UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES TALES SOU V E N I R S RESIDENCE IN EUROPE, BY A LADY OF VIRGINIA. Ami, De ce sommet qui nous rassemble, Viens, jetons un regard ensemble sur le passe. LAMARTINB. J.464 10 PHILADELPHIA: LEA & BLANCHARD 1842. Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 1841, by LEA &, BLANCH ARD, in the office of the Clerk of the District Court for the Eastern District of Penn- sylvania. T. K. & P. G. COLLINS, PRINTERS, No. 1 Lodge Alley. t CONTENTS. A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. PAGE A SKETCH FROM CARISBROOK CASTLE, 9 MYSTERIOUS WARNINGS, ------ 22 A REVELATION, -- 32 VERSAILLES, ---------43 A VISION, ---------53 THE MINSTREL, 63 A DECLARATION, --------70 SURPRISES, --- 84 A COURT BALL, --------96 THE LAST HOUR, 110 A DISAPPOINTMENT, ------- 123 THE CHIEFTAIN, -------- 136 PENSEES, -.------_ 150 A CATASTROPHE, -------- 156 CONCLUSION, .-.-.... 164 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. CHAMOUNI, - - ... - - - - - 167 THE MER DE GLACE, ------- 172 THE COL DE BALM, - - - - - 176 MONT ST. BERNARD, ------- 180 THE CITE D'AosT, ------- 187 THE VALLEE D'AosT, 190 AN ALPINE STORM, - 192 PIVARONE, --------- 193 THE CHEVALIER LEONE, .._--. 195 iv CONTENTS. THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE A TALE. PAOE LOMBARDY, -------__ 231 AN ITALIAN SUNSET, 333 THE RIGHT, 234 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU-A TALE, - - - 241 A BALLAD, - | /- ' *** > ( - 294 PREFACE. " THE gratification of friends," must once more serve as an apology for permitting the following " Souvenirs," or rather sketches, to see the light. Extracted as they are, for the most part, from a Journal, undertaken solely for the entertainment of one, whose kind indulgence, it was well known, would overlook all faults, and embodied in their present form only to beguile a solitary hour, or to amuse a fire-side circle, they might, doubtless, in the eye of criticism, be liable to the charge of both negligence and egotism, especially where the Journal is left as it was originally written. It was found, however, that a suppression of the personal pronoun, and, indeed, any attempt at improvement, would only have the effect of sub- stituting the tedious formality of a guide du voyageur, for the careless ease of familiar correspondence. The " Tale of our Ancestors," which might, with some propriety, be numbered among the " Tales of a grand- father" is interwoven with a manuscript narrative in pos- session of the writer, which bears a date of some eighty vi PREFACE. years since, and which gives a far more interesting account of the Indian Chieftain, Logan, and the young warrior, Allanawissca, than romance itself could produce. The first part of the story derives, from some historical remi- niscences of the gaudy court of Louis Quinze whatever attraction it may present; and the whole of this story, as well as the " Soldier's Bride," and the " Valle.y of Goldau," may claim at least one merit that of being founded on truth. The imitation of an old English Ballad is designed for young friends, who " sigh for Europe, for Paris; and there, or at Naples, would like to end their days." The scenes of which a description is attempted to be given, both in the Tales, which now form the greater part of these " Sketches," and in the Journal, were hastily delineated at the time, and frequently on the spot where they were witnessed; and to this alone may be attributed any interest they possess; as objects, reflected in the vivacity of their first impression on the mind or the senses through a faithful, however imperfect representation, have power by their own glowing beauty, romantic wildness, or dark terrors, to impart a charm to an unskilled pencil, while an elaborate and finished picture, attempted by the same hand, would only betray the defects of the artist, and place them in bolder relief. Farther apology for these " Souvenirs," is needless, as it is not probable that their merits will carry them beyond the limited circle for which they were designed. Such as PREFACE. vii they are, " with all their imperfections," they are offered to those kind friends who have requested their appearance, as a memorial of the affectionate attachment and regard of the writer. A T A L E OUR ANCESTORS, A SKETCH FROM CARISBROOK CASTLE. " On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, Are domes where whilom kings did make repair; But now the wild flowers round them only breathe, Yet ruined splendour still is lingering there." CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. * WHO can describe the thrill of delight that rushes to the sinking heart the unwonted glow that animates once more the pale cheek the hope that again sparkles in the dimmed eye, when after thirty days of unmitigated suffering at sea, the welcome sound of " Land ho!" is heard from the main mast? Would it be piofanation to compare it with the first bright ray that dawns on the blest soul when it emerges from the shadow of the dark valley? It may be so yet such was the thought it awakened in the minds of some of the company of the good ship when on the morning of the 19th of September, 18 , after a gloomy, stormy night, this joyful sound announced the view, though still distant, of the " white cliffs of Albion." The blue waves of the yet heaving ocean sparkled with 2 10 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. sapphire-like brilliancy beneath the fitful gleams of sunshine that occasionally shot through the dark masses of clouds around her, as the gallant frigate proudly rode over them; a favouring wind bore her rapidly onward, and ere the night closed in, she was safely anchored iuher long desired haven, near Cowes, in the Isle of Wight. If there is a spot upon earth formed to exhilarate and refresh an exhausted being after the fatigues of a sea voyage, it is this lovely island, justly entitled the " Garden of Eng- land;" and it is, perhaps, only under such circumstances, that its charms can be fully appreciated. Welcome, indeed, to the weary eye that has long gazed listlessly over the wild waste of trackless and tranquil waters, or anxiously watched their sublimer aspect in the terrors of the storm, are the varied beauties which here meet it at every turn. To those who have just escaped from such durance, there is an inexpressible pleasure in gliding rapidly in a little car (a vehicle peculiar to the Isle of Wight) over the neat but narrow turnpike roads, bordered by hawthorn hedges looking out upon bright fields clothed with the richest and most exquisite verdure occasionally catching a glimpse of some sequestered cottage, with its miniature gravel walks, its clusters of myrtle and lauristinus, and innumerable flowers, which, at this season, in the distant land of the traveller, may have bloomed and passed away, but which here offer their brilliant tints and rich perfume, as if to revive him, with their freshness and fragrance; while on the other hand, some proud castle rises in bold relief against the dappled sky, with its " towers and battlements bosomed high in tufted trees." But to those who had looked for romance only in the primeval forest or the mountain stream who had beert accustomed to view the reliques of other days only through CARISBROOK CASTLE. H the medium of poetry or of fiction, no feature in the varied and lovely scenery of the Isle of Wight presented such attraction as the venerable ruin of Carisbrook Castle. There was something of marvellous interest in clambering for the first time up the long flight of moss-covered steps to the top of the donjon keep, looking at the over-arching heavens through a roof that was once deemed strong enough to shelter and secure a royal prisoner, and from this pictu- resque height watching the eiFect of the alternate sunlight and shade flitting over the landscape below, as the fleecy clouds were driven by the wind through the autumnal sky, now throwing a darker verdure over the smiling fields now gilding the spire of some old gothic church, the sound of whose chiming bells, ringing in honour of a rustic wed- ding, was borne through the distance to the ear with a soft- ened and pleasing melody. The stately edifices and modern castles, which are in view from this commanding eminence, seem, by their su- perior elegance, to mock the gray and frowning ruin that towers so proudly above them. Among these may be seen one, half hidden in the embowering shade of its park and gardens, remarkable for the tasteful embellishments of its present possessor, but more interesting for a tradition con- nected with the spot on which it stands. The ancestral trees which now lift their venerable arms above the splen- did modern residence, were, eighty years ago, in the prime of their youthful vigour, the pride and boast of their proprietor, and their rich foliage shaded a mansion, which, though of more modest dimensions and less costly decora- tion than the one that now occupies the same site, was yet spacious and elegant; and the beauty of the grounds, may even now be ascribed more to the good taste of the present owner, in sparing the growth of former years, than to the 12 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. more fashionable embellishments which are skilfully inter- woven with matnrer charms. At the distant period referred to, though no statues or jets d'eau challenged the admiration of those who strayed among these pleasing shades, the lawn was as brightly verdant, the foliage as fresh, and the rustic stone seats, placed at intervals near the winding walks, some of which, half covered with moss, still remain, as winningly enticed the contemplative wanderer to^repose and meditation. ****** Toward the close of a soft evening in the latter part of September, when one of those bright hours, that sometimes come with their gay smiles, to atone for the tears of the morning, gave the hope that the rains which visually accom- pany the period of the equinox had passed awny; when the beams o'f the sinking sun brought into full relief the spark- ling gems, which had marked the earlier day with gloom, but which now spangled every leaf and flower, as if to add fresh loveliness to a season that often seems to " breathe a second spring," a snow-white robe and silken scarf might have been seen, fluttering among the dark masses of foliage that arose on either side of one of these sequestered walks, now half in shade and then gleaming brightly in the rays of the sun, as the fair being whose presence they indicated, tripped with a light but uncertain step, her onward way. A slight angle in the pathway, might also have revealed the tall and graceful figure of a youth by her side, whose ani- mated countenance and eloquent manner, bespoke, even before the deep rich tones of his voice gave them utterance, the thoughts that arose in his heart. A single glance would have sufficed to detect the principal theme of his discourse, but happily' no witnesses intruded on their promenade or their conversation. CARISBROOK CASTLE. 13 "It needed not so eloquent an argument, Percy," said the lovely listener, " to convince me of the propriety of the step you are about to take. I have too often been reminded by you of my exclusive devotion to my own father, to per- suade you to contravene the wishes of yours but" " But what? dearest Ellen." " Only that I thought it possible" she hesitated and blushed; " I could not entirely suppress some apprehensions lest the brilliant and fascinating gaieties of the French capital, and the atmosphere of the court of Versailles might banish the recollection of simpler pleasures of rural walks of fireside happiness and of in short, that in the society of queens and princesses, you might forget" "Forget! ah, dearest Ellen! It is forme to dread the benumbing influence of the fabled stream. When I see you already surrounded by courtly knights and ' barons bold,' may I not fear that when I am far away, some haughty rival may prefer a claim to this fair hand more im- posing than that of a cadet of the house of Belmore, and that an alliance more suitable may be proposed for the heiress of Lansdale; have I not some cause to fear that such a claim may at least be considered, and that Percy Medwyn may fatally realize the sad truth that ' les absens out tou- jours tort?' " " I merit -this reproof, I confess," said his gentle com- panion, as a transient smile passed over her beautiful features. " It is a just punishment for having first permitted the in- fluences of the ' green-eyed monster' to exercise their sway over my mind. I am not suspicious, Percy, nor do I for a moment distrust the sincerity of your shall I use your own word? devotion. But there is something here," she added, pressing her hand on her heart,'" that gives me a presenti- ment of evil, in spite of my better judgment and your assur- 14 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. ances. I hardly know what I fear, or why I should be apprehensive," and again the sweet smile illumined her lovely countenance, " unless I am troubled with the super- stitious dread that is said to haunt the mind of the youthful dauphiness, Marie Antoinette, who believes herself con- tinually subject to some fatal influence, because her birth- day cannot be celebrated without reminding the gay world of the terrible earthquake of Lisbon." The last words were spoken in a lighter tone, but they trembled on her lips, and ere she was aware, the tear that shone through her long silken lashes, stood on her cheek, like the dew on the open- ing rose. " Ellen, dearest!" said the youth, as the tear mysteriously disappeared, even as the dew-drop in the breath of morn- ing, and the roseate cheek was consequently suffused with a brighter bloom, " do not indulge in such sad imaginings, so foreign to your usually buoyant spirit. Have we not every assurance of happiness? have I not the sanction and approval of those who have been the guardians of our earliest days, and their blessing upon my dearest hopes of the future? This separation, though it costs me a bitter pang, must, shall be brief, and I shall return to claim mine own. Look how the sun's parting beams gild the distant landscape, the orb has disappeared, but the light of his smile still re- mains, and he will rise in cloudless glory to-morrow. So must I part with my present bliss, but my spirit, my fondest thoughts remain, and a long and joyous morning will succeed a few hours of gloom." " The morning sun may be obscured by clouds," said Ellen, indicating with her hand a dark spot that hovered on the horizon, " yet I will not throw a shade over the bright picture you have drawn. But with those last rays, I must also disappear, for the sound of approaching voices warns CARISBROOK CASTLE. 15 me to hide these tell-tale witnesses in my eyes. Farewell! and may good angels guard you!" She turned aside into a narrow pathway that led directly to the house, and as Medwyn caught the last glimpse of the silken scarf, wafted into view, and then withdrawn by the caprices of the evening breeze, he felt that his sun had set, and the increasing gloom of his heart and his path, as he slowly retraced his steps, brought back in painfully vivid contrast even to his young spirit, " the light of other days." Absorbed in meditation on the past and the future, he followed the mazy intricacies of the pathway, hardly con- scious at that moment, of the existence even, far less the presence of any being beside the loved one, whose parting words yet thrilled with a sweet, though mournful cadence on his heart, when, as he was about to emerge from a thickly tangled bosquet of flowering shrubs that bordered the princi- pal avenue through the grounds, he was startled by the sound of a voice pronouncing his own name, in a low but distinct tone, yet one that was evidently not addressed to his ear. Unwilling to bear the semblance, as he would have scorned to play the part of an eves-dropper, he stepped quickly forward, and found himself almost in contact with the speaker, who evidently recoiled at this unexpected interruption. His surprise was heightened at perceiving that his name had been thus unceremoniously used by one who was a perfect stranger to him, and that the remark, whatever it had been, was designed alone for the ear of his revered friend, the father of his loved Ellen, with whom this stranger had ap- parently been engaged in deep and earnest conversation. " Pardon my unintentional intrusion, Sir Frederick," said Medwyn, with a bow of respectful courtesy addressed ex- clusively to his venerable friend. " You will permit me, I 16 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. trust, a moment's conversation with you, when you are at leisure?" and he was passing on. " Nay, do not be in such haste to leave us, my young friend; there is no danger of intrusion. Allow me," he added, " to present to you Mr. Elford, who brings me tidings of the deepest interest from India, whence he has but now re- turned, after a long absence from his home and country." " It gives me pleasure to congratulate a friend of Sir Frederick Lansdale, on his return to his native land," said Medwyn, offering his hand with graceful frankness to the stranger, though some traces of the hauteur that had at first marked his manner still remained. A moment's reflection, however, convinced him that the simple circumstance of hearing his name pronounced, without any accompanying remark either for good or evil, was no legitimate cause of complaint, and he determined to banish the remembrance of it from his mind. This would have been an easier task, had the person and manner of the stranger been more prepossess, ing; but there was liille in either calculated to allay the distrust with which Medwyn had felt at first disposed to regard him. He had apparently advanced not far beyond thirty years; and with a figure rather above the ordinary height, features of some degree of symmetry, and a profusion of dark hair that accorded well with the moustache, which marked him at once with a foreign, as well as military air, he might have been pronounced by a superficial observer, a handsome man. But begeath the gentle and subdued smile that his features habitually wore, there lurked in the cold gray eye, and even in the curve of the lip, though almost hidden from view, an expression, which, if fully developed, might, perchance, have " raised emotions both of rage and fear." There was an easy self-possession in his manner, that might almost have been pronounced graceful, but for an CARISBROOK CASTLE. 17 occasional absence of refinement, that betrayed it to be the acquisition of later years in camps, and perhaps in courts, rather than the natural consequence of gentle birth, and early association. All tins the discerning eye of Medwyn detected at a glance, and the feeling of repulsion that he had at first deter- mined to subdue, was again aroused, when he observed an unwonted degree of agitation both in the tone and counte- nance of Sir Frederick Lansdate, and which he could not well avoid connecting with this mysterious interview. The icy barrier, which their first exchange of civilities promised to thaw, was, in the few moments of silence that succeeded, cemented more rigidly than ever. This silence, which, brief as it was, appeared almost in- terminable, was first broken by the senior member of the party. " You leave us soon for the continent, Percy?" he inquired. "The request of my father, who desires me to join him there immediately, is urgent," replied Medwyn, " and a knowledge of his present infirm state of health, increases my anxiety to obey his injunction without delay. I shall be compelled to depart to-morrow." " Indeed?" said Sir Frederick, with an air of surprise, "you were then mistaken, Mr. Elford, in the idea that Lord Belmore had returned from his continental tour." " My informant was probably mistaken," said the stranger with a cool and nonchalant air, his features unmarked by the slightest trace of the emotion that flashed in the ingenu- ous countenance of Percy Medwyn. Apparently, indeed, he was unconscious of having excited it, for he continued to converse with the quiet self-possession and courteous tone of a man who determines not to take or give offence, 18 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. touching on various topics of general interest, and display- ing, in all his remarks, a readiness and tact, which, under other circumstances, could not have failed to make him an interesting companion. But the very solicitude he mani- fested to banish from Medwyn's mind any suspicion with regard to the circumstances of their first introduction, in- creased the evil he seemed to deprecate, and when the stranger took his leave at the gate of the avenue, lingering as he paid his parting compliments, as if with the hope, either of being invited to prolong his visit, or with the idea that his example might be followed, the bonds of restraint were removed, and a deep sigh from his respected friend, revealed to Medwyn the relief he felt at the termination of this in- auspicious interview. Medwyn awaited in respectful silence the communication which he was well aware would succeed, and the youthful arm which had so often supported the less active steps of his revered companion, was readily accepted, as they re- turned. " 'Tis strange, passing strange!" said Sir Frederick Lansdale musingly, and as one who strives to rouse himself from some unpleasant vision that he finds it impossible to banish. " I can hardly imagine how a heart so benevolent, so frank, so guileless, can have selected such a being as the object of his idolatry. You are aware that I had once a brother, the greater part of whose life was passed in India, Percy?" The expected response given, he proceeded. " The stranger, who has just left us, brings me some inte- resting details of his last years, and has also shown me many of his letters, addressed to his adopted son, to whom he writes in terms of the most affectionate cordiality. This child of his adoption, strange as it may appear, you this evening saw in the person of Elford. I had heard of my CARISBROOK CASTLE. 19 brother's predilection before, but during the years that have succeeded his death, no tidings have ever reached me of this, his adopted son. Would that he could more fully justify the affection so lavishly bestowed on him, though he may possibly hide the best qualities under an exterior, that is to me anything rather than prepossessing. All this, you may perhaps think an insufficient reason for the agitation which you doubtless perceived in my manner, when you so unexpectedly encountered us. Nay," he continued, observing that his youthful companion was about to inter- rupt him, " no explanation is necessary. I know your in- genuous nature too well to suppose that you would have overheard more than a single word of a conversation not destined for your ear, nor that one, if you could have avoided it. It is true there was something strange in the positive assertion he made of your father's return from his sojourn on the continent, and the insinuation that your intended absence was consequent on his own appearance here: but this was not the chief subject of our discourse. You have probably heard that there was, at one time, a claim made to myVhole estate, which, unrighteously as it was founded, received the sanction of the law, and but for the reversion of my brother's oriental wealth, which he left at that very time, for a better and more enduring inheritance, I should have found myself almost destitute. Sad as was the alternative, had I been permitted to choose, I would have willingly preferred the poverty that I believed awaited me, rather than part for ever with one so dear; for though long separated by the wide ocean, the tenderness of our youthful ties was never forgotten." A rising tear, here for a moment, interrupted the relation of the venerable speaker, but recovering soon from his emotion, he proceeded. " At that time, however, ' the world was all before me where to 20 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. choose,' I was young and enterprising, and the loss of for- tune presented, comparatively, but few terrors for me. Now, it is different. I find myself in the vale of years, and though a period of sorrow and suffering might be short for me, there is one dearer to me than life, the last scion, but I will not anticipate. This stianger throws out dark hints of a will left by my brother, which transfers all his wealth to his adopted son. If this be true, and the claim can be sustained, I shall be, for the second time, as a worldling would express it, the sport of fortune, and a ruined man. The hints which I received were but vague, and accompanied by a request that I would not repeat them, an injunction to which I am well disposed to accede; yet I determined to inform you of the whole conversation, which our present relations ren- dered in my eyes an imperative duty. Should my fears be realized, there will be no need to appeal to the delicacy, and if I may call it so in so gentle a creature, the pride of my daughter, or to represent to her the impropriety of the alliance of a portionless orphan, as she might probably find herself, with a son of Lord Belrnore." " My friend, my father!" exclaimed the young man, grasping with affectionate ardour the hand of his revered companion, while his fine features glowed with an expres- sion of triumphant enthusiasm, " how often, how fervently have I wished for an opportunity of manifesting the purity of the love I bear to the being dearest on earth to us both. Can you suppose for a moment, that the world's dross would be aught but dust in the balance, when compared with the excelling loveliness that has so long thrown its magic spell around me, or that so slight a barrier could deprive me of my dearest hopes of happiness?" " This is the language of youth and inexperience," said Sir Frederick Lansdale, as he shook his head, and a faint CARISBROOK CASTLE. 21 smile for an instant played over his face, though he returned the pressure of the hand that rested in his own. "Such sentiments do honour to the noble and generous heart from which they spring, but I am, unhappily, too well acquainted with this cold world to permit them to exercise an undue influence on my mind. I know that your prospects, how- ever brilliant for the future, are at present limited, and in that future view, might, indeed, become precarious, if shared with a portionless bride." " Rich in her own angelic virtues and beauty," said Medwyn, as if concluding the sentence. " Yes! Sir Fred- erick Lansdale, bestow but this choicest boon on me, and you will find me not unworthy the sacred trust. A bold heart and a strong arm may, perchance, carve out for me a higher destiny than that which might await me if basking in the smiles of fortune. With such a guiding star to illumine my path, it cannot, it shall not fail to lead me to honour and prosperity, as well as happiness." As he spoke these words, they reached the spot to which their course had been directed, and where Medwyn's groom with his horses awaited his return. Bestowing a fervent " God bless you!" on his young friend, Sir Frederick Lans- dale returned on his solitary way, while Medwyn vaulted lightly into the saddle, and a few bounds of his spirited courser, and the increasing gloom of the twilight, soon re- moved from his view the spot where his best earthly hopes were enshrined. 22 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. MYSTERIOUS WARNINGS. " Tu nous rends nos dernicrs signaux, Le long du bord le cable crie, L'ancre s'eleve et sort des eaux, La voile s'ouvre: adieu patrie!" . DELAVIGNE. THE prophecy of the preceding evening that the " morn- ing sun might be obscured by clouds," was fully realized, and as Medvvyn entered the Southampton coach, a thick mist, which had hardly permitted the gray dawn to be dis- tinguishable from the shadows of night, dissolved in heavy showers of rain. Had the prospect without been less com- fortless, it might, possibly, have dispelled the sad thoughts which in spite of his efforts to repel them, haunted the mind of our traveller; but the rain continued its ceaseless pattering against the glasses, and no sound but an occasional gust as the autumn winds swept by, and the encouraging voice of the coachman urging on his willing steeds to yet greater speed, interrupted his reverie. Wrapping himself more securely in his travelling cloak, he withdrew himself as far as he might from the chilling influence of sights and sounds which only increase the impatience of the wayfarer to ter- minate his day's journey. His thoughts dwelt successively, on the past, the present, the future. He thought of the days, of the years past, and a fairy form flitted before him, her golden ringlets floating lightly over her snowy shoulders, MYSTERIOUS WARNINGS. 23 her blue eyes radiant with infantine glee, and the dimpled cheek and ruby lip wreathed with smiles, as she lavished her innocent caresses on him, her happy and favoured play- mate and companion. Again, " a change came o'er the spirit of his dream." The fair blossom was unfolding its silken leaves; the same bright being still hovered near him, but a timid blush mantled on the soft cheek, and those blue eyes that were wont to meet his own, now sunk beneath his glance. This was the period when emancipated from college thraldom, he hastened to Lansdale park to watch the ex- panding charms of its lovely inmate, and to receive lessons of wisdom from her revered parent, who had ever regarded him with parental affection. Years again passed by once more the blessed vision approached, and in the full bloom of womanly grace and beauty, he beheld his own Ellen, his heart's dearest treasure, his promised bride. Hitherto their lives had passed on, " as a clear stream by care unruf- fled.' No apprehensions for the future had ever clouded their blissful day-dreams, and until the hour of their recent sepa- ration, no thought of coming events had ever cast its dark shadow over the brightness of their prospect. There was something of prophetic sadness in the parting words of Ellen, that sunk deeply on his heart. The last surviving child of a numerous and lovely family, who had been successively consigned to an early tomb; the idol of her father, of whose declining years she was the sole stay and consolation, Medwyn had attributed her apprehensions to some thought connected with the misfortunes of her loved parent. But it was now more probable that she was aware of this mys- terious stranger's visit; he, who had come into their Eden as if to mar the happiness denied by heaven to himself; and though unconscious of the cause of his appearance there, her forebodings might have arisen from witnessing the effect 24 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. produced in the agitation her filial tenderness detected in her father's manner. But the first tear he had ever seen on that fair cheek, usually radiant with smiles, had marked the moment of their parting, and brighter thoughts came with that sweet remembrance. To a manly and enterprising spirit like his, there was little in the evils that threatened them, to excite, his apprehensions. " Yes!" he again in- ternally repeated, " with such a guiding star to illumine my path and cheer me on my way, it must, it shall lead to honour and prosperity. In my thoughts of the future, its brightness shall banish every dark recollection, and this bird of ill omen shall not again flit across my path to inter- rupt my dream of happiness." As he uttered these words, he was aroused from his medi- tations by perceiving that he was entering the great empo- rium which he had found it necessary to visit before his departure for the continent, and the bustle consequent on his brief sojourn there, banished for the time, the thought of other cares. The next evening found him at Dover, ardently invoking a favouring wind for the passage of the following day; for though he felt that " each remove" lengthened "the chain" of absence, an unnecessary detention would only have increased his impatience. The favouring breeze was granted; but alas! the marvellous power that now bears the traveller so rapidly to his destination, was then unknown, and a day was not sufficient for the passage that is now per- formed within a few hours. The wearisome watches of a night at sea, at length came to a close, anil the morning sun was gleaming brightly on the ocean when he arrived at Boulogne-sur-mer. While a negotiation was pending for a post coach, Medwyn walked out on the ramparts of the town; not as is now the traveller's wont, to marvel at the projects of the MYSTERIOUS WARNINGS. 25 modern Caesar, in his contemplated invasion of England, or to admire the lofty column of Corinthian architecture com- menced in commemoration of his intended achievements, not to meditate on the gorgeous magnificence of the champ de drap d'or, which was displayed at a few leagues distance, and which might, perhaps, have been seen from a neigh- bouring height, when the meeting of the haughtiest and most powerful monarchs of Europe gave it the celebrity it has ever since that period possessed, but to take a last view of the white cliffs of his native shore. As he lingered on the beach, a footstep passing near him, withdrew his attention from the object of his contemplation, and reminded him that the time had probably arrived when he must continue his journey. He turned to retrace his steps, and to his great surprise, observed that the stranger he had met with at Lansdale stood before him. Medwyn involuntarily started. The stranger, however, manifested not the least surprise, nor exhibited any change of his rigid features, except a slight movement of the cheek that might have indicated either a smile or a sneer. Without the least attempt to renew their acquaintance, except by a scrupulously courteous bow, he passed on, and in a moment more, turning the angle of a wall, he was lost to view. This circumstance, simple in itself, awoke afresh the unpleasant reflections that Medwyn had vainly endeavoured to banish from his mind. There was something of mystery in the movements of this jnan, that perplexed and annoyed him. During the conversation of the evening they had first met, not a word was said of his intended journey, and yet, from the circumstance of his being already at Boulogne, he had probably set out within a few hours of his visit to Lansdale. Could this sudden move- ment have been the consequence of his own departure, and 3 26 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. why was it that this " bird of ill omen," as he had once termed him, still crossed his path? No farther space was, however, at that moment, allowed him for conjecture, for he was hastily summoned to continue his route, and there is something in the very atmosphere of France that banishes gloomy thoughts from the mind of the traveller. The very aspect of the postillion and his horses, to one unaccustomed to their peculiarities, has something inexpressibly ludicrous about it. The rough steeds with their rope harness, jingling chains and rows of bells, the postillion, with his merry-andrew costume of blue and scarlet, garnished with shining buttons the broad brimmed hat which might supply the place of an umbrella at need, and boots so huge and clumsy that none but the initiated would ever for a moment imagine the purpose to which they were destined, the smiling faces, the bustling alacrity, the incessant prattle which the traveller hears at every turn, cannot fail to withdraw his mind from more serious reflec- tions. The journey was soon accomplished, and the resound- ing whips were brandished with yet greater alacrity, when, after Medwyn's passport had been duly examined at the barriere, the coach drove through the avenue of Neuilly toward the splendid place, then bearing the name of the ruling monarch of France, Louis Quinze. It is impossible to emerge from the avenue into this place, without, at a glance, recognizing in it the taste of the metropolis of France. Medwyn entered it just at that witching hour when the approach of twilight softened all the beauties of the objects in view, without obscuring them, and the silvery light of the moon imparted something of a supernatural whiteness to the marble statues around, and a mysterious charm to the slug- gish Seine, whose tranquil waters gleamed like a mirror beneath her beams. The stately buildings that are now seen MYSTERIOUS WARNINGS. 37 on either side, the fine facade of the Madelaine and the Cham- bre des Deputes, have arisen since that period, and the colos- sal statues of naval and military heroes that now adorn it, have been the work of later days: but there was the old Chateau of the Tuileries, with its beautiful garden, and the distant towers of Notre-dame rose boldly on the view, yet darker from the contrast of the lingering sunset glow that gave them relief, and the sparkling lights that were glimmer- ing forth like stars, as they were reflected from the bosom of the river. Short time, however, is allotted to a traveller, to mark all these objects of curiosity and interest; and almost before he had time to observe them, Medwyn arrived at the hotel, where an appartement was prepared for his reception. He found his father recovering from a recent attack of gout, the alarming symptoms of which had induced his at- tendants to summon his son with such urgent haste. The malady had, however, subsided, and he was rapidly re- covering. Medwyn was received by him with as much kindness as a man of the world, who rarely ever sees his children, and troubles himself but little about them, usually bestows on a son whom he does not regard as the inheritor of his name and rank; one in whom, with whatever men- tal or personal endowments he may be gifted, he sees not "the stately tree, whose rising strength will bear his tro- phies well." " My illness was a fortunate one for you, Percy," he said, after coolly offering his hand to his son, and at the same moment rising from the depths of a luxurious bergere that had almost concealed him from view, and wrapping his ample silk robe-de-chambre carefully over the twinging foot, as he extended his length on the sofa. " Paris was never more gay and brilliant than at present. The young 28 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. dauphiness spreads a charm over the court that it never be- fore possessed, and I dare say you have no objection to a presentation. You will find in the spectacles a la cour, and the balls at Versailles, a pleasant contrast to the hum- drum life you have lately led. I am nursing my foot, as you perceive, that I may fulfil an engagement to the am- bassador a few days hence. Si cela vous fait plaisir, as these French people say, you may prepare to accompany me." Medwyn expressed the gratification it would afford him to accede to his father's proposition, and a few minutes more terminated the conversation and his visit. The first few days of his sojourn in the metropolis, were devoted to the examination of the monuments of art that are scattered in such rich profusion throughout its extent. It was his first visit to the continent, and to an ardent and inquiring mind like that of Medwyn, every object in a foreign land is replete with interest. He was returning from a distant course one morning, and passing by a fashion- able cafe on the Boulevard, entered to look at the morning journals. Absorbed, for a short time, entirely in an inte- resting article, it was only in raising his eyes to the top of the page, that his glance passed to one of those huge mir- rors which are the chief ornament and highest pride of a Parisian cafe, where to his astonishment he perceived the ominous figure of the stranger, Elford, standing behind him. The utmost self-possession was requisite to avoid springing from his chair, for there was an expression of still more sinister import on that dark brow than he had ever before seen there; but for once, Medwyn imitated the calm and cold nonchalance that he condemned, and remained in exactly the same attitude, still apparently intent on the journal, but observing minutely the movements of the MYSTERIOUS WARNINGS. 29 stranger and another individual who appeared to have ac- companied him into the cafe. Not a word was spoken, but he distinctly saw Elford grasp the arm of his compan- ion with one hand, while the other was directed toward himself, as if in reference to something that had just oc- curred in their communications with each other. This mute signal was answered by a corresponding gesture, and an assenting nod of the head on the part of Elford's com- panion, and in another instant they had disappeared. There was something in this circumstance as strange as perplexing: but it was impossible to avoid the conviction that the direst enmity was felt toward him by this singular man, for every circumstance that Medwyn recalled of his countenance, his manner, from the moment they first met, had heightened this impression on his mind, and the dark scowl with which he had been regarded when the stranger imagined himself unseen, the significant gesture which seemed to point him out for some sinister design, could not be misunderstood. Manly and fearless as was his dispo- sition, Medwyn recoiled at the idea of having a sort of mys terious surveillance continually exercised over him, and had a moment's time been allowed him, he would have de- manded an explanation of what he had just witnessed. This, however, the rapidity with which the whole scene had passed, precluded, and after an hour spent in fruitless conjectures as to the object or motives of his pursuer, he resolved to banish the unpleasant reminiscence, and to seek some more congenial occupation; a resolution, to which the novelty of all around him, enabled him to adhere with- out difficulty. The rest of the morning was agreeably oc- cupied, and he returned at a late hour to prepare for the fulfilment of his numerous engagements for the evening. He found the usual assortment of cards and billets d'invi- 30 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. tation upon the table on his return to the hotel; and glanced carelessly over them before retiring to his chamber. There was nothing of unusual interest among them except a small note edged and sealed with black, and addressed in the minute characters of a delicate female hand. Before break- ing the seal, Medwyn examined it more nearly. It had neither initials nor arms by which the writer could be known, and the impression upon the black wax was a hand and dagger, with the word "veilfez" in small letters above. On opening it a single line appeared, the words were these, " Beware of intimacy or even acquaintance with Adhemar de Vaudemont; it may prove fatal to you." There was neither date nor signature, and Medwyn looked with some anxiety at the superscription, and with a feeling almost of certainly that he had inadvertently opened a billet which had not been designed for his eye. But the address was dis- tinctly to himself; even the name of the hotel, the street, and the number of the house carefully written. It could not have been accidentally sent to him. Had his sojourn in the metropolis been of longer date, he might have sup- posed that this was some badinage from the hand of an ac- quaintance, who sought to amuse herself with his credulity; but his stay there had been too short to admit of such an idea. It was impossible, however, to form any opinion of the matter, as the writing, the seal, even the name of the person within, against whom he was so solemnly warned, were all unknown to him. " I am certainly destined, to-day, to mysterious rencon- tres," he said, as he read and re-read the single line con- tained in this note, ' but at least here seems to be a benign influence to counteract the spirit of evil. If they could only come to an understanding, I should have no cause for fore- boding; but be that as it may, I shall not permit the satisfac- MYSTERIOUS WARNINGS. 31 tion of ray first visit to this interesting place to be marred by either threats or warnings of unseen and unimagined dan- gers. ' Beware of intimacy or even acquaintance with Adhe- mar de Vaudemont,' he repeated, ' why, this is as laconic and rather more incomprehensible than the note that gave his treacherous brother warning of the escape of Coeur de Lion from the Austrian dungeon. ' Take care of yourself,'' &c. I suppose I am to take care of myself, if I chance to meet with this redoubtable personage. Well, I have been for many years accustomed to this office. Have no fears for me, my kind, invisible friend." Such were some of the thoughts that escaped in words, while Medwyn awaited the hour for the fulfilment of his evening engagements. 32 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. A REVELATION. " Thus while he spake, each passion dimm'd his face, Thrice chang'd with pale ire, envy, and despair, Which mark'd his borrow'd visage and betray'd Him counterfeit." PARADISE LOST. DAYS passed on, and Lord Belmore still found himself confined to his sofa, and unable to perform the promise he had made to his son, of accompanying him to Versailles. His health, however, began to improve more rapidly, and Medwyn received a summons from him, relative to this matter, then deemed one of high importance in the fashion- able world. Though he regarded it with far less interest than his father, whose devotion to the lighter pursuits and amusements of society, rendered it an affair of the greatest consequence in his eyes, he felt, nevertheless, a natural and laudable curiosity to see the interior of this stately palace, now glittering more with the reflected splendour of the grand monarque, than boasting anything of dignity beneath the influence of his successor, who, at this period, seemed more disposed to astonish the world by his countenance of unexampled profligacy, than by that encouragement of arts and arms, which had, notwithstanding the tyrannical injus- tice of his reign, elevated his predecessor to the exalted name and station he at one time possessed amid the crowned heads of Europe. A REVELATION. 33 At the hour appointed, Medwyn repaired to his father's hotel, and was ushered by a valet into a cabinet d'etude, adjoining his chamber. " My lord is engaged at this moment," he said, bowing respectfully, and offering a package of English journals of late date. " The moment he is ready to receive, I will return." Medwyn took the papers, and was soon occupied with their contents, which could not fail to interest him. His at- tention was, however, in spite of himself, drawn to the sound of voices in the next room, which, though ia a low tone, occasionally fell on his ear. Every one has, at some time or other, probably experienced the nervous sensation occa- sioned by hearing voices engaged in deep and earnest con- versation, one of which is perfectly familiar, and the other left in part to the surmisings of imagination, and both too distant and too low to admit of listening to them with pro- priety. Could the deep low tone he heard in such earnest con- versation with his father, be that of the man who seemed destined to haunt his mind as well as watch his move- ments? He remembered the striking impression made by that voice the first time it met his ear, and the resem- blance was perfect; but it was impossible; the conversation was evidently not characterized by that coldness which marks the intercourse of strangers, and how could he sup- pose any intimacy between Lord Belmore, and one, who, whatever might be his talent, possessed too little refinement to please so fastidious a taste. At one moment, his father's voice rose above that of his companion, and Medwyn feared that he might unwittingly as well as unwillingly be made a party to their communications. He rose from his seat with the determination of summoning a servant, and requesting 34 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. to be shown into another room, when the door was thrown open, and his suspense was terminated. Lord Belmore and the stranger, Elford, appeared. The surprise he naturally felt was not diminished, when he observed from the de- meanor of the latter, that he evidently intended to disguise all recollection of having previously met with him, and was at its height when Lord Belmore presented to his son M. de Gourville; Again Medwyn received the same cold courteous bow, and in a few minutes the stranger retired. Lord Belmore at first seemed unwilling to break the silence that succeeded his departure; his son was equally taciturn, and each seemed waiting for the other to speak. " You seem surprised, Percy," at length he said, though with visible embarrassment in his manner, " to find me engaged in conversation with M. de Gourville. It is true he is not quite so polished a specimen of the society of the court here as you may sometimes find, but he enjoys favour in high place*, nevertheless, and his talent is admirable. He is a special favourite with the beautiful comtesse who now rules the successor of the grand monarque with as tyrannical a sway, as his predecessor ever exercised over his unhappy subjects. You will probably often meet with him here." " I have already had the honour of an introduction to M. de Gourville," replied Medwyn, "and I cannot say that I feel particularly solicitous to extend my acquaintance with him. Is your lordship aware that this interesting personage boasts the convenient privilege of two names, either of which he assumes as circumstances require? Or is his advantageous position as a retainer of the Comtesse du Barry sufficient to gloss over all imperfections in a circle where she leads the ton?" These words were spoken in a low tone, and one per- A REVELATION. 35 fectly respectful; but there was a gravity in Medwyn's manner that offered a striking contrast to the levity affected by Lord Belmore, and which the penetration of his son detected as assumed for the purpose of concealing some deeper feeling. Despite his usual self-possession, he felt his eyes sink beneath the ingenuous glance that met his, and could not avoid the self-reproach consequent on speak- ing thus lightly of persons and circumstances whose scan- dalous notoriety had already aided in laying the train to that tremendous convulsion which was destined to sweep like a tornado through the nation, and to involve not only the guilty but the innocent in its awfut consequences. " The grave rebuke, severe in youthful beauty, added grace invincible," and Lord Belmore attempted no farther en- comium on his new acquaintance. Returning, however, to his usually cold and careless manner, he said, " I was not unaware of the circumstance to which you allude, and that M. de Gourville has, for special reasons, been occasionally compelled to use another name, but those reasons he ex- plained to me this morning, and I find them entirely satis- factory to me." Medwyn perceived from his father's manner, that the subject was annoying to him, and he pursued it no farther. Their terms of intimacy had never been sufficient to invite any special confidence on his part, and he had received no encouragement to speak freely of the impression made by Elford, or M. de Gourville, as he now styled himself, upon his mind. But his thoughts reverted to the dear friends he had left, and he internally resolved to make them the de- positories of his discoveries* and suspicions. Apparently this idea had passed through the mind of Lord Belmore, for he remarked, " I have been politely requested by our ambassador to 36 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. send to his charge any letters I may wish to forward. If, therefore, you desire to write to our friends at home, it will be the safest as well as most speedy conveyance that will probably be offered us for some days." He then briefly requested his son to meet him at an hour appointed the following day for their intended visit to Ver- sailles, and retired. As the fowler, who spreads his snare, glides stealthily to watch the chances of his success, so did Medwyn's " evil genius," as he felt disposed to regard him, watch his de- parture from the hotel in which Lord Belmore had taken up his temporary residence. He had entered one of the usual places of resort for fashionable loungers, on the oppo- site side of the street, and within half an hour after Medwyn left the house, he was a successful applicant for a second interview. " You will pardon my intrusion, I trust, my lord," he said, " but in the confidential communication I felt it my duty to make to you this morning, I omitted some circum- stances of importance, which I thought it best to impart to you at once, even if I subjected myself to the imputation of impertinence in so speedily renewing my visit." " I am happy to have an opportunity of profiting by your friendly communications, M. de Gourville," said Lord Belraore, motioning him to be seated, and wheeling his bergere near the chair he indicated for his guest. " You may easily imagine that I feel the deepest interest in our conversation of this morning." " I certainly should not have taken the liberty of making the revelation I have done," said M. de Gourville, accept- jng the offered seat, " had I not felt the warmest solicitude for the welfare of your son, whose mental and personal qualifications struck me the first moment I saw him, as far A REVELATION. 37 worthier to shine in a court, than to be obscured by adver- sity, and blighted by an ineffectual struggle against misfor- tune, perhaps penury. The alliance he contemplates with the daughter of Sir Frederick Lansdale, must be ruinous to his prospects, since he is, at this moment, as I before assured you, in imminent danger of losing his whole for- tune." " Of this, then, you have no doubt," inquired Lord Bel- rnore with anxiety. " None whatever. If it were necessary, I could prove this day to your lordship the existence of the will, which must soon render him destitute; and I thought I should ill perform the part of a friend, if I permitted the truth to be longer concealed from you. I will not, however, take the liberty of giving my opinion with regard to the man- agement of so delicate an affair. The intimacy and confi- dence that exist between a father and son, forbid my expressing even a thought on the subject." A sudden pang shot through the heart of Lord Belmore, as he reflected how little these expressions accorded with the state of feeling and the intercourse between himself and his son; but he felt desirous to know the ideas that passed through the mind of his visitor, and he invited him to ex- press them by saying, " I have been for a long time entirely separated from my family, by circumstances which I found it difficult to con- trol, and there is, perhaps, less of intimacy than you sup- pose, in our intercourse. I should, therefore, regard any suggestion you may make, as a farther proof of your friend- ship. You need be restrained by no motives of delicacy from expressing your thoughts." " Since then you invite me to give them," said his guest, " and you cannot suppose that I am actuated by any 873021 38 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. but the purest motives in wishing to save your son from a ruinous connection, and your lordship, perhaps, from being involved in its consequences, I confess, that I should use every means in my power to dissuade him from his fatal purpose. It is true that your consent has been given to his union with Sir Frederick Lansdale's daughter, but that was under entirely different circumstances from those which are likely soon to exist. He is now withdrawn from the influ- ence of her attractions, and amid the gaieties and dissipa- tion of this metropolis, and the court circle, her image will soon be banished from his mind." Lord Belmore shook his head. " That suggestion is vain, M. de Gourville. I have not a very intimate acquaint- ance with my son, but I know that his feelings and princi- ples are entirely adverse to the tone of society here, and perhaps the contrast with what he has left may only rivet the bonds we would sunder. I fear therefore" Lord Belmore paused, for again his conscience reproached him with fearing that his son might be proof against the frivolities, nay, perhaps the vices that had enslaved his own mind. " In that case," continued his visitor, rousing from a deep train of thought in which he had been absorbed, while in an attitude of respectful attention he had awaited the conclu- sion of Lord Belmore's speech, " it might even be justifi- able to have recourse to stratagem. Were I a father, and with the interests of such a son at stake, I should not hesi- tate no, not a moment, to break off all communication between him and the ignis-fatuus that is leading him to the brink of ruin, by any means placed with'in my reach." Lord Belmore looked anxiously at his guest, as if await- ing the fuller development of his suggestion. " I reprat," continued de Gourville, " that I should not, A REVELATION. 39 for a moment, hesitate to use means, that might be perhaps considered unjustifiable in a less urgent matter. Were I, for example, made the depository of any letter, or other me- mento that might serve to fan and keep alive this fatal flame, I should not hesitate to withhold it." He paused for an instant, and fixed his eye on his host, as the serpent is said to observe the fluttering of the bird that hovers near him, while, at each instant, the destined victim narrows the circle in which he flies around his tempter. " Perhaps, however," he continued, in a lower and more subdued tone, " I have gone too far. Pardon me, my lord, if I have been led by my friendship for yourself and my anxiety for the future welfare of your son, to make a suggestion that your better judgment might disapprove. It is unnecessary to add more at present, of the thoughts that pass through my mind, or again to repeat my request that our conversations may be strictly confidential. Your son is unconscious of the interest I feel in his welfare and hap- piness, and has probably conceived a very natural preju- dice against me from the circumstance I mentioned to you this morning. But I have already trespassed too long on your time, and am probably keeping you from more agree- able engagements." And courteously renewing the parting compliments he had so lately made, he departed. Lord Belmore slowly paced the apartment to and fro for some minutes after his visitor had disappeared. He was absorbed in deep and anxious thought, when his meditations were interrupted by the entrance of a servant with a package of letters, which he silently placed on the table, and with- drew. They were the letters sent by Medwyn in accord- ance with his father's request. The temptation was offered at precisely the moment the tempter would have selected to 40 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. ensure his success. The mind of Lord Belmore had been at work only on the arguments which could, in his opinion, justify such a proceeding as the destruction of whatever letters of his son to Sir Frederick Lansdale might fall into his hands, and the remorse that should have succeeded such an idea in his mind, was not yet fully awakened. Still, however, it was difficult to suppress the feeling of shame that oppressed him, as he paused, and rested his elbow on the mantel. The venerable form of Sir Frederick Lansdale arose before him, and he remembered their early friendship, the ties of which had only been dissolved by the uncongeniality of their pursuits, and his own continued absence and silence; he thought of Ellen, her beauty, her gentleness, her piety, the anguish that would sear her heart and blight her young spirit in believing herself for- gotten neglected forsaken; he remembered the devoted attachment of his son, fostered and encouraged by himself, when he believed it would conduce not only to his happi- ness, but to his worldly prosperity and honour. But now the dark side of the picture presented itself to his view and mammon triumphed! A few minutes more, and the lines which poured the full tide of a pure and noble heart that were destined to revive the loveliest flower that ever pined in the shade when the sun had withdrawn his smile, were consigned to the flames, and their ashes scattered to the winds. Apt emblem, alas! of the visions of glory and of bliss, that sometimes blaze with meteor-like brilliancy around, as if to mock with their transient splendour the dust and ashes into which they are doomed to fall! But while a dark flush arose to the very brow of Lord Belmore, as he turned away from the contemplation of the crushed and blighted hopes that were withering at his feet, what were the thoughts that passed through the mind of his A REVELATION. 41 tempter? At this moment de Gourville was striding through the most retired part of the garden of the Tuileries, amid its deep and embowering shades, where the gay world rarely enter. He was alone, and his cold eye brightened with anticipated triumph, and a haughty smile rested on his lip, as these thoughts came forth in words " Yes!" he exclaimed, and his step became still more firm and more rapid, "the prize is within my grasp, and mine shall not be the fault if I do not clutch it! Yes, proud lover! I shall yet see thee humbled in the dust, and thou shall know and feel my power! In vain wilt thou struggle in the net that I have so warily spread for thee. Amid the shoals and quicksands that threaten unsuspecting youth in these scenes of dangerous fascination, I will, unseen, be thy pilot, and I will lead thee to safety; ay, " and he laughed bitterly and scornfully, " such safety as the mariner feels when clinging to his last plank in mid-ocean, when no hand is near to succour or to save. The father shall be the guar- dian and director of the son, meet protector, and then, seared, blighted, stained with dishonour, perhaps by crime, thou wilt be my fitting competitor for the prize at which we both aim ! But even should my well devised schemes fail, and thou shouldst resist my undiscovered influence, (here are yet means to open my way to those treasures which are now destined for thee. My hand is steady and sure, its strength hath been tried ere now," and he struck the handle of a stiletto concealed within his breast. " And thou! bright and beautiful star of promise, that I have watched secretly, and hardly dared even to gaze on, though all unknown to thee, thou, whose angelic purity removes thee to such an immeasurable distance from me, that I feel as one who wor- ships a planet that he can never approach, thou, beauteous 4 42 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. Ellen! in all thy loveliness and innocence, thou shall be mine yes, mine!" He left the garden as he spoke, and passing through the gate that opened on the Place Louis Quinze, mingled with the crowd that thronged the Champs Elysees, and dis- appeared. VERSAILLES. " Come now, a roundel and a fairy song, Then to your offices, and let me rest." MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. " A merrier man Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal." LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. VERSAILLES! How many associations does the name only of this once splendid residence of the haughtiest of monarchs, call up in the mind! How many graphic scenes sketched by the fairy hand of the graceful de Sevigne, are again invested with life and motion, peopling its now de- serted halls with the gay, the beautiful, the proud! Not then, as now, did the foot-fall of the solitary wanderer through those stately halls startle his own ear, and interrupt his meditations with its solemn echo. At the epoch here referred to, in that kingly palace, all was life, animation and gaiety, and as Lord Belmore's coach entered the place (Varmes, he perceived that an un- usual number of persons were assembled for the reception which he had been invited to attend. It was fortunate for Medwyn and his father, that their rapid drive to the chateau had not been retarded by a few minutes delay, for the usual hour of the reception had been anticipated by the impatience of the sovereign to enjoy the peculiar beauty of the day, in 44 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. devoting it to the pleasures of the chase, of which his im- moderate fondness was well understood; and the customary expression "/-e roinefait rien aujourd hui," when the day was not dedicated to this favourite amusement, had been already in circulation, and even met the royal ear without giving offence. The great folding doors of the sulle du trone were thrown open, and the king appeared, as Lord Belmore and his son took their places in the circle, around which his majesty rapidly passed, pausing a few minutes to accost those indi- yiduals, whom he deemed most worthy of his notice, and passing by others with a smile or gesture of recognition; but notwithstanding his outward civility, evidently mani- festing his ennui at the formality of those rules of etiquette established by his predecessor, which it was well known he heartily hated, as well as his anxiety to exchange so uncongenial a scene for employments better suited to his taste. Brief was the space allotted for the display of stars and garters, of crosses and orders, of gold embroidery, of jewelled swords and snowy plumes. He paused for some minutes to converse with the ambassador, near whom Lord Belmore and his son were standing, and during their colloquy his eye glanced to the manly and graceful form of Medwyn. Alive to whatever promised to conduce to his gratification, he saw at once in the symmetrical yet athletic youth before him a desirable companion in his favourite amusement, and the ceremony of presentation was hardly completed, when, with a smile that strikingly contrasted with the cold reserve which had hitherto marked his manner, he accosted him. " The chase has doubtless its attractions for you," said his majesty, throwing aside the stately air that he deemed it necessary to assume in public, and for a moment returning VERSAILLES. 45 to the careless ease of manner that marked his intercourse in private. " A few days hence will find us in our chateau at Fontainbleau, and the season invites to livelier pleasures than the salons of Paris at present afford. We shall expect you at the royal chase on Thursday." Medwyn bowed, and signified his acceptance of this flat- tering invitation, so different from the ceremony usually practised on such occasions. But the barriers of etiquette were too often broken by the King, for such a circumstance to attract particular remark; and his present infringement on its rules elicited no farther notice than a badinage after the reception was over, and a congratulation to Medwyn on the success of his first appearance at the Court of Versailles. The tour of the circle was soon completed, and his majesty, with his attending suite, retired, leaving his guests at liberty either to return to the metropolis, or to amuse themselves by driving through the park, or strolling through the gro- tesque yet splendid garden, while he prepared for the business of the day, la chaftse. Medwyn decided in favour of the former, and while his father took his solitary drive through the park, he rambled amid those bosquets and stately groves of marronniers, that .even then had developed much of that beauty with which nature, in her charming freaks, often decorates the works of art; and though the moss-covered rocks, that now resemble so much those arranged by her hand, might then, to a critical eye, have betrayed their artificial construction, they gave a sylvan effect to the scene, and heightened its more regular beauties. The waters of the Seine, which like all else around him, had obeyed the behest of the grand monarque, were thrown high in sparkling showers by the hands of the bronze and marble deities that seemed to hold their court in the fairy scene, or fell in murmuring cascades through thickets of 46 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. shrubs and trees that invited the midday wanderer to seek their cool recesses. Medwyn was passing slowly through one of these bos- quets, watching the rippling of the stream that fell over the rocks above, his thoughts, probably, at that moment occupied with far distant objects, when his ear was arrested by the sound of a guitar, struck by a hand of no ordinary skill. The circumstance of hearing music at such an hour, and in such a spot, excited no surprise, for in these shades where pleasure reigned, the goddess was ever ready to receive the homage of her votaries. After a delicate symphony, a soft and plain- tive female voice appeared to continue the pastorale that had been previously commenced. " Arbres epais, et vous, pr6s 6mailles La beaut dont 1'hiver vous avail de'pouillds Par le printemps vous est renduej Mais mon lime ne reprend pas La joie helas! que j'ai perdue!" " Too grave, too grave, by half," said a laughing voice near. " Why, my pretty Ismene, what has put such fancies into your head this morning? but come, give me your guitar, I will finish your song with an appropriate senti- ment." A chord was struck, and Medwyn heard the rich tones of a manly voice. "duand 1'hiver a g\ac nos gue"rets Le printemps va reprendre sa place, Et raraene & nos champs leurs attraits; Mais helas! quand 1'age nous glace, Nos beaux jtmrs ne reviennent jamais!" " There is a sentiment for you. If ' nos beaux jouis ne reviennent jamais,' should we not make the best of them now?" VERSAILLES. 47 " Your refrain" said his companion, " may be suitable for you, but mine is more appropriate for me." " Mon time ne reprend pas la joie helas! que jai perdue!" she repeated, shaking her head with an air of deep sadness. " But my minstrelsy is at an end, give me back my guitar, and do not forget the warning in my first stanzas. Adhemar de Vaudemout, remember!" She spoke these words with energy, and in rather an elevated tone, and as Medwyn passed, they fell on his ear with such distinctness, that they seemed addressed to himself. " Adhemar de Vaudemont will not forget your friendly counsel, fair Ismene, but why need it be spoken so loud? There is no need to awaken the echoes to witness our com- pact; they* might prove faithless." Medwyn passed on, and for a moment he endeavoured in vain to recollect the association in his mind with the name that had twice been repeated in his hearing, and once, as he had fancied, and almost believed, uttered with the design to attract his attention. It was the recollection of the mysterious billet he had received on his first arrival in the metropolis, which then alone induced him to recall the appearance of the persons whom he had seen a moment before. He had hardly observed aught in the female figure but its fragile delicacy, and the whiteness of the slender fingers that swept the chords of the guitar. Her companion's ap- pearance was far more remarkable. There was something fantastic in the troubadour style of dress he had assumed, probably for the adventure of the morning, that heightened rather than impaired the effect of a figure of slight propor- tions but perfect symmetry, and the striking beauty of his features and complexion were redeemed from the charge of 48 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. effeminacy only by the expression of a laughing and brilliant eye, that bespoke a votary of the " goddess fair and free," while the gay smile on his lip seemed ever ready to proclaim the sentiment if not the words, " Mirth, with thee I mean to live." As Medwyn was recalling the appearance of these two persons to mind, he was accosted by a Parisian acquaintance, and the ordinary salutations of the morning were hardly ex- changed, when a light footstep was heard behind them, and the young troubadour laid his hand on the shoulder of Med- wyn's companion. ' Whither so fast, ray friend," he exclaimed, as they were about to continue their walk. " Are you so soon tired of this courtly region, or have you some more agree- able employment for the rest of the day? By the way, Monteil, where were you last night?" " A pretty question, truly," replied Medwyn's compan- ion. " It is not very probable that I should receive a very satisfactory answer to a similar one, but at least I will make the experiment; pray where were you last night? but be- fore you answer my query, I must see an acquaintance en train between my friend Mr. Medwyn and the prince of good fellows, Adhemar de Vaudemont. However," he continued, after this unceremonious introduction, " I do not intend to forget the inquiry to which your own indiscretion has subjected you. Where were you last night?" " It will take me some moments to consider," de Vaude- mont began. " And to make a good story, perhaps," said his friend, laughing as he finished the sentence for him; " but pro- ceed." " Well, on condition that I am not to be interrupted, for I have a long story to tell. After an hour at the Opera, I was at a fete champetre." VERSAILLES. 49 " A fete champetre, and after the opera! I suppose your present troubadour or pastoral style of dress was or- dered for that interesting occasion." " Nay, positively, if you interrupt me again," replied de Vaudemont, " you shall tell the story yourself, or the truth rather, for, singular as my adventure was, it was witnessed by a thousand persons. All Paris is ringing with laughter at it this morning, and your haste in paying your court to his majesty has alone prevented you from hearing it sooner. After the opera I went to the magnificent hotel of our friend, the Duchesse de M., whose exuberant corpulency and romantic affectation of sentiment present so amusing a contrast, where I found the beau monde assembled, and where I marvel more and more that you were not. What do you suppose was the style of the entertainment? Why, precisely as I told you, a fete champetre, all bowers, and roses, and Floras, and shepherds, and shepherdesses. But the most superb, and what proved the most amusing part of the scene, was a large apartment, separated by a trans- parency from the salle de danse, and in which were repre- sented hills and dales, valleys and rivulets, while on the borders of one of these clear streams, and reposing on the velvet turf, we beheld a graceful shepherdess, the prima of the danseuses de Vopera, holding a crook in her hand, and intently and apparently with no little anxiety, watching the movements of her snowy flock." " Quite a pretty idea," again interrupted his friend. "A triumph no doubt, of the scenic art." " Mistaken, altogether mistaken," returned de Vaude- mont, " it was no scene, but a reality, as we all found soon to our cost. But to continue; this beautiful pastorale was suddenly revealed to our view, and reflected from the mir- rors with which the adjoining saloon was ornamented, and 50 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. which are, were, alas! I should say, the most magnificent in Paris, and it is impossible to imagine the admiration it elicited. This was the moment for the music to give the signal, and for the beautiful shepherdess to conduct her fleecy charge across the apartment occupied by the scene 1 have described; when, by some unfortunate mistake of the orchestra, which was to have breathed a delicate pastorale, the musicians burst forth in one of the grandest flights of the opera, and in one moment the whole illusion vanished. The flock of sheep which were to have followed their ber- gere off the slage, suddenly became frenzied with terror, and breaking through all decorum, and through the trans- parency at the same moment, rushed in among us, scatter- ing the dancers, who with alternate shrieks of alarm and of laughter, fled in every direction, while the crashing of the splendid mirrors, which flew in fragments on every side, as the terrified animals in vain endeavoured to escape, and the cries and exclamations of the guests, mingled with the piteous bleatings of the flock, converted the magnificent fete ehampetre into a perfect scene of bedlam." "Exhausted with my efforts to save my partner from the wreck, and with laughter at the touching despair of the now unsentimental duchesse, who, herself, actually aided in pur- suing the destructive fugitives, I made my escape, and took refuge on the other side of the street in the toison (Tor where I awaited my coach, and while regaining my breath, congratulated myself on exchanging a fete ehampetre for an 'argonautic expedition.' " " A charming adventure, truly," said his friend, laughing heartily as they recounted the names of some of the princi- ple actors in the scene. " I regret more than I supposed I should, that I was not present on the occasion. An engage- ment I thought more promising than this Arcadian fete drew VERSAILLES. 51 me in another direction. At another time I shall submit my- self more implicitly to your guardianship." " You will act wisely, for you cannot have a more pru- dent counsellor. ' The prince of good fellows,' as you have just had the goodness to style me, cannot be better employed than in giving salutary advice to his subjects, and occa- sionally enlightening them upon topics, on which they are profoundly ignorant. Though you were before me in your courtly attendance to-day, I doubt not I have better informa- tion of what passes in the palace. Are you aware that the beautiful tyrant who rules the sovereign with such undis- puted sway, the Comtesse du Barry, is in the depths of de- spair? It is true, I assure you. She has been in terror for some time past, lest the beauty and innocence of the young dauphiness, so recently adopted into the royal family, should present rather a striking contrast to her own charms; and yesterday an act of imprudence (a remarkable circum- stance, you will probably think,) has nearly broken the fet- ters in which she has held majesty captive so long. " Her morning was all sunshine, as usual. She even made her appearance in the council chamber, and perched herself on the arm of the grand fauteuil, during the council, to the scandal of the graver members of which it was com- posed, and the divertisement of the less rigid. But in the evening came a cloud, and a most threatening one. A large package of letters were delivered to the king in her presence; she took them from his hand, and denouncing them as trea- sonable to herself, declared her determination to destroy them. His majesty pursued the agile fugitive around the room, and when about to recover his despatches, to his utter astonishment she threw the whole into the fire. The king became furiously angry, and seizing her by the arm, led her to the outside of the door, where she has been ever 52 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. since in the deepest penitence and despair; awaiting her return to favour, which it is hoped by others, and feared by herself, is rather a doubtful matter. I am sure of the truth of the story I have heard, for I have observed to-day, not only her own absence from court, but what is more re- markable, that of her little sapajou, the African page, Za- more, whose sable visage and diminutive stature, form so striking a type of the reputation of his mistress. Black as is his ugly physiognomy, however, it has earned him a large pension from the coffers of the state. " But I forget how largely I am dealing in scandal, when I am to be the guardian and guide of such grave and reve- rend signers." As he spoke they reached the orangerie, and descending the hundred broad steps that lead into it, passed through its fragrant shades, and exchanging salutations, separated at the outer grille. " This, then," said Medwyn internally, during his drive to the metropolis, " is the demon against whom I have been so solemnly warned. A handsome one he certainly is, and the merriest of his calling he must be; yet perhaps the more dangerous from these very attractions. Thanks to my un- known counsellor for her kind surveillance. But it would appear from the words that passed this morning, that he, too, has received a warning, and in spite of his careless ease of manner, I remarked his surprise on hearing my name, and the watchful scrutiny with which he observed me. I have, however, wearied myself with conjectures concerning this matter, which, perhaps, after all, deserves no consideration." But the scenes he had just witnessed, were not so readily dismissed from his mind, and they occupied it to the exclu- sion of all others, at least until events of deeper interest, superseded rather than banished them from his thoughts. A VISION. "My hoarse sounding horn Invites thee to the chase, the sport of kings; Image of war without its guilt." SOMERVILLE. THE brightest days of the early autumn are, in all climes, almost as lovely as the spring, and their comparative merits have long formed a subject of controversy between their respective advocates. It is, perhaps, the difference between freshly budding youth, and more staid and matronly graces, and it may be for this reason that the loveliness of the spring is more delightful to the young, while the riper charms of autumn have greater attraction for those who can appreciate maturer beauties. There are, however, some exceptions to this rule, and Percy Medwyn was one of these. It was, perhaps, that he would have been called, at least by his new acquaintance, de Vaudemont, older than most young men of his age, and this might have been the cause of his preference; but on the morning that he prepared to accept the royai invitation to join the chase at Fontainbleau, this preference could not have surprised the most enthusiastic admirer of spring. The sun rose in cloudless splendour, and the deep and brilliant blue of the arch above was reflected from each rivulet that wound its way through the forest, as the party assembled for the sport of the day, and the resounding notes of the cor de chasse, the clanging of horses' hoofs, and the 54 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. merry laugh and gleeful voices around, awoke the echoes, and already gave notice to the startled deer of the approach- ing fate of one at least of their herd. " You see I am in time to-day, for once, Medwyn," said de Vaudemont, patting the neck of his spirited courser, and endeavouring to restrain his ardour until they were all fairly mounted. "But what a superb charger you have there! the only danger is that he may break your neck; however, there is not much danger of that, I perceive," added he, as Medwyn sprung to the saddle, and permitted his fiery steed to bound and capriole at will, while with the most perfect grace and ease, he subjected him instantly to his control. "Such centaurs are not always to be found here," continued de Vaudemont, " and you have the advantage of us in that high-bred courser. But his majesty is approach- ing, we must make our court before the chase begins, and it will not be our fault, I am well assured, si le roi ne fait rien aujourd hut." Brief was the ceremonial preceding the business of the day, for the king was impatient for its commencement, and the chase began. A noble stag was soon roused from his covert, and in the ardour of the pursuit the party were soon completely separated. Medwyn found himself alone, and hearing the cor de chasse, and the shouts of the hunters at a distance, he began to fear that he had mistaken the course of the deer. He remembered, however, that it was pre- cisely in this direction that he was bounding when he lost sight of him, and resolved rather than return on an un- certainty, that he would await his probable return to this spot. It was a beautiful glade, and a gentle streamlet flowed through it from a spring beneath a large moss-covered rock. The chequered shade from the forest trees above, fell fit- A VISION. 55 fully upon the verdant slope, and invited to a momentary repose from the fatigues of the chase. Medwyn dismounted and throwing the bridle over a low projecting branch, " scooped the brimming stream," and then leaned carelessly against the mossy rock, keeping his fusil near, however, to be in readiness for a surprise, if the deer should chance, as was most probable, to pass this secluded glade. In this attitude he remained for some minutes, taking in at a glance the various objects around him, and imagining the beauty of a picture that might be composed from them, when he was suddenly startled by the rustling of the leaves behind him. Quickly, and instinctively, he laid his hand on his fusil, and turned hastily around; but instead of the branching antlers he had anticipated, a female form pre- sented itself to his astonished view. No creature of earth's mould could have been more beautiful than this unexpected apparition. She had proba- bly not yet numbered sixteen summers, and the dazzling fairness of her complexion was rendered yet more striking by the fresh air and exercise; her fair hair fell in rich pro- fusion over the swan-like neck, and a form of the most exquisite proportions was displayed to the greatest advan- tage, by the simple yet elegant costume to which it im- parted grace, instead of borrowing from it. Struck with surprise, and for the moment almost doubting whether " a vision so delightful" could indeed be a reality, Medwyn stood motionless; until the fair stranger, who at the first moment had manifested a design of retreating again into the bosquet from which she had emerged, advanced toward him, and with an air of the most winning grace, yet with perfect dignity, accosted him. " Pardon me," she said, while a rising blush suffused her cheek, " the liberty I take in addressing myself to a 56 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. perfect stranger; but I have heedlessly wandered alone in the forest, and find some difficulty in returning to its more frequented paths. Peihaps you could direct me to the grand allee which I left a few minutes since, and forgot that I might lose my way in these attractive shades." She ceased speaking, and Medwyn listened for an instant, before he replied to her inquiry, in the hope of hearing those silvery tones again. Those gentle accents, those dark blue eyes, the eloquent blush, the timid smile, the graceful form, all, all brought his loved Ellen again to his view. Is it surprising that he almost forgot tliat the ques- tion of the beauteous stranger demanded an answer, as he gazed on her. Recovering himself, instantly, however, he stammered forth an apology, and respectfully offered to be her guide to the point which she had indicated. They were about to leave the spot, when the rustling of the leaves, that had before aroused Medwyn from his medi- tations, was again heard, and the huge antlers of a stag peered from among them. Maddened by the pursuit of the hunters, and already wounded, the furious animal dashed onward, precisely to the place where stood the fair incog- nita. With a shriek of terror, she attempted to fly, but the antlers already touched the floating veil, borne on the breeze behind her, and her foot at the same instant became entan- gled in the gnarled root of a neighbouring oak. With the speed of lightning Medwyn rushed forward, and seizing his fusil with a giant's grasp, aimed a powerful and effective blow with it. The infuriated stag turned on his assailant, and forsaking the object of his first attack, returned the blow with his sharp antlers. Medwyn warded it off with his arm, and his next effort was mote successful. The stag was now withdrawn to a sufficient distance from the fair unknown to permit a more appropriate use of his fusil, and A VISION. 5? in another moment his once powerful enemy lay expiring at his feet, and he received the Pinking form of the beautiful stranger in his arms. All this occurred in far less time than it has required to relate it; and as Medwyn was about to bear his lovely charge to the rivulet, and to revive her with its waters, she recovered, and ths eloquent blood that had forsaken her cheek, tinged it with a bright flush. " Unfortunate as imprudent!" she murmured to herself. " Why is it that others are always exempt from dangers, while I, I cannot even escape for a moment from the miserable thraldom to which I am subjected, without the occurrence of something that threatens my very existence. But oh!" she continued, glancing at Medwyn, with a mingled expression of terror and solicitude, " how selfish I am to think only of myself. You are wounded, see! the blood is flowing freely from your arm!" Medwyn in vain assured her that the wound was trifling. " It is in my cause," she continued, " that you are losing these precious drops, it is ever thus, I am doomed to misfortune, and those who would rescue me from it must do so at the risk of their own lives. And even now, as much as I owe you my preserver my deliverer my rigorous destiny forbids me from acknowledging the obliga- tion. I dare not permit the event that has just occurred to be known, for indiscretion is, in the eyes of those who watch over me, synonymous with crime. May I then beg you to conduct me a few steps on my way, and implore you not to make mention of this adventure. Perhaps, at a more suitable time, I may remind you of it. You are not, per- haps, so devout a believer in reliques as I am," she con- tinued with a sweet smile, " but here is one that will aid in your recovery from the injury you have just received." She took from a chain of gold around her neck, a superb 5 58 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. cross of the purest brilliants. " Keep this," she added, " as a souvenir of one, who, though ever unfortunate, is not ungrateful. There may come a day when you will recog- nise the hand that offers it, but for the present I feel assured that you will grant my request, and bury the events of the morning in oblivion." Medwyn placed the splendid relique in his bosom, and even Ellen might have forgiven him for touching with his lips the delicate hand that offered it. In a few minutes they reached the spot to which she had requested him to con- duct her. " I can hardly resolve to obey your commands, and 'leave your fair side all unguarded,' lady," said Medwyn as she bade him farewell. " Were not your orders so peremptory, I should feel it almost a duty to accompany you, notwith- standing your prohibition." " Yet you must leave me, and that promptly," said the incognita, in an agitated voice. "And even now it may be too late!" she continued; " look there, and judge how closely my movements are watched!" Medwyn looked in the direction in which she pointed, and perched on the lower branch of a neighbouring tree, he beheld a figure, which rather resembled one of the monkey tribe, than an animal of the human species. A more scruti- nizing view, however, revealed the diminutive proportions of a half-grown lad, richly habited in green velvet, orna- mented with a profusion of gold lace. The visage was almost of an ebony hue, and contrasted strangely with a row of ivory teeth, which he fully displayed, on finding himself observed. " Come down from thy perch, bird of darkness," said the lady, " and dare not on thy life reveal that thou hast seen me this morning. It is thy gracious mistress that hath sent A VISION. 59 thee on this errand. But come, thou shalt for once be my page, Zamore. Under such guidance," she continued with a smile, " must I return; but I shall find means to silence this sapajou. Adieu! remember my entreaty." She walked on rapidly, and was soon lost to view, and Medwyn returned to the glade where he had recently van- quished his unexpected and formidable foe. He had hardly reached the spot, when the cor de chasse / burst forth, the huntsmen rushed through the thicket, and surrounded the lifeless stag which lay stretched on the sward, while they gazed on Medwyn, who was preparing to remount his horse, though the blood still flowed from his wounded arm. " Why, here has been an adventure,*doubtless," said de Vaudemont, as he examined the animal, and then glanced at Medwyn. " And you have not even taken the precaution to cut his throat. You are not so good a sportsman as I thought you would prove, after all, Medwyn. You see I must say something to lighten the chagrin of his majesty, who is just now within hearing," he continued in a low voice, " for he cannot brook a rival in his favourite amusement, and your favour at court would have been much greater but for this contre-temps." " I have not achieved my victory without some loss, how- ever," replied Medwyn, smiling, as he pointed to the ruddy stains on his hunting dress. " This may be some atone- ment as a proof that I acted in self-defence, and I may, perhaps, stand excused from paying farther court to-day. I cannot return to the chateau in my present unsuitable garb." " Make your apology, then." said de Vaudemont, " and I shall have a good excuse in accompanying you; for in truth the whole pleasure of an excursion to Fontainbleau is now over, and the rest will be, as I know, from sad expe- rience, an intolerable bore." 60 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. Medwyn adopted the suggestion, and alleging his wound- ed arm as a reason for his immediate return to the metro- polis, the excuse was readily accepted by his majesty, who had now made his appearance. While he was speaking, the diminutive and sablc-visaged page, whom Medwyn had encountered half an hour before, suddenly sprung from the thicket behind them. The king started at this unexpected apparition. " How now, Zamore," he exclaimed, " what mak'st thou here?" " A letter from my gracious mistress, please your ma- jesty," replied the page, offering a paper tied with silk, and sealed with his own emblem, the fleur de lis, while at the same moment he made an almost oriental prostration at the king's feet. " Stand back, imp of darkness," said his majesty, " and frighten not my horse with thy ugly visage." The page retreated, but in doing so, he cast a furtive glance at Medwyn, and with a look of recognition, again displaying his full row of ivory teeth in contrast with his ebony visage, nodded his head, and disappeared. Quickly as this glance was bestowed, it was observed by the king, who, with a clouded brow, received the parting homage of Medwyn and de Vaudemont. '* Unfortunate fellow that you are!" said the latter, when fairly out of hearing; " what can be the meaning of the look of recognition that ourang-outang bestowed on you? Why the king has been stung to death by the libels upon his fair inamorata already, and it is no wonder he should be enrage at an apparently secret understanding between her favourite page and a handsome cavalier like yourself. I fear sadly that this morning's work has undone all that your prepos- sessing figure effected the first day of your appearance at Versailles." A VISION. 61 *' In a multitude of rivals, as well as counsellors, there might be safety," returned Medwyn, laughing, " though I have never seen the object of his idolatry, and cannot be numbered among them. But," he continued, in a graver tone, " I meant not to speak with levity of what may well raise a blush on the cheeks even of the frequenters of the court of Versailles. My only marvel is, that an insulted nation should so long have submitted to such guidance. But the vengeance of heaven must, and will overtake the actors in these scenes of profligacy and crime. The justice of an offended God cannot be much longer delayed, and may He, who in wrath remembers mercy, avert the calami- ties they may entail upon the innocent victims who will probably share their fate, though they participate not in their guilt!" De Vaudemont was for a few minutes silent. As Med- wyn finished speaking, he was about to make some light reply, but there was something impressive and even solemn in the words he had just heard, that awoke a better feeling in his heart. " You are grave to-day, Medwyn," he said, " and your remarks have, really, almost a prophetic tone; but it is no wonder you are somewhat shocked at the state of things here. I have rather more acquaintance with them than you have, arid yet I am not altogether reconciled, reconciled, did I say? Alas! but a short time has elapsed since I re- garded vice as you now do." He paused, and seemed struggling with some overpow- ering emotion. "Medwyn," he continued, in an altered voice, "I was not always the thoughtless, careless troubadour-courtier you now behold me. There was a time when I should have scorned the idle, and why should I disguise it? the 62 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. vicious life I now lead. la my early youth I had a pro- tector, a mentor, who trained me to virtue, and conse- quently to happiness. But he is in his grave. Happily he has not lived to see the fruit of all his tender cares blighted and perishing. He cannot now behold the heart, whose young emotions were ever open to his view, a prey to ' the worm that dieth not.' Notwithstanding the solemn warn- ing I have received concerning you, and a mysterious assur- ance that any confidence reposed in you will be my death- warrant, there is something that draws me to you as one, who, by his superior wisdom and excellence, might aid me in again finding the path from which I have so widely swerved. Promise me then," he continued, grasping Medwyn's hand with eagerness, " that you will one day listen to me, and counsel me. Not now, for I have not courage yet to make you the depository of my follies perhaps my crimes. But at a future day, I feel assured you will not only hear, but sympathize with me." As he spoke these words, they reached the barriere of the metropolis, and uttering a hasty "adieu," he left Med- wyn to meditate alone upon what he had just heard, as well as the events of the morning. THE MINSTREL. " And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight that it would fling Aside for ever, it may be a sound, A tone of music, summer's breath, or spring, A flower a leaf the ocean, which may wound, Striking th' electric chain wherewith we're darkly bound." BYRON. IN a retired hotel near the Champs Elysees, an apparte- ment had been fitted up with that exquisite taste which dis- tinguishes the artistes (as the inventors of Parisian luxuries delight to call themselves) of the metropolis of France. The rooms were small, but each one presented in its rich tapestry, its splendid gilding, its sumptuous mirrors, its gems of sculpture and painting, of mosaic and precious marble, a model of elegance, and showed it, at a glance, the abode of opulence and luxury. Costly flowers in the rarest vases, mingled their delicate odours with the richer per- fumes of the east, and these, with the harp and guitar, the music and half-finished silken embroidery, indicated the occasional presence of the gentler portion of creation. It was evening, and the lights were beginning to twinkle among the trees of the grand avenue; but as yet this apparte- ment was lighted only by a single lamp, that, placed in the centre room, shed its lustre feebly through the folding doors into those adjoining it. The outline of a slight and fragile form, reposing on a sofa in the one farthest removed, was 64 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. hardly distinguishable by the faint light, but her attitude, as she rested her forehead upon her white slender fingers, the careless tresses of dark hair that fell over them, the paleness of the almost transparent cheek, showed that even in this abode of elegance, sorrow and suffering had found an entrance. A deep sigh seemed to be heaved from the inmost re- cesses of her heart, as she pressed her hand more closely to her throbbing brow, and with some difficulty arose from her recumbent posture, and tottered rather than walked into the adjoining room. The casement was partly open, and she appeared to be revived by the fresh evening breeze that found its way through it, and partially dispelled the rich, though almost oppressive atmosphere by which she had been surrounded. She swept her hand over the harp that stood near the window, and started at the deep tremulous chord that re- verberated through the still and solitary apartment. Again she touched the strings, and a few notes, soft, plaintive, and low, came forth in exquisite unison with their full and har- monious chords. " I cannot sing!" she exclaimed, as she again rose, and pushing the harp from her, approached the open window more nearly. "Poor hapless bird!" she continued, " why should'st thou sing in thy gilded prison? Thy voice was once sweet and joyous when it rung through thy native forests and hills, but now, now!" She covered her face with her hands, and the tears that had been restrained with difficulty, fell like rain-drops over her pale cheek. "Yes!" she murmured after a few minutes pause, "I was then happy, and it is only in moments of solitude and darkness, that I feel and know what I have lost. Every sweet scene of my childhood rises before me; my hum- THE MINSTREL. 65 ble cottage, tlie woodland dell, where with my youthful companions I have carolled so blithely, as we returned from our homely but happy employments. The bright stream that leaped in joyous rills over its rocky bed, the verdant meadow, the forest shade, the wild birds that gladdened my path with their sweet notes, and oh! sad, sad remem- brance! the friends I have left in that humble retreat for a life of splendid misery. My father, my mother, alas!" The murmuring voice died away, and again she hid her face in her hands, and sobbed aloud. Absorbed in her emotions, she heeded not an approach- ing footstep, and was aroused only by the touch of a hand upon her arm. She looked up for an instant, and with a slight shudder, again hid her face. " Ismene, why this extravagant sorrow," said the deep voice of the speaker, his tone, however, modulated to a cadence, apparently of unusual softness. " You are nervous, you are ill. Why should you indulge in such solitude and such fancies? The evening air is fresh and balmy, why have you not enjoyed it?" " Because nothing now can bring me happiness," she replied. " The fresh air of heaven that breathes coolness on my burning brow, pierces my weak frame, and chills my heart. Yes!" she continued, gazing upward, as a sin- gle star shone forth, and was as suddenly concealed from her view by a passing cloud, " even those resplendent luminaries that once were wont to impart to me their bright- ness and joy, now veil their faces if I dare look on them. Tell me, oh! tell me, thou beauteous planet!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands, and raising them toward heaven with almost frantic eagerness, as the cloud passed away, and the star again shone forth, " is all hope lost to me? Shall I never behold the blest spirits that inhabit thee, and the celes- 66 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. tial glory that surrounds them? May not years of penitence and suffering atone for days of folly and of sin, and when purified from the stain of earth in the furnace of affliction, may I not become as one of them?" She paused, and her large dark eyes beamed with almost supernatural lustre, as they were still riveted on the planet she invoked. Her companion recoiled as he gazed on the almost unearthly expression of the once lovely but now faded face and form before him. Recovering instantly, however, he said in a tone of raillery, " Why this is madness, absolute madness, ma belle Ismene. This is the consequence of lonely days and idle fancies. Be warned by me, and permit not another bright planet that I could name, to withdraw its gentle beams from the world they should lighten with their smile. Look at those delicate flowers, and remember they are the emblems of youthful beauty. Their fragrance and loveliness breathe a charm to-day that we might seek in vain to-morrow; is it not then fair to place them where they shall not blush un- seen, and where their sweetness shall not be wasted? Come then, the gay world awaits but your presence to begin its revelry; pleasure offers her golden cup; quaff the precious cordial, and it will revive your drooping spirits, and restore the rose to that pale cheek." " It will never bloom again," Ismene replied, in a tone of despairing sadness, as she withdrew her eyes from the star on which she had been gazing, and again pressed her hand on her aching brow. " Those flowers shadow forth but too plainly the doom of one, who like them may once have been fair and bright, but which, plucked from the parent stem, will droop and die to-morrow, and be * cast like loathsome weeds away.' Tempt me no longer, de Gourville, with thy golden chalice, which hath ere now THE MINSTREL. 67 brought poison to my lips; free me from the costly but galling fetters which now bind me, give me but a line from your hand to prove that I have been the victim of treachery rather than the willing slave of vice, and I will release you from the charge of one whose charms are gone, and whose spectral image will no longer haunt you. Grant my request, and I will return to my humble home, and die." " Why, fair one," replied de Gourville, still continuing his tone of raillery, "thou art, indeed, sad and moody to- night. And so, thou wouldst have me confess that the jolly priest who united us, was not so regularly in orders as some that wear a mitre; but at least his head was as cunning if his heart were less simple than many concealed beneath a cowl and cassock, and what does it signify? You have been the gainer; contrast the luxury and elegance by which you are surrounded with your former obscurity and indigence, and then think if a few scruples cannot be easily silenced." " A gainer!" repeated Ismene, while a momentary flush stained her pale cheek with a crimson hue; " a gainer! yes! I have bartered peace and innocence, and oh!" she added, again clasping her hands in agony, "not only these, but the happiness of others that were dearer to me than life: these, have I exchanged for the glittering dross that now only serves to dazzle my fading vision, and remind me of past happiness, and of future retribution. Give me but what I ask, de Gourville, that I may not be spurned from my poor old father's threshold, and I will leave this gilded prison-house, and free you from the presence of one, who, I am well aware, is now to you an object of suspi- cion, if not of hatred." The dark cloud that was rising on the brow of de Gour- ville deepened to blackness as the last words passed her 68 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. lips. He approached her more nearly, and grasping her slender arm, gazed in her face as if he would have read her inmost soul. " Suspicion!" he repeated, "Ay and not without cause. Thou hast thought, perhaps, simple one, that thou couldst deceive me: but thou hast to deal with one whose sleepless vigilance can easily baffle thy weak schemes. Yes! thou art right. I do mistrust thee, woman! It was my folly that first brought my willing victim hither, and permitted thee to discover the bond of our intimacy. But thou wilt not dare lo warn him how dangerous he may find it to trifle with me, or to reveal what our compact keeps secret. Thy own life, as thou art well aware, as well as his, may be in the issue." " My life is ebbing fast," replied Ismene, " and I fear not thy wrath, de Gourville. There is a dread on my mind which overshadows all terror of man. Thy heart is wily, and thy arm is strong, but why should I fear thee? thou canst but shorten the brief period of my earthly existence; and could I but expiate some of my folly by counteracting thy dark schemes, I would willingly make the poor sacri- fice. But as yet I have only warned thy victim, as thou may'st well call him, of his danger, in bestowing his confi- dence on one, who may, perhaps, feel a still deeper interest in defeating thy schemes than I do; one who, perchance, without a similar warning might have drawn thy vengeance upon his own head. Fear thee? no! treacherous man! thou wilt have cause to fear me, when my disembodied spirit shall return to haunt thy awe-stricken soul, and remind thee of thy guilt, and of my wrongs." She glided from the apartment as she spoke, and as her slight shadowy form melted away in the dim light, de Gour- ville's obdurate heart sunk within him, and despite his usual THE MINSTREL. 69 boldness, he shuddered, as her last words, though low and musical, rung like a death-knell on his ear. For a moment he listened to her retreating footsteps, and then rushed from the house. He strode silently and moodily through the gay throng assembled near his dwelling, nor stopped until he leached a retired part of the Champs Elysees, where the passions that were boiling in his breast broke forth. " Fool! madman, that I was!" he exclaimed, " to trust a woman, and one wronged and injured, with a confidence of such vital importance to me! True, she cannot live long to frustrate my plans, but the mischief may already be accom- plished. Time passes, and I must be gone. The dark billows of ocean, with which I have so long been familiar, must roll beneath me ere I again seek my rest. I must away, and that instantly!" ' A DECLARATION. " Then let the trial come! and witness thou If terror be upon me; only do not thou Forsake me, oh, be thou ever near, That I may listen to thy sacred voice!" AKENSIDE. 11 1 was awe-struck, And as I pass'd I worshipp'd." COMUS. THE resolution quickly formed was as rapidly executed, and favouring winds and waves seconded the wishes of de Gourville. But few days elapsed before he was again hover- ing near Lansdale. This was not the first time he had been in that vicinity since the departure of Medwyn, and de Gourville had succeeded in his ardent wish of forming a slight personal acquaintance with Sir Frederick Lansdale and his lovely daughter. The passion he felt for Ellen, and which has already been hinted by his own words, was of far less recent date. Many months before the present period, he had seen her, and as he said, worshipped her as a planet that he could never hope to approach. Strange that a heart so obdurate, and ordinarily so cold and selfish, should have been touched by a sentiment as sacred as that of love; but this marvel had been effected by the angelic loveliness of Ellen Lansdale. He had watched her movements, he had waylaid her A DECLARATION. 71 path, in her morning walks, in her evening rides, even in the house of God, which otherwise would not have been profaned by his presence, he apparently did homage, not to worship his Creator, but the earthly object of his idolatry. True, he would rather have gazed on her beauty in any other than this hallowed place, for as he marked the holy expression of her countenance, now softened in penitential tenderness, now radiant with the exalted hopes awakened by the promises of future bliss, as he heard her soft voice mingling in the chant, and hymning the praises of Him, who had created and redeemed her; it reminded him but too forcibly of the immeasurable distance between them, and his heart died within him. Still he indulged in that " hope that comes to all," though he had never received the slightest encouragement either from Sir Frederick Lansdale or his daughter even to continue the visits he had occasionally made them. Always courteous in their manner towards him, there was yet something of coldness, and what might almost have been termed hauteur in that very kindness, which his knowledge of the world but too plainly told him, was intended to keep his advances as well as himself at a distance; and the hopes he indulged were founded more on the advantages he expected to derive from the force of circumstances, than from any merit of his own. Bold, daring, and insolent, in the circle in which he was accustomed to move, his character was altogether changed when within the magic influence of the lovely being who had so completely fascinated him, and his manner then became timid and irresolute. Often when the shadows of evening obscured his path, and screened him from observa- tion, he would approach the dwelling of the idolized but almost dreaded object of his worship, and in moody silence, 72 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. pace to and fro, while he endeavoured to summon cournje to enter. Often before he ventured to approach, would he watch the lights from the windows, and spend hours in picturing the fair image on which his fancy loved to dwell. But then would come the vivid contrast of the peace and innocence which reigned in that Eden, and the scenes of profligacy and turmoil in which his life had habitually been passed, and when he thought of the purity of that gentle creature, which awed while it fascinated him, partaking less of earth than Heaven, in comparison with the passions that raged in his own dark soul, the reflection was madness, and striking his hand on his breast as if he would have driven forth the legion of evil spirits that dwelt within it, he would silently retire, without even seeking admission to her presence. It was, therefore, amid a variety of conflicting emotions that he presented himself on that threshold, on the evening succeeding that of his return from the continent; nor were they diminished by the reply of the domestic who answered his summons, and informed him that Sir Frederick Lans- dale was at that moment absent, but that his daughter was at home. With a faltering step he followed the servant who conducted him to the drawing-room. The door was partly open, and he had time to glance within it before his name was announced. It was at that hour when the day is drawing to a close, and " parlour twilight" invites to meditation, rather than encourages the continuance of any occupation, however agreeable it may be. Apparently, however, Ellen had found her's unusually interesting, for the book which she was reading, absorbed her whole attention. A light stand, on which were thrown a few roses, the last of the season, had been removed to the window, as if to catch the A DECLARATION. 73 faint rays of the parting day, and on it was placed her book. One fair cheek rested on her hand, and her downcast eyes were riveted on the page before her. She started from her ?ttitude of fixed attention, as the servant announced a visitor, and rose from her seat, with a glance of inquiry directed to the door, and de Gourville flattered himself that some appearance of agitation marked her manner when she heard his name, and as she cour- teously returned his formal and constrained salutation. There was something, however, in the quiet and lady-like dignity of her air that chilled his hopes, and wounded his pride; and when she raised her blue eyes to his face, with a look of mingled surprise and inquiry, the glance asked as plainly as words could have done, what could be his object in thus intruding on her presence in so unwonted a manner? " I regret that my father is absent this evening, Mr. Elford," she said, as she gracefully offered him a seat, which her visitor perceived, however, was removed to a very inconvenient distance from the one she resumed. " Your visit," she added, " was, doubtless, intended for him, and he will return soon. I will order lights, and you will, I doubt not, find in this new publication, in which I have been deeply interested, an agreeable resource during the half hour that will probably elapse before his return:" and she was about to ring the bell " Pardon me, Miss Lansdale," said her guest, rising as if to possess himself of the book thus offered, though in reality to approach more nearly to the fair hand that held it, " but permit me to beg that you will first allow me a few minutes conversation with you." De Gourville was not mistaken now when he thought he observed some agitation in her manner. She looked sur- prised and perplexed, but politely acceding to his request, 6 74 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. again took the seat she had left, and silently awaited the communication he was about to make. " I have just returned from the continent," he began, and" Ellen started, and even by that faint light he perceived that she turned pale. " It is then as I feared," she said, " and you have kindly come to warn us of some evil tidings, that may reach us unexpectedly. Do not, I pray you," she added, clasping her hands, " do not keep me in suspense. We have friends there, very dear friends, from whom we have no recent tidings. Something terrible, perhaps, has occurred!" She paused and awaited his reply in breathless alarm. " Calm your fears, Miss Lansdale," said de Gourville. " Nothing, that I am aware of, has happened, that should agitate you thus. Happy, thrice happy are the friends whose welfare is a source of such deep solicitude on your part! What sacrifice would I not make, to awaken such emotion?" he continued, with a deep, and perhaps an in- voluntary sigh. " But if among those friends are included, as I presume, Lord Belmore and his son, I have the plea- sure to inform you that his lordship has entirely recovered from his recent illness, and that both are in the enjoyment of excellent health, and basking in the smiles of court favour." It was fortunate for Ellen that the light in the apartment was too dim to permit her visitor to read her thoughts fully in her ingenuous countenance. But he yet perceived the deep blush that suffused her cheek, and an expression of vexation, at having permitted one, almost a stranger to her, to draw forth the thoughts that were passing in her mind. She sat silent and perplexed, and a pause of some awkwardness ensued until de Gourvile resumed. A DECLARATION. 75 " I regret," he said, " that Miss Lansdale should suppose that I can have no other motives in presenting myself here, than those she has been pleased to indicate, though it would certainly be my duty to pay my respects to her father, who has shown me such courtesy, and a pleasure it could not fail to be, to remove any fears from her mind. But my motive was far different. I came" and he paused as if summoning resolution to proceed " because it was impos- sible to restrain the emotions with which my heart is full. I came, thus to kneel at your feet, to declare my pas- sion, to tell you that I worship, that I adore you!" Had a thunderbolt from a clear sky fallen near her, it would hardly have surprised Ellen more than this unex- pected declaration from one whom she had hitherto regarded in the light of almost a perfect stranger. " Yes," he continued in a low but impassioned tone " beautiful and angelic creature! Thou to whom in imagi- nation, I have so often breathed my vows! I come to offer thee the homage of a heart, which until now hath never known the influence of love, of a soul, on which thy pure image is so deeply graven, that I would baiter all hope of heaven for thy smile. Ellen Lansdale, I repeat I worship, I adore thee!" The astonishment excited by his first declaration was heightened by the passionate fervour with which these last words were uttered. Ellen trembled, and the blood forsook her cheek, but making an effort to recover her self-posses- sion, she replied with dignified calmness, " These are expressions as unsuitable for me to hear, as for you to utter, Mr. Elford, and I cannot disguise the surprise it occasions me to hear such language addressed to me by one who is almost a stranger. Rise, I entreat you, from that humilia- ting posture, appropriate only to the worship of the Great 76 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. Creator, and offer not that homage to a mortal, which is due only to him." "A mortal!" exclaimed de Gourville, with increasing vehemence, " say, rather, an angel that hath strayed from her own bright sphere to illumine this dark world by the light of her presence." " Stay" he continued, " I implore you to stay and hear me; permit me only to prove the disinte- restedness of my affection, and then if I offend you, I will be gone. Stay only one moment," he supplicated, " and I will not renew the subject that has displeased you, without your consent. The communication I shall make, deeply concerns your father." At the mention of this revered name Ellen paused, and the determination she had evidently formed to leave the room, was shaken. " On that condition alone," she said, "I will grant your request. But I cannot remain longer, to listen to your first expressions, which I must confess, not only surprised, but shocked me." And she again took her seat on the nearest sofa. " My task is indeed a difficult one," said de Gourville, " but I will endeavour to fulfil it rather than be thus abruptly bereft of your presence. Nay," he continued, observing her increasing paleness, " do not fear that I will again awaken the agitation I have so unfortunately caused. My communication shall be brief. I have come hither not only to declare the sentiments I have just uttered, but to save your father from ruin; and to offer to his now por- tionless daughter my heart, my hand, my fortune; to restore him to his possessions, which are now mine, and which I cannot enjoy, unless his lovely daughter will con- sent to share them with me. I am aware," he added, low- ering his voice to a softer cadence, " that time may be A DECLARATION. 77 requisite for the dissolution of other ties, which may have been previously formed, bat even in this, ray disinterested- ness may be proved. I have an intimate acquaintance with Lord Belmore, and he has given me permission to repeat the sentiment I have often heard him utter, that his son should never, with his consent, wed a portionless bride. Nay, more, he has every reason to believe that his son con- curs with him in this sentiment, and that amid the brilliant scenes, and fascinating gaieties, by which he is, at present, surrounded, former attractions, and former attachments have been forgotten." He paused, and a momentary flush of indignation kindled on Ellen's cheek, as she was about to deny the unworthy charge. The words were rising to her lips, but her fears whispered that it might, alas! be too true. Why else, the strange, cold silence that Medwyn had observed since their separation? No line, no word, had ever reached her from him; her father's kind tetters all disregarded, not a word to assure her that she was still remembered. She had already experienced that " hope deferred maketh the heart sick," and now, even that hope was to be blighted; and despite her effort to believe that the whole was perhaps a fabrication designed to further the suit to which she had been an unwilling listener, she felt something like convic- tion force itself on her mind. The mingled emotions awakened by these strange communications, and the yet stranger manner in which they had been made, entirely overpowered her. The blood rushed in a torrent to her heart, her head leaned heavily against the casement near which she was sitting, and all consciousness forsook her. De Gourville sprung forward, and throwing open the window to admit the fresh air, supported her head on the pillow of the sofa on which she reclined. What were not 78 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. his feelings as he gazed on this beauteous image of death! what would he not have given to touch with his lips that marble brow or the pale pure cheek! but he dared not: his dark spirit felt and owned that it would have been pro- fanatioli, sacrilege; he dared not even 'touch the white hand that lay lifeless by her side. A deep sigh that seemed to bring relief to her oppressed heart, soon betokened returning animation. She passed her hand feebly over her forehead, as if to aid her recollection of the events that had just occurred. De Gourville had withdrawn to a respectful distance, and no trace remained of the aid he had rendered her, but the open casement, through which the cold evening air blew freshly, and speedily revived her. She rose, and pleading sudden indis- position, was about to leave the room, when the door opened, and Sir Frederick Lansdale entered. Happily for his paternal solicitude, the gloom of the apartment did not permit him to observe the paleness or the agitation of his daughter. He approached the spot where she stood, and gently chid her for her imprudence in exposing herself to the chilling influence of the night air. You have forgotten, my dear child," he said, " that you were not well this morning; why do you thus run the risk of increasing your indisposition? your hand is cold and trem- bling, and this room seems to me as comfortless as dark." He had said these words before he perceived de Gour- ville, and immediately apologized for permitting his anx- iety concerning his daughter's health to make him appa- rently negligent of the rules of good breeding. " You will find it warmer in the library, my love," he continued to his daughter; " and," he added, lowering his voice, so that his words reached her ear alone, " I will be there as soon as this visit is over." A DECLARATION. 79 Ellen needed not this hint to make her escape, and she thankfully availed herself of her father's permission to retire. The entrance of lights and a fresh supply of fuel, diffused an air of more cheerfulness through the room, and as Sir Frederick Lansdale drew his arm-chair toward the fire, he invited his guest to occupy the one on the other side. " I am fortunate in receiving a visit from you this even- ing, Mr. Elford," he said, " as I have been, though unsuc- cessfully, to seek you. I have, for some time past, been anxious to inform you of my determination respecting the papers you showed me, and copies of which, you placed in my hands, but your absence from the country has hitherto prevented me from doing so. I have examined them with the care their importance demanded, and have consulted with others, who are better skilled than myself in these matters. The result of my own reflections as well as their opinion, has led me to admit the validity of your claim. I cannot doubt my brother's writing, and the witnesses who attest his will are known to me as honourable men, though they are very far distant. By engaging in a vexatious suit, which would, at last, probably be determined against me, I should only plunge myself into deeper embarrassments, and be deprived of the remnant of my property here. You may, therefore consider this estate as your own, and I shall take steps, immediately, to put you in possession of it " " It would be a source of the deepest mortification to me, Sir Frederick Lansdale," replied de Gourville, " if I should be the unfortunate cause of your abandonment of a home to which you are doubtless attached. No, there are other means of adjusting this important litigation, which may preserve you from such an unnecessary trial, and my con- science from the overwhelming remorse I should feel in 80 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. being the unwilling instrument of such a sacrifice. Sir Frederick Lansdale, you have a daughter" Sir Frederick started, and de Gourville's keen eye per- ceived that his still fine form became more erect, and a cloud overshadowed his brow. He was silent fora moment, and then said, *' It would be affectation in me, if I were to pretend that I do not understand your allusion, Mr. Elford; and I feel grateful for the kindness that suggested it. You merit my acknowledgements for your disinterestedness, but it is useless to pursue your suggestion farther." "Perhaps if you were aware of some circumstances, that have recently come to my knowledge, Sir Frederick, you would not, at least, refuse me the privilege of farther explanation." His host looked impatient and vexed, but with his usual courtesy yielded to his demand. 41 Then," continued de Gourville, " I will only take the liberty of repeating what I believe and know to be the sentiment of Lord Belmore with regard to his son. The engagement contracted by him was with the heiress of Lansdale" " It is unnecessary to add more," said Sir Frederick Lansdale, drawing himself up to his full height, while his eye flashed with indignation. " But Lord Belmore might have spared himself the trouble of sending, and me the pain of receiving such a message through a third person. Humiliating as the loss of fortune may be, it will never deprive me of a proper degree of self-respect, and there is no danger that the fulfilment of any engagement previously made will be insisted on. But my daughter, as well as myself, will ere long, be too far removed, to alarm his paternal anxieties, or to encourage the advances of his A DECLARATION. 81 friends. It has pleased his majesty, who has heard of my complicated misfortunes, to offer me large and valuable possessions in the western world, which are at his disposal, and I have unhesitatingly accepted the offer. I have survived most of my friends here, and as it appears from your communications, as well as other circumstances, out- lived some friendships that I would willingly have carried with me to my grave. I have, therefore, every inducement to seek another home, and with the blessing of divine providence, I shall do so without farther delay." The astonishment of de Gourville at this unexpected revelation, may be better imagined than described. A movement so destructive of all his schemes, had never once entered his imagination, busy as it ever was. He saw, in the cold, and almost haughty manner in which his advances had been met by Sir Frederick Lansdale, and the repulsion, and even terror they had awakened in his daughter, a sufficient cause of alarm; but this plan, so calmly and positively announced, that he could not doubt the resolution of his host to carry it into execution, brought with it the death-warrant of all his hopes. He felt that it would be worse than useless to attempt any argument against it, and that if he were destined to succeed, it must be by soma other means than those he had already used. The conver- sation became embarrassing to him, and evidently irksome to his host. He soon took his leave, and retired, to brood over new schemes, and Sir Frederick immediately fulfilled the promise he had made his daughter of following her to the library. Ellen was sitting at a table near the fire, apparently engaged in reading; but the hand that rested on her brow was closely pressed to it, and her father's watchful eye soon detected the attitude, as well as the expression of deep and 82 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. painful meditation. She remained motionless until he approached, and laid his hand gently on hers. Startled from her reverie, she raised her head and looked up in his face, as he bent over her, and then, throwing her arms around his neck, hid her face in his bosom, and burst into tears. " Ellen, my dear child," he said, though his own voice faltered as he spoke, " do not give way to such sorrow; remember the promise you made me when I first warned you of our approaching troubles. You were to be, as you have ever been, my consolation and support. Where is the firmness you promised to exert?" "Pardon me for once, dearest father," she replied, " if I have permitted my feelings to overcome me. There f is a wide difference between ' casting the fashion of uncertain evils,' and having them suddenly brought forward in all their terrible reality, and in a manner so unexpected, and so appalling. But I trust that I shall be able to fulfil my promise, now that those evil days have come; and that the merciful being who has watched over me while my life was one continued scene of happiness and prosperity, will not refuse to aid and counsel me, now that some of his blessings are apparently withdrawn. I will trust and believe that ' though his face may be hidden from us' for a time, yet ' with great mercies and with everlasting kindness he will gather us.' " " It is indeed a consolation to see you thus reasonable, my child," said her father, kissing the tears from her cheek. " You are too young in affliction for me to find fault with you, for yielding at first to your natural feelings; but you will have to learn the lesson I was early taught, that we must not repine when we receive ' evil as well as good' from His hand who sends us all; and may you be enabled A DECLARATION. 83 to say as I have done, in troubles greater than these which now threaten us, ' The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord!' " " I will I will do and say all you could wish, with His help," said Ellen, again throwing her arras around her father's neck, "only pray for me, dearest father!" she whispered, pressing her cheek to his. " And with you, dearest child," he added, clasping her to his heart as she sunk on her knees by his side. Sweetly did those mingled prayers arise like incense to that gracious being, whose ear is ever open to the supplication of his afflicted children, and the blessing asked was already bestowed. The balm of consolation they implored, was shed abroad in their hearts, and when the father bestowed his parting benediction on his daughter, there was a degree of peace and tranquillity in the minds of both, that could have been His gift alone, and which proved that even in their troubles they were not forsaken, but had the assurance of being safe " beneath the shadow of his wing," SURPRISES. " Behold a man much wronged." COM. or ERRORS. " I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheer- ing the elevated sphere she just began to move in glittering like the morning star, full of life and splendour and joy." BURKE. UNCONSCIOUS of the events that were occurring at Lans- dale, Medwyn, at the urgent and almost peremptory request of his father, was still a sojourner in the metropolis of France. He remained, however, entirely against his will, for beside the anxiety he felt to return, his apprehensions were excited by the cold silence of the dear friends he had left, which was to him as unaccountable as painful. One letter, and only one, from his revered friend had he received since his departure: the fate of the rest may be surmised without explanation. They had been addressed to the care of his father, whose determination to destroy whatever tokens of remembrance from that' quarter might fall into his hands, has already been revealed. He had succeeded beyond his most sanguine expectations, and no word or line from Ellen had found its way to his son, since he left his native shore. There was something, too, in the very atmosphere which surrounded him, that appeared to Medwyn almost conta- gious. As one who strives to rouse himself from some SURPRISES. 85 pleasing yet baneful vision, he strove to shake off the fetters which threatened to bind him. He felt that the life of busy idleness he was now leading, was altogether inconsistent with the career of honour and of usefulness which had formerly been the object of his ambition, and that he was sacrificing in frivolous amusements that precious time which he felt and owned was given him for higher and nobler purposes. He had almost resolved to break the bonds, which thus held him captive, when he was assured by his father that his wishes would detain him but a few weeks longer, and Medwyn was then content to bear this farther trial of his patience. He was occupied one evening in communicating the agreeable intelligence of his anticipated return, to his absent friends, when he was interrupted by the entrance of de Vau- demont, whose usually gay and careless mood often led him to seek the company of his associates in the most unce- remonious manner. "Writing writing!" he exclaimed as he entered, "and the hour has come, and past; positively you will be too late, my dear fellow. All the world are at the Frangais by this time; you see I am en grand costume, why have you been so negligent?" " Because I have declined going, this evening, de Vaude- mont," replied Medwyn. " The gay world can do very well without me, and in truth I am tired of this round of frivolity, which the beau monde calls pleasure." " That is just what I supposed," returned his lively friend. "And for this reason I have corne to make a most solemn proposition. It has been truly said of this metropolis that her churches are theatres, and her theatres churches. You cannot have a better opportunity of perfecting yourself in the language than by frequenting the Fran$ais and 86 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. L'Odcon; and Notre-Dame could not offer you a more grave, and certainly not half so imposing a spectacle as we shall see at the former to-night. The tragedy is the Siege de Calais, and the royal loge will be occupied by their high- nesses, the dauphin and the young and beautiful dauphiness, whom you have never yet seen. They returned to the city only yesterday. The enthusiasm is at its height, for the unpopularity of the present king increases with his declining years, and even now, the salutations of the royal family are mingled with praises of Louis Seize, and Marie Antoinette, who, though as yet entitled only to the appellation of the dauphin and dauphine, are regarded as king and queen of the nation." " Your arguments are powerful," said Medwyn, smiling, " and for the hundredth time, since our first acquaintance, you will have had your way. Amuse yourself here, for a short time, as well as you can, and I will prepare to accom- pany you." De Vaudemout paced the room impatiently until Med- wyn's return, and tried in vain to confine his attention to the book he had taken from the table. His thoughts, however, were far otherwise occupied than with his apparent anxiety concerning the spectacle au Frangais, which, to a superficial observer, might have seemed to engage them. An expression of deep and painful resolution occasionally flitted over his handsome features, and was as quickly succeeded by one of mistrust and indecision. Twice he laid his hand on the door of the inner apartment, as if determined to unburthen his mind without farther delay, and as often withdrew it, and again, in moody silence, paced the room. He was interrupted by the re-entrance of Medwyn, who signified his readiness to accompany him, and they de- scended the stair-way together. De Vaudemont's carriage SURPRISES. 87 was still at the porte cochere, and they were soon dashing through the illuminated streets. Medwyn was surprised to find his usually communi- cative friend disposed to be taciturn and abstracted, and he endeavoured in vain to draw him into his wonted humour. He was about to rally him on this novel mood, as he felt disposed to call it, when he observed, by the lamp-light that occasionally threw its glare on his face, that he was pale and dejected, and evidently endeavouring to summon resolution to speak on some unpleasant theme. Medwyn's thoughts immediately recurred to their interview on the morning of their visit to Fontainbleau, and he awaited in silence the confidence, which he now felt assured that de Vaudemont wished to repose in him. This idea was speedily confirmed by his friend, who laid his hand on his arm, as if to arrest his attention. " You recollect, Medwyn," he said, " our conversation on the morning of our return from Fontainbleau?" Medwyn replied in the affirmative. " I then asked your counsel and your sympathy," con- tinued de Vaudemont, " and I have been endeavouring, ever since, to summon resolution to acquaint you with the circumstances on which I found my claim for both. It is a difficult task, for I have a confession to make, which I fear may lower me in your good opinion. But painful as the revelation will be to me, I feel impelled to confide in you. I must be brief, for our time is short, as I perceive we have already reached the file of carriages before the door of the Fran^ais; but the half hour that we shall be detained here will suffice for my purpose. " I once told you, Medwyn, that I was not always what I now seem to be, and my words were designed to convey more meanings than one. Not only my nature, but my 88 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. name has been changed within a few years past; and though yov^have often expressed surprise at the perfect facility with which I speak your language, you will cease to won- der at it when I tell you that I am, both by birth and educa- tion, your countryman. A^ an early age, I accompanied my parents to India, where I had the misfortune to lose them both; and should have found myself alone in the wide world, but for the kindness of one of my father's friends, on whom fortune had lavished her treasures, and who was blest with a heart as benevolent as hia coffers were over- flowing. He adopted me as his own son, and under his auspices I came to this metropolis to complete my studies. " By a singular freak of fortune, it happened, that during my college career, I was instrumental in saving the life of the old Marquis de Vaudemont, whose gratitude was unbounded, and who would content himself with nothing less than lavishing half his splendid income upon me, and bestowing on me his own name, which, as you are well aware, is one of the noblest in the nation. Thus, I have found myself for the second time, an adopted child, but unhappily, an enfant gate. Far different have his counsels been from those of my own father, or the excellent friend, to whose guardianship my early years were confided. The kind-hearted old marquis believes that pleasure is, very naturally and properly, the sole object of youth, and I have unfortunately imbibed his sentiments, though my better judgment, and the remembrance of the days past, both warn me to the contrary. In my eager pursuit of this alluring phantom, which ever eludes my grasp, I forgot what was due to the friend and guardian of my early youth; nor can I describe the pang I felt, when accounts reached me of his death, and when the last letters he ever wrote, were put into my hands, together with a copy of his will, SURPRISES. 89 bequeathing to me his whole fortune. It was now, however, too late to repair my error, and amid the fascinating gaieties by which I surrounded myself, the reproaches of conscience were stifled. Years since that period have passed by, and I find myself still more eager in my pursuit of happiness, and still farther than ever from my object. " Now comes the confession I am about to make. Not- withstanding the lavish bounty of the Marquis de Vaude- mont, it was insufficient to support the career of folly in which I was engaged, and I began to be in want of means to compass the extravagance of my wishes. That fatal temptation the gaming table, presented itself as a resource, and I added one more to the miserable victims who are daily and nightly immolated at it. I fell into the hands of an accomplished villain, who speedily stripped me of all that I could call my own. In a luckless hour, I was per- suaded to accompany him to his own house, where, by his specious arts and seductive flatteries, he so far won upon me, that I entrusted to his charge the important papers of which I have spoken, (the letters and the will of my guar- dian,) which he assured me should only be detained as hostages, to be returned as soon as he was convinced of my determination to abjure the dangerous habits in which I indulged. " I have since, however, had reason to suspect, that his intentions are altogether different, and that some dark scheme is the result of my imprudence. He carefully eludes my scrutiny, and I am at a loss how to proceed. I have been warned that his designs are of the most desperate character, and that his determination is to assume my real name, to possess himself of my fortune, and for these ends, to attempt my life. This I can readily believe, for his genius is as subtle as his heart is corrupt, and wo to the 7 90 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. unwary youth who falls into such hands as those of de Gourville." De Vaudemont was surprised at the sudden start with which Medwyn received his last words. "The name of de Gourville, apparently, is not unknown to you," he resumed, " and in truth, he is but too familiar in the circle we both at present frequent. But you certainly have not the same reasons that I have had for seeking his acquaintance: do you then know him? or can you give me any information respecting his present movements?" " I have seen him," answered Medwyn, " and my unfavourable opinion, from the first moment I met with him, is now fully confirmed. I can, I believe, aid you in unravel- ling some of his schemes, but you must first submit to be questioned on one point. May I ask the name by which you are designated in the will of your former guardian?" " My father's name was Elford," replied de Vaudemont, " and the name of Seymour Elford, which was mine before I adopted that of de Vaudemont, is the one which appears in the will of my guardian." " And the name of your guardian?" " Lansdale," said de Vaudemont. " By this will I am entitled to a splendid estate, which bears the same name; but through the carelessness and indiscretion which have ever been my bane, I took no steps to prosecute my claim, until it has been jeoparded by the folly I have this night confessed to you. I may, however, have some pretension to generosity in delaying it so long, for I learn that the present possessor, the brother of my guardian, is an excel- lent man, with a lovely daughter, and this^consideration will go far to reconcile me to the loss of a fortune (if I should lose it) of which, until now, I have never felt the slightest need." SURPRISES. 91 " Your information has been correct on all these points," said Medwyn, " and in return for the confidence you have reposed in me, I will not withhold mine from you. The revelation you have made involves consequences to me, which, when you know all, will astonish you as much as your communication has surprised me. I must, however, delay, until our next interview, my communication, for, as you see, your carriage already arrests the file at the door of the theatre; but in the mean time, I must add my warning to that of your mysterious monitress against this strange and desperate man. From what has already fallen under my own observation, you have need to be on your guard!" They descended the steps of the carriage as he spoke, and entered the Salle du Spectacle of the Theatre Frai^ais. They found it brilliantly illuminated, and full to overflow- ing, and all eyes of the gay company assembled there were turned to the royal loge, where sat their highnesses, the dauphin and the dauphiness. At the moment Medwyn and de Vaudemont entered the Salle, they heard these words from the stage: " Le Frangais dans son prince aime i trouver un frdre, dui, n fils de 1'etat, en devienne le p6re." Every eye was raised toward the dauphin, and unbounded applause arose from the assembly. The next instant, the following beautiful line was received with the same marked approbation by the dauphin. " Rend re heureux qui nous aime, est un si doux devoir!" As he rose and bowed to the multitude, around and below him, the enthusiasm was at its height; and when the young and beautiful dauphiness, Marie Antoinette, with a gesture 92 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. of the most graceful condescension, acknowledged the senti- ments which thus drew the prince toward the nation, and at the same moment expressed the loyalty of the people to their prince, the salon echoed with shouts of joy and triumph. Medwyn looked fixedly at the bright and beautiful being, blazing with the jewels of Austria and France, and yet more radiant in her own dazzling loveliness, as, smiling through her tears, she acknowledged the compliments awarded her, and he could hardly credit the evidence of his own senses. But no! it was no illusion! in the fair dauphiness, he beheld the charming incognita of the forest of Fontainbleau! " That was certainly a glance of recognition, her royal highness bestowed on you, Medwyn," whispered de Vaude- mont, when after the rapturous applause had subsided, and the audience became more composed, Medwyn turned again to catch another view of the beautiful dauphiness. " This may certainly make amends for your unfortunate rencontre with the African page at Fontainbleau, and pro- mises well for your future success at Versailles. But you will soon have an opportunity of making your court, for I see one of her attendants approaching us." De Vaudemont's conjecture proved correct, for an officer of the king's household at that moment won his easy way to the spot they occupied, and politely signified to Medwyn the wish of her highness, that he should pay his devoirs at the royal loge. He followed his conductor, and was re- ceived with the gracious courtesy which always marked the manner of the youthful dauphiness. " The silence I requested you to observe with regard to my adventure in the forest of Fontainbleau," said her high- ness, after Medwyn had paid his court to the occupants of SURPRISES. 93 the loge, " may now be considered as terminated. I have confessed my sins," she continued, with a smile, and glanc- ing at the dauphin, " and have received absolution; though I hardly merited so fortunate an issue when guilty of such imprudence; but no one can imagine the delight of escaping from the rigid rules of Madame L' etiquette,* for a wild ramble through the forest. This may serve to extenuate the folly, even of a princess, when it is remembered that she has not yet completed her sixteenth year." The dauphin added his warm acknowledgements of the timely service her highness had received, and both intimated their wish of seeing her champion the following evening at the bal a la cour at Versailles. Medwyn expressed his sense of the honour thus tendered him, and at that moment the spectacle terminated, and he withdrew. He found himself separated so completely from de Vaudemont, that it would have been idle to attempt to seek him, and he returned to his hotel alone. The scenes he had just witnessed, afforded him an ample field for reflection during his solitary drive. The singularity of his accidental interview with the fair dau- phiness at first occupied his mind; nor can it be a matter of surprise, that so bright an image should, for a moment, have thrown all other objects into the shade. But his thoughts soon reverted to the earlier events of the evening, and he recalled the communications of de Vaudemont care- fully to mind. It may well be imagined, that he felt the deepest interest in the circumstances which had been thus related to him. From their first acquaintance, he- had felt a peculiar kind- ness for de Vaudemont, whose winning manners and affec- * La Comtesse de Noailles. 94 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. tionate disposition had almost concealed, from the view of his friend, the follies he had so ingenuously confessed. There was a latent spark of virtue and generosity still slumbering in his breast, which Medwyn trusted would not be extinguished, and which, if he could have been removed from the fatal influences by which he was surrounded, might have been fanned into a flame, and aroused the nobler energies of his nature. Under other circumstances, Med- wyn would have rejoiced at the prospect of his improved fortunes, and still more at that of his removal from the dan- gerous scenes with which he was familiar; but his heart sank, when he contemplated the other side of the picture, and beheld the ruin of his best friend, and the probable con- sequences of that event upon his own destiny. The idea of sacrificing his dearest hopes upon the altar of mammon never once found a place in his thoughts; but he knew the lofty spirit of Sir Frederick Lansdale well, and he feared that even the resolution of the gentle Ellen would be proof against his entreaties to unite her destiny with his, until more propitious days should dawn on their now clouded prospects. What would have been his feelings, had he known what was passing amid the peaceful and happy scenes he had left! But though entirely unaware of the success of de Gourville's dark schemes, a vague apprehen- sion overpowered his mind, and he resolved, at all hazards, to return immediately. The following morning, he called on his father, and mentioned his wishes and intentions. Lord Belmore re- ceived his communication with a clouded brow, but opposed no obstacle to the wishes of his son. He had already re- ceived intelligence from de Gourville, of the determination of Sir Frederick Lansdale to leave his native land for the SURPRISES. 95 western world, and he trusted that this design had been already executed. He therefore simply remarked, " It will be useless to undertake the journey until a few days hence. I have just been looking over the journals, and you will find no packet at Boulogne at present." Medwyn satisfied himself of the necessity of patience for a few coming days, and assented to his father's proposition of accompanying him to the bal a la cour at Versailles in the evening. A COURT BALL. " Speak to me, voice of sweet sound, and tell, How can'st thou wake by one gentle breath Passionate visions of love and death!" HEMANS. " Hold thy desperate hand! Art thou a man!" ROMEO AND JULIET. THE hour that brought with it so many bright anticipa- tions of the young, the gay, the beautiful, at length arrived, and the court was unusually thronged. The etiquette, which in former days would have excluded much of the youthful loveliness that now lent its graces to the scene, was waived, in consideration of the age of the dauphiness, and for once, "Everything young, everything fair, From east to west was blushing there." The palace was brilliantly illuminated, and the marble stairways, and ante-chambers were tastefully and richly ornamented with exotic flowers, whose splendid colours were heightened by the festoons of coloured lamps that sparkled among them. Within, all was blazing with lustres and or moulu, paintings, and mirrors. The rich and curious tapestry of the Gobelins, and the rarest and most costly ornaments of foreign climes lent their aid to the gorgeous splendour of the scene. The vacant throne, with its drape- ries of purple velvet studded with golden^ewrs de Us, and A COURT BALL. 97 surmounted by the jewelled crown, was rendered yet more imposing by the snowy banners, the Bourbon emblems, that floated majestically above it. The salle du spectacle had been converted into a salle de danse, and in this fairy scene was assembled the chivalry and the beauty of la grande Nation. " Bright jewels of the mine" were out- shone by brighter eyes, and gold embroidery, white plumes, and jewelled swords, were mingled with the lighter cos- tumes of the fair. The murmuring voices of the gay assembly were scarce heard amid the pealing music of the orchestra, save when some low, breathing, flute-like sym- phony preceded a superb flight of the opera. Suddenly, the music ceased, and all eyes were turned to the folding doors, which were thrown open, and his majesty entered, followed by the dauphin, and the youthful dauphin- ess. Arrayed in a robe of the lightest and most delicate texture, and of the purest white, with no ornament but her own matchless loveliness, she moved, like a being of ano- ther sphere, through the brilliant and gracefully yielding throng. Happy were those who could catch her bright smile, and happier still, those on whom a gentle word or gesture of recognition was bestowed. Among this favoured number were our young hero, and his friend de Vaudemont, who received a gracious salutation. " How do you like our fete," said the king to his minis- ter of finance, near whom they were standing. The minis- ter bowed low, and the word " Impayable," alone reached their ears. His majesty smiled, and passed on. " Impayable!" repeated de Vaudemont, when he was out of hearing: " A bold reply for a financier to his sove- reign; but it probably concerns the former far more than the latter. It is the affair of the minister to raise money; the king has only the trouble of spending it, which from my 98 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. experience, is by far the easiest part of the task. But what have we here?" he continued, as a small party ap- proached. The group that drew near them consisted of eight or ten persons, habited in the costumes of the different Swiss can- tons, and each provided with some musical instrument. *' This is probably a fancy of the dauphiness for varying the scene," continued de Vandemont. She has a romantic turn, and has already been playing the shepherdess in the park of the palace. I trust, however, that these are Pari- sian or Italian connoisseurs under the mask of peasants, for though the Swiss music is charming in the open air, and softened by the dashing of a waterfall for its accompaniment, with the splendours of Alpine scenery to lend it enchant- ment, it is detestable in a gilded salon." He took Medwyn's arm as he spoke, and they followed the musical group into an apartment withdrawn from the ball room. A crowd speedily followed, and they found themselves in " contact inconvenient" with the musicians, who impatiently awaited the permission to occupy a sepa- rate space allotted to them. During these moments, Med- vryn occupied himself in surveying the costumes near him, and his glance encountered a pair of large dark eyes fixed wistfully on his face. There was something of mournful and beseeching sadness in their expression that riveted his gaze, as he strove to remember where he had seen that face before. Longer he might have gazed in vain, but for the sudden start of de Vaudemont, who, at that instant, released his arm, and in a low voice pronounced the name of " Ismene." His memory thus aided, Medwyn recalled the scene in which he had first met with de Vaudemont, and though without this assistance he might not have recollected the A COURT BALL. 99 minstrel, whose plaintive notes had enchained his ear that morning in the bosquet of the garden, he now remarked the same fragile form and white hand that had swept the guitar. To the simple and sombre costume of Argovie, she had added, in the place of the black riband that binds the bright locks of the peasant, a black veil, which floated on either side, and presented a strange and sad contrast with the cheek of marble paleness it seemed designed to shade. Startled at the sound of her own name, though uttered in a voice so low that it would have been lost on a less delicate ear, the minstrel withdrew her eyes, and looked on de Vaudemont. Bending forward, as if to extricate the lute she held from the throng near her, she said to him in a tone as low as his own, " Ismene is not then concealed by the costume of Argovie or the black veil of the nun. But I came hither to warn thee. Amid these gilded and illuminated halls, beneath these blushing wreaths of flowers, there lurks a serpent, Adhemar de Vaudemont, beware!" The last word alone fell on Medwyn's ear, as the min- strel pronounced it with more energy than the rest. He observed that de Vaudemont changed colour, and a slight shudder passed over his frame, as the words of ominous import fell from her lips. Another moment, and she had mingled with the musicians, who were now occupying the space allotted for their reception. Their first prelude convinced the listeners, that the pre- tended Swiss peasants were the finest artistes that the sunny south or the kindred spirit of harmony in the north could supply, and their exquisite skill elicited the unbounded applause of the enraptured audience. Solos, duetts, trios succeeded, and it appeared impossible to satisfy the un- wearied listeners. At length, after a few minutes' pause, 100 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. several of the musicians approached the spot where stood Ismene, her long black veil half shading her face, and seem- ingly unconscious of the passing scene. The proposition they made apparently struck her with terror, for she shrunk back; but the entreaties of the musicians were seconded by the audience, and the wish, expressed by so many united voices, sounded like a command. With a slow and falter- ing step she approached the harp, which was brought for- ward, and as she touched the strings, the soft and tremulous notes were scarce heard throughout the breathless audience. A hectic flush rose on her cheek, her eye brightened as she seemed to collect herself for the trial of her skill, and the genius of the Improvisatrice burst forth. The chords of the harp, first low and tremulous as the summer wind, swelled into the most exquisite harmony, and breathed the very soul of music. " The voice! the voice!" exclaimed the audience, when a moment's pause admitted of their en- treaty. The bright flush on the minstrel's cheek had sub- sided, and it had resumed the marble hue. She pressed her hand on her brow with an expression of suffering, and as if to recall her wandering thoughts, and after a low and plaintive symphony, those thoughts apparently came forth in words: The light is blazing in bower and hall, And the wine-cup sparkles high, The garlands are wreath'd, and soft music's call Invites to the revelry. It is not in scenes of such dazzling light That the nightingale's song is heard, The stars' faint glow, and the moon's pale light, Are lov'd by the pensive bird. By the deep lone dell, and the silvery stream Is her song, and the woodland glade, A COURT BALL. 101 And the mossy couch where the fairies dream, And the quivering forest shade. Why call ye the sombre bird of night Amid gilded halls to roam! Her voice is hush'd till she wings her flight Back to her own lov'd home. But the spoiler's ruthless hand was there, Desert that place of rest, The scenes she lov'd still are soft and fair, But to her they are all unblest. Yet once more would she turn to that silvery stream, And the dark wood, waving high Invoke the bright spell of her spirit's dream, Breathe her last note, and die ! As the last words of the minstrel were murmured forth in a cadence, " soft, gentle and low," she clasped her hands on the harp over which she leaned, and rested her forehead on them. The attitude, and the paleness of her cheek, dis- played so evidently the deep feeling which had abstracted her from all around, that a breathless silence ensued, and for a few moments the idea prevailed, that her words might have been prophetic, and that with these last strains of touching harmony, her spirit might have winged its flight. But again she raised her head, the hectic flush rose in her cheek, and the lustre of her dark eye once more shone forth. She swept her hand over the strings, and a strain, deep, rich, and solemn, accompanied her words. Why call ye the child of the mist and storm Amid blushing flowers to dwell, Or why should the seer to an angel form A vision of wo foretell'? 102 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. Why trembled the earth in her caves afar, Why mingled the lightning's gleam With the first bright ray of ibis gentle star, When a dark world hail'd her beam"} See ye a form in a robe of light With seraphic beauty crown'd; The cheek is fair, and the smile is bright, And the laughing loves are 'round. A palace her's, and a kingly hall, And fair knights around her bow; The festal train and the garlands all, And a crown awaits her brow. See ye those sunny locks that wave, And the hope in her radiant eyel Alas! for the promise her bright youth gave, Too soon is it doom'd to die! Ah, why should a brow so soft and fair, And the lightly wreathed smile Be seal'd by the ruthless hand of care, And forget their gentle wile? Not as the murmuring summer stream That exhales in the sun's bright ray, Not as the fount in that ardent beam, Will her bright life melt away. The broken flower on the tempest's wing, When the wild storm rages high, The coral wreath that the surges fling, Shadow forth her destiny. On the tempest of human passions borne While the deep bell sounds its peal, To her princely home she will ne'er return,- Wo for the blood-red steel! A COURT BALL. 103 The rich and solemn strain was hushed, but the dark eye of the minstrel rested on the " seraphic form," the theme of her prophetic song. There was something in its deep, tender, and mournful gaze that riveted the young and beautiful dauphiness to the spot. Accustomed, from her earliest years, to associate the idea of misfortune with her destiny, the sad and ominous warnings sank on her heart like the death-peal that rung out in the song of the Improvisatrice. The bright smile forsook her lip, she turned pale, and would have sunk to the floor, but for the sustaining arm of the dauphin, who was standing near her. All eyes were turned towards the spot where she stood. The music ceased, and a crowd of eager courtiers pressed forward to offer their aid and sympathy. " Her highness should not be thus moved by the words of the Improvisatrice," said a deep voice amid the throng, "she is mad." The words were uttered in too low a tone to reach the ear of the dauphiness, but they were soon repeated, and echoed from lip to lip. The interest, first awakened on behalf of the minstrel, was renewed, and eager glances sought the spot she had occupied a moment before. It was deserted the Improvisatrice had disappeared. "That strain was sad and wild," said de Vaudemont, musingly, as with Medwyn he descended the steps of the chateau that led to the garden. "It had indeed, 'a dying fall,' though rich and soft as the poet's dream of the sweet south upon a bed of violets, stealing and giving odour.' There was something of deep solemnity in it, oppressive and ominous in the midst of so dazzling a scene. I feel happy to escape from its influence to the more quiet though less brilliant one on which we are now entering." As he spoke they reached the garden, which, though 104 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. illuminated in that part of it nearest the palace, where the jets tVeau were playing in the light of the variegated lamps around them, yet presented an aspect less inviting than in a warmer season. It was, however, a mild winter evening, and Medwyn found relief from the oppressive atmosphere he had just left, in the cool breeze which fanned his brow, as they entered one of the superb alleys, bordered with towering marronniers. The tall and stately trees, despoiled of their foliage, waved in the wintry wind, and threw their dark shadows across the pathway, giving alternate light and shade to the groups of statuary, and pure white of the Grecian vases on either side of the walk. " The Improvisatrice is, apparently, a friend of yours," said Medwyn, after a few minutes silence, during which de Vaudemont seemed to be occupied with his own reflections. " There is something of mystery in the deep solicitude she manifests for you, that may well awaken a corresponding degree of interest on your part, and the ' meek intelligence' of those dark beseeching eyes, would move a heart of less sensibility than yours. But can there be any truth in the rumour we heard around us before we left the music room?" De Vaudemont shook his head. "Ismene is not mad," he said, "though the wildness of the thoughts she some- times breathes forth in these soul-subduing strains might justify such a suspicion. She is not mad, but her fancies are often visionary and enthusiastic; and for this reason I do not heed the warnings she sometimes addresses to me, as much as prudence might dictate. Her story is sad and touching, and adds another link to the chain of de Gourville's crimes. Her most ardent wish, now, is to return to the home, from which, in a luckless hour he induced her to stray, and there to terminate her existence, which, as may A COURT BALL. 105 ~.',._, : -.j '.'.. .;' r But soon the wile of a lovely smile On her radiant face he may see, And again she sings, as she waves her wing.", " Follow, oh follow me!" Again he gives heed, and away they speed From haunts and pleasures gay, A BALLAD. 297 To regions wild, where the sylph beguil'd The toilsome yet pleasing way. Oh 'tis sweet, I ween, on the fairy scene To gaze from the mountain's brow, On the roseate light of the snow crown'd height, Or the gathering clouds below: To glide o'er the lake while its waters break On the ear with a silver sound, Or to sit in the shade of the forest glade, While the dark firs wave around: To watch the soft hue of the mountain blue, Or the glacier's icy thrall, Or the glowing west thro' the pearly mist Of the dashing waterfall: To hear the sound, as it echoes round, And each crag and cliff gives back, Of the whistle wild of the mountain child, As he springs on the chamois' track. His heart grew warm, for who feels not the charm Of nature, where e'er we roam? But the glistening eye, and the rising sigh, Betray'd thoughts of his own lov'd home. Again did the shade, o'er the brow of the maid, Like the cloud of summer fly, And a transient beam like the lightning's gleam, Shot forth from her bright dark eye. 20 298 A BALLAD. " Thou lov'st not, then, this beauteous scene, It hath no charms for thee? Then no longer stay, let us haste away, Follow, oh follow me!" Again he obey'd and again they stray'd To a fair and sunny clime, Whose classic name, and her storied fame Were the boast of the olden time. Where art may vie with the purpled sky, And the sculptor's glories stand, As if all were given of earth or heaven, To adorn this favour'd land. And oft did they rove in the orange grove When the golden sun-set shone, And the snow-white bloom its rich perfume O'er the dewy air had thrown. But the soothing hour had lost its power And the scene its gentle balm, For memory brought one sadd'ning thought To banish his spirit's calm. For he no more his native shore Might e'er again behold, Nor could he reveal, or to one he lov'd well, The dark mystery unfold. Youthful and fair, he had left her there, Lovely and kind and true, A BALLAD. 2J And vainly he sought to dispel the thought Of her sad and last adieu. For then was there hid in that silk fring'd lid A gentle tear perchance, And a blush did speak on the pale pure cheek, That brightened beneath his glance. He thought of all that in bower or hall Had enlivened his distant home, Of the hearts he had 'reft, and the sweet peace left In exile far to roam. All pensive he stray'd, 'till the dark-eyed maid On his pathway quickly turn'd, And scorn flash'd high in her sparkling eye, And her cheek with anger burn'd. Ingrate!" she said, " for thee have I fled, And thy solemn promise heard, And would'st thou now forget thy vow Or be false to thy knightly word? Yet not in vain, my care and pain And my wanderings all shall be, Nor thy oath shalt thou break, nor thy guide forsake, Then follow, follow me!" On, on they sped, and the way she led At the close of the parting day, Nor e'en was there one twinkling star To lighten the devious way. 300 A BALLAD. The wind swept past in a fitful blast That the gathering storm foretold, And the glare of the dread volcano near Did a fearful scene unfold. For he saw by that bright and terrific light That illumin'd the awful gloom, The spirit wild had his steps beguil'd To the verge of a yawning tomb. And on his gaze as the lurid blaze Still high and higher burn'd, The beauteous sprite, from a being of light To a hideous spectre turn'd. All vanish'd the grace of her lovely face, And far had all beauty flown, And a fleshless arm round his manly form With a giant's strength was thrown. And the golden hair that was erst so fair O'er her snowy shoulders flung, A death's head bound, all coil'd around, And with hissing serpents hung. In vain did he seek the spell to break And to loosen the deadly grasp Of the skeleton hands that like iron bands His heaving chest enclasp; And a hollow voice near said within his ear, " Thy home thou shalt never see, A BALLAD. 301 " In this loathsome tomb behold thy doom, " Once more shalt thou follow me!" She said, and sprang, and one wild cry rang With a frightful and thrilling sound; The ponderous stone o'er the vault was thrown, And dread silence reign'd around! ****** The horrid spell broke when the knight awoke, As they plung'd, from his couch he fell, And the morning's beam did his fever'd dream, With the shadows of night dispel. And the vision he'd tell to one he lov'd well, When seated by her side, And merry he laugh'd, and a bright cup quafTd, To the health of his fairy guide. THE END. LEA & BLANCHARD, PHILADELPHIA, HAVE PUBLISHED A BEAUTIFUL PRESENT: THE WORKS OF MRS. HEMANS, COMPLETE, INCLUDING A MEMOIR BY HER SISTER. A new and beautiful edition, printed on fine paper, with a por- trait of the authoress, handsomely bound in embossed cloth, or in calf and morocco, extra, with gilt edges, forming one of the most beautiful presents of the season. In 7 vols. royal I2mo. This is the only complete edition of the works of Mrs. Hemans, and contains many new poems, together with other matter not embraced in any other edition of her works. " This is a truly elegant edition of the works of the sweetest poetess the world has ever known. The publishers have done justice to the memory of the writer of delicious poetry, by the manner in which they have preserved and embalmed it. We love to think of Mrs. Hemans, because, for years past, we have read her poems with delight. The story of her life, told by her sister, is full of deep interest, as it develops the springs of her passion for the beautiful; and unfolds the secret fountains of her feelings, which were always as pure as they were ardent. Her poetry was not assumed for a moment's exertion, and then laid aside, but it was life itself. The world with its beauty and its glory merely contributed to her imagination; and the human heart was her own, for she felt its highest and holiest desires." Boston Times. THE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, ^ COMPLETE. A fine edition, printed on beautiful paper, to match the works of Mrs. Hemans. In 6 vols. royal 12mo. THE POETICAL WORKS OF BISHOP HEBER, COMPLETE. A handsome royal 12mo. volume, bound in extra embossed cloth. BIOGRAPHY AND POETICAL REMAINS OF THE LATE MARGARET MILLER DAVIDSON. BY WASHINGTON IRVING. SECOND EDITION. In One Volume, handsomely bound in extra embossed cloth. " And even now, when our emotions are calmed, we feel little disposition to add anything further than to recommend every one to read it. It is a simple tale, simply and beautifully told, com- posed altogether of the 'lights and shadows,' the little incidents which made up the young spirit's life, fondly cherished in the memory, and feelingly narrated by a bereaved mother to the biographer. ' Of all precious children, she is the most remark- able.' " New York Review. THE POETICAL REMAINS OF THE LATE LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON: COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY HER MOTHER. WITH A BIOGRAPHY, BY MISS SEDGWICK. "Death, as if fearing to destroy, Paused o'er her couch awhile; She eave a tear for those she loved, Then met him with a smile." In One handsome Volume, to match Irving'* Memoir of her Sister. KEBLE'S CHRISTIAN YEAR. THOUGHTS IN VERSE, FOR SUNDAYS AND HOLY DAYS THROUGHOUT THE YEAR. BY THE REV. JOHN KEBLE, PROFESSOR OF POETRY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. " In quietness and confidence shall be your strength." ISAIAH, xxx, 15. A new edition, with a further revision; and an Introduction by the Rev. George W. Doane, Bishop of New Jersey. In one neat volume. "These verses are singularly beautiful in conception and com- position, and breathe the purest poetic taste, and the most sincere and fervent spirit of piety." Gazette. LEA & B LA N CHARD, PHILADELPHIA, Have. Recently Published A SECOND EDITION OP THE BIOGRAPHY AND POETICAL REMAINS OF THE LATE MARGARET MILLER DAVIDSON, In One Volume, handsomely bound in embossed cloth. " It is full of melancholy interest. We see a brain of preter- natural and precocious activity embraced in a frame of extreme delicacy and susceptibility, and that the latter must very soon wear out is obvious from the beginning to an observing eye. * * * Gentleness, tenderness, and depth of feeling, religious sensibility, moral purity and the beautiful impulses of genius." " Have the annals of recorded genius anything to show more remarkable than thisl" North American Review. " The reading world (says Mr. Irving) has long set a cherish- ing value on the name of Lucretia Davidson, a lovely American girl, who, after giving early promise of rare poetical talent, was snatched from existence in the seventeenth year of her age. The subject of the Biography is deeply interesting, and no one can. read it without a sentiment of gratitude to Mr. Irving, and a feel- ing of sorrow that one so lovely as the subject of it should so early ' sparkle,' be exhaled and sent to heaven." Boston Courier. " The volume here presented is very attractive. The Biogra- phy by Irving derives a great interest from the affectionate dignity with which a mother, not unworthy of such daughters, seems to have preserved the record of the development of the powers of mind, and graces of character, of her gifted and fated child; while the prose and poetical remains attest the taste and talent which a premature grave snatched from the world." New York American. " The particulars of Margaret's career, which have been ob- tained by Mr. Irving principally from her moiher and family, and are recorded in his usual fascinating style, will be found of intense and melancholy interest; her poetical efforts from the age of eight years, till her early death at fifteen, display an activity of intellect truly remarkable, and which will too readily account for her pre- mature decease. This work cannot fail to find high favour with the public." Pennsylvanian, 1 of their feelings and sentiments, seem to us, though living so many centuries apart, to have borne a remarkable relation to one another." New York American. THE QUEEN OF FLOWERS, OR MEMOIRS OF THE ROSE; With Coloured Plates. A beautiful little volume, with gilt edges, suitable for presents. " This neat little bijou comes very appropriately at the present season, just as the favorite and favored flower and all its perfumed satellites on every side are bursting into bloom and beauty. As an occasional souvenir or remembrance, too, it happens at the proper time when the published annuals have become somewhat antiquated, and ere those in embryo have burst their chrysalis. The subject is treated in a series of pleasant letters from a gentle- man to a dear female friend, through which are scattered a profu- sion of gems of poesy from the rich mines of many ancient and modern sons of song. "Although the author, with attractive modesty, remarks in the language of the lively and forcible Montaigne, ' I have gathered a nosegay of flowers in which there is nothing of my own but the string that ties them,' yet the reader will discover many sweet thoughts and pretty sentiments, springing like daisies and violets by the wayside, charming the traveller, and rendering the pursuit pleasant and profitable." Saturday Courier. THE SENTIMENT OF FLOWERS, OR LANGUAGE OF FLORA: EMBRACING AN ACCOUNT OF NEARLY THREE HUNDRED DIFFERENT FLOW- ERS, WITH THEIR POWERS IN LANGUAGE. "In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, And they tell in a garden their loves and cares; Each blossom that blooms in their earclnn bowers On its leaves a mystic language bears." With Coloured Plates; a small volume, embossed cloth, gilt edges. The work is beautifully got up, and the flowers tastefully and properly coloured. The volume is a pleasing appendage to the centre table, and is a most timely gift, when the flowers are just beginning to exhibit their beauties, and to present themselves as interpreters of human feelings. We commend the little volume as combining grave instruction with amusement. U. S. Gazette. A New Edition, with New Plates, of the LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS, WITH ILLUSTRATIVE POETRY: To which is now first added, THE CALENDAR OF FLOWERS, revised by the Editor of "Far get- Me- Not;" handsomely done up in embossed leather and gilt edges. DE CLIFFORD, OR THE CONSTANT MAN. By the Author of " TREMAINE," " DE VERB," &c. " De Clifford is a sterling work a work not to be perused and dismissed in a breath, but to be read and studied again and again. It is not for the story, but for the fine delineation of the movement of the human heart for the striking descriptions of eminent poli- tical and distinguished persons, for the great knowledge of life, and men, and things, displayed in ever)' part for just reflections on events which belong to all periods for vigorous opinions on celebrated authors and the tendency of their writing, and, above all, for an elevated, manly, and moral tone, calculated to discou- rage vice and inspire virtue in every walk and relation of life. " These volumes will long continue to be an ornament to the polite literature of our time." London Literary Gazette. CECIL, OR. THE ADVENTURES OF A COXCOMB. A NOVEL. He was such a delight such a coxcomb Such a jewel of a man! Byron's Journal. In Two Volumes 12mo. t[ Cecil, or Memoirs of a Coxcomb. This book is remarkably clever, written in a sparkling and _easy style, which is read as easily. It is full of pointed things.' The writer has also a vein of humorous exaggeration, at which we have laughed heartily, and his picture of high London Life could only have been drawn by a thorough proficient in its sordid jealousies and utter want of heart." Examiner. " The author of this brilliant novel figures with all the supre- macy of a master. The work is perfectly fresh in style, and is full of graceful vivacity." Morning Herald. " A novel of the ' Vivian Grey' school, but with more point and vigour. The story is told throughout with unflagging spirit, and wears an aspect of reality not often met with in fiction." Sun. " Many are the vicissitudes which befall Cecil. His coxcombry and adventures are amusing; his humour is searching and sar- castic, and the living spirit which animates his confessions hold out to the last." Athenaim, 1* COOPER'S NEW NOVEL. THE DEERSLAYER, OR THE FIRST WAR PATH; A TALK OF THE EARLY DAYS OF NATTY BUMPO AND CHINGACHOOOK. By the author of "The Last of the Mohicans," "The Prairie," "Pio- neers," Sfc. ffc. In Two Volumes, 12rao. " Here is decidedly the best novel of the season, whether pub- lished in England or America. In it, old Leatherstocking ap- pears again, and is as entertaining as ever. As far as we have read, the story is sustained with unflagging, we may say, with thrilling interest; and we promise ourselves a treat, such as we have not for a long time enjoyed, in finishing the perusal of the tale. Give us Mr. Cooper after all, for the sea or Indian life. As a depictor of incidents, amid the roar of the ocean storm, or the dangers of our savage wilds, the author of the " Pioneers" is pre-eminent. Few writers could have kept up the interest in one character so long as Cooper has sustained it in that of Leather- stocking. We cannot see that, in the present volumes, there is any falling off in this respect. Chingachgook, the Mohican, whose death-scene is so powerfully painted in " The Prairie," also appears in the present tale. " This novel completes the author says the 'Leatherstock- ing' tales. Cooper has now followed the borderer through every stage of his existence, from the young scout to the trapper on the western prairies. The five tales may be considered as forming one continued story, in which the heroes and heroines of the several plots, are accessaries only to the history of ' Hawkeye,' around whom the chief interest, after all, revolves. The idea of carrying one character through several tales is one successfully achieved by Shakspeare; and we may also say, successfully imi- tated by Cooper. " We repeat, no tale of the season equals The Deerslayer. Every American especially should read this last work the cope- stone of a series by the first living novelist of his country. Saturday Evening Post. A FINE EDITION OF THE LEATHERSTOCKING TALES: TV Deerslayer, The Pathfinder, The Pioneers, The Prairie, and The Lasi of the Mohicans. In Fire Volumes, 12mo., bound in embossed cloth. A New Edition, complete, (Forty Volumes bound in Twen- ty,) of COOPER'S NOVELS AND TALES: CONTAINING The Spy, Pioneers, Pilot, Lionel Lincoln, The Prairie, Water Witch, Wish-ton-wish, Last of The Mohicans, Red Rover, Bravo, Travelling Bachelor, Heidenmauer, Headsman, Monnikins, Pre- caution, Homeward Bound, Home As Found, Pathfinder, Mer- cfdes of Castile, and The Deerslayer. "Also, The Second Series of his Novels and Tales, containing the last fourteen volumes of his books, bound in a style to match the first series in twenty-six volumes. The whole of the Novels by Mr. Cooper are now for the first time brought within the reach of the public in a uniform style, and at so low a price that entitles them to a very general circula- tion. THE POETICAL REMAINS OF THE LATE LUCRETIA MARIA DAVIDSON: COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY HER MOTHER. WITH A BIOGRAPHY, BY MISS SEDGWICK. "Death, as if fearing to destroy, Paused o'er her couch awhile; She gave a tear for those she loved, Then met him with a smile." In One handsome Volume, to match Irving's Memoir of her Sister. FAMILY SECRETS, OR HINTS TO THOSE WHO WOULD MAKE HOME HAPPY. BY MRS. ELLIS, (LATE MISS STICKNKT.) A NEW EDITION OF GREYSLEAR, A ROMANCE OF THE MOHAWK: BY MR. HOFFMAN, Author of " Wild Scenes in the Forest and Prairie" fc. In Two Volumes, 12mo. PATCH WORK: BY CAPT. BASIL HALL, R. N., F. R. S., &c. In Two Volumes. "Capt. Hall is an easy, familiar writer, already favourably known in the parlour, where his reputation will be enhanced by this present work. It is made up of sketches of various scenes and incidents, such as are apt to befall the wayfarer in many countries. Vesuvius in eruption is well described, and the author warms with his subject in depicting Etna under the same circum- stances. The changeful and oft-sung beauties of the hills and valleys of Switzerland are pleasantly talked about, and such ad- venture as the bold traveller encountered amid Alpine glaciers, thrillingly told." North American. QUODLIBET: CONTAINING SOME ANNALS THEREOF: WITH AN AUTHENTIC ACCOUNT OF THE ORIGIN AND GROWTH OF THE BOROUGH, AND THE SAVINGS AND DOINGS OF SUNDRY OF THE TOWNSPEOPLE! INTERSPERSED WITH SKETCHES OP THE MOST REMARKABf.F. AND DISTIN- GUISHED CHARACTERS OF THAT PLACE AND ITS VICINITY. Edited by SOLOMON SECONDTHOUGHTS, Schoolmaster, From Original MSS. indited by him, and now made public at the request of, and under the patronage of, the Great New Light Democratic Central Committee of Quodlibet. " We find that we must stop quoting from his attractive volume; the extracts already made from it commend more strongly than any panegyric from us could do, to the attentive perusal of every man who is fond of wit, and who does not relish a powerful poli- tical argument the less because it is presented to him in a dra-, malic form." THE SIEGE OF FLORENCE, OR THE SECRETARY OF MACHIAVELLI. AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE. In Two Volumes, 12mo. A LIBRARY EDITION OF THE SELECT WORKS OF HENRY FIELDING. WITH A MEMOIR OF THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, By SIR WALTER SCOTT: AND AN ESSAY ON HIS LIFE AND GENIUS, BY ARTHUR MURPHY, ESQ. WITH A PORTRAIT. Sound in One or Two Volumes, and in various styles, to suit tht Purchasers. ALSO, TO MATCH THE ABOVE, THE SELECT WORKS OF TOBIAS SMOLLETT: WITH A MEMOIR OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THE AUTHOR, BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. WITH A PORTRAIT. Bound in One or Two Volumes, to match Fielding. CHARACTERISTICS OF GOETHE, FROM THE GERMAN: WITH NOTES, ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED, ILLUSTRA- TIVE OF GERMAN LITERATURE. BY MRS. AUSTIN. In Two Volumes. THE LONDON FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING FOR 1842. EDITED BY LEITCH RITCHIE, ESQ. The new volume of this favourite annual is in preparation under the superintendence of the author of the first nine volumes of the " Picturesque Annual," on a scale of unusual splendour. Among the authors engaged are the following: Mrs. Abdy, W. Harrison Ainsworth, Countess of Blessington, D. J. Bour- caalt (Author of "London Assurance") Mrs. Bray, Miss Mary Anne Browne, Barry Cornwall, R. H. Home, Hon. Mrs. Lambert, Charles Lewis (Author of the " Career of Woman"), Miss Moss (Author of the " Romance of Jewish History"), Hon. Mrs. Erskine Norton, Miss Power, Thomas Roscoe, J. R. Aris, Charles Richardson, Leitch Ritchie, Miss Savage, Miss Camilla Toulmin, Mrs. Walker, Forbes Winslow, Lady Emmeline Stuart Woriley, Lady Wyatt, &c. &c. The engravings are finished with unusual care; and a more attractive volume, as regards external appearance, Literature, Art, and Fashion, has rarely if ever crossed the Atlantic. It will be bound in solid though richly ornamented leather. HEATH'S BOOK OF BEAUTY FOP 1S42. Edited by the COUNTESS OP BLESSINGTON-. With numerous exquisite Engravings by the most eminent artists. This work will be bound in superb style, with gilt edges, to match the volumes of former years. THE KEEPSAKE For is. i. EDITED BY LADY E. STUART WORTLEY. With Splendid Engravings. In style and beauty this work will equal if not exceed the volumes of former years. It will be richly bound in gilt to enable the purchasers of the former volumes to keep up the series. THE PICTURESQUE ANNUAL For 1842$ Embracing at least TWENTY finely executed Views of Paris. The volume for this year will be edited by Mrs. GORE, and will exceed in beauty the former volumes of this series. Its size will be the same, so as to correspond with the vo- lumes of former years. LEA & BLANCHARD, Philadelphia, are the American publishers of these four favourite LONDON ANNUALS, which will be for sale by the various book- sellers in all October. Though much improved and beautified, the price will not be enhanced over that of former years. LEA & BLANCHARD beg to inform the public that they have at press SOUVENIRS OF OTHER DAYS; Written by a distinguished Lady of Virginia. This work will be brought out in a style of jjreat bcautj, and form a volume suitable to the intelligent and refined taste of the country. ALSO, THE PORCELAIN TOWER,' OR NINE STORIES OF CHINA. Compiled from Original Sources BY "T. T. T." WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. In One Volume. S T U R M E R, A TALE OF MESMERISM, &c. Br ISABELLA F. ROMER. In Two Volumes. RICHARD SAVAGE, A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE, With Illustrations by Cruikshank. FRANK HEARTWELL, OR FIFTY YEARS AGO; With Illustrations by Cruikshank. STANLEY THORN, By the author of "VALENTINE Vox" and "Sr. GEORGE JULIAN;" With Illustrations by CruiksJiank. THE HOME OF SHAKSPEARE; By the author of "SHAKSPEARE AND HIS FRIENDS." UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below it ailn-l, '41(1122) D919 R52t [Rives] Tale s-^ai souvenirs of a -Ce_fiidjan Europe . 856 9 D919 R52t