and of every circum- 
 stance connected with it, nor did I know the 
 place of my sister's tomb. It was, I found 
 afterwards, erected by the side of that of our 
 mother, and consisted of an equally beautiful 
 
LAMIA. 51 
 
 ^nd chaste composition, representing the airj' 
 flight of a liberated soul, under the form of 
 an angel, winging her way to heaven upon a 
 rainbow. A pathetic but simple inscription 
 of a few lines served to commemorate with 
 truth the virtues of the departed. My heart 
 was with the work, but my feelings were too 
 acute to be transmitted with works of taste 
 connected with a sister whose loss I felt so 
 keenly. 
 
 Madame de Vlotho went home to her 
 friends in her native countryj a deep and 
 lasting sorrow for the death of her beloved 
 pupil causing her a delicacy .of health from 
 which I heard she never subsequently re- 
 covered. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 lAMIA. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 " Haec prseter, motus animorum ; et corde re- 
 postos exprimere affectus, paucisque coloribus ipsam. 
 Pingere posse animam, atque oculis praebere viden- 
 dam. Hoc opus, hie labor est Pauci, quos aequus 
 amavit Jupiter aut ardens evexit ad sethera virtus. 
 Dis similes, potuere manu miracula tanta." 
 
 DU FRESNO y's ART OF PAINTING. 
 
 *^ Here thy well- study' d marbles fix our eye, 
 A fading fresco here demands a sigh, 
 Each heav'nly piece unwearied we compare, 
 Match Raphael's grace, with thy lov'd Guide's air. 
 
LAMIA. S^ 
 
 Caracci's strength, Coreggio's softer line ; 
 Paulo's free stroke, and Titian's warmth divine." 
 
 POPE. 
 
 There are few minds strong enough to be 
 insensible to the influence of a total change 
 of scene and of external circumstances. I do 
 not allude to changes of fortune, but to those 
 of country, society, or friends, which occur to 
 every one more than once in their lives, but 
 which often pass unnoticed, even by those in 
 whom such vicissitudes work the greatest 
 alterations. If any class of minds be cal- 
 culated to resist the slow and silent muta- 
 tions of character and opinion, which are 
 likely to take place when surrounded by per- 
 sons and things entirely new, and open to 
 
54 LAMIA. 
 
 ideas captivating from their very boldness 
 and dissimilarity to all that previous expe- 
 rience has warranted, it is certainly not the 
 class of minds appertaining to rather forward 
 girls of seventeen, to which happy but 
 visionary portion of the species I then be- 
 longed. 
 
 My illness, from which I but slowly re- 
 covered, acting upon a naturally nervous and 
 excitable temperament, but little restrained 
 by mental discipline, had left me in a state of 
 feverish susceptibility to all new impressions. 
 My father's health began also gradually to 
 decline ; and after a seizure which had some 
 tendency to paralysis, he was advised to try 
 the effect of travellings with the occasional 
 
LAMIA. 55 
 
 use of some foreign waters. This, and the 
 very slow progress of my recovery, sent us 
 abroad, a step as ill-advised for me as it was 
 well-advised for him. 
 
 Our plans were soon made. Rainham, 
 though I dearly loved the place, had latterly 
 been the scene of such melancholy events, 
 that I was not myself sorry to leave it for a 
 temporary absence ; and my poor sister's death 
 had so forcibly recalled to my father the loss of 
 our mother, that, with his age, the depressing 
 effect of a lengthened residence there was 
 better avoided. 
 
 The notion of a continental tour was 
 agreeable to me, from the simple reason 
 that it would be new ; I wanted to see 
 
56 LAMIA. 
 
 what France and Spain were like, how the 
 people lived there, and especially whether 
 the foreigners, of whom I had seen so 
 many at Rainham, were right in prais- 
 ing every climate in Europe above our 
 own. 
 
 Valerie, who was delighted at the thoughts 
 of revisiting France, talked to me without 
 ceasing of the delights of that country, and 
 with eager attention, I listened to her gay 
 and animated descriptions of all she remem- 
 bered, and of all she was sure I was to see 
 and admire them. The readiness with 
 which I made my preparations for departure 
 had even a good effect on my father, who 
 began to remember his early travels, and 
 
LAMIA. 67 
 
 whose spirits improved in proportion as he 
 found me an intelligent and inquiring listener. 
 My first and only duty at this period was to 
 attend to his health and comforts, and, 
 by degrees, I became, if not capable of sup- 
 plying the place of Iris, at least able to be 
 a more equal companion to my father than I 
 had ever felt myself before. Nothing con- 
 tributes more to such intelligent companion- 
 ship than a reasonable and well-concerted 
 plan of travelling ; and where the persons 
 are an attached father and daughter, the 
 former endowed with talent and experience, 
 the latter with a mind not less inquisitive 
 than susceptible, the benefits of travelling 
 may be in the highest degree realized. 
 
58 LAMIA. 
 
 We started under the most favourable 
 auspices. 
 
 I must not forget to say that we left 
 Rainham under your care, and in Rainham, 
 the now old but still indefatigable Dr. 
 Buchanan. You were charged to take as 
 much care of one as of the other ; the 
 poor Doctor was the last remnant to us of 
 that philosophy to which Iris had devoted 
 days, nights, and perhaps health, and we 
 respected him as an ancient monument, and 
 loved him as one dear to our departed. 
 He was now deeply engaged in, perhaps, his 
 last literary labour, namely, the revision and 
 completion of my sister's projected Essay 
 on the Celestial Distances, which he was 
 
LAMIA. 59. 
 
 to edit — a labour of love, in which he took 
 extreme pains to secure the whole credit to 
 his lost, but still beloved pupil. You were 
 never to leave him alone at night with fire 
 and candle. This, and your looking after 
 the parish of Rainham, as curate to the old 
 gouty incumbent whom you were to succeed, 
 were to be your daily cares. 
 
 I will not describe our leaving home — the 
 late events there, and our natural feelings 
 are all known to you. Having known no- 
 thing of London, I went, ignorant of the 
 society of my own capital, at once into 
 that of foreign countries, though not imme- 
 diately, as our wandering mode of travelling 
 took us at first rather out of the world than 
 into it. 
 
60 LAMIA. 
 
 I need only sketch the outline of the first 
 part of our travels, as it was not for a long 
 time that we made a halt of more than two 
 or three days in any town. We went rapidly 
 through France, avoiding Paris, and directed 
 our course to the southern provinces, whence 
 after a short sojourn in the delightful valleys 
 of the Pyrenees, we passed over the moun- 
 tains into Spain. Travelling was so new to 
 me, that even the plains of France were not 
 without interest in many different ways ; but 
 when we first approached the majestic chain 
 of the Pyrenees, and beheld their Alpine 
 summits thickly sprinkled with the winter's 
 snow, together with the rich hues of a 
 southern landscape at their base, my ecstacy 
 knew no bounds. I then for the first time 
 
LAMIA. 61 
 
 felt the elevation of soul so peculiarly the 
 attribute of those who have a natural feeling 
 for the great and sublime, however confined 
 the sphere in which they may have lived. 
 Hitherto I had seen, I had known nothing 
 great except the sea and the heavens, which 
 from their familiarity affected my mind only 
 on reflection; I now beheld Nature in her 
 wildest garb, and in one in which she was 
 pre\dously unknown to me. I now, as if by 
 sudden inspiration, felt what was art in its 
 highest walk — the worthy imitation or repro- 
 duction of nature. I felt the bright ray of 
 poetry illumine my fancy ; the invitations of 
 science in these grand scenes called my 
 reason to fathom the mysteries of nature 
 
62 LAMIA. 
 
 presented to my view. The charm of climate 
 the picturesque landscape, the associations of 
 history, lent a glow and an expression to 
 painting which I had never discovered on 
 canvas, even under the hand of Claude. But 
 I felt that henceforth my poetry would not 
 be merely in books, my science in cabinets, 
 or my ideas of nature confined to galleries : I 
 should find all these in real existence on the 
 face and in the constitution of the world we 
 live in. That world, in short, was new to 
 me, and I was seventeen ; I was prepared to 
 enjoy it, and even to return with greater zest 
 to the tame and secondhand descriptions of 
 it which I had left, simply because I had 
 become acquainted with the reality. 
 
LAMIA, 63 
 
 The first town we stopped in beyond the 
 frontier was Burgos ; my father had a 
 particular wish to trace the monuments of 
 Moorish domination in Spain, and took great 
 pains to instil into me the proper principles 
 of discrimination in art. He was well read 
 in the history of Spain and could see a Goth 
 in a pinnacle, or an Arab in a fret-work ; he 
 delighted in seeing me attentive to his in- 
 structions, and encouraged me in sketching 
 every object of interest along the road. By 
 this means, he gradually formed my taste; 
 and being naturally quick and observant, I 
 made great progress in the art of sketching 
 from nature everything indifferently, whether 
 a ruined turret or a peasant's cap. Costume, 
 
64 LAMIA. 
 
 indeed, was one of my favourite subjects for 
 the pencil. 
 
 In this way we slowly visited the romantic 
 towns and villages of Spain ; going from 
 Burgos to Saragossa, Valladolid, Valencia, 
 and Barcelona, but avoiding Madrid, as we 
 had done Paris. My father did not yet feel 
 equal to society, and enjoyed, as I did, the 
 very independent manner of travelling we 
 had adopted. There were no banditti in that 
 part of Spain, and the people were friendly 
 and civil. They would make me speak 
 Spanish, and I acquired considerable pro- 
 ficiency in the language. Valerie alone was 
 rather discontented that we did not pay 
 France the compliment of a longer visit, and 
 
LAMIA. 65 
 
 longed to stop a month in some large town, 
 were it only " pour voir du monde" 
 
 As all was new to me, I did not care 
 where we went. As the provinces we 
 visited are some of the most musical in Spain, 
 I collected a stock of their most original airs, 
 which I sang to the guitar every evening, 
 and did not fail to recognise some of my old 
 master Mendoza's favourite melodies among 
 them. 
 
 At last it hecame necessary to quit Spain, 
 before the weather became too hot, and we 
 accordingly re-entered France by a different 
 route from that we had before taken. I 
 distinctly remember the sensation of half 
 disappointment I felt at returning to the good 
 
 VOL. II. F 
 
66 LAMIA. 
 
 inns, greater civilization, but tamer life of 
 France, after the adventurous and almost wild 
 travelling we had been used to in Spain. It is 
 so pleasant, the riding through a country nearly 
 in a state of nature, with rough mules, strange 
 and picturesque guides, and some singular or 
 romantic object in every day's journey, that I 
 felt quite sleepy in roUing along the straight, 
 monotonous French roads, where so little 
 occurs to break the outline, or interest the 
 imagination. Valerie, however, was delighted ; 
 and, as soon as she reached Perpignan, began 
 singing to me every song she knew — French, 
 Spanish, or Italian — and could hardly be per- 
 suaded to stop. 
 
 Thenceforward, my travels had quite 
 
LAMIA. 67 
 
 another character, but I must say, once for 
 all, that this first tour in Spain, with " Don 
 Quixote" ever in one hand, and " Gil Bias" 
 in the other, is still engraven on my memory, 
 with all the circumstantial freshness of the 
 most recent occurrence. 
 
 You are not to suppose that I never 
 thought of Helvellyn, or of all that had 
 passed before we left England. I had ample 
 leisure to think over and reflect on those, to 
 me, important subjects. 
 
 My heart was in the same state. My mind 
 had gained in accuracy of observation as well 
 as in decision. Still, by nature irritable, I 
 had yet much to acquire in the way of self- 
 command, if not of self-control. I knew we 
 
 F 2 
 
68 LAMIA. 
 
 were to end by going to see the Helvellyns at 
 
 D , and I was satisfied. How very little 
 
 suffices to content the most irritable heart, 
 provided that little be the desired object ! 
 
 We arrived at Florence. My father, being 
 perfectly acquainted with that city, settled 
 himself at once in an agreeable villa among 
 vines and olives, from whence one had the 
 most delicious view. 
 
 During the hot weather, I rode into town 
 early every morning, and went fir«t to see, 
 and afterwards to study in, the galleries. We 
 did not, as yet, attempt any society. Florence 
 was said to be very empty at that time of 
 year, and we took it for granted, and lived 
 quite to ourselves. 
 
LAMIA. 69 
 
 My father, whenever he was not prevented 
 by indisposition, accompanied me to the works 
 of art ; at other times, Valerie — now happy — 
 was my companion. My artistic education 
 continued to advance. Music and painting 
 were my favourite studies, and, in each 
 branch, the old masters were the lights which 
 I preferred to guide me. My father con- 
 stantly read, or told me the history of every- 
 thing I saw, and then in his own manner 
 made an eloquent discourse on the merits of 
 each work of art, and the qualities of the 
 artists who had produced them. In this way 
 he taught me to philosophize, and reason 
 upon every remarkable object within the scope 
 of our reading or observation. My natural 
 
70 LAMIA. 
 
 bent was much inclined to this species of 
 mental exercise, and I gained by it that spirit 
 of examination and analysis which you have 
 often remarked in me, but perhaps not al- 
 ways approved. 
 
 I My recent visit to Spain, a country like, 
 and yet unlike, Italy in so many respects, gave 
 me full employment for comparison between 
 the two countries. I compared their arts, 
 their languages, their history, their climate : 
 I weighed every particular accurately, but 
 could not satisfy myself in giving the prefer- 
 ence to either. Not a church in Florence 
 was unvisited by me, and I even made ac- 
 quaintance with a few of the most educated 
 and enlightened of the clergy. 
 
LAMIA. 7 1 
 
 At Florence we went not at all into so- 
 ciety ; my father's health required my con- 
 stant attention ; and as to myself, I cared 
 little for amusements of which as yet I had 
 no knowledge, and which, in truth, I have 
 never much enjoyed since. My leisure was 
 devoted to the arts, to the study of languages 
 and of the history of Italy. I tried, under 
 the direction of a respectable Abbate, to ap- 
 preciate critically their poetry, and to discover 
 what had made it so popular as to be known 
 even to our early English poets. By this 
 line of reading I became, in a short time, 
 very poetically inclined myself; and I attri- 
 bute to the studies of this period the nice 
 attention which, you know, I have always 
 
72 LAMIA. 
 
 paid to the graces of style and propriety of 
 expression in every language and in every 
 sort of composition. Poetry is an excellent 
 preceptress to the taste in general ; she gives 
 a desire for harmony, a feeling for the grace- 
 ful in all branches of art, and renders the 
 judgment, as it ought to be, fastidious in all 
 that is intended to elevate the soul, or to in- 
 terest the fancy. Even in music, I always 
 feel that it is the inspiration of poetry that 
 animates the charmed numbers : it is divine 
 poetry that gives the expression to inarticulate 
 harmony, without which it would be less than 
 sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. 
 
 I said that I frequented the galleries, and 
 even copied in them. By degrees I found 
 
LAMIA. 73 
 
 that my presence there attracted a certain 
 degree of notice, and that I never sat down 
 to paint before the " Giuditta" or the " Me- 
 dusa," but some observations were whispered 
 about me, as to my being like that severe 
 heroine, or unlike the other classical monster. 
 I began to perceive that, although Valerie 
 was always with me, I was an object of attrac- 
 tion to strangers. 
 
 This gave me no concern: my genius being 
 always totally absorbed for the time in what- 
 ever occupation I was engaged in, I never 
 took notice who was near me. My early and 
 constitutional spirit of emulation and jealousy, 
 though far from extinct, was dormant, or had 
 subsided into a fixed and steady pursuit after 
 
74 LAMIA. 
 
 excellence in whatever I undertook. That 
 this part of my nature did not always remain 
 quiescent, will appear from the sequel. 
 
 I was not a little flattered by being thought 
 like the Jewish virago ; and although I had 
 no wish to swing a giant's head in my hand, 
 or to act the part of the beautiful daughter of 
 Herodias (also one of my likenesses), I was not 
 sorry to find myself placed in that rank of 
 
LAMIA. 7a 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Ten thousand columns in that quivering light. 
 Distinct — between whose shafts wound far away 
 The long and labyrinthine aisles — more bright 
 With their own radiance than the heaven of day ; 
 And on the jasper walls around, there lay 
 Paintings, the poesy of mightiest thought, 
 Which did the spirit's history display ; 
 A tale of passionate change divinely taught. 
 Which in their winged dance, unconscious genii 
 wrought." 
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 *' Ach Gott ! die Kunst ist lang ! 
 Und kurz ist unser Leben. 
 
76 LAMIA. 
 
 Mir wird, bei meinem kritischen Bestreben, 
 Doch oft um Kopf und Busen bang ! 
 Wie schwer sind nicbt die Mittel zu erwerben, 
 Durch die Man zu den Quellen steigt ! 
 Und eh' Man nur den halben weg erreicht, 
 Muss wohl ein armer Teufel sterben." 
 
 FAUST. 
 
 After some months passed quietly and 
 agreeably at Florence, we moved on to Rome ; 
 my father thinking that the climate might 
 suit him, and I fiill of anxious curiosity to see 
 a place and a people so famous. 
 
 We were obliged to travel slowly, the 
 weather being stiQ warm, so that I had time 
 to enjoy the journey through the beautiful 
 country of Tuscany and Umbria. My late 
 practice in painting had quickened my eye for 
 
LAMIA. 77 
 
 the principles of the picturesque ; and without 
 reading the learned books that have been 
 written to teach us how^ to see, and hear, and 
 feel, I saw, and heard, and felt everything my 
 own way, without being at all sensible of the 
 want of a master. My spirit had gradually 
 grown more and more independent with my 
 years: without vanity, I could not help a 
 certain consciousness of superiority which, 
 quite content within itself so long as not 
 offended, rose into something more than 
 simple emulation, when talents worthy of my 
 rivalry happened to come into competition 
 with me. 
 
 1 found one charm in the Italian landscape 
 which I have not seen noticed by any one, 
 
78 LAMIA. 
 
 that is, the singular harmony of nature and 
 art in its composition. There may be broken 
 mountains, rapid torrents, and a rich vegeta- 
 tion combined in many countries, but in Italy 
 every building, villa, or farm-house, seems 
 made to suit the landscape. The cow-sheds 
 are supported by stone columns ; the labourer 
 hves in a tower; the farms and country- i 
 
 houses are like castles or old forts ; none of 
 the commonplace of northern existence seems 
 to be there to vulgarize the beauteous face of 
 nature. 
 
 I was seated by the roadside, waiting for 
 our carriage winding its lengthy way up one j 
 
 of those steep mountains on the Roman | 
 
 frontier, and employed in sketching a group j 
 
LAMIA. 79 
 
 of peasants with their mules, which would 
 have been a subject for a Berghem, when a 
 lighter vehicle, containing only one gentleman 
 and his servant, came up with us, and sud- 
 denly stopping opposite to me, the gentleman 
 alighted. To my great astonishment, it was 
 Prince Demetrius. After some phrases of 
 mutual recognition, compliments on my 
 drawing, &c., he said he would wait for my 
 father's coming up in the carriage, and accom- 
 pany us to Rome. 
 
 On arriving at Rome, my first care was 
 to establish my father in a comfortable, 
 rather than a magnificent palazzo, on ac- 
 count of the visibly declining health which 
 he exhibited. Not only the loss of Iris, 
 
80 LAMIA. 
 
 whose image seemed constantly to accom- 
 pany him, but the recollections of his early 
 days in Rome, of my mother's youth and 
 beauty, and the happy union which had 
 made their lives for so many years a scene 
 of perpetual happiness, weighed heavily on 
 his spirits, and his chief pleasure seemed to 
 be in talking to me of those times. Every 
 ruin, every palace or villa that we visited, 
 offered to him some remembrance, which he 
 imparted to me, and which I the more 
 readily encouraged, as it at once soothed him 
 and interested me. 
 
 He now seemed to find me growing more 
 and more like my mother ; my speaking 
 Italian naturally, having been more or less 
 
LAMIA. 
 
 81 
 
 used to it from infancy, and my frequenting 
 the churches, the names of which I had 
 heard her pronounce, my complexion con- 
 siderably browned by the southern sun, all 
 tended to favour the resemblance. In fact, 
 father and daughter grew reciprocally dearer 
 to each other; and I really believe that 
 had Iris lived to that period, my jealousy 
 would have ceased to exist. 
 
 My first impressions on entering Rome 
 were totally unlike those I have heard de- 
 scribed by others. Some are disappointed ; 
 more, perhaps, are transported with a sort 
 of made-up fit of enthusiasm, excited less 
 by the objects before their eyes than by the 
 ideas which previous reading or imagination 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
82 LAMIA. 
 
 has created in them. I, on the contrary, 
 seemed at once to comprehend the whole 
 actual situation and past history of Rome at 
 a single glance. I saw in the first street 
 we entered the character of the population — 
 careless, indolent, impassioned ; the poverty- 
 stricken but picturesque families of peasants, 
 from the grandfather to the bambino, pray- 
 ing before a lamp, the gloomy friar walking 
 through the crowd to his convent church ; I 
 saw the buildings, mostly churches of the 
 Cinquecento style, rich, and not in the best 
 taste, but conformable to their religion, both 
 in spirit and decoration ; I saw the great 
 monuments of the middle ages, the speak- 
 ing, if not living witnesses to the early 
 
LAMIA. 83 
 
 trials of Christianity ; and last, and greatest, 
 I saw the triumphs of ancient Roman art 
 and power in those imperishable remains 
 which have for centuries been the attraction 
 of all the civilized world. I saw through 
 all the contradictions, the inconsistencies, of 
 Roman life ; and 1 came to the conclusion that 
 the people were probably much the same 
 they had ever been, full of fitful energy and 
 fire, sensible to beauty, susceptible of 
 passion ; that their religion was still, as in 
 older times, mostly a religion of the eye, 
 sometimes of the heart, never of the reason ; 
 that their genius was still turned to the 
 ornamental and the graceful, in every walk 
 it might chance to pursue; and that the 
 
 G 2 
 
84 LAMIA. 
 
 chief, perhaps the only, want of the modern 
 Roman, is a direction, which his present 
 mode of government neither does, nor ever 
 will supply. Yet, at times, even in modern 
 history, the Popedom has given an energetic 
 direction to its vassals, both in arts and 
 arms ; but that was when it went with the 
 spirit of the age, and when the spirit of all 
 Christendom went with the Patriarch of the 
 Vatican. 
 
 Neither my father nor I were bigots at 
 any time : we mutually agreed in these sen- 
 timents ; and the Httle society of savans and 
 enlightened clergy and artists whom we oc- 
 casionally assembled at our house only con- 
 firmed our ideas. 
 
LAMIA. 85 
 
 I continued my studies in music and paint- 
 ing : by the advice of an Abbate, who was our 
 cicerone to most of the galleries, we visited 
 the minor ones first, intending to end with 
 the chefs-d^oeuvre in each department of art. 
 In one of the less frequented collections, I was 
 particularly pleased with a very fine picture 
 by Coreggio, representing the family group 
 of Adam and Eve, with Cain and Abel as 
 children : the mingled expression of delight 
 and anxiety, in the midst of toil and grief, in 
 the parents, and the natural grace and beauty 
 of the children (in whom, however, a strong 
 difference of expression already betokens their 
 fixture characters), cannot be surpassed; 
 the frankness and open countenance of Abel 
 
86 LAMIA. 
 
 is the perfection of childish innocence and 
 simplicity, while the scowl on the brow of 
 Cain — a bold, Herculean boy, however, already 
 showing almost a manly beauty, has some- 
 thing in it of fearful truth and impressiveness. 
 The landscape, a roughly-tilled field, sur- 
 rounded with Italian pines and cypresses, 
 which show, where darkest, the ill-concealed 
 figure of the serpent, watching his prey : 
 but the golden pencil of Coreggio has not 
 failed, with admirable taste, to admit a ray 
 of heavenly light passing between the figures 
 of the parents, whose forms it only partially 
 illumines, to fall in blessed splendour on thie 
 head of the innocent Abel; while Cain, 
 though not in the back-ground, partakes of 
 
LAMIA. 87 
 
 the shadow which shrouds the figure of the 
 Tempter. I never saw a more graceful com- 
 position, more glowing, and at the same time, 
 transparent colour, or a subject treated more 
 poetically — I had almost said religiously. 
 
 Prince Demetrius, who had much taste for 
 the fine arts, was often to be seen sketch- 
 ing in the same galleries that I frequented, 
 or taking notes of the antiquities or other 
 curiosities that I visited. As he was a con- 
 stant, and, I will add, an agreeable member 
 of our little evening societies — and at Rome 
 every gallery is open to all the world — I 
 thought little of this; but Valerie, who al- 
 ways accompanied me, and whose eyes, if 
 less piercing, were certainly more excursive 
 than mine, soon found out that it was not 
 
88 LAMIA. 
 
 the result of accident. Valerie, having no 
 colours to mix, or pictures to copy, had 
 ample time to promener ses yeux, which 
 she did to some purpose. 
 
 Prince Demetrius always spoke to me 
 when we met, but had the tact to confine 
 his conversation to the observations that 
 might naturally arise, and the compliments 
 which, in the mouth of a foreigner, as natu- 
 rally come to the lips when he merely wishes 
 to be civil as when he really wishes to make 
 an impression. He complimented me upon 
 the progress of my work, and made some 
 judicious remarks on the various paintings ; 
 and then usually attended us part, but never 
 the whole way, home. 
 
 Valerie, one day, after he had left us, said 
 
LAMIA. 89 
 
 she had heard that the Prince paid no court 
 to any of the ladies of society ; that he never 
 said to them half so much as he said to me. 
 
 " How is it, then," said I, " that all the 
 ladies here know him to be so agreeable ? for 
 they all praise him to me, which is wonderful 
 if he pleases none of them." 
 
 " It is to please you. Mademoiselle, that 
 they say so," answered she, drily. 
 
 " What do you mean, Valerie? You 
 know I am not a person to be played with : 
 I will have no nonsense talked to me." 
 
 Valerie was hurt at this, and said, with an 
 earnestness which almost amounted to warmth: 
 " Mademoiselle, ces dames voient comme je 
 vols moi-meme :" and stopped, to check her 
 
90 LAMIA. 
 
 rising emotion. When much moved, she 
 always spoke French, and with great volubi- 
 lity; I was prepared, therefore, by her be- 
 ginning, for something out of the common. 
 
 " Speak on, dear Valerie," I said, kindly, 
 to her. 
 
 "Well," she said, resuming her composure, 
 " I will talk no nonsense, but everybody sees 
 that the Prince, from the time he came to 
 Rainham Abbey, has had his eyes for ever 
 fixed upon you ; and now it is more apparent 
 than ever. The few ladies you know here, 
 who are in total ignorance of Rainham Abbey, 
 ^nd all about that, see only an attraction — 
 very natural, I am sure, Mademoiselle — that 
 seems to have arisen here, and like good 
 
LAMIA. 91 
 
 kdies, are always willing to forward an attach- 
 ment that does not interfere with themselves. 
 If it did — ah .... altra cosa'' 
 
 My eyes were considerably opened by this 
 communication ; and esteeming the Prince 
 only as an agreeable acquaintance, 1 deter- 
 mined to stop, or to avoid, his assiduities, in 
 which, after a time, I succeeded. 
 
 In furtherance of this purpose, as weU as 
 to procure a little variety for my father, who 
 wanted change of air, I proposed an excur- 
 sion to Naples, to which he readily assented. 
 We left Rome by the sea-coast, and were to 
 return by some less-known route through the 
 mountains. . 
 
 To Naples, therefore, we went; and pleased 
 
92 LAMIA. 
 
 as I was with the novelty and magnificent 
 scenery I found there, I confess that after 
 Rome, and after Spain, it struck me rather 
 with disappointment. Travellers ought to 
 contrive to see Naples, Venice, and other 
 Italian cities first, and to end with Rome, as 
 the culminating point of all that is noble in 
 arts, history, and religion. 
 
 At Naples, however, I felt the full influence 
 of Italian climate, and saw how much it 
 added to every enjoyment, and how it height- 
 ened the effect of every beauty, whether of 
 art or nature. We visited all the delightftd 
 recesses of its enchanting shores, wandered 
 through its numberless villas, and examined 
 its rich collections of ancient art. It was 
 
LAMIA. 93 
 
 there, in the galleries furnished with the spoils 
 of Pompeii, that I first learnt to appreciate 
 the severe design and chaste beauties of 
 sculpture, and to acknowledge the superiority 
 of that art, which, without the aid of colour, 
 owing its effect of chiaroscuro only to its 
 material forms, gains a position nearer to 
 reality than any mere representation upon 
 canvas can ever pretend to accompHsh. 
 
 We returned by a mountain-road from 
 Naples to Rome, only stopping by the way at 
 a place where some fine ancient sculpture had 
 lately been discovered. Among these were 
 two pieces which pleased me exceedingly, as 
 examples of the grave and the gay manner 
 of the ancients in teaching mythological sub- 
 jects. 
 
94 LAMIA. 
 
 One was an almost entire group,' of large 
 size, representing Prometheus chained to the 
 rock, on which he is doomed to expiate the 
 audacity of his crime against Jupiter. The 
 giant, a miracle of muscle and sinew, lies 
 fettered to his stony bed, on which the hea- 
 venly fire has fallen from his hand, while the 
 implacable vulture gnaws the liver of his un- 
 dying victim, by whom stands the cold, pas- 
 sionless prophetess, the wandering lo, pre- 
 dicting with oracular dignity the course of 
 events to come. The manner in which phy- 
 sical pain was expressed in the contraction 
 and distortion of the body, while mental suf- 
 fering alone seemed pourtrayed in the features, 
 struck me as one of the boldest and most 
 
LAMIA. 95 
 
 successful efforts of art; I know only the 
 Laocoon to which it can be compared. 
 
 The other relic of antiquity was a basso- 
 relievo of Cupid and a Muse, who has play- 
 fully undertaken to sharpen the mischievous 
 god's arrows for him. While she is at work, 
 she turns on him a look of the most beauti- 
 ful, and at the same time most significant, 
 archness, as if thinking, vain maid, that she 
 had cleverly secured the power of Love in 
 the service of the Muses. He, on his part 
 resting his indolent arms upon his bow, looks 
 up at her with equal archness, and greater 
 sauciness, knowing that he has entrapped the 
 Muse into the service of Love. 
 
 These two specimens of antique art have 
 
96 LAMIA. 
 
 always seemed to me perfect, as showing the 
 exquisite taste of the ancients, in their treat- 
 ment of classical subjects. 
 
 Once more at Rome, I was not sorry to 
 learn that Prince Demetrius, who had had 
 the good taste not to follow me to Naples, 
 had been ordered back, with divers others of 
 his countrymen, to Russia, by ukase of the 
 Emperor, who, by a sudden caprice, chose 
 that his subjects should not travel during the 
 next year; an order which that amiable 
 Government did not fail rigorously to en- 
 force. 
 
 Our second stay at Rome was but short ; 
 I only renewed my acquaintance with its clas- 
 sical and Pagan antiquities, much to my 
 
LAMIA. 97 
 
 father's pleasure, as they were now almost 
 the only things that gave him any interest. 
 I had there, and wherever opportunity offered 
 in Italy, studied with deep attention the old 
 Italian Church music ; and I looked forward to 
 Germany as likely to afford me further insight 
 into the arcana of that divine mystery which 
 comprehends within itself at once the graces 
 of art, the resources of science, and the 
 purest pleasure of execution. I already 
 formed secret plans of composition ; but they 
 were as yet so secret that I will not here say 
 anything about them. 
 
 We left Rome for Lombardy and Vienna, 
 stopping only at Bologna, to see my favourite 
 saint — Cecilia, whose sad and affecting history, 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
98 LAMIA. 
 
 impressed upon my mind by the simple and 
 pathetic monument which after-ages have 
 placed over her tomb, has always appeared to 
 me one of the most touching of our 
 legends. 
 
 The noble churches of Milan and Venice 
 attracted my father's attention, and, by de- 
 grees, I learnt to consider cathedrals so much 
 more as fine historical museums than as 
 temples of worship, that, except by fits, I 
 lost aU the little feeling of religious awe that 
 my philosophical education had left in me. 
 Over the gate of one monastery in a small 
 Lombard village, I chanced to see a pretty 
 group in Maiolica, representing St. Agnes 
 with the lamb ; a rude and mutilated stone 
 ti 
 
LAMIA. 99 
 
 fragment of the same subject had been one 
 of my early studies of drawing at Rainham, 
 our Abbey having been dedicated to the same 
 saint. It had been a favourite object with 
 Iris, and the sight of it unexpectedly in a 
 foreign land brought such a mass of painful 
 recollections to my mind, that I was again 
 attacked by one of those maddening pangs, 
 which, since my sister's death, have con- 
 stantly accompanied every wakening feeling 
 of remorse. 
 
 I need not describe Venice : my father 
 bought there a magnificent composition of 
 Paul Veronese, as a companion to one in our 
 gallery at Rainham. It was " The Parting of 
 Desdemona and Othello ;" she stands at one 
 
 H 2 
 
100 LAMIA. 
 
 of those Gothic balconies, for which Venice 
 is celebrated, and bids adieu to Othello, 
 already embarked in a superb gondola, at the 
 moment of departure for his galley. The rich 
 accessories and gorgeous colouring of the 
 scene by such a painter, and in such a city, 
 may be imagined. It was to match "The 
 Departure of the Crusaders," by Titian, at 
 Rainham. 
 
 We then hastily proceeded by Vienna and 
 Prague, to Dresden, where we arrived at the 
 beginning of the winter. 
 
LAMIA. 101 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Cherish and loye thy wife in good manner. 
 As heartily well as her thou can devise ; 
 For nothing is so precious and so dear. 
 As is an humble wife in godly wise ; 
 Thou shalt all pleasure have that should suffice. 
 A good woman is very manne's bliss. 
 Where so she loveth true and steadfast is." 
 
 OLD POET. 
 
 " La vraie philosophic respecte les formes autant 
 que I'orgueil les dedaigne. II faut una discipHne 
 pour la conduite, comme il faut un ordre pour les 
 
 id^eS." PORTALIS. 
 
 I NEED not tell you with what kindness 
 
102 LAMIA. 
 
 and hospitality we were received by the Hel- 
 vellyns. They lived in a great house near 
 the banks of the Elbe, and had besides a 
 large country house, called the Sachsendorfer 
 Hof, to which they occasionally made par- 
 ties in sledges, for boar and bear shoot- 
 ing. 
 
 Their house in town was large enough to 
 allow a whole floor to be given up to my 
 father and me without inconvenience ; 
 which, as his health often led to his spend- 
 ing the day quietly in his room, was exactly 
 what suited him best. Gwyneth was over- 
 joyed to receive us, indeed, she seemed to me 
 so altered in looks (though for that there 
 might be some special cause), that it struck 
 
LAMIA. 103 
 
 me our coming was an agreeable relief to 
 some care or anxiety previously existing in 
 her mind. 
 
 My father, whenever he did not feel in- 
 clined to join the company down stairs, saw 
 one or two persons at a time in his own apart- 
 ment ; sometimes I, sometimes Valerie, read 
 to him the cleverest French works of the day, 
 at others, he would converse with Lord Hel- 
 vellyn or one or two foreigners, whom he had 
 formerly met in England. 
 
 The Embassy, besides several young 
 attaMSf comprehended two principal se- 
 cretaries — Mr. Vassyll and Mr. Darcy; the 
 former, a cold, supercilious, and worldly 
 man, observing, polished, and satirical. He 
 
104 LAMIA. 
 
 was obliging to us, and very agreeable in a 
 small society, rather haughty and distant in 
 a large one. His colleague, George Darcy, 
 was a merry, good-humoured, headlong 
 young man, fitted to make the agreeable 
 rather before a number than in tete-h-tete. 
 He spoke German well, went everywhere with 
 a little Spitz, after the Dresden fashion, 
 and lost his heart, without thinking 
 twice about it, to this or that fair lady 
 of the day, and was le bienvenu dans 
 toutes les cSteries. 
 
 But I must not begin to give you the 
 characters of our society before I relate the 
 circumstances under which I found my former 
 joyous and light-hearted companion Gwyneth. 
 
LAMIA. 105 
 
 Alas ! she was sadly changed. Though evi- 
 dently and sincerely overjoyed to see us 
 again, the emotions she felt were far from 
 manifesting themselves in the way they would 
 have done a year ago. She was clearly 
 oppressed by some hidden mental anxiety; 
 and for a day or two after our arrival, she 
 plainly sought an opportunity to speak to me 
 in private ; but when that came, she wanted 
 courage to proceed. At length, one day she 
 invited me into her morning room, a tasteful 
 and luxurious boudoir, and opened to me, as 
 to her early and best friend, the sorrows that 
 preyed upon her heart. She began with an 
 appearance of calm, but after the first words, 
 she threw herself into my arms, sobbing 
 
106 LAMIA. 
 
 violently. I had great difficulty in getting 
 her to subdue her emotion, but at last she 
 told me that she was the most wretched of 
 women ; that she was then, as was most na- 
 tural, more devotedly attached to her husband 
 than ever, but that Lord Helvellyn no longer 
 cared for her, and was easily attracted by the 
 charms, or rather by the wiles, of one of the 
 most unprincipled women of the Court of 
 Dresden. 
 
 " Whatever his object might be, I know 
 what Countess von Hildenheim aims at — it 
 is not only his love, but his influence ; and 
 believe me, dearest Lamia," said she, with 
 tears in her eyes, " the object of that woman 
 is not a flirtation, but a political intrigue: 
 
LAMIA. 107 
 
 her reputation is such, that she is now care- 
 less of it, and would willingly sacrifice] that, 
 whether in appearance or reality, for the sole 
 purpose of succeeding in some manoeuvres 
 against this Government, in which my hus- 
 band's name may suit her views, or rather 
 those of others, whose not unconscious or 
 unwilling tool she has made herself. And 
 my husband, who used to be so clever, so 
 sharp-sighted — so fond of me — gives into all 
 this as if he had no wife ;" here she broke 
 into a flood of tears, which both relieved 
 her, and rendered any reply from me unne- 
 cessary. 
 
 I let poor Gwyneth speak on, as soon 
 as she would, and heard all her sorrows 
 
108 LAMIA. 
 
 without attempting any but the most ordi- 
 nary topics of consolation. Indeed, I was ill- 
 fitted for such a task, and, moreover, I was 
 secretly not sorry to hear that HelveUyn was 
 still capable of paying attention to the attrac- 
 tions of the few who were worthy of his 
 notice. I did not wish ill to Gwyneth, but I 
 felt that I now had a chance of being appre- 
 ciated by a man of distinguished talent my- 
 self. I had seen HelveUyn so easily taken 
 with Gwyneth herself, so quickly diverted 
 from her by the superior qualities of Iris, that 
 I had no doubt in my own mind that, were 
 my vanity to lead me that way, I could 
 make him an easy conquest. But I anti- 
 cipate. 
 
lamia; 109 
 
 Gwyneth continued her tale, and inno- 
 cently said : " Now, dearest Lamia, I am 
 above aU things delighted to have you here, 
 as I am sure your talents will assist in 
 keeping HelveUyn at home. I feel sure, 
 since I have let you into the secret of my 
 grief, that you wiU try to help me to amuse 
 him here, where he has already your father's 
 society, which he is so fond of, and only 
 wants the variety and charm you can so well 
 bring into our domestic circle, to be kept 
 permanently within it." 
 
 I kissed the poor weeping eyes with the 
 most traitorous kiss that deceitftd woman 
 ever gave : yes, I am making a confession, 
 and I am bound to make known my faults 
 
110 LAMIA. 
 
 to you, severely as I know you wiU judge 
 them. 
 
 At my persuasion, Gwyneth consented to 
 resume her former accustomed gaieties, to go 
 into the world, and have occasional parties at 
 home. 
 
 We went, therefore, frequently to the 
 Opera, and other places, where the finest 
 German music was performed, which I began 
 to study deeply. Church music, of which, in 
 a moral sense, I was utterly unworthy, prin- 
 cipally engrossed my leisure hours, and the 
 lessons I had learnt of the Roman style, my 
 frequent attendance at St. Peter's, and the 
 best choirs of Italy, now served, with the 
 additional knowledge I acquired of the first 
 
LAMIA. Ill 
 
 German masters, to form my taste, both in 
 choral and instrumental music. 
 
 A grand sledge party was announced for 
 the following week, when it was hoped the 
 snow would be deep enough for the purpose. 
 We made great preparations in dresses and 
 paraphernalia for the occasion; and, as my 
 father could not go, it was settled that I 
 should be driven by Lord Helvellyn. The 
 guileless Gwyneth gave him up willingly to 
 me, as her best friend ; she said she was no 
 longer in spirits enough to entertain him with 
 her lively sallies and Welsh stories, as 
 formerly, so she would be driven by an old 
 Count Hotzenplotz, who would talk to her all 
 the way. 
 
112 LAMIA. 
 
 While this scheme was in agitation, we 
 did not the less amuse ourselves with the 
 ordinary diversions of the place. Our host's 
 box at the Opera was a never-failing resource, 
 and the first evening that I happened to go 
 there, the Crown Prince, and, after him, most 
 of the gentlemen of the Court, came to pay 
 their compliments to Lady Helvellyn, and, 
 incidentally, to be introduced to me. Appear- 
 ing without my father, I was at first taken to 
 be sister, either of Gwyneth or her husband, 
 a circumstance that, for a long time, was 
 assumed to explain the familiarity with which 
 our whole party lived together. 
 
 Gwyneth whispered to me that the Crown 
 Prince's visit was entirely owing to my pre- 
 
LAMIA. 113 
 
 sence, a compliment which, as I was not 
 ambitious of it, I coolly disclaimed. Imme- 
 diately after, I observed Lord Helvellyn in a 
 lady's box on the opposite side of the house. 
 I suspected whose it was, but was surprised to 
 see him take up his glass, and then, after a 
 very short excuse to the lady, quit it 
 rather hastily, and in two or three minutes 
 make his appearance by our side. Gwyneth's 
 pleasure was evident; she did not tell me 
 that this visit was due to me, but had she 
 done so, I could have believed her. 
 
 On our return home, I was surprised to 
 hear from Gwyneth that I had created a sen- 
 sation in the house. New to the world, 
 though not inclined to disbelieve the compli- 
 
 VOL. II. .1 
 
114 LAMIA. 
 
 ments I received, I, at least, never thought of 
 my own appearance. Gwyneth now, for the 
 first time, assured me that I was a beauty. 
 . "I acknowledge that I was weU dressed ; 
 I owe that truth, in justice, to my maid," 
 said I, to Gwyneth ; " but, pray, repeat me 
 no more men's flattery, if you please." 
 
 " Nay, my dear," said she, " a woman's 
 compliment is, at least, the more credible 
 of the two." 
 
 She was in such good spirits at her hus- 
 band's having left the Countess Hildenheim's 
 box to return to hers, that I thought it a pity 
 to differ with her on any subject, and so 
 wished her good night. 
 
 Mr. Vassyll paid me always the most 
 
LAMIA. US' 
 
 deferential, but, at the same time, ceremo- 
 nious attention. Quiet, and scrupulously 
 observant of the rules of courtier-like polite- 
 ness, he was alternately very agreeable, or 
 very formal in his conversation, always artifi- 
 cial, even at his best. 
 
 Our great sledge party was fixed for the 
 last day of the Carnival; meanwhile, I fol- 
 lowed my usual occupations and amusements. 
 I went daily to the gallery, where I conti- 
 nued my practice of drawing, as I had done 
 in Italy. The great treasures of the collection 
 were not thrown away upon me; my father 
 went once with me after the weather became 
 milder, and his taste approved of all the bits 
 I had selected for sketching from the less 
 
 I 2 
 
116 LAMIA. 
 
 known masters : the more celebrated required 
 no -guide to point them out. riiVi^ > 
 
 The beauty, I had almost said the virtue, of 
 the collection, is the famous Madonna di San 
 Sisto. Seeing it so soon after its rival in the 
 Vatican, I compared the two in my own mind 
 with singular satisfaction, and came to the 
 conclusion that, with equal beauty, the Ma- 
 donna di Foligno is perhaps the finer painting as 
 a work of art, but that the picture at Dresden 
 is unmatched for religious majesty and 
 expression. 
 
 Lord Helvellyn met me there at first 
 accidentally, but afterwards on purpose to 
 watch my progress in the art ; his fine taste, 
 and agreeable as well as judicious remarks, 
 
LAMIA. 117 
 
 made these meetings a great pleasure to me, 
 though T did not, of course, seem to encou- 
 rage them. ^ - /-r. ,:---..' v!e '^ 
 
 Valerie was always with me ; indeed the 
 good girl had by degrees become such a kind 
 and amiable companion to me that I left her 
 out of nothing that I could well take her to. 
 My taste, my talents, were my own, but many 
 of the observations I have made in travelling, 
 on the world, on manners and customs and 
 prejudices, are derived from her quick and 
 shrewd remarks on the people and countries 
 we have seen together. Such remarks being 
 frequently drawn from very trifling circum- 
 stances, I should never have made, or lightly 
 passed over ; but she noted everything, and I 
 
] 1 8 LAMIA. 
 
 made reflections, or drew conclusions for my- 
 self. We walked, we read, we worked toge- 
 ther, and her lively imagination was so much 
 in unison with mine that she drew forth my 
 ideas in the most natural manner simply by 
 expatiating on her own 
 
 I sometimes saw Lord Helvellyn in society 
 with Countess Hildenheim, and was able to 
 judge that, by his manner to her, the attrac- 
 tion, whatever it might once have been, was 
 not now one to break poor Gwyneth's heart, 
 unless she really chose it, as some wives do ; 
 I was more surprised by the Countess's very 
 sudden fit of friendship for me. 
 
 I had promised Gwyneth, with many 
 kisses, to do my utmost to keep Lord 
 
LAMIA. 1 1 9 
 
 Helvellyn at home, which, indeed, was my 
 own object, as his society was becoming daily 
 more fascinating to me. She, unsuspecting, 
 was continually pouring out her thanks to 
 me for my assistance in recalling him to his 
 family circle. The Countess, a woman of 
 tact, who wanted the Ambassador for her 
 political intrigues much more than for any- 
 thing else, cleverly gave in to this altered 
 state of things, and was clear-sighted enough 
 to perceive that her best game now, 
 was to load me with flattery for my 
 talents, &c. — a game which I easily saw 
 through. 
 
 My feelings, nevertheless, were not per- 
 fectly at ease. I could not but reproach 
 
1 20 LAMIA. 
 
 myself with duplicity towards my confiding 
 friend ; and though I tried to persuade myself 
 I was only taking a little justifiable revenge 
 for his neglect of me at Rainham, my con- 
 science would not absolve me from the 
 charge. y -I: 
 
 Winter was now fairly set in, and with it 
 the gaieties of the Carnival — a northern 
 Carnival — commenced. We had frequent 
 sledge parties on the Elbe, and through the 
 forests. The pure cold air, the brilliancy of 
 the sunshine, the sparkling frost, all contri- 
 buted to put us in spirits. There is some- 
 thing in the rapid darting of a sledge, and in 
 a sort of feeling that you are not moving on 
 the usual elements of earth or water, but in 
 
LAMIA. 121 
 
 the air, that is indescribably exhilarating. It 
 is more bird-like than anything short of 
 actual flying. Perhaps the riding a runaway 
 courser (with the power of stopping at will) 
 is what comes nearest to it. 
 
 Lord HelveUyn usually drove me, Lady 
 Helvellyn, when not at home ailing, accom- 
 panied us in a rather heavier but easier 
 sledge generally driven by the good-natured 
 Mr. Darcy. Sometimes when the weather 
 was not too severe we drove, by torchlight, 
 through the streets of the capital, whose 
 picturesque buildings appeared to the greatest 
 advantage, encrusted with snow, and iEu- 
 mined by a winter's moon. These frequent 
 opportunities of conversing alone with Hel- 
 
122 LAMIA. 
 
 vellyn were, alas ! but too dangerous for me, 
 as although he was too experienced not to be 
 cautious, yet I was too inexperienced to be 
 aware how deeply I was compromising my 
 own happiness. 
 
 The time appointed for our grand sledge 
 party into the Saxon Switzerland now ap- 
 proached. Time and distance are as nothing 
 with light and Pomeranian ponies. The 
 Countess was in despair at seeing all this 
 joyous train de vie going merrily forward : 
 she watched, she fawned on me, and ended 
 by detesting me. 
 
 After the part she had played, she could 
 not well try to work upon Gwyneth ; but she 
 somehow tried to engage Mr. Vassyll to give 
 
LAMIA. 123 
 
 hints to her always tending to injure me in 
 her mind. Mr. Vassyll was sly enough to 
 be able to say a little, but too wise to venture 
 to say much; and that little was so decidedly 
 resented by the honest heart of Gwyneth, 
 that he never returned to the subject. In- 
 deed, he knew his situation too well for that ; 
 and it was only by artfully impressing on 
 him that it was for the ultimate purpose of 
 enlightening Lord Helvellyn, that the intrigu- 
 ing Madame de HUdenheim for a moment 
 imposed on the sober wariness of the First 
 Secretary of Embassy. 
 
 Our great party, for the three last days 
 of the Carnival, was at length arranged. 
 The Crown Prince, who was a professed ad- 
 
IM LAMIA. 
 
 mirer of somebody at the English Embassy 
 — though of whom was a question still 
 wrapped in an interesting veil of mystery — 
 had heard of our project, and had requested 
 Lord Helvellyn to allow him to be of the 
 party. This being, of course, acceded to, 
 his Royal Highness volunteered, by extending 
 the party to one day longer, to invite us all 
 to the Royal Schloss Pillnitz, and to give us 
 the spectacle of a tournament on the snow. 
 We were to proceed to Lord Helvellyn*s 
 shooting-house at Sachsendorf, and return 
 next day to town, where the Carnival was to 
 close with a grand bal costume j at the Royal 
 Palace. m :^ j^ir^/ ti^viiit' l> ^hi io 
 
 In the meantime, two events occurred 
 
LAMIA. 125 
 
 which have some bearing on my story. 
 Mr. Vassyll having been entrusted by the 
 Countess with as much of the secret, or 
 the suspicion of it, as related to me, had been 
 blindly led into the toils of that unscrupulous, 
 but clever intriguante, by her quick perception 
 of the state of his own feelings. He was, 
 in fact, gradually attaching himself to me; 
 and would have been but too glad to do 
 something, to detach Helvellyn from me, 
 even in his own interest. Not yet perceiving 
 my cautiously concealed attachment to his 
 chief, he thought that the Ambassador once 
 removed, the Secretary had the best chance, 
 especially as his attachment would be fair 
 and open ; but he miscalculated the generous 
 
126 LAMIA. 
 
 heart of Gwyneth, and failed in conse- 
 quence. 
 
 The other event was the arrival of Prince 
 Demetrius. I knew that he had proposed to 
 join us in the end of winter, but I thought 
 that his recall to Russia would have entirely 
 prevented it. 
 
 Although our meeting, after the plain re- 
 fusal he had met with from me at Rome, 
 might have had something awkward in it, 
 the Prince was too weU-bred a man, and had 
 too much regard for our circle generally, not 
 to desire to avoid causing any embarrassment 
 to me. I saw at once that he meant that all 
 that had passed should be considered as at an 
 end, and that he wished to put us at our ease 
 as soon as possible. ' 
 
LAMIA. 127 
 
 My father and Lord Helvellyn expressed 
 the utmost astonishment at seeing him, and 
 inquired how he had managed to overcome 
 the Imperial jealousy of his foreign tastes 
 and occupations. 
 
 " Oh," said he, " I contrived that very 
 easily. The ukase for all Russians to return 
 home was issued in a mere fit of Imperial 
 caprice, without any real political motive or 
 reason of state whatever. Had any such 
 reason existed, it would, of course, have been 
 a harder matter ; but even then not impos- 
 sible. I am known to dislike Petersburg, 
 and therefore have to buy my ordinary pass- 
 port rather dear, say a thousand roubles, to 
 satisfy all objections. Well, after a muster 
 
128 LAMIA. 
 
 of aQ vagabond Muscovites, such as was 
 proclaimed last year, it costs each of us 
 just double what we paid before. Those who 
 choose, pay and go ; those who do not, save 
 their money and stay : both secretly abuse the 
 Government. Ask me no more questions," 
 added he, laughingly, " it would be dan- 
 gerous for me to answer them. I am but 
 too happy to feel myself in Europe, and at 
 liberty again; and am His Majesty's most 
 loyal subject, as long as I can travel." 
 
 We were equally delighted to have him, 
 and, with all the characteristic versatility of 
 his nation, he immediately set to work to 
 assist us in our plans for amusement. My 
 father, who entered little into any conversa- 
 
LAMIA. 129 
 
 tion, was interested in listening to that of 
 Prince Demetrius, quietly adding to his stories 
 about Russia, " What a country I What a 
 Government !" 
 
 The Prince brought me some new music, 
 and presented Lady Helvellyn with some 
 beautiful costumes, which were most welcome. 
 Not less so was some fresh caviar, sterlets, 
 and other Oriental delicacies, to Lord Hel- 
 vellyn's eminently diplomatic cuisine. 
 
 The day for our long expected course en 
 traineaux arrived, and my heart beat high 
 with expectation. The novelty of the scene 
 and climate, the brilliant sunshine and silver 
 frost which distinguish a northern winter, 
 and strangely, to a southern eye, combine 
 
 VOL. n. K 
 
1 30 LAMIA. 
 
 joyous gaiety with intense cold, all tended to 
 elevate my spirits in the highest degree. 
 Clothed in the richest furs, and in sledges, 
 whose neatness and trim, joined to the light- 
 ness and rapidity of the horses, formed a turn- 
 out equal in its way to anything in the shape 
 of equipage in Paris or London ; even Gwy- 
 neth appeared more cheerful than usual, as 
 she moimted the sledge with the courtier-like 
 Count Hotzenplotz, Grand Veneur to the 
 Court of Saxony. I was accompanied, to 
 my very great inward satisfaction, by Lord 
 Helvellyn, whose sledge and whole attelage 
 were pronounced by the Russian, certainly 
 the best judge, to be perfect. A long train 
 of others followed us, partly our own, partly 
 
LAMIA 131 
 
 the Court invitations. The signal given, we 
 started at a great pace, but with the utmost 
 regularity, and swiftly cutting the crisp 
 and echoing snow, we left the pic- 
 turesque towers of Dresden far behind 
 us. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 LAMIA. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " * Thou fearest not then th6 serpent on thy heart?' 
 • Fear it !' she cried, with brief and passionate cry. 
 And spake no more — that silence made me start. 
 I looked, and we were saiUng pleasantly, 
 Swift as a cloud, between the sea and sky. 
 Beneath the rising moon, seen far away. 
 Mountains of ice, Hke sapphires piled on high. 
 Hemming the horizon round, in silence lay 
 On the still waters — these we did approach alway." 
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 In a few hours, going at a raiboad speed, 
 we reached Sachsendorf, where a part of our 
 
LAMIA. 133 
 
 train remained as guests to Lord Helvellyn, for 
 the chasse of the next day ; while part contin- 
 ued their course to the Prince RoyaFs chateau 
 at PiUnitz, whither we were all engaged to 
 reassemble on the day afterwards. My father 
 was unwilling or unable to join in these 
 fatiguing gaieties, and remained quietly at 
 Dresden, leaving me under the matronly 
 chaperonage of Lady Helvellyn. 
 
 I need not describe the beautiful drive by the 
 frozen Elbe, the warm and welcome dinner after 
 our twenty degrees of cold, or the agreeable 
 company ; I was so absorbed by Helvellyn 
 during the drive, and so surprised at Mr. 
 Vassyll's assiduities during the evening, that 
 I had little leisure for external observation, 
 even had I been less fatigued. 
 
1 34 LAMIA. 
 
 The next morning, before the gentlemen, 
 with their jagers and dogs, sallied forth to the 
 bear finding, the Crown Prince came over 
 from Pillnitz to pay his compliments to the 
 ladies, instead of joining the chasse at the 
 Tinneritzer Wald, which was the rendezvous. 
 Gwyneth would have it this galanterie was 
 intended for me, I, on the contrary, was in- 
 clined to think it a consequence of her 
 apparent want of a tie to home, since the 
 acquaintance of her husband with the lady I 
 havebefore mentioned becamegenerallynoticed. 
 The Prince was most polite, and, saying that 
 his fete of the next day would depend upon 
 our presence, set off with Menzikoff, who was 
 the learned director of the bear hunt, to the 
 forest of Tinneritz. 
 
LAJVIIA. 1 35 
 
 I will not describe the bear hunt, though I 
 am sure I heard enough of it from the 
 hunters, on their return to a late dinner in 
 the evening. They discoursed and discussed 
 the events and adventures of the chase 
 with as much glee as I should have felt in 
 those of a ball, and as much sporting pe- 
 dantry as one of Gwyneth's country neigh- 
 bours after a fox. She, who would in former 
 days, have bounded with the thoughts of such 
 an exciting scene as a bear hunt, and would 
 have joined herself in the sport, had now no 
 spirit or energy for anything of the kind. She 
 listened to the learning of the initiated in bear 
 hunts, of whom Prince Demetrius was the 
 chief, with silent ennuij and was glad to 
 
136 LAMIA. 
 
 retire with me into her moderately furnished, 
 but warm chamber, such as is to be found in 
 a German country-house, and to read and 
 work quietly by ourselves. 
 
 We had on this evening some conversa- 
 tion together about her present maternal pros- 
 pects, and the hopes she had that Helvellyn 
 would become more domestic. " But is he 
 not so already?" said I. She sighed, and 
 looked at me. I knew not how to interpret 
 her meaning, but my conscience gave me an 
 interpretation of its own, not far from the 
 truth. She was preparing to say something, 
 when her husband entered the room, and 
 summoned us to tea, promising we should 
 have no bear learning, as he called it, all the 
 
LAMIA. 1 37 
 
 party being now rather more drowsy than 
 conversable, and only in want of our society 
 and some tea to wake up. 
 
 Next day, according to our arrangement, 
 we proceeded, in spite of excessive cold, 
 much in the same order as before, to the 
 Royal Schloss Pillnitz. We arrived an hour 
 before the tournament, of which great expec- 
 tations had been formed, was to begin. A 
 great number of the society of Dresden were 
 assembled by invitation, and of com*se a vast 
 crowd of country folks, in their picturesque 
 costumes. The crisp snow, and sparkling 
 atmosphere, did not a little contribute to the 
 local character of the scene, to us so fresh 
 from the south; while the massive rocks, 
 hung with icicles, and crowned with dark 
 
138 LAMIA. 
 
 pines, frosted, as it were, with silver, showed 
 to me, as an artist, that there can be other 
 principles and combinations of the picturesque 
 in a landscape, besides those conventionally 
 taken from the scenery of Italy or England. 
 The Saxon Switzerland appeared certainly to 
 great advantage in its winter garb. 
 
 The ladies, well wrapped in furs, were 
 seated on a balcony under a spacious awning, 
 with access to a saloon behind, well warmed 
 by a couple of admirable German stoves. 
 The balcony was tastefully ornamented in 
 front with flags and arms of all the German 
 States and Princes of the reign of Charles V., 
 many of whom had their representatives 
 present. 
 
 The Crown Prince did the honours with 
 
LAMIA. 139 
 
 great kindness and affability : he would have 
 made me Lady of the Feast, and distributor 
 of prizes to the knights; but wishing to 
 avoid any such conspicuous situation, I 
 begged Lady Helvellyn to decline it for me. 
 Mr. Vassyll attempted to condole with me 
 upon the loss of such a distinction, but a 
 word sufficed to show him that he had taken 
 the wrong line; and when Lady Helvellyn 
 was afterwards persuaded to accept the vacant 
 honour, he had tact enough to refrain from 
 further remarks. Mr. Darcy told me tout 
 bonnement he was sorry I had not accepted 
 it at at once, as no more than what he would 
 have given me. 
 
 The trumpets sounded, and the knights 
 
140 LAMIA. 
 
 paraded according to the circles of the empire 
 from which they came. The standards of 
 the Seven Electors were ranged so that each 
 knight could place himself under his proper 
 banner: all were most strictly habited and 
 armed according to the numerous remains of 
 the Middle Ages, to be seen in the museums 
 of Dresden ; and at last two valiant Counts — 
 Hardenegg, of the Danube, and his worthy 
 adversary, Rothenegg, of the Rhine — entered 
 the lists. 
 
 After a skilful combat, in which victory 
 was long doubtful, a false move of Count 
 Rothenegg's horse placed him at the mercy of 
 his opponent, and he fell amid shouts of " Hard- 
 enegg, viva ! bravo, Hardenegg !" I will not 
 
LAMIA. 141 
 
 fatigue you with the other combats, in which 
 those that won were declared to have won 
 fairly ; those that were overcome, to have 
 fallen honourably. We had afterwards a 
 splendid banquet, in one of the grotesque 
 halls of the Japanese-looking castle of Pill- 
 nitz, and then retired to prepare for the ball 
 in the evening. 
 
 The mimic warfare of the morning had 
 not unfitted any of the company for the light 
 gaieties of the dance. No knight had been 
 wounded so severely as not to be able to 
 waltz. All wore costumes in alt-Deutsch, the 
 Countess Hildenheim in a magnificent dress, 
 after a portrait by Lucas Cranach; I in that 
 of Eleonora d'Este, and Gwyneth in a costume 
 of the Court of Henry VIII. If the atten- 
 
142 LAMIA. 
 
 tions we received be a true index, we had no 
 cause to complain of want of admiration. 
 Mr. VassyU paid me abundance of compli- 
 ments; Mr. Darcy sighed. Prince Deme- 
 trius, who wore the rich sables of a Musco- 
 vite Boyar, of the time of Ivan, with the 
 jewels most Russians are in the habit of car- 
 rying about with them, looked superb. My 
 crown of diamond stars, however, I soon 
 found was one of the chief attractions of the 
 ball-room. The corps diplomatique de- 
 clined wearing anything but their own dis- 
 tinctive dresses; Lord Helvellyn told the 
 Crown Prince he would certainly have come 
 as King Arthur, had he had time to collect 
 twelve knights and a round table. 
 
 The whole f^te went off so splendidly, 
 
LAMIA. 143 
 
 that not a single person, I believe, went 
 away disappointed, unless it were Madame 
 de Hildenheim, who failed in recovering her 
 lost empire over Helvellyn. One week yet 
 remained of the Carnival, and Lord Helvellyn, 
 who usually contributed something to the 
 festivities of the season, and was now really 
 glad to see his wife gradually recovering her 
 spirits, proposed to her to invite the whole 
 company, as far as she was acquainted with 
 them, to another ball, in which a more ge- 
 neral and varied style of costume should be 
 introduced, at his house on the last night of 
 the Carnival. She readily assented, the 
 Crown Prince being invited on the spot, and 
 the plan of the whole thing arranged off- 
 
144 LAMIA. 
 
 hand. Next morning we returned to 
 Dresden. 
 
 I had been extremely amused, as well as 
 gratified, by my late manner of life ; and the 
 evidently growing attraction of Lord Hel- 
 vellyn for my society was so great a conquest, 
 after his former neglect of me, that my 
 vanity was as deeply interested in his pre- 
 ference, as my heart was captivated by his 
 attentions. This did not escape the pene- 
 trating glance of some of our entourage, and 
 particularly of Prince Demetrius, who, with 
 a degree of kindness it would be ungrateful 
 not to acknowledge, said something he knew I 
 should understand about the eyes of the 
 world being upon his two most distinguished 
 
LAMIA. 145 
 
 friends, unconscious themselves of being the 
 objects of remark. A similar hint was given 
 to me with infinitely less good taste by 
 the disappointed Mr. Vassyll, which I 
 was almost provoked into treating as an 
 insult. 
 
 Mr. Darcy continued my most faithful and 
 despairing admirer, as he said himself; and I 
 condescended so far as to allow his atten- 
 tions, knowing that in a young attache, 
 cela ne tire pas a consequence, besides, it 
 diverted me. 
 
 The Embassy Ball in Dresden was as bril- 
 liant as that at Pillnitz had been. We had 
 all the portrait-gallery of Dresden walking or 
 dancing in their historical costume. Electors 
 
 VOL. IL L 
 
146 LAMIA. 
 
 of the time of Maximilian waltzing with 
 Margravines of the age of Augustus ; dread- 
 ful anachronisms to be sure, but very pretty 
 to see. At that period everything alt-Deutsch, 
 everything that recalled the glories of the 
 empire, was alike popular with princes and 
 people : the former have since found but 
 their mistake, and discovered to their cost 
 that, under the mask of German History, 
 they have been fostering' the serpent of 
 German Democracy. All was gay, however, 
 for the time, and an Elector Palatine, dressed 
 correctly after Vandyke, did not waltz the 
 worse for it ; though some of the Holbeins, 
 among whom was Mr. Vassyll, were, it must 
 be confessed, rather stiff. 
 
LAMIA. 147 
 
 The palace of the Embassy was one of the 
 few in the city of Dresden that had a hand- 
 some conservatory. It was a gallery filled 
 with exotics, enlivened by a murmuring foun- 
 tain in the middle, and beautifully lighted on 
 this occasion. Mr. Darcy took the opportu- 
 nity of telling me, as he found me seated 
 under a fragrant jessamine bower, that he 
 was desperately in love with me, knew it was 
 of no use, could not help it, but must unbur- 
 then his mind; and so being at ease, asked 
 me to waltz. I was glad to settle the matter 
 so amicably, and graciously complied. Just 
 as we left the conservatory, I espied Mr. 
 Vassyll, pretending to examine critically a 
 Venus-anadyomene, which stood, the presiding 
 
 L 2 
 
148 LAMIA. 
 
 goddess of the place, by a marble fountain, 
 in the centre. I took no notice, and passed 
 on. My dress was varied this time from that 
 of Eleonora d*Este, to the Queen of Night, 
 to which my crown of stars was more suit- 
 able. 
 
 The ball ended like all other balls, with a 
 mixture of feelings, moral and physical: 
 fatigue, satisfaction, vanity, disappointment, 
 and every variety of good and bad spirits. 
 I had every reason to be satisfied, except 
 with myself. Poor Gwyneth, on the con- 
 trary, looked pale and iU, and sought to avoid 
 me whenever she saw her husband near me, 
 which was often, though he spoke little 
 to me. 
 
LAMIA. 149 
 
 Our stay at Dresden drew near to a close ; 
 all my tastes had been gratified ; but the 
 kindness of Lord Helvellyn devised yet one 
 fete more, for my special pleasure, which was 
 to be musical. 
 
 I had paid great attention to German 
 music lately, and in particular to that of the 
 glory of Dresden, Sebastian Bach. I fre 
 quented the celebrated Opera, and equally 
 famous Catholic Church ; I practised with a 
 professor, still deeper and drier than Mendoza; 
 I studied composition and instrumentation, 
 and acoustics; I even made trials of my 
 power in composing. ^ 
 
 I had seen at Milan the fine fresco of 
 Luini, representing the translation of the 
 
150 LAMIA. 
 
 body of St. Catherine, floating in the air, 
 supported by angels, in which I was as much 
 struck by the poetic spirit of the legend, as 
 by the originality of the painting. 
 
 I had adopted the theory that the fine 
 arts are all one under different phases, and 
 that really beautiful conceptions of the mind 
 may be expressed alike by adequate talent in 
 Poetry, Painting, Music, and Sculpture. My 
 philosophy was pleased at this, and Professor 
 Eisenhaupt, my master, was in raptures with 
 what he called my German ideas, though, in 
 truth, they were rather due to the influence of 
 Italy on my imagination. I therefore re- 
 solved, at some future time, to compose a 
 cantata on the translation of St. Catherine. 
 
LAMIA. 151 
 
 J had other musical visions : " The Titans," 
 a Grecian opera ; "The Magdalen," a Catholic 
 symphony ; but they could not be executed 
 at present. The works of genius are the 
 inspiration of a moment ; but the conveying 
 them to the senses of others demands the 
 labours of a life. No truly great artist, in 
 any line, can afford to want either faculty. I 
 wished to unite the seraphic melodies of the 
 Sistine Chapel with the deep soul-grounded 
 harmonies of the German school. But I am 
 growing rather German myself, so I will 
 pause. ^'jvm immm 
 
 , : Valerie during all this time read to me, or 
 rather fed me with the cleverest French works, 
 which gave me new and daring ideas, such as 
 
152 LAMIA. 
 
 our sophisticated life drinks in with pleasure, 
 but which end in a mental intoxication. 
 
 Gwyneth's manner towards myself grew 
 colder, and I felt hurt by it ; but conscious of 
 my false position towards her, I dared not 
 hazard an observation on it. I suspect that 
 Mr. Vassyll now, as before, gave her some 
 hints with reference to her husband; I am 
 not sure that she received them with incredu- 
 lity, but I must ever do her the justice to 
 believe that she discouraged them. Still, such 
 intimations, when founded on truth, as these 
 indeed were, must have an effect ; and I think 
 they sank deep into poor Gwyneth's heart, 
 and accelerated her early end. 
 
LAMIA. 153 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 *' Yes, weep ; for it is death to part, 
 'Tis death to part, and Ufe to stay. 
 The anguish of a broken heart 
 Is all that I may bear away. 
 
 '* Cold is thy form in my caress. 
 
 Mute are thy lips, and quenched the glow 
 Of those dark eyes, that sad express 
 Such deep, unutterable woe. 
 
 * I do not bid thee to forget. 
 
 Such were but idle words from me ; 
 For Ufe is but a long regret, 
 
 Thus parted from thy love and thee. 
 
154 LAMIA. 
 
 " The moon's broad light streams down the sky, 
 Out of the night the deep stars shine ; 
 What tempest of the soul is ours, 
 Whilst nature wears this face divine. 
 
 " I cannot weep : with me no tears 
 ReUeve the torture of the brain ; 
 I only see the lapse of years. 
 Where we may never meet again. 
 
 " Farewell, farewell, for all in vain, 
 
 The moral rule by which men dwell, 
 A love like ours unto restrain ; 
 
 And so, farewell — a long farewell !" 
 
 The spring advanced, the time for our 
 departure drew nigh. The concert, of which 
 I was to have the entire management and 
 selection, was hastened; Helvellyn appeared 
 
LAMIA. 155 
 
 hurried, abstracted, full of anxiety about some- 
 thing ; his wife too was evidently ill at ease, 
 but not at all inclined, as formerly, to opeii 
 her heart to me.; ^aAairjiri ,t.H.'i.ni ul* 
 
 Part of my character is, or would be de- 
 scribed as, totally inconsistent with the other ; 
 I am fiery and passionate when roused or 
 otherwise deeply affected, but short of that 
 point I am possessed of imperturbable, indo- 
 mitable patience. I know how to bide my 
 time, and repay myself for my constraint. I 
 looked on with calmness, did not commit my- 
 self, or encourage Helvellyn, neither did I 
 attempt such a false step as to affect confiden- 
 tial terms any longer with his wife. I was 
 acting treacherously, but I could not stoop to 
 
156 LAMIA. 
 
 add hypocrisy to betrayal. I calmly attended 
 to the rehearsals, turned over Handel and 
 Mozart, and giving all my earnestness of 
 spirit to the music, remained a statue of ice 
 for the rest of the world. I believe the world 
 were deceived, all but myself and Gwyneth. 
 
 Our departure was at hand, the day was 
 fixed, and the concert was to take place the 
 evening before it. The music was of mine 
 and HelveUyn's selection, deep, impassioned, 
 and thrilling ; beginning with the old masters 
 and ending with some of the most spirit-stir- 
 ring compositions of the moderns, performed 
 with all the resources of the present day. 
 Everything went off well, and Helvellyn was 
 so enraptured with my performance that he 
 
LAMIA. 157 
 
 seemed really to be possessed by some other 
 spirit than that which usually regulated his 
 actions. There was no longer that cautious 
 and stately dignity that viewed and treated 
 everything with calm reflection : to this had 
 succeeded transports of admiration and unre- 
 pressed compliments to myself and my talents, 
 which even went beyond my own opinion of 
 my deserts. 
 
 While the guests were departing, Lord 
 Helvellyn met me in the conservatory and 
 said, in a hurried manner: "Lamia, dear 
 Lamia, I beg, I pray, meet me in this spot at 
 midnight!" I was taken quite by surprise, 
 and ere I had time to bestow a thought upon 
 the step I was about to commit myself to, as 
 
158 LAMIA. 
 
 anxious to avoid the notice of any of the 
 retiring guests as of the servants, I uttered 
 the fatal word " Yes !" 
 
 The die was cast, I had with my own Hps 
 said it. 
 
 We separated. I went to my apartment, 
 and desired Eloise not to sit up for me ; and 
 as the hour of midnight is not much later 
 than the closing of a house in Germany 
 after an evening party, I returned to the con- 
 servatory after a short time with a book in 
 my hand, as if going to replace it in the 
 library. I had previously wished HelveUyn a 
 pretended good night, and even if perceived, 
 I flattered myself that my movements would 
 be easily accounted for. 
 
LAMIA, 159 
 
 On my return, I seated myself near 
 the fountain, which still continued to play 
 in its marble basin, mournfully illumi- 
 nated by the single alabaster lamp that 
 remained. 
 
 I stiU held my book, without even pretend- 
 ing to read; the rustling of the beautiful 
 exotics which exhaled a luxurious perfume, 
 the gurgling of the waters, even the memory 
 of the soft sounds of music with which scarce 
 an hour ago I had been enraptured ; all this, 
 added to a certain curiosity, a certain fear, as 
 to what was coming, worked up my feelings 
 to such a pitch of nervous excitement as I 
 had never before experienced. 
 
 The stillness, where all had so lately been 
 brilliant gaiety, the quick transition from an 
 
160 . LAMIA. 
 
 almost courtly circle to the solitude, but, ah ! 
 not the silence, of my own thoughts, had 
 something awful in it which made me 
 shudder. But I had done nothing. It was 
 the anticipatory reproach of conscience. 
 
 There is something always melancholy in 
 the quick change from the pomps and page- 
 antry of the world to the simple state of 
 nature. For such is night, sleep, darkness, 
 repose, after the many unnatural and un- 
 necessary fatigues of a day's life in this 
 civilized and artificial world. How truly and 
 beautiftdly is this expressed by the old 
 Spanish poet, who says : 
 
 " Que se hicieron las damas, 
 Sus tocadas, sus vestidos, 
 Sus olores ? 
 
LAMIA. 161 
 
 " Que se hicieron las llamas 
 De los fuegos encendidos 
 De amadores ? 
 
 *' Que se hizo aquel trovar 
 Qas musicas acordadas ' ^nii.yf 
 Que taSian ? ' *-' ••». 
 
 " Que se hizo aquel danzar 
 Aquellas rosas'chapadas -jk, ix 
 Que traian ? ; ,. 
 
 Que fueron sino desvaneos 
 Que fueron sino verduras 
 De las eras?" 
 
 " What is become of those lovely dames. 
 Their jewels, perfumes, and bright attire, 
 And tail plumes flying ? 
 
 VOL. n. M 
 
162 LAMIA. 
 
 ** What is become of those ardent flames, 
 Lighted from Passion's wildest fire, 
 For lovers sighing ? 
 
 " What is become of the soft romance ? 
 What is become of the joyous song. 
 And the music of the lover ? 
 
 " Where is now that graceful dance. 
 Tripping the rosy path along ? 
 Ah ! all is over ! 
 
 " Twas but a vision's hasty glance ; 
 Fading flowers on a garland hung. 
 Ne'er to recover !" 
 
 But, to me, this passing away of the 
 pageant of the hour was like the passing 
 
LAMIA 163 
 
 away of life. I felt already that a new world 
 was to begin for me to-morrow. Tearftil 
 apprehensions of I knew not what, guilty 
 feelings of my treachery to Gwyneth, more 
 and more oppressed me, and I trembled. 
 
 Perhaps I waited but few minutes, but it 
 seemed a life, for his arrival. I never felt 
 alone before. I had just come from the only 
 good, the only pious work I could now claim 
 as mine. I had seen my poor and enfeebled 
 father in his bed — according to my custom — 
 before I descended, having left Valerie in my 
 room. Ah! what were my self-reproaches, 
 knowing his high sense of honour, his deep 
 feeling of the duties of women, of female 
 purity, of the honour of his race. My calm- 
 
 M *2 
 
164 LAMIA. 
 
 ness quite abandoned me. I would retreat — 
 I would fly — but I was as bound to the spot. 
 At that moment Helvellyn entered. 
 
 With the same rapid and passionate glance 
 I had remarked in him before, he hurried to 
 my side ; he fell at my feet, and seizing both 
 my hands, which I, in powerless agitation, 
 abandoned to him, protested his despair at 
 parting from me, and, sobbing, avowed that 
 his passion was more than he could conquer. 
 Suddenly, he asked me, could I — ^could the 
 Lamia of his heart — sacrifice for him, what 
 he was ready, at a moment's notice, to sacri- 
 fice for her ? Could she, as he would, leave 
 cotmtry, home, station, and renown — yea, 
 everything, for him and love ? Would she 
 
LAMIA. 1 65 
 
 fly with her own — her Helvellyn — to some 
 distant shore, and hide in another hemisphere 
 the sins of this? Is she capable of such 
 tremendous sacrifice ? 
 
 He paused, and as I saw that noble 
 countenance, that manly brow, those eyes 
 bright with beauty and lustrous with passion, 
 I thought there was something fearful in the 
 convulsions with which the struggles of the 
 human heart can agitate the fi-ame. 
 
 He continued wildly to urge my consent : 
 talked with scorn of the judgments of this 
 I world, and with defiance of those of the 
 world to come : he was no moral coward, and 
 could brave the chimeras of both one and the 
 other. Could I? 
 
166 LAMIA. 
 
 Again he paused. I made no answer. 
 He proceeded : 
 
 " Can I live without you ? No ! Can 
 you live without me ? Try !" 
 
 He said this with terrific, and almost 
 supernatural vehemence. 
 
 " My reply is here," laying his hand on 
 his heart. 
 
 As yet, / had made no reply. 
 
 That look — that agonizing look — that 
 appeal to my courage, unnerved me. Still, I 
 had not consented. 
 
 " My father !" the only words I 
 spoke. 
 
 These words alone, from innate conviction, 
 seemed to strike him. They were the only 
 
LAMIA. 167 
 
 remnant of virtue I could summon to my 
 assistance. 
 
 Then, solemnly, and as if coming to a final 
 decision, he fixed his eyes on me, and said : 
 
 " If, in three months' time, you love me 
 still as now, I will follow you to England, 
 and we will fly from the world — no matter 
 where — but fly together." 
 
 He still held my hands in his, and 
 paused. 
 
 I pronounced, with less calm, but not with 
 less decision, the fatal " Yes ! " which has 
 been, and will be, a leaden weight upon my 
 breast from that day to my grave. 
 
 He was at my knees, sobbing inarticulately 
 his love, when I was suddenly startled by a 
 movement among the branches. 
 
1 68 LAMIA. 
 
 It was a moment for even an innocent 
 superstition to have exercised its power — 
 what must it have been for the consciences 
 of two such persons ! The cold and angry 
 moon darted its silver rays through the 
 trembling evergreens, not more trembling 
 than our hearts : they fell with an icy lustre 
 on the marble statue of the crouching Venus, 
 and on the sparkling fountain thus sharply 
 relieved from the gloom behind. But on 
 what else did those silver rays fall, and dis- 
 cover in melancholy beauty, far transcend- 
 ing either marble form or crystal fountain? 
 What shadowy figure is that issuing from 
 a seat in the niche behind the statue, so 
 closely shrouded with foliage, that the dim 
 light had not enabled us to penetrate 
 
LAMIA. 169 
 
 it? Is there one being whose presence, at 
 that moment, would strike terror into both 
 our guilty hearts? One, and one alone, 
 could, by her simple presence on the spot, by 
 her calm dignity, her eye that need not 
 flinch, her cheek that needs no blush, cast 
 headlong our bold and guilty spirits from the 
 pride of almost premeditated crime to the 
 depths of irrevocable despair. 
 
 Such, at least, were my feelings, when 
 Lady Helvellyn emerged from the darkness, 
 and stood, in a majesty of beauty such as 
 I had never before seen in her, and which 
 lofty virtue alone can give, before, nay, al- 
 most between me and her husband. 
 
 Lord Helvellyn started up at the sight of 
 
1 70 LAMIA. 
 
 this phantom — for such it appeared to him — 
 and with that look, that extraordinary look, 
 that had once before, in the same evening, 
 alarmed me by its dark and fearful expres- 
 sion, seemed on the point of giving way to a 
 demoniacal violence. 
 
 I shuddered. His wife calmly, but so- 
 lemnly, waved her hand, which seemed, with 
 superhuman power, to keep him at a distance, 
 and said : " I did not come here to watch or 
 to reproach you. My presence, the effect of 
 a sleepless night, is most involuntary. La- 
 mia, you whom I thought my friend — you 
 whom I have trusted and loved — Lamia, 
 farewell, for ever ! Mav we never meet 
 again ! Never can I behold you more ; for. 
 
LAMIA. 171 
 
 after what has passed, I feel that I can never, 
 never forgive you ! I would not change 
 places with you, even to obtain his love, of 
 which you have robbed me. God grant that 
 we may never meet again !" 
 
 Without a further word, even to her hus- 
 band, the unhappy wife slowly withdrew be- 
 hind the shrubs. As I saw her for the last 
 time, fade like a shadowy vision among the 
 flowers, it seemed as if my last breath, my 
 last chance of redemption in this life, was in 
 the act of passing away from me. That fair, 
 careworn face, that spectral frame, will never 
 pass from my memory. 
 
 How I left the spot, I know not : I buried 
 my face in my hands. Helvellyn was there, 
 
172 LAMIA. 
 
 I knew him not: with a frantic energy, I 
 rose; I clasped, I wrung my hands, and 
 rushed in frenzy from the fatal spot. I 
 gained my apartment, where the faithful 
 Valerie had long been waiting my return 
 with anxiety. She was aware that my feel- 
 ings had been for some time in a state of 
 nervous agitation, though she knew not the 
 cause. The present was no moment for 
 explanations. Valerie soothed and attended 
 me with the most affectionate care, but I had 
 ever that scene before my eyes : I saw, again 
 and again, the unworldly countenance of that 
 pure and injured woman, calmly reproaching 
 me for my treachery ; I saw the passionate 
 and all but frantic expression of his coun- 
 
LAMIA. 173 
 
 tenance ; a chaos of mingled feelings of love, 
 remorse, terror, accompanied these visions 
 through my brain, as I lay, thrown on my 
 couch, v^aiting with impatience till daylight 
 dawned. Whenever the face of Helvellyn, 
 transported with fearful rage, presented itself 
 to my feverish eyes, I felt anew that inde- 
 scribable pang shoot through my head, as if 
 premonitory of an awful fate for me as well 
 as for him. 
 
 Valerie was unceasing in her care, and 
 towards morning I grew calmer ; but sleep 
 never visited my eyelids. At the first 
 glimpse of daylight I feebly looked around, 
 and the first object that met my eyes was 
 the diamond crown of stars, which Valerie, 
 
1 74 LAMIA. 
 
 had removed from my unconscious, my un- 
 worthy brow, on my return to my chamber. 
 The sight recalling, as it did, old and new 
 feelings, good and bad, was too much for 
 me, and I burst into a flood of tears. I 
 thought of my good sister, her tremendous 
 prophecy, for such her pathetic warning was 
 now proved to be : I remembered too well with 
 what different feelings she wore it, and yet 
 a fatal gift had it been to her. I wept 
 and wept again. 
 
 Partially relieved, I heard the prepara- 
 tions for our early departure, and mechani- 
 cally allowed Eloise and Marie to dress me, 
 while Valerie reposed. Then, after bathing 
 my aching head in icy water, as a means 
 
LAMIA. 175 
 
 of fortifying me against a fatiguing day's 
 journey, I repaired to my father, whom I 
 found already up, and Helvellyn by his 
 side. 
 
 He did not speak: I was incapable of a 
 word. As he led me to the carriage, how- 
 ever, he with a silent but convulsive pres- 
 sure of my hand, placed in it a letter, 
 which I could not refuse to take. T was 
 obliged to restrain my feelings, as Mr. 
 Vassyll was there watching with courtly 
 malice and attention, and Mr. Darcy truly 
 lamenting our departure. 
 
 I found in the letter the same pas- 
 sionate style, the same entreaties as be- 
 fore; he gave me three months for reflec- 
 
176 LAMIA. 
 
 tion : it contained every sophistry and argu- 
 ment that a man of intense feeling and 
 mad passion, of extraordinary talent and 
 little principle, could suggest. I read it 
 alone. Terribly shaken as I was, it was 
 necessary to take an immediate determina- 
 tion ; and by a returning sense of virtue, 
 of what was due to myself as a woman, by 
 the inspiration perhaps of my guardian 
 angel, by the thought of my good sister, 
 I resolved not to answer it, but to do my 
 best to banish Helvellyn from my thoughts. 
 The journey passed like a tedious dream, 
 and at last we arrived at the antique walls 
 of Rainham. 
 
LAMIA. 177 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Passions are likened best to floods and streams. 
 The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb. 
 So when affections yield discourse, it seems 
 The bottom is but shallow, whence they come. 
 They that are rich in words must need discover. 
 They are but poor in that which makes a lover." 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 
 
 " Such seem'd the whisper at my side : 
 ' What is it thou knowest, sweet voice ?' I cried, 
 * A hidden hope,' the voice replied, 
 
 " So heavenly-toned, that in that hour 
 From out my sullen heart a power 
 Broke, like the rainbow from the shower. 
 VOL. II. N 
 
178 LAMIA. 
 
 ** And forth into the fields I went. 
 And nature's living motion lent 
 The pulse of hope to discontent. 
 
 '* I wondered, while I paced along. 
 The woods were fiU'd so full with song. 
 There seemed no room for sense of wrong.*' 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 The regular, monotonous life of a journey, 
 and the wise, for the time virtuous, resolu- 
 tions I had formed, restored me to a degree 
 of calmness and health of body and mind 
 that I had not anticipated; I found myself 
 at home, determined to try to lead a new 
 life, and to occupy myself in all the useful 
 ways which had made my sister happy 
 herself, and beloved by others. I was sure, 
 
LAMIA. 179 
 
 that in taking Iris as an example, I should 
 at least do what was most pleasing to my 
 father, now my chief object in life. For the 
 future I would not speculate, but after the 
 mental trials I had gone through, was but 
 too content to leave it a mysterious void. 
 
 We found you, Henry, as you must well 
 remember, the sole tenant of Rainham 
 Abbey, at the very threshold, awaiting our 
 arrival. You found me changed, and kindly 
 assisted both my father and myself in set- 
 tling ourselves anew in our old house. You 
 continued to be its inmate, my father's 
 health made him more and more dependent 
 on you for various matters of business ; and 
 your presence, welcome as it was on other 
 
 N 2 
 
1 80 LAMIA. 
 
 grounds, prevented the total want of society, 
 to which our unwillingness to receive visitors 
 at that time exposed us. Believe, even 
 in these melancholy moments in which I 
 am writing, I look hack to our agreeable 
 walks and rides, your assistance in country 
 and household business, your good choice of 
 books and studies (for to you was I indebted 
 for all the solid instruction I at that time 
 attained), to your society — in a word, for the 
 most satisfactory period of my hfe. You 
 entered into my better character, you were 
 happily not aware of its faults ; you took a 
 pleasure in trying to make perfect such 
 capacity as that better half presented to you, 
 and shut your eyes benevolently to the way- 
 
LAMIA. 181 
 
 ward temper that you could not be totally 
 blind to. I freely conversed with you on all 
 subjects of literature and art, of history, of 
 our travels, and of philosophical subjects in 
 general : you tried to lead me into the right 
 path on all topics, even on the dim and 
 misty subject of religion. 
 
 You knew not my story. You knew not 
 the gnawing worm, the canker of remorse 
 which lay ever at my heart ; and fondly 
 thought that, with such dispositions as I 
 manifested, I must be fairly in the way of 
 salvation. In all I said, and all the imperfect 
 good that I exhibited, I was perfectly sincere : 
 hypocrisy is no part of my failings ; I am 
 inconsistent, but not insincere. 
 
J 82 LAMIA. 
 
 In truth, I was then for a time in the 
 right road ; my repentance for the irreme- 
 diable sorrow I had caused my sister, whom 
 every object at Rainham brought with double 
 force and bitter pangs to my recollection ; 
 my remorse for the wicked and treacherous 
 conduct I had held towards Lady Helvellyn ; 
 aU tended to make me eager to pursue the 
 beneficent plans of the former from a feeling 
 of affection, and to equal in goodness, from a 
 desire to atone for my sins toward the latter. 
 My father's declining health did not prevent 
 his taking great pleasure in seeing me thus 
 employed, he said it brought Iris to his mind, 
 and affectionately owned that he had idolized 
 her injudiciously to my prejudice. He was 
 
LAMIA. 183 
 
 now happy in me — happy in seeing me culti- 
 vate my intellect with your severer taste ; and 
 with the true feeling of a country gentleman, 
 rejoiced that there was one of the family left 
 active enough to look after, and kind enough 
 to care for, the people on the estate. 
 
 With this view, I sought out all the old 
 persons whom 1 knew to have been my 
 sister's pensioners ; I tried my talent at 
 schooling, ill adapted as I was for anything 
 of the kind ; and I even endeavoured to 
 catechise and lecture the children on their 
 religious belief. This was the hardest of all : 
 for when one has but an iQ-grounded faith 
 oneself, how can one forcibly impress it upon 
 others ? It is one of the evils of philosophy, 
 
1 84 LAMIA. 
 
 that although it may lead by direct, yet 
 laborious, paths to the sublimest notions of 
 creative wisdom and power, it takes away to 
 a certain extent the faculty of persuasion ; 
 by requiring convincing proofs, most satis- 
 factory to minds of a certain stamp, it is less 
 applicable to weaker intellects, which are 
 chiefly open to persuasion in proportion as 
 they see that their teacher is persuaded too. 
 I was in earnest, my earnestness went some 
 way with my pupils, my reasoning none. 
 
 At times I visited my sister's observatory, 
 and turned my thoughts to the same subjects, 
 by remembering how a profound and mathe- 
 matical study had led her calm, but inquiring 
 mind, to the loftiest conceptions of Provi- 
 
LAMIA. 185 
 
 dence, by the severe analysis of His grandest 
 works. " Nothing," she would say, " proved 
 the existence of God so much as the convic- 
 tion of the necessity of an Almighty Power to 
 produce, or even to imagine, such wondrous 
 systems as the universe displays." Then 
 would I raise my eyes to the dark azure vault 
 canopied with stars, and think myself too 
 humble to be regarded by the Author of 
 such magnificence. Immediately, and as if 
 sent on purpose, the hum of some minutely 
 perfect night-insect, or the breezy fragrance 
 of some aromatic evening flower, would re- 
 mind me that there were myriads of lovely, 
 inimitable things in the creation at a far lower 
 step on the scale than man. I looked from 
 the material to the moral world : I beheld 
 
186 LAMIA. 
 
 the same wisdom, the same Power in the 
 immaterial as in the material world. Then, 
 my pangs of memory and remorse would 
 shoot across my brain : then I would doubt 
 and quarrel with God, then with floods of 
 tears return to the tomb of my sister and 
 mother, and on my knees implore pardon, 
 pardon. Nearer to goodness than I had yet 
 ever been, I was still nearer to madness. But 
 Iris, who had no better religious education 
 than myself, how did she escape these trials ? 
 I murmured, as if ill-used ; then thought what 
 a guardian angel my sister would have been 
 to me, had she lived, and had I quenched my 
 childish jealousy of her ; then I cried, " Dead, 
 dead !" and wept piteously. 
 
 Once, as I looked upon that starry crown 
 
LAMIA. 187 
 
 which had encircled my poor sister's brow 
 on her fatal birth-night, and, filled with 
 consciousness of my own unfitness to wear 
 it, I put the brilliant toy aside, a sudden 
 recollection flashed across my mind of a 
 conversation that had once passed between 
 us on the subject of our favourite 
 studies. 
 
 Iris had been eloquently and earnestly 
 setting before me the noble views opened to 
 her by astronomy, and said : 
 
 " Had no other branch of deep science 
 or captivating nature been accessible to the 
 intellectual powers of man, I think astronomy 
 alone would lead him up to God. You, 
 Lamia, you too have a divine talent in 
 
188 LAMIA. 
 
 your powers of music, which charm the 
 feelings as completely as my favourite study 
 compels the reason to acknowledge the all- 
 pervading Power that rules within us as 
 without us, and by harmonious systems 
 combines, sustains, and renews the universal 
 frame of nature. Cultivate that talent. 
 Lamia ; the genius of music will not lead 
 you astray ; its divine sounds will raise 
 your heart to Heaven, even when words fail 
 to convince your reason." 
 
 Inspired with these thoughts, I enthu- 
 siastically applied myself to music, which I 
 had for a while laid aside. It was one of 
 the few pleasures left to my father; and I 
 saw, with equal satisfaction, that you were 
 
LAMIA. 189 
 
 not indifferent to it. I had both science 
 and practice, you endeavoured to turn my 
 taste to the graver style of church music, 
 in order to improve the service of your 
 church, and I willingly lent my aid towards 
 that object. 
 
 The contrast between my existence at 
 that period, my subdued passions and quiet 
 employments, and the worldly life I had 
 been living abroad — even had not the last 
 stormy agitation of my mind occurred — was 
 so great that I began insensibly to think 
 that I might be reconciled to an unobtrusive 
 country life, and that the change from the 
 high places of this world to what was 
 comparative obscurity, might be more sooth- 
 
190 LAMIA. 
 
 ing to a sore and wounded spirit than any 
 distraction that the world could afford ; for 
 my conscience still smote me about Gwyneth 
 — severe and just as her resolution not to 
 see me more undoubtedly was, which my 
 humbled heart could not gainsay — still ar- 
 dently did I long for some opportunity, in 
 silence and unknown, to make her some 
 reparation for the injury I had nearly done 
 her, and to find some vent for my over- 
 flowing penitence. 
 
 This train of thought had gradually 
 worked so great an alteration in my temper 
 and manner, that I was hardly the same 
 creature I had been before. You, I saw, 
 were more than pleased at the surprising 
 
LAMIA. 191 
 
 change in me — you acknowledged to me 
 candidly that you were so. We were as 
 brother and sister; my father, all the 
 household observed our intimacy. 
 
 Why were we not more than that to 
 each other ? I admired your character ; 
 my sore heart asked now no other love 
 than yours. Ah, how I longed for an 
 opening on your part ! — now I may say it. 
 I wished for it to take place before the 
 three months elapsed, after which I could 
 not escape from a renewal of Helvellyn's 
 solicitations. I feared my own weakness — 
 I even feared Helvellyn's impetuosity. 
 
 After great apparent doubt and hesi- 
 tation on your side, but certainly no affecta- 
 
192 LAMIA. 
 
 tion of coyness on mine, in a walk you 
 cannot forget, under the aged chestnut grove 
 in the park, you made your proposals ; you 
 spoke frankly, earnestly, truly, as is your 
 wont ; I answered only by floods of tears. 
 At last I audibly pronounced the awful 
 " Yes !" which formed so strong a contrast 
 to the guilty yes I had three short months 
 before given to the importunate Helvellyn, 
 that my heart beats violently at the recol- 
 lection ; but my feeling now was intense 
 joy, it was a virtuous thankfulness for the 
 means of escape from a most trying com- 
 plication of circumstances — means afforded 
 almost miraculously ; it seemed like a plank of 
 salvation thrown out to a drowning mariner. 
 
LAMIA. 193 
 
 Your happiness, Henry, seemed — nay, was 
 — equal to mine : we prolonged our walk till 
 dusk, to talk freely and affectionately over 
 future prospects, to explain previous silence, 
 to communicate the thousand things that can- 
 not be said before, nor at least half so well as 
 after the final mutual understanding. 
 
 Why did I not then frankly unburthen my 
 heart, and disclose my whole story to an 
 honourable and affectionate bridegroom? I 
 had done nothing, though too nearly guilty in 
 mind : I might have thrown myself at his feet, 
 made confession, and obtained absolution from 
 one so conscientious as you. If not before, then 
 nothing ought to have withheld my explana- 
 tion, painful and humiUating as it must have 
 
 VOL. IL O 
 
1 94 LAMIA. 
 
 been, from my betrothed. That, if not a 
 fault, was the crowning error of my life : my 
 silence sealed my doom. 
 
 I little thought how near the catastrophe 
 was approaching. As we drew near the 
 Abbey we met the postman, who gave me a 
 letter. I sat down on a fallen tree to read it. 
 
 I need not relate to you anything of that 
 fatal evening. All that I distinctly remember 
 of it is that I took the letter without imme- 
 diately looking at it, and turning to you, said : 
 " How this heavenly sunset is giving a fit and 
 glorious finish to the brilliant summer's day. 
 May such be an emblem of our lives, dearest 
 Henry." And you, with looks of adoration, of 
 true and holy love, replied : " Lamia, dearest, 
 
LAMIA. 195 
 
 may God above, who sees us, bear witness 
 to the depth, the sincerity, the purity of my 
 attachment." The last beams of the sink- 
 ing sun were glancing through the verdant 
 branches of the aged chestnut-trees which 
 formed our rustic canopy ; the birds, retiring to 
 their happy home, carolled forth their thank- 
 ful song — their hymn of praise : all around 
 us breathed the air of content and peace. 
 
 Suddenly on opening the letter, which I 
 now remarked was in mourning, I saw at a 
 glance from whom it came. An instant 
 sufficed to make me mistress of its contents ; 
 I gave a scream, when, pierced by a demo- 
 niac pang that shot through my brain, I flung 
 myself on the ground, and knew no more. 
 
 o 2 
 
196 LAMIA. 
 
 Oh ! day of horrors and of retribution, yet 
 not the last which the wretched Lamia was 
 to know in her eventful life. I saw you no 
 more till long, very long afterwards. 
 
 How I was conveyed to the house, I can- 
 not say ; I found myself on recovering, late 
 in the night, supported in my bed by Valerie 
 and Eloise ; the first words I heard were : 
 " Mon Dieu ! elle respire" I then sank back 
 into a state of insensibility. But again, 
 towards morning, I revived, and by Valerie's 
 care, and the help of strong restoratives, I 
 came to myself sufficiently to collect what 
 Lad happened. A flood of tears came sea- 
 sonably to my relief. 
 
 It was broad daylight ; I began to look 
 
LAMIA. 197 
 
 around me. The fatal letter, folded, lay on 
 my little table. The attendants had left the 
 room. I dared to take up the letter. 
 
 Too weU had I understood it the day 
 before, but now I had only a confused 
 remembrance of its purport. I read it 
 again. 
 
 It was brief, but passionate. In it Hel- 
 vellyn told me of the death of the unhappy 
 Gwyneth (whom I from my heart lamented 
 more than he did) in her confinement. 
 After alluding, in vague, wild terms, to our 
 mutual love and engagements, he said he 
 should hasten home to claim my hand, and 
 to accept a high office that had been tendered 
 him in the English Cabinet. 
 
198 LAMIA. 
 
 How slowly does the mind regain its 
 powers after a violent shock, such as I re- 
 ceived ! how small a part of one's intellectual 
 faculties is that consciousness, the presence of 
 which is, or seems to be, the criterion between 
 life and death. I lay perfectly aware of my 
 existence, of the certainty of some great mis- 
 fortune, and of my utter inability to remedy 
 it : but long I lay incapable of putting ideas 
 together, in other words, of reasoning, so as 
 to draw any conclusion as to what had 
 happened, or to form any plan in consequence. 
 The sight, however, of Helvellyn's letter 
 gradually, but painfully, recalled me to my 
 senses. 
 
 It was plain that I had let it drop, equally 
 
LAMIA. 199 
 
 plain to my mind that you, assuming, from 
 the new position in which we were just placed, 
 a right to see what had so strongly affected 
 me, must have read it ; and then, the in- 
 ference was not doubtful, you must have fled 
 in horror. 
 
 The moment this conviction flashed upon 
 me, another pang darted through my brain, 
 I lost my senses anew, I screamed, I raved, 
 till I brought my weeping Valerie to my side. 
 I cried, " Henry, Henry, where is he ?" 
 
 " He left the Abbey early this morning," 
 said she, leaving this letter in my hands. 
 " I can answer that none else have seen 
 it." 
 
 It was then too true : on the verge of hap- 
 
200 LAMIA. 
 
 piness, of that heavenly love, which is the 
 sure haven to an almost shipwrecked soul, I 
 had lost my last chance of peace in this 
 world. Tears came to my relief; I sobbed 
 myself to sleep, and after a feverish night, 
 woke only to a new, but calmer sorrow. T 
 was now able to reflect that you, learning 
 from Helvellyn's wild and passionate ex- 
 pressions of love and previous engagements, 
 the first intimation of any sort of attachment 
 between us, must have believed me a monster 
 of dishonour and deceit. You, who had only 
 seen Helvellyn the ardent admirer of Iris, 
 and ready to neglect poor Gwyneth for her, 
 could have had no idea that he could so soon 
 have transferred his affections to me ; but you 
 
LAMIA. 201 
 
 could not with such evidence, and your 
 former distrust of his character now dis- 
 believe it. 
 
 His cold announcement of his wife's sad 
 death, as allowing him to fulfil the wish of 
 his heart as speedily as he could come to 
 England, proved the fact of our previous 
 mutual understanding ; but the happy, yes, 
 happy removal, I say, of poor injured Gwy- 
 neth from a world of woe, rendering unneces- 
 sary any allusion to the guilty project of flight 
 to another hemisphere, fortunately left you in 
 ignorance of the depth of iniquity to which I 
 had so nearly sunk. Had time been granted 
 for explanation, or had I summoned courage 
 at once to confess to you, my betrothed, my 
 
202 LAMIA. 
 
 whole history, and to open the secrets of my 
 heart, you would have learnt that, however 
 far teneath the standard of ideal excellence to 
 which you in your love were ready to assign 
 me, I was yet not thoroughly guilty. You 
 would have learnt, and I am sure would have 
 had too much Christian charity to despise 
 the contrite heart that clung to you, whom it 
 had chosen as the sole present means of 
 salvation. 
 
 Alas ! the next day brought a confirmation 
 of my suspicions. A cold, but warning, 
 letter from you, informed me that our pro- 
 posed union was at an end. This I might 
 have conjectured for the present ; but you 
 added that explanation was impossible, that 
 
LAMIA. 203 
 
 you should not return to Rainham, and had 
 already made excuses to my father — who was 
 happily in ignorance of our short-lived en- 
 gagement and arrangements — with respect to 
 your church. 
 
 All this was so easy to foresee, that though 
 it sunk me still deeper into misery, it inflicted 
 no new blow. After weeks of lethargy and 
 stupor, I so far recovered my health, but not 
 my spirits, as to be able to resume my accus- 
 tomed care of my father, who, though much 
 alarmed at my illness, had no idea that it 
 was occasioned by anything but one of my 
 gradually increasing nervous attacks, from 
 which I now began to sufl^er almost ha- 
 bitually. 
 
204 LAMIA, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Go where we will, this hand in thine, 
 Those eyes before me, smiling thus 
 Through good or ill, through storm and shine, 
 The world's a world of love to us ! 
 On some calm, blessed shore we'll dwell. 
 Where 'tis no crime to love too well ; — 
 Where thus to worship tenderly 
 An erring child of light like thee 
 Will not be sin — or if it be. 
 Where we may weep our faults away. 
 Together kneeling, night and day. 
 Thou for my sake, at Alla's shrine. 
 And I — at any god's for thine." 
 
 MOORE. 
 
 I HAD to struggle much with myself in 
 
LAMIA. 205 
 
 conversation with my father, who could not 
 understand why your projected visit to a 
 friend in the North of England should make 
 you take such an affecting leave of him as it 
 seems you had done, nor why it should keep 
 you, in all probability (your own words, he 
 said), from Rainham Abbey for an indefinite 
 length of time. He also had been informed 
 of poor Gwyneth's death, and evidently 
 wondered at the constrained manner in which 
 I joined in his condolences on it. Heaven 
 knows if any human being grieved over her 
 as I did. But I trembled, lest by giving 
 vent to my feelings, I might commit myself 
 in such a way as to render explanation neces- 
 sary. My father's heart was too warm, not 
 
206 
 
 LAMIA. 
 
 to regret that kind and amiable young 
 woman; his feelings too pure and disinter- 
 ested, to be struck immediately with the 
 opening this circumstance afforded for realiz- 
 ing his former favourite scheme of making 
 Helvellyn his son-in-law ; and I am glad that 
 it was so, as it doubtless spared me much 
 awkwardness, as things were. 
 
 I learnt that my father had written to 
 Dresden, to invite him to Rainham: this 
 decided me, at last, to write to him myself. 
 I begged him to wait ; of course, saying 
 nothing of what had passed between you and 
 me. Three months, in fact, elapsed before 
 he could arrive. I corresponded with him ; 
 but it was with a heavy heart. My path was 
 
LAMIA. 207 
 
 chosen, my lot was fixed : there was no other 
 possible. I tried to revive my former feel- 
 ings, in all their freshness : I failed entirely. 
 I admired Helvellyn as before ; he was the 
 same in beauty, talent, and renown: but 
 sometimes, I was not the same ; I was no 
 longer the fresh, headstrong girl ; rash, and 
 braving the world. Was I better ? Was I 
 worse ? 
 
 The fact was, I had learnt — bitterly learnt 
 — rather too much of the world. I had 
 escaped some of its dangers, I had missed 
 some of its blessings; I saw too plainly 
 what was bad ; I acknowledged that there was 
 some good in the world : but my relative 
 position to that good and that bad, what was 
 
208 LAMIA. 
 
 it ? I was not good enough to reject Hel- 
 vellyn for his want of principle ; I was not 
 bad enough to be blind to it. I had escaped 
 the greater evil, and lost a greater good ; but 
 I had not principle enough myself to be 
 averse to an union with him, now it could 
 take place honourably. 
 
 On his return from Dresden, Lord Hel- 
 vellyn was made Cabinet Minister, and dis- 
 tinguished himself greatly in a political crisis 
 which then occurred. He wrote to me re- 
 peatedly, begging to be allowed to come ; 
 which, from a mixture of feelings, I had 
 constantly put off. I dreaded the renewal of 
 our intimacy, from sheer remorse at the recol- 
 lection of the previous commencement of it. 
 
LAMIA. 209 
 
 Gwyneth haunted me — not as an unkind or 
 evil spirit — ^but there she was, her image 
 was ever before me. Pure herself, my morbid 
 imagination, my conscience, dressed her in 
 terrors, as I deserved to see her. 
 
 At last, my father earnestly wishing to see 
 him, Helvellyn announced his coming for a 
 certain day. He came. I will not describe 
 my agitation, or his raptures : it seemed he 
 was become, with equal wit and talent, 
 still more impetuous than ever ; and I could 
 never divest his countenance, in my eyes, of 
 that ominous expression which first struck 
 me on that fatal night — that crisis of my 
 fate — in Dresden. Those eyes were still 
 brilliant and sparkling, but more piercing; 
 
 VOL. n. p 
 
210 LAMIA. 
 
 ever seeking to see something more. The 
 same noble brow had perhaps a greater habit 
 of contraction ; the mouth, ever fine, was 
 more compressed ; the physiognomy, though 
 exquisitely playful and intellectual, was, but 
 only occasionally, a trifle more stern than 
 formerly. I had on my lips the name of 
 Gwyneth — I could never pronounce it to 
 him : not even for form's sake. 
 , He had much conversation with my father, 
 who joyfully consented to his proposals. He 
 pressed for an immediate union, which I, 
 unaccountably timorous, at first opposed. 
 
 The living of Rainham, as you remember, 
 then fell vacant. Lord Rainham lost no 
 time in presenting you to it, and wrote to 
 
LAMIA. 211 
 
 you to come and celebrate the marriage at 
 the Abbey. You accepted the living grate- 
 fully, but, unexpectedly to aU but myself, you 
 excused yourself from performing the mar- 
 riage ceremony. You did, I remember, 
 promise to arrive the same day, after the 
 wedding, and then to take possession of your 
 living, and remain with my father. All this 
 was not very intelligible to him, but was 
 kindly acceded to, as being your wish. I 
 pass quickly over all this, as a period most 
 distressing for me to write of, and for you to 
 be reminded of Alas ! that I cannot oblite- 
 rate this, and more, from my memory. 
 
 The only really joyous person at that time 
 was my faithful and attached Valerie, who was 
 
 p 2 
 
2 1 2 LAMIA. 
 
 SO glad at the prospect of seeing me marry 
 anybody worthy of what she considered my 
 merits, that she was transported at the 
 thoughts of it. I for many reasons wished 
 the wedding to be private. My recollections 
 of Rainham Abbey, though I was dearly 
 attached to it, had not been of a festive 
 character ; and the only time I had ever seen 
 its grey walls decked gaily for a feast, had 
 been marked by the sad catastrophe which 
 finally led to the untimely end of my poor 
 sister Iris. 
 
 Those events were ever fresh in the me- 
 mory of my father, and they certainly were 
 not blotted from that of Helvellyn, though, 
 fo obvious reasons, he never alluded to 
 
LAMIA. 213 
 
 them. My proposal of a private wedding, 
 late at night, by special licence, in the Abbey 
 Chapel, to be followed by our immediate 
 departure from Rainham, was suitable to all 
 persons concerned; and it was arranged to 
 take place on the following Friday. In- 
 auspicious day 1 Why did 1 not follow the 
 whisperings of my superstitious imagination, 
 or rather the true forebodings of my coward 
 heart ? perhaps Heaven, in its mercy, would 
 have withheld the awful sequel of my ill- 
 starred marriage. 
 
 I will not, I cannot describe it; 1 only 
 remember the lighted chapel — the grave, 
 sad statues of my pious mother and injured 
 sister — the hurried nervousness of Helvellyn 
 
214 LAMIA. 
 
 — the taking leave of my now, indeed, soli- 
 tary father — aU this nearly overcame me; 
 and when I received from his infirm hands 
 the parting blessing, solemnly bestowed upon 
 a beloved child, and in which I was sickened 
 to remark that he omitted all allusion to a 
 hope of seeing me again, I could stand it no 
 longer ; but after a look towards my mother' 
 tomb — (her, at least, of all belonging to me 
 I had never injured) — I burst into tears, and 
 was conveyed to the carriage which awaited 
 us. Valerie left me with sobs at the very 
 door, it having been arranged that she should 
 stay as companion to my almost helpless 
 father. 
 
 Once in the carriage, we started with the 
 
LAMIA. ' 215 
 
 speed that four horses can exert on matri- 
 monial occasions. Helvellyn, who was truly 
 fond of my father, tried affectionately and 
 considerately to comfort me in the appre- 
 hensions, too well-founded, which I felt at 
 parting from him: he promised me my 
 father's picture (which I happened to know 
 he had sate for some time before) ; he did 
 everything to keep up my spirits, reiterated 
 his declarations of love and unalterable affec- 
 tion for me ; and in spite of his warmth and 
 evident pleasure in recalling our former 
 knowledge of each other at Rainham and at 
 Dresden, had the tact and good taste, the 
 real kindness, to abstain from touching on 
 any point which he knew must call up 
 
216 LAMIA. 
 
 recollections unpleasant or harassing to my 
 feelings. 
 
 I was now his wife. The servants calling, 
 at the St. Edmundsbury station, " The Mar- 
 quis and Marchioness of Helvellyn," would 
 not let me forget that. I was more in love 
 with him than ever, now I could lawfully be 
 so ; and I began to feel that ease and satis- 
 faction, that repose in an honest and faithful 
 love, which my former ill-stifled attach- 
 ments had never allowed my heart to ex- 
 perience. 
 
LAMIA 217 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "A cloud was hanging o'er the western mountains ; 
 Before its blue and moveless depth were flying 
 Grey mists poured forth from the unresting foun- 
 tains 
 Of darkness in the north : — the day was dying : — 
 Sudden the sun shone forth ; its beams were lying 
 Like boiling gold on ocean, strange to see. 
 And on the shattered vapours, which, defying 
 The power of light in vain, tossed restlessly 
 In the red heaven, like wrecks in a tempestuous sea. 
 
 Not death — death was no more refuge or rest 
 Not life — it was despair to be ! Not sleep ; 
 
2 I 8 LAMIA. 
 
 For fiends and chasms of fire had dispossest 
 All natural dreams : ***** 
 
 '* I might have heard her voice, tender and sweet, 
 Her eyes mingling with mine, might soon have fed 
 My soul with their own joy — one moment yet 
 I gazed — we parted then, never again to meet !" 
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 The magic power of steam transported us 
 through the night, and the whole of a bright, 
 but chill March day, from Suffolk to Wales. 
 Duval, the valet, had been sent forward to 
 prepare things for us, at Caer-Wynn. Hel- 
 vellyn was full of his descriptions to me of 
 the picturesque and gloomy character of the 
 place. Gloomy, indeed, I found it ! — but as 
 yet all was a rapid, feverish dream. I hardly 
 
LAMIA. 219 
 
 remember the journey, till we left the rail, 
 and the carriage began toiling up a steep and 
 heathy mountain, whose topmost crags were 
 still sprinkled with the winter's snow. 
 
 ** This is not railway speed," said Hel- 
 vellyn, impatiently, " nor are these your 
 Ipswich horses. Come, I must tell you a 
 little of the country. This is Cairndhu, the 
 black mount ; yonder is a rock called Doll- 
 cloath ; that is Craig Owen, from the top of 
 which, if not dark, we shall see Helvellyn 
 Mountain and Caer-Wynn." 
 
 He told me fairy legends and stories of 
 every nook and glen, and the names of all 
 the Jenkins ap Joneses to whom the properties 
 belonged. He seemed to have at heart that 
 I should know the country well. 
 
220 LAMIA. 
 
 Some miles further on, we passed a lovely 
 waterfall, whose snowy foam reached almost 
 to the carriage wheels : near it was a humble 
 church, standing on a green, and almost 
 under the shade of some aged birch-trees; 
 the hamlet to which it belonged was composed 
 of neat white cottages, far better than the 
 cabins of rocks and rough slate we had 
 hitherto seen. 
 
 " What is the name of this ?" I asked. 
 
 To my surprise, he averted his eyes hastily, 
 and made no reply. 
 
 " Tell me, dear," I said, " who does this 
 belong to ?" 
 
 Still no answer. 
 
 " Do, do, tell me," I repeated, with ear- 
 nestness. 
 
LAMIA. 221 
 
 " It now belongs to me," he said, with an 
 altered voice, which hurt me, and I remained 
 silent, till, two minutes afterwards, a quick 
 turn in the road, round a jutting rock, 
 fringed with the drooping birch, brought us 
 in sight of a charming little village inn, 
 before which were assembled a crowd of 
 peasants in their best dresses, the women 
 habited just as poor Gwyneth used to be 
 when going to the chase. Looking up, I 
 saw the Powell Arms, with a Welsh motto 
 I had often remarked on Gwyneth's seal, 
 and which she used to call her warm Welsh 
 welcome. I believe it means, " Well be it 
 with ye that come in the name of the Lord." 
 The country folks, among whom I could 
 
222 LAMIA. 
 
 fancy I saw the forrti of Gwyneth herself, 
 made their obeisances, but in solemn silence : 
 it was meant for a welcome, but it was the 
 saddest of welcomes; 1 saw mourning in 
 every face for the beloved mistress whose 
 place I had usurped : Helvellyn was not un- 
 moved. 
 
 " Morgan Jones," he cried, " my fool of 
 a steward, ought to have prevented this;" 
 and threw himself back in the corner of the 
 carriage, covering his face from my sight, 
 with an angry movement not common with 
 him. I, choking with a degree of emotion 
 I could hardly repress, felt ready to sink into 
 the earth at the shock this scene of an 
 instant had given me. It was all clear as 
 
LAMIA. 223 
 
 day, this was a portion of Gwyneth's pro- 
 perty ; and even the iron nerve and self- 
 control of Helvellyn did not enable him 
 to name it to me. Those poor rustics 
 could not welcome a new, a strange suc- 
 cessor to their kind mistress, one who 
 spoke not their language, and knew not 
 their simple manners. And there was her 
 own hospitable motto, her Welsh welcome — 
 her blessing to those who come in the name 
 of the Lord. 
 
 " I, come in the name of the Lord ! I, 
 the traitor, the usurper of her husband's 
 heart, almost her murderess ! I, whose base 
 conduct sent her early, but surely, to the 
 grave, welcomed to her house in the Lord's 
 
224 LAMIA. 
 
 name !" The bitterest enemy could not 
 have devised a sharper sting — a more cutting 
 irony than this. I fell almost into hysterics. 
 Helvellyn, absorbed, did not notice me in the 
 dark, for it seemed to grow dark quite sud- 
 denly, and we rolled on in silence and in 
 gloom. 
 
 But even this was not my last welcome 
 from the shade of Gwyneth. 
 
 Deadened with fatigue and emotion, I saw 
 nothing more during the remainder of this 
 agitated journey ; left to my own thoughts, I 
 could see in myself nothing but the scarce 
 lawful possessor of a place once my friend's — 
 once, indeed, destined to my sister : the be- 
 trayer of their happiness and of yours, Henry ; 
 
LAMIA. ^^ 
 
 for think not that my conscience was free 
 from remorse on your account, either in 
 regard to the former or the latter times. 
 
 At last, descending a steep hill, the fresh 
 sea-breeze, not to be mistaken, made me 
 aware we were drawing near our future home, 
 if home it were to be to us. Lights on an 
 eminence were soon apparent, and as we 
 heard the roaring of the waves, Helvellyn, 
 with a sudden start, and complete recovery 
 of his usual impassioned manner, exclaimed : 
 " There it is ; see there your future abode : 
 there may we pass many — many happy years. 
 Lady of the Castle ! I salute you." So say- 
 ing, he caught me in his arms, and embraced 
 me with all the fervour of passion; and I, 
 
 VOL. II. Q 
 
226 LAMIA. 
 
 trembling and happy, yet not without a sigh 
 of misgiving at his confident words, sank 
 upon his breast. 
 
 Not all the blustering of the cold March 
 wind, as it drove the mists up from the 
 channel, whose breakers were becoming more 
 and more audible from the rising gale, could 
 drown the noise of the domestics who 
 thronged to receive us at the massive portal 
 of Caer-Wynn. Loud creaked the chains 
 as the old drawbridge was lowered, and for a 
 moment, forgetful of the past, I thought 
 myself happy. But the ominous sound of 
 the portcullis as it fell behind me, gave an 
 awful presage of terror, and I said, as 
 unconcernedly as I could : " How like a 
 prison !" 
 
LAMIA. 227 
 
 " Would I could ever keep you here !" 
 passionately exclaimed Helvellyn. 
 
 We were at the door. The court was 
 small ; the castle having been a real fortress, 
 only refitted in modern times, and still retain- 
 ing all its feudal character : every arch was 
 Gothic, every tower machicolated, every wall 
 strongly embattled. Above it, at a distance, 
 rose the peaks of Snowdon ; below it, foamed 
 the tempestuous waves of the Irish Sea. 
 
 Entering the low, well-guarded porch, we 
 traversed hastily, to avoid servants, some 
 small rooms that seemed to lie round the 
 court ; then, turning suddenly through a low, 
 arched passage which reminded me of Rain- 
 ham, we came to a lofty but irregular-shaped 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 LAMIA. 
 
 hall, vaulted with solid oak and paved with 
 stone; round it were vario\:|8 antique weapons, 
 fantastically disposed, and shields bearing 
 various family arms and devices. Helvellyn 
 paused to make me observe a Damascus 
 rapier, brought from the Holy Land by one of 
 his ancestors in the crusade of Coeur-de- 
 Lion ; as he drew it to show me the magical 
 characters embossed in gold with which the 
 blade was enriched, he said it had been the 
 trusty talismanic sword of Owen Glendower, 
 from whom, said he, smiling like a portrait 
 of Titian, you know we are descended. 
 " Therefore," he added, " let not any strange 
 sights or wild witchery surprise you here : 
 we are often haunted by the spirits called 
 
LAMIA. 229 
 
 from the vasty deep (which you now hear 
 roaring below) by the old wizard, and which 
 he forgot to lay again. But you, my en- 
 chantress, shall chain them all, as you have 
 your husband." 
 
 As he thus spoke, his handsome face was 
 reflected from a brightly-polished cuirass 
 (which had been Hotspur's), and he looked 
 more like a Paladin of old, with charmed 
 scimitar in hand, than any being of our 
 modern, tame, monotonous century. I gazed 
 on him with looks of love ; in that moment I 
 forgot all but Helvellyn. 
 
 He turned aside ; a shade came over his 
 countenance as he espied a box of despatches 
 awaiting him, which had been forwarded 
 
230 LAMIA. 
 
 direct from Whitehall to meet him, by 
 special messenger. He sighed as he saw it, 
 and said: "They are beforehand with us, 
 Lamia ; I have been worked to death in town 
 — I cannot stand it. But now to supper." 
 
 We accordingly turned into one of the 
 small, low rooms, which had been a guard- 
 room, now a library, where we found supper 
 prepared by Duval, who was in attendance. 
 No sooner there, however, than with a rest- 
 lessness which was of late become habitual 
 to him, he cried : " But 1 must first show 
 you your own apartment, where I have 
 prepared a surprise for you which you little 
 dream of." 
 
 With characteristic impatience, Helvellyn 
 
LAMIA. 231 
 
 then seized a light, and going before me, 
 led the way to a low door in the corner of 
 the hall, which opened into a steep, narrow, 
 winding staircase, which we ascended. 
 
 "From this tower," said he, opening a 
 lancet window, " you may scan the wide 
 expanse of ocean, and descry the distant 
 shores of Mona. Those headlands to the 
 right and left, now blazing with bright 
 bonfires, in honour of Lamia, Lady Hel- 
 vellyn, are the boundaries of your view, and 
 of my estate. Now," added he, opening a 
 side-door, " enter, and survey your own 
 private — most private domicile." 
 
 We entered a bed-room, large, low, and 
 gloomy, wainscoted with oak, and hung 
 
232 LAMIA. 
 
 with old tapestry ; the bedstead was carved 
 oak, and surmounted by plumes of white 
 feathers, which gave it, to my mind, a 
 funereal appearance. The bed-curtains were 
 dark velvet, lined with white silk ; the 
 toilet, draped with old point lace, bore a 
 silver mirror, and chased silver boxes, and 
 stood near a little door leading to the dress- 
 ing-room, which was furnished with taste and 
 comfort. The boudoir lay beyond, fitted 
 up in an antique style, with old, very old 
 cabinets, of monstrous heavy shape, and 
 chairs of most Gothic pattern. 
 
 The rooms down stairs were all paved 
 with tile, and, in truth, did not wear an 
 air of perfect comfort ; but this, my apart- 
 
LAMIA. 233 
 
 ment, was all boarded with black oak, on 
 which were spread small, soft carpets, and 
 a fire of wood blazed on the ancient hearth, 
 beneath a most monumental-looking chim- 
 ney. Why then did I give an involuntary 
 shudder as I said to myself: "This is my 
 home !" 
 
 Helvellyn, fondly drawing me to the fire, 
 pointed to a veiled picture hanging over 
 the mantelpiece, and said : 
 
 " Here is my surprise ; I know that, of 
 all mortal beings, until now, you have 
 most dearly prized and cherished with 
 sincere affection the original of this portrait. 
 Are you prepared for it ?" 
 
 He held the string attached to the veil 
 
234 LAMIA. 
 
 which hid the painting, but did not conceal 
 the handsome modern frame, which con- 
 firmed me in my expectation of beholding 
 my beloved father's portrait. So, with my 
 hands clasped, and saying : " I guess — I 
 know — the dearest, best friend of my youth 
 is there !" I bid him draw the veil. 
 
 Never shall I forget the next moment ; 
 judge of the pang that wrung my heart, 
 and stung Helvellyn to the quick, when, 
 the veil being swiftly drawn aside, we beheld 
 the lovely, innocent features of Gwyneth, in 
 all her youth and happiness before us. 
 There she stood, looking down, as if from 
 heaven, upon two guilty creatures, her 
 sworn or pretended friends, who now stood 
 
LAMIA. 235 
 
 where she last had been happy. I felt as 
 if the scene of the conservatory at Dresden 
 was to be acted anew, and expected her to 
 step down and upbraid her betrayers. I 
 looked but once, and for a moment, but I 
 saw her in her pretty Welsh hat, and cap, 
 and red shawl, as a lively mountain-girl, 
 full of youth and lightness of heart : her 
 Welsh welcome was written in gold, under- 
 neath with a translation : *' Welcome to this, 
 my house, to you that come in the name 
 of the Lord." 
 
 How killing is it when the artless speak 
 to those who are conscious of duplicity ! 
 Her smiles, her joyous, innocent expression 
 did speak to me more forcibly than words, 
 
236 LAMIA. 
 
 and to him too. I burst into a flood of 
 tears, but a dagger was in my heart. I 
 fell into his arms ; he soothed me with 
 words, spared no invective on Duval for 
 his mistake, and tried to restore me to 
 myself. Impossible, my rest was gone. 
 And when I heard his dear, soft voice, and 
 raised my face, bathed in tears, to meet 
 his well-known, dove-like eyes, what was 
 my horror to perceive that, while his lips 
 uttered nothing but honeyed words, his eyes 
 flashed fire; the loving tone of his voice, 
 the smooth accents of his tongue were 
 belied by the rage depicted on his counte- 
 nance. I had seen that fearful expression 
 once before, and had never forgotten it. 
 
LAMIA. 237 
 
 Suddenly, he suspended his caresses, and, 
 with a more composed manner, insisted on 
 returning to supper. Here I was forced to 
 silence. Sick at heart, I could not speak, over- 
 fatigued and worn out, I could neither eat 
 nor drink ; Helvellyn, thirsty with emotion, 
 swallowed glass after glass alone of the rich 
 burgundy placed before us. From time to 
 time he muttered the name of Duval. His 
 manner flurried and wild, alarmed me, deeply 
 though my heart responded to the im- 
 passioned tenderness of his love. At last, 
 for the second time, he conducted me to my 
 chamber, where he left me to look over his 
 despatches, as he said, but with little 
 calmness for business written on his 
 brow. 
 
238 LAMIA. 
 
 I found Eloise and Marie waiting for me, 
 evidently aware that something had happened. 
 The portrait of my dear father now occupied 
 the place originally intended for it, but in 
 which the other, by mistake, had been incon- 
 siderately suspended. 
 
 His portrait was there indeed, but it had 
 lost its charm. Not even my father's benign 
 and affectionate countenance had power to 
 restore my peace of mind. A sense of in- 
 describable oppression conquered all my 
 endeavours to shake it off, the spirit of 
 Gwyneth was there, waiting invisible for 
 retribution. There stood the white plumed 
 bed, the gloomy tapestry ; this was, doubt- 
 less, the bridal chamber of the ill-fated 
 Gwyneth ; the two maids stood still, afraid of 
 
LAMIA. 239 
 
 their own voices : pale and silent, they 
 seemed evidently to dislike their new baronial 
 residence. 
 
 I soon dismissed them. Oh ! how I wanted 
 sympathy — how I longed for Valerie, my 
 faithful Valerie, to whom, in part at least, I 
 could open my mind. 
 
 I sat by the gradually sinking embers, 
 listening to the March winds howling about 
 my casement, and hearing from time to time 
 the steps of the retiring household. At 
 length I heard only the storm. I sought not 
 my couch, I could not sleep. I thought over 
 the past ; I trembled. I fancied I saw the 
 figure now of Gwyneth, now of Iris, now of 
 you, Henry. I need not describe my burning 
 
240 LAMIA. 
 
 thoughts. At last, wearied with bodily and 
 mental fatigue, I threw myself on the 
 splendid couch as if I were mounting a 
 funeral car, whose plumes nodded over the 
 dead. I dozed, I dreamt : my spirit, quite 
 worn out with feelings of remorse and horror, 
 took suddenly another and a happier turn. I 
 thought nothing had happened, that had 
 happened; I thought that Helvellyn was 
 mine, lawfully and honestly mine, from the 
 beginning, and should be to the end ; I was 
 not guilty, I was the good Lamia ; I had de- 
 ceived nobody, all was as it should be ; I had 
 my beloved Helvellyn, and what was the 
 world besides ? Happy thoughts of love — 
 but how fitful ! how feverish ! — at last came, 
 
LAMIA. 241 
 
 and I was sinking into something like 
 slumber, when I was roused by one long, 
 loud scream ringing through the castle, its 
 unearthly violence shook every fibre of my 
 frame ; there was no possibility of doubt . . . 
 it was death ... it was murder .... 
 
 I sat up listening, shuddering with fright ; 
 all was hushed in silence, the wind blew 
 with redoubled violence. Again I lay down, 
 wondering at Helvellyn's delay. But now, 
 indeed, I dreamt a fearful dream, or rather, 
 my senses being confused, but my eyes open, 
 I fixed them on the picture. It was now 
 again Gwyneth : it lives, it moves, it stands 
 beside me : it is not Gwyneth of the Welsh 
 hills, . . . it is the Gwyneth of the con- 
 
 VOL. II. R 
 
242 LAMIA. 
 
 servatory at Dresden. With a pale, solemn 
 look she turns towards me, points to a life- 
 less, new-born babe lying on her bosom, 
 Helvellyn standing by in the gloom. The 
 phantom placed one hand, cold as death, 
 upon me, irresistibly dividing me from Hel- 
 vellyn. To him I turned, beseeching, im- 
 ploring, but I was dumb, speech was taken 
 from me. I saw his face, distorted with the 
 demoniac expression, a thousandfold more 
 dreadful than before, the cold hand grasped 
 me tightly, when another unearthly shriek, 
 such as I had heard before, recalled me to 
 consciousness of existence. But, oh ! what 
 an existence, worse than death, the loss of 
 happiness on earth, grief and sorrow for the 
 remainder of my days. 
 
LAMIA. 243 
 
 A demon face, which I could scarce re- 
 cognise for his, glared on me with wild, 
 lustrous eyes ; a cold and bloody hand, armed 
 with a rapier, held me in mortal grasp ; I 
 saw the features of my lover, my husband, 
 my Helvellyn, not the beauty of my love, but 
 distorted with maniac frenzy, scowl on me 
 with the eyes of a basilisk. He screamed 
 frantically : " My bride, my bride ! to heaven 
 or hell, where she no more shall trouble us !" 
 Seizing me by the hair, he dragged me 
 from the bed, and stabbed me twice in the 
 neck. 
 
 In a convulsion of despair, I succeeded in 
 freeing myself from his grasp, and flying to 
 the door, where my screams had by this time 
 
 R 2 
 
244 LAMIA. 
 
 assembled some of the astonished domestics. 
 Seeing help at hand, my exhausted strength 
 failed me, and I fell. 
 
 I remember nothing more for a long time 
 after that dreadful night; Heaven in its 
 mercy rendered me insensible to what fol- 
 lowed, as well as to the explanation of the 
 horrid scene, which I only learnt on my 
 recovery. 
 
 It seems that my excited and unhappy 
 husband, overworked by business, gnawed by 
 stifled remorse for his treatment of poor 
 Gwyneth, madly in love with me, and at 
 the moment heated with wine, had iecome 
 furiously enraged with his servant Duval on 
 account of the careless mistake by which the 
 
LAMIA. 245 
 
 portrait of the unfortunate Gwyneth had heen 
 placed in my room instead of that of my 
 father. His previous tendency to derange- 
 ment was not then known to me, but I had 
 long noticed with pain his increasing rest- 
 lessness and susceptibility, particularly since 
 Dresden. His anger on this occasion gave 
 but the vent to the burning fever which had 
 been accumulating, perhaps for years; and 
 his temper, once excited, knew no bounds. 
 He had left me almost in a state of frenzy, 
 had attempted, without success, to fix his 
 mind to the papers that had arrived for him, 
 had started up, raving, from his desk, seized 
 the rapier of Glendower, and rushed upon 
 the luckless Duval, who was waiting in the 
 
246 LAMIA. 
 
 ante-room. A minute sufficed to sheath the 
 ancient weapon in the victim's breast, whose 
 last screams, joined to the vociferous ravings 
 of my ... . God ! I can go no further ; 
 you know the rest. He came, he knew me 
 not, he saw me not ; he saw the vision of the 
 murdered Gwyneth : he would have killed me 
 for Gwyneth in his madness, as in his reason 
 he had killed Gwyneth for me. Yet not he : 
 I was to blame. 
 
 By a singular fatality, but a merciful one, 
 my father was spared all knowledge of these 
 calamities. You arrived two days afterwards 
 with the news of his death from paralysis. 
 Happy, happy release ! You found the castle 
 in a state of confusion not to be described. 
 
LAMIA. 247 
 
 You, with exemplary kindness, forgetting 
 and forgiving my past conduct to you, took 
 me back to Rainham Abbey, 
 
 There I lay long in a painful and almost 
 unconscious state : on my recovery, I found 
 my father was no more. He had not lived 
 to hear the account of that dreadful tragedy, 
 nor to see his afflicted daughter at once the 
 cause and the victim of it. Yes, I spare not 
 myself; and it was the great aggravation of 
 my misery, that in all my sufferings my con- 
 science could not absolve me from the charge 
 of having been the first cause of this series of 
 domestic crimes and misfortunes. My father, 
 in happy ignorance of the catastrophe, had 
 left his whole fortune, with blessings, to me 
 
248 LAMIA. 
 
 and to Helvellyn. My precarious health was 
 greatly alleviated by the unceasing care of 
 Valerie, to whom, by this great change of 
 circumstances, I was now unexpectedly 
 restored. I was, after a time, recommended 
 to go abroad, my unfortunate husband being 
 quite beyond all chance of profiting by any 
 care or attention of mine ; and after securing 
 to him all that skill and watchfulness could 
 do for him in his wretched state, I left 
 England for the continent, accompanied only 
 by Valerie 
 
 I left Eloise and Marie, not being able to 
 support the sight of any witnesses of our 
 tragic scene at Caer-Wynn. My heart was 
 ever in Helvellyn's cell. I was from time to 
 
LAMIA. 249 
 
 time informed of his condition : I learnt that 
 his reason never even for a moment returned; 
 that he raved about Glendower's sword, and 
 mentioned both mine and Gwyneth's name, 
 but unconnectedly, not as remembering any 
 part of what had actually happened. I would 
 have seen him before I quitted England, 
 but it was absolutely forbidden by the phy- 
 sicians. 
 
 Having, by my father's death, succeeded 
 to the title of Baroness Rainham, I felt justi- 
 fied in taking that title, both by inclination 
 and circumstances, in preference to that of 
 HelveUyn. The story, of course, became 
 known, but my name, as altered, attracted no 
 attention. 
 
250 LAMIA. 
 
 Ever restless, ever miserable at heart; a 
 widowed wife and wedded maid, I wandered 
 through much of the continent, and settled 
 finally at Venice. My health, shattered by 
 all I had undergone, and worked upon by the 
 nervous agonies of mind to which my too 
 vivid memory unceasingly exposed me, was 
 gradually deteriorated, and I made that the 
 pretext for living entirely after my own fancy. 
 Sometimes I secluded myself entirely from 
 the world, sometimes I took pleasure in 
 assembling around me all the talent which 
 Venice afforded, either in the arts or philo- 
 sophy ; at others, attended only by Valerie, I 
 threaded the mazes of Venice, explored the 
 most intricate canals in a modest gondola. 
 
LAMIA. 251 
 
 and sought sometimes the picturesque scenes 
 of historic interest, sometimes the abodes of 
 the poor, whom I relieved. 
 
 Eventually I heard that my manner of life 
 gave rise to strange surmises, not always very 
 favourable to me. I cared not ; the world of 
 Venice were welcome to think what they 
 thought, and to whisper what they invented ; 
 I had gone through too much at home to be 
 sensible to minor inconveniences. I made 
 excursions to the terra jirma^ to the islands, 
 to the coasts of the Adriatic, even to the 
 classic shores of Greece ; everywhere seeking 
 rest, but finding none; amusing for a time 
 my intellect, but never satisfying my 
 heart. 
 
252 LAMIA. 
 
 In one of my excursions I met Prince 
 Demetrius again on his travels. He had 
 heard some portion of my luckless story, but 
 after the natural and unavoidable inquiries 
 which he made in all the sincerity of friend- 
 ship after my husband, he had the tact and 
 good feeling not to press the curiosity which 
 he certainly felt any further. I allowed 
 Valerie to give him, in private, a short 
 sketch of the causes which led to my travel- 
 ling, without entering into details; this was 
 sufficient to satisfy him that all allusion to 
 them must be disagreeable. 
 
 Prince Demetrius, however, proved a useftd 
 friend to me ; his conversation, always gentle- 
 man-like and frequently instructive, was a 
 
LAMIA. 253 
 
 resource to my wandering thoughts : since he 
 had determined on voluntarily quitting Russia 
 for ever, and fixing himself in Italy or 
 France, his mind had gained a degree of 
 freedom upon all subjects, especially politics, 
 to which it had been previously a stranger. 
 He had lived so much among the English 
 that he could no longer endiure Russia where, 
 like all the best of his countrymen, he was 
 mal vie a la Cour. 
 
 Some years passed in this unobtrusive 
 manner. The result was, that I gained, by a 
 quiet and habitually regular mode of life, a 
 degree of mental repose, that I had not 
 anticipated, though my health never re- 
 covered its pristine vigour. Simple absence 
 
254 LAMIA. 
 
 from scenes of excitement, or localities which 
 have deeply influenced our fate, is often the 
 only remedy for the wounds of the heart or 
 conscience, though never a perfect one. 
 This I felt more poignantly every year ; there 
 were certain days in which, in spite of all 
 endeavours I could make by the distractions 
 of art or travel, the researches of science or 
 antiquity, I could never banish the recollec- 
 tion of the horrors of which they were the 
 anniversary. Then, whatever my occupation, 
 or whatever reasoning I tried to bring to my 
 aid, pangs of mind and body would torture 
 me till I almost longed for death. 
 
 One only charm there was which was 
 strong enough to calm my torments, and to 
 
LAMIA. 255 
 
 dispel the evil thoughts which despair and 
 remorse would crowd upon my brain; but 
 my shattered nerves would not always allow 
 me to employ it. That charm was music, to 
 which T had more than ever attached myself, 
 and in which, with tears in my eyes, I often 
 confessed that I found the prophecy of Iris 
 come true. It was my purest, my only con- 
 solation; wearied of the world, unhappy in 
 mind, and suffering in body, it was in music 
 alone that I found distraction a relief. 
 
 Such had been my life for some years, 
 when I unexpectedly received the news of my 
 wretched husband's death. To lament him, 
 under the circumstances, was impossible ; he 
 had exchanged a life of woe for one in w^bich, 
 
?56 LAMIA. 
 
 if pardon be granted for sins the chief cause 
 of which was incipient hereditary insanity, 
 pardon might be his. Yet no woman learns 
 the death of one she has truly loved without 
 a pang of sorrow not to be alleviated by time 
 or distance. I felt it, as if he was still the 
 fine, noble object of my admiration, still the 
 admirable Helvellyn of the court, the senate, 
 — of my love. I grieved for him as though 
 there had been a chance of his recovery and 
 restoration to me, as though his faults had 
 never been known to me, or had never 
 existed. 
 
 I shut myself up for some time, in total 
 solitude ; and then, as it was necessary to 
 take some steps, and my health was and is 
 
LAMIA. 257 
 
 daily more precarious, I resolved to return to 
 England. 
 
 Prince Demetrius again, on hearing of my 
 change of condition, ventured to propose 
 marriage to me. I declined his proposal, 
 always ready to consider him a sincere friend, 
 but nothing more. 
 
 My departure was instantly decided on; 
 when one is in mental distress, the thoughts 
 of home, of the friends and scenes of 
 our youth, if once admitted, soon turn 
 the scale. If death came soon, and it 
 was often in my thoughts, I would die by 
 the graves of my father, my mother, and my 
 sister. 
 
 I have long been writing this confession 
 
 VOL. II. s 
 
258 LAMIA, 
 
 for you, Henry ; I shall have but little mor 
 to add to it. 
 
 My reflections on the journey homeward 
 were sombre. I made a sad, but searching, 
 review of my past life and adventures. I 
 scarcely looked to the future. Illness, and the 
 bitter cup I had drunk in my short career, 
 made me loath even to guess at what was to 
 come. I was deadened to hope — experience 
 had poisoned all hope. 
 
 With but low sense of religion, except the 
 religion of the heart and feelings, I found 
 myself now cured of all love of the world. 
 I retained only some feeling of affection for 
 your excellent character. I knew you to be 
 my friend — my stern, rough, but uncompro- 
 
LAMIA. 259 
 
 mising friend ; and you were now my only 
 relation. With feelings less blunted than 
 mine then were, I might even have thought 
 again of being your wife, could you pardon 
 my duplicity towards you. 
 
 The result of my long and serious self-ex- 
 amination was, that I discovered I had 
 actually succeeded in every object I had in 
 life, but always through some shade of guilt 
 or treachery : that my objects, and other 
 pieces of what the world calls good fortune, 
 when attained, had brought me — not happi- 
 ness, but misery : finally, that after having 
 embittered the life of my sister, and hastened 
 her death, after succeeding to her title and 
 fortune; after betraying my confiding and 
 
 s 2 
 
260 LAMIA. 
 
 ingenuous friend, I had succeeded in possess- 
 ing myself of her husband ; after having 
 treated you with a hypocrisy and duplicity 
 unworthy of a woman and a Christian, I had 
 lost my husband's society, your esteem, and 
 destroyed the very existence of my sister and 
 my friend. 
 
 At length my last trial is over. My con- 
 viction of the vanity of human wishes is 
 complete. I had scarcely written the words — 
 scarcely committed to paper the avowal of 
 my still lingering dream of happiness, how- 
 ever fleeting, in becoming your wife, when 
 intelligence reaches me that you are actually 
 married. 
 
 I wiU not conceal — nay, I am bound to 
 
LAMIA. 261 
 
 confess, that this was a finishing blow to me. 
 For one moment — one moment only — a rising 
 feeling of my ancient and besetting sin, jea- 
 lousy, boiled within my breast ; I had for an 
 instant the inclination, not the actual inten- 
 tion, to return quickly to Rainham, in order 
 to sow mischief between you and your youth- 
 ful — to me, unknown — bride. But no, I 
 have stilled the rising storm — I have quelled 
 that vicious movement of my woman's heart. 
 Better and worthier thoughts now prevail; 
 you have now nothing to fear, Henry, from 
 me or my malice. The faint idea of injuring 
 a new-born happiness, which I could not 
 enjoy, was a wicked impulse, even too bad 
 for me ; I rejected it with loathing, as soon 
 
262 LAMIA. 
 
 as thought. I resolved to do one good deed 
 before I died, and if health would allow me 
 to press my journey home, to see you and 
 your wife, whom I was now as ready to love 
 as before to hate, and to give you such bless- 
 ing as it might be permitted to a sinner like 
 myself to invoke from Heaven in your behalf. 
 The first step towards fully unburthening 
 my mind, has been to finish this confession, 
 which I have long laboured at, intending it 
 as a full avowal of my faidts towards you and 
 others. I place it in your hands as my sole 
 surviving friend, and in taking this, my last 
 and solemn leave of you, I pray God to 
 bless your union with your fair and gentle 
 Emma. 
 
LAMIA. 263 
 
 Adieu, Henry, for the last time; should 
 I ever see you more, it will be but to leave 
 this my last and sincere confession in your 
 hands, I feel the grave closing over me ; 
 and whatever be my fate in another world, I 
 beseech you, I implore you, to remember, 
 in your prayers, the unhappy Lamia. 
 
264 LAMIA. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "As when a man has been cut off by sudden 
 death, we are anxious to know whether his previous 
 words or behaviour indicated any sense of his coming 
 fate, so we examine the records of a state of things 
 just expiring, anxious to observe whether, in any 
 point, there may be discerned an anticipation of 
 the great future, or whether all was blindness and 
 insensibility." — dr. arnold, lecture hi. 
 
 Henry Lucy closed the last page of this 
 melancholy memorial of human weakness 
 and misplaced talent, with a feeling of sorrow 
 
LAMIA. 265 
 
 not to be described. He had always had a 
 sincere and devoted affection for his cousin, 
 and often had he wished and endeavoured to 
 be serviceable to her by counsel and example ; 
 but their characters were too dissimilar to 
 allow him to reap the success he merited. 
 Lamia was not only widely different from 
 Henry in disposition, but also in temper and 
 education : she prized and admired what he 
 could not even esteem ; and that diversity of 
 tastes acted as a tacit reproof of her princi- 
 ples, which Lamia's high spirit coiild not bow 
 to. Otherwise, either respected the other's 
 heart and talents in no common degree. 
 
 For an hour Henry mused in deep silence 
 over the manuscript, which remained fixed in 
 
266 LAMIA. 
 
 his hand. His wife coming into his study, 
 roused him suddenly ; the only words he 
 spoke, were : " Poor Lamia !" and putting 
 the paper away carefully in a place of 
 security, he accompanied his beloved Emma 
 into her own sitting-room. He told her the 
 heads of his cousin's sad story, and they 
 lamented her in silence and in tears. 
 
 The last offices were performed by Henry, 
 who would depute to no indifferent person a 
 task of which he felt the responsibility. His 
 mind, ever anxious and self-condemning, 
 prompted him, by an over-strict survey of 
 his conduct, to accuse himself of having 
 abandoned Lamia too readily at a moment, 
 when patience on his part, and a steady 
 
LAMIA. 267 
 
 maintenance of the rights which her accept- 
 ance had given him, might have saved her 
 from her ill-starred marriage with HelveUyn, 
 the subsequent catastrophe, and the miser- 
 able, restless years which followed it. Henry 
 followed Lamia to the grave, almost alone. 
 
 Yet not quite alone, for the truly attached 
 companion of Lamia's youth and life, the 
 only confidential friend, whose quick intel- 
 ligence and active mind comprehended her 
 feelings and supported her wayward temper, 
 Valerie, would not remain absent from the 
 tomb of her whom she had cherished from 
 infancy. 
 
 One more, and that an unexpected 
 mourner, though a sincere one, was seen 
 
268 LAMIA. 
 
 to arrive at the last moment, and, his face 
 concealed by his ample black cloak, to join 
 the funeral procession, unbidden, but not 
 unobserved. 
 
 This was no other than the Prince Deme- 
 trius, who had been long and deeply attached 
 to her, whom he now followed to her early 
 grave. 
 
 Sad it was for the old people in the 
 village, who remembered the birth and 
 growth of the whole of this promising family, 
 to witness the dark ceremony which con- 
 signed the last of the name to her long rest 
 in the chapel of Rainham. That Abbey had 
 seen, within a few years, the tombs of father, 
 mother, and two sisters successively arise to 
 
LAMIA. 269 
 
 commemorate the death of the entire last 
 generation of a noble and ancient family. 
 This was its final extinction. 
 
 Lamia, anxious to do the little good that 
 remained in her power at the moment of 
 quitting this world, had, with a strength of 
 mind which she had not always been mistress 
 of, made a carefully considered wiU. She 
 bequeathed Rainham Abbey, with all her 
 landed property, to Henry and his heirs : the 
 whole of her personal fortune (subject to a 
 large legacy to her physician. Dr. Schuler, 
 pensions to her servants, and bequests to 
 hospitals at Venice) was left to Valerie, to 
 her whose attachment to Lamia had been so 
 amply proved, though her influence, through 
 diff'erence of character, had not always had 
 
270 LAMIA. 
 
 the best effect upon Lamia's natural eccen- 
 tricity of disposition. 
 
 Henry and Emma settled themselves in 
 Rainham Abbey, anxiously awaiting the birth 
 of their first child. Emma being in a pre- 
 carious state, owing to the trying scenes to 
 which she was exposed, previous to Lamia's 
 death, the infant, probably from these 
 causes, died prematurely soon after its 
 birth. 
 
 They continue to lead a calm, useful, and 
 religious life, bringing up several children, 
 who were afterwards spared to them, in the 
 fear of God, and in strict religious principles ; 
 profiting by the melancholy w^arning afforded 
 by the defective education of their gifted, but 
 unhappy cousin. 
 
LAMIA. 271 
 
 She lies in the chapel, between her mother 
 and sister : on her grave-stone is placed, by 
 her own wish, merely a simple cross, with 
 the words, " Lamia implora pace" By 
 the side of that grave Henry often prays ; his 
 character becomes graver and sterner, and, 
 though good and excellent, he can never be 
 considered as a happy man. 
 
 That the human mind is full of contradic- 
 tions and inconsistencies, is so trite an ob- 
 servation, that nothing but its constantly 
 recurring truth, as seen in all the varied 
 forms which surround us, can render it, as 
 a fact, worthy of our notice. But worthy 
 it certainly is of deep attention and study, 
 when incongruities and contrasts, such as 
 
272 LAMIA. 
 
 were presented by the character of Lamia, 
 are united with her talents and fervour of 
 disposition. So thought Henry, who, know- 
 ing her from her youth, and deeply sensible 
 of her good qualities as grieved at her fail- 
 ings, had watched the awful departure of an 
 erring soul from this earthly theatre of 
 outward show and inward sorrow, with 
 anxiety aggravated by doubt. Doubts he 
 certainly had, of the most painful sort, not 
 as to the sincerity, but the completeness, 
 of Lamia's repentance. At the last hour 
 when no questions can be asked to any good 
 purpose, and if asked, only give useless 
 pain; when the simplest form of doctrine 
 or instruction can neither be explained nor 
 
LAMIA. 273 
 
 understood; all Henry could do was to 
 believe her penitent expressions, and to re- 
 commend her soul to mercy in his prayers. 
 And earnestly he prayed that he might here- 
 after find some corroboration of his favour- 
 able impressions, as to the state of inward 
 religious feeling in which the unhappy Lamia 
 departed. 
 
 His joy then may be conceived, on dis- 
 covering among her papers, that Lamia had 
 latterly devoted her best talent, and, as he after- 
 wards was enabled to judge, with consum- 
 mate success, to set forth, with all the power 
 of music, that signal instance of the mercies 
 of her Redeemer as exemplified in the Mag- 
 dalen. 
 
 VOL. II. T 
 
274 LAMU. 
 
 He found the following argument prefixed 
 to a nearly finished sacred symphony or 
 oratorio on the subject, which, of all others, 
 best combines heavenly love with the most 
 abject earthly humiliation, and which most 
 powerfully unites the deep abasement of the 
 sinner with the consolations of religion 
 vouchsafed to the humble penitent. 
 
SANTA MARIA MAGDALENA. 
 
 A MUSICAL POEM. 
 
 This composition naturally divides itself 
 into three parts, the first and last shorter 
 than the middle one, from which they are 
 respectively divided by a peculiar change in 
 the character of the music, as explained' 
 farther on. 
 
 I. MADDALENA ERRANTE. 
 
 The First Part opens with a tumultuous 
 and confused chaos of abrupt passages 
 
 T 2 
 
276 LAMIA. 
 
 figuring the wild revelry of boisterous mirth 
 and riotous passion, like the irregular com- 
 mencements of some of Beethoven's compo- 
 sitions, or the false gaiety of parts of the 
 Freischiitz, of the Walpurgisnacht, and of the 
 priests of Baal and their demoniac strains in 
 Elijah: "Eat and drink, for to-morrow we 
 die." — *'The fool hath said in his heart, 
 There is no God." — psalms. 
 
 All this is suddenly interrupted by a long, 
 sweet, sad note, piercing like a trumpet 
 from heaven through the wild orgies of 
 unholy mirth and stormy passion, to which 
 it puts a sudden stop; and continuing 
 on the same, after the manner of the cele- 
 brated long note in Elijah, it sinks gradually 
 
LAMIA. 277 
 
 into the plaintive and pathetic character of 
 penitential melody. 
 
 *' Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen !" 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 II. MADDALENA PENITENTE. 
 
 Here begins the middle and principal part 
 of the composition. The wail of the sinner, 
 the torments of self-reproach, the desire for 
 repentance, the abject misery of mind of 
 her who is conscious of sin, but knows not 
 how to pray ; the abasement and degradation 
 of the lately proud and beautiful woman, 
 would be expressed in varied measures of 
 doleful and sorrowing music, till ending in a 
 
278 LAMIA. 
 
 burst of bitter grief and despair, it sinks into 
 a death-like silence. This will recall the style 
 of Bach, of the penitential Psalms, of the 
 Sistine Chapel. 
 
 " A broken and a contrite heart, O Lord, 
 thou wilt not despise.'' 
 
 III. MADDALENA TRIONFANTE. 
 
 Then the Third Part opens with another 
 long note, like a voice from heaven, of similar 
 awakening character to that before, only that 
 instead of sinking into a penitential strain, it 
 gradually swells into a high, encouraging tone 
 of hope and consolation, till like a ray of 
 light from on high, it seems to open 
 
LAMIA. 279 
 
 the kingdom of heaven to the repentant 
 sinner : 
 
 " Come unto me ye that travail and are 
 heavy laden, I will give you rest." She 
 seems lifted by the voice of God from the 
 lowest abyss of humiliation and mental 
 agony into the realms of bliss, while now 
 choirs of angels break into lofty hymns of 
 celestial harmony, proclaiming forgiveness 
 and absolution, and call the Pardoned to 
 her place among the blessed. Here would 
 such spirits as Handel and Mozart display 
 the sweetest warblings of their heavenly me- 
 lodies, ending in a chorus of triumph decla- 
 ring to the universe the joy of Heaven over 
 even one sinner that repenteth. " Though 
 
280 LAMIA. 
 
 your sins be scarlet, they shall be white as 
 snow." 
 
 Thus, the conclusion (and finest thing) in 
 Faust: 
 
 "Margaret is saved/'' 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDPN : 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RSTUKN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book 2s due on the last date stamped below, 
 or on the date to which renewed. Renewals only: 
 
 Tel. No. 642-3405 
 Renewab may be made 4 days prior to date due. 
 Renewed books are subjea to immediate recall. 
 
 KtL'DlD FEB 3 '73 -4PM oq 
 AUG 3 1993 
 
 U.CBERKEUEY 
 
 LD21A-40m-3,'72 
 (Qll73sl0)476-A-32 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley