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 
 
 ~.<t 
 
 be easily judged from her pale cheek and fragile form, can- 
 not be of long duration. Several times she has warned me, 
 as she did this evening, when you probably heard her 
 words; and if I mistake not, you received a mysterious billet 
 from her hand soon after your arrival in the metropolis. Of 
 this she herself informed me, after she perceived that its effect 
 had not been what she had hoped, and that despite her kind 
 counsel we had become associates and friends. She had 
 discovered that de Gourville bore a deadly hatred towards 
 you, and had even employed spies to watch all your move- 
 ments; and she feared that, if to this feeling were superadded 
 a suspicion of our mutual confidence, it might prove dan- 
 gerous, if not fatal to you as well as to me, for she seems 
 but too well acquainted with his recklessness and despera- 
 tion. By preventing any acquaintance from being formed 
 between us, she hoped to lull the suspicions of de Gourville, 
 until she could inform us of his schemes, which he had, 
 contrary to his usual cunning, confided to her, but which 
 my confessions of the last evening have partially brought to 
 light, and which you told me would be yet more fully 
 developed by yourself, when we had another opportunity 
 of conversing without restraint." 
 
 " My promise can be fulfilled at the present moment," 
 replied Medwyn, " perhaps better than at any other, for 
 we may not again speedily have such an opportunity of 
 private conversation. I shall leave the metropolis in a few 
 days, to return to the friends I have left, and though I may 
 be the bearer of sad tidings, I shall be well assured of a 
 kindly welcome. You will be surprised to learn, de Vau- 
 demont, that the brother of your guardian, Sir Frederick 
 Lansdale, the excellent man whose fortunes are to be ruined 
 by your claim, is my best, and most revered friend; and his 
 daughter," Medwyn paused; there was something too 
 8
 
 106 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 deep and pure in the emotions that fondly clustered around 
 that loved image, to permit them to be the theme of ordi- 
 nary communication. Apparently, however, de Vaudemont 
 divined all that was passing in his mind, for he grasped his 
 hand, and looked earnestly in his face, as if he would have 
 read his thoughts. 
 
 " Medwyn!" he exclaimed, " can it be possible? and 
 should I not, then, in recovering this estate, mar, nay, per- 
 haps entirely destroy your prospects? Yes! it might, 
 indeed, be so, for I know the pride of family and of fortune, 
 and I should, perchance, be enriched at your expense. 
 Hear me!" he continued, as a glow of enthusiasm mantled 
 on his fine features. " As far as I have swerved from the 
 paths of wisdom and of virtue, I trust the precepts of my 
 early and beloved monitors have not been entirely oblite- 
 rated, and that one spark of generosity is yet left in a heart 
 that may have been rendered but too callous by self-indul- 
 gence. I will not accept of this gift of fortune, even if it is 
 placed at my disposal. Give me but your friendly counsel, 
 and your own example, and with the blessing of heaven, I 
 will, at once, break the ignoble bonds by which I have so 
 long been enslaved. My income will be amply sufficient 
 for the rational life I propose to lead, and if this will should 
 be restored to me, or the plots of its present possessor held 
 up, as may now easily be done, to the scorn and derision of 
 the world, I will scatter its fragments to the winds of heaven, 
 and demand in return for the sacrifice only your friendship 
 and confidence." 
 
 Medwyn silently and warmly returned the pressure of the 
 hand that rested in his own. 
 
 " I appreciate fully these noble sentiments," he said, 
 "and I trust your generosity may be rewarded by a firm 
 adherence to your wise and excellent resolutions. The
 
 A COURT BALL. 107 
 
 sacrifice you contemplate would be great; and yet I do not 
 for a moment doubt your willingness to make it. From my 
 first acquaintance with you, de Vaudemont, I have felt for 
 you a fraternal tenderness, for I at once perceived the 
 slumbering sparks of virtue and generosity that might be 
 awakened in your heart. You will soon have an opportunity 
 of calling them into exercise by a complete change in your 
 mode of life. Sir Frederick Lansdale will never be induced 
 to accept the sacrifice you propose making for his benefit; 
 and even were the proof of your right to his estate destroyed 
 by your hands, so delicate is his sense of honour, that he 
 would feel himself only the more imperatively called on to 
 relinquish it. But it will be to him to us all a source of 
 congratulation to know, that his successor is worthy the gift 
 which providence has been pleased to bestow on him, and 
 that a noble and generous spirit will still preside at Lans- 
 dale." 
 
 He paused, and for some moments they walked on slowly 
 and silently. Absorbed in their reflections, they had turned 
 from the principal alley into a narrower side walk, where 
 the glare of the lamps around the jets d'eau, no longer 
 enlightened the obscurity, and they were guided only by the 
 whiteness of the path, and the occasional gleam of a marble 
 vase or statue, which marked their way. 
 
 Medwyn's reverie was interrupted by a light and stealthy 
 step behind him. They turned at that instant, with the 
 design of finding their way back to the more frequented 
 part of the garden, when the figure of a man, though almost 
 lost in the dark shadows around, glided hastily by them. 
 A few moments more passed, and Medwyn's ear was again 
 startled by the same stealthy footstep which had aroused 
 him from his meditations. He turned quickly, to assure 
 himself whether it were indeed an eves-dropper, or only the
 
 108 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 swaying of the gigantic trees on either side, when a sudden 
 flash of light illuminated the darkness, and the report of a 
 pistol awoke the echoes around. Medwyn's sudden move- 
 ment, and the brilliancy of the light, conspired to reveal the 
 assassin. As he had raised the instrument of death for its 
 murderous aim, the flash displayed, too fully to be mistaken, 
 the dark features of de Gourville. 
 
 With the firm determination and manly presence of mind, 
 which, on occasions of difficulty and danger, always charac- 
 terized him, Medwyn sprang forward, and arrested the 
 offender, who was hastily retreating, by seizing his arm. 
 His antagonist, however, with wily subtlety, instantly 
 unfastened the thick mantle which was wrapped in heavy 
 folds around it, and as Medwyn was about to secure his 
 prisoner, dexterously released his arm, and drew another 
 pistol from his breast. The ball slightly grazed Medwyn's 
 cheek, and in another moment the assassin fled, leaving to 
 his antagonist only the pistol and the mantle he still held, 
 as the trophies of his unavailing victory. 
 
 The event, which it has taken far more than a minute to 
 record, passed in less time, and Medwyn returned to the 
 spot where he had left de Vaudemont. The almost instinc- 
 tive feeling of apprehension which oppressed his mind 
 was heightened by the discovery that he was no longer 
 there, and from hearing a deep sigh, or rather groan near 
 the place where he stood, he found de Vaudemont leaning 
 heavily against one of the large marble vases on the side of 
 the walk. One hand supported his drooping head, and 
 with the other he vainly endeavoured to staunch the vital 
 stream that flowed freely from his side. 
 
 " Medwyn," he said, in a faint voice, as his friend, with 
 an exclamation of grief and alarm, sprung to his assistance, 
 "I am wounded dangerously I am certain mortally, I
 
 A COURT BALL. 109 
 
 fear; stretch me on the earth, which may perhaps be my 
 last bed, and call for aid." 
 
 Medwyn was about to accede to the request, when a 
 number of persons, attracted by the report of the pistols, 
 appeared. Lights were instantly procured, and the rumour 
 of this appalling event was rapidly circulated, spreading 
 dismay and agitation through the scene that had, a moment 
 before, been all gaiety and happiness. 
 
 The first impression of the bystanders was, that the 
 wounded man was the victim of a duel, and that Medwyn 
 was the aggressor. Some hints to this effect reached the 
 ear of de Vaudemont, and though each word he spoke 
 seemed to accelerate the current in which his life was appa- 
 rently ebbing away, he raised his voice to deny the charge. 
 
 " Let not my death," he said, "if it is the will of Provi- 
 dence that I die, be laid to the charge of my best friend. I 
 solemnly believe Meurice de Gourville to be the author of 
 this foul deed." 
 
 Medwyn's testimony was needless, though even without 
 the proofs in his possession, his own conviction of de 
 Gourville's guilt could not have been shaken. These, 
 however, placed it beyond controversy. Successful as 
 audacious in crime, he had not provided for the contingency 
 of being arrested by a hand as strong and a heart as bold 
 as his own, and both the pistol and the mantle bore the 
 initials of his name. Orders were instantly issued for his 
 arrest, while de Vaudemont was carefully and tenderly con- 
 veyed to a distant apartment in the palace, where every 
 care, that friendly kindness and interested skill could bestow, 
 was freely lavished on him. The wound was, as he had 
 surmised, "dangerous perhaps mortal." Such was the 
 unsatisfactory answer of the surgeous to Medwyn's anxious 
 inquiries.
 
 
 110 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 THE LAST HOUR. 
 
 " Is death at distance? No he hath been on thee, 
 And given sure earnest of his final blow! 
 
 YOUNG. 
 
 THE contrast between the evening of a brilliant fete, and 
 the morning which succeeds it, has often and skilfully been 
 drawn, and all who have participated in these scenes of 
 gaiety, must have felt and owned the justice and fidelity of 
 the pictures, sketched by the hand of the poet as well as the 
 artist. There is something inexpressibly sad in the idea of 
 withered garlands, extinguished lights, hushed music, 
 "the banquet hall deserted," and above all, in the deep 
 silence which succeeds the gay and busy hum of the recently 
 assembled multitude. 
 
 The bal a la cour of Versailles was terminated at an 
 earlier hour than usual, for the happiness of the young 
 dauphiness had been overcast by the ominous and prophetic 
 song of the Improvisatrice; and the startling event of an 
 attempt on the life of de Vaudemont, whose winning man- 
 ners and elegant person had rendered him a favourite in the 
 court circle, effectually banished all thought of enjoyment 
 from her mind. The scene gradually changed, group after 
 group disappeared, the stentorian voices, that announced 
 the titled names at the doors of the palace, became less 
 frequent, and the thundering sound of wheels, and the 
 stamping of impatient steeds died away. Within, all became 
 equally silent and deserted. The marble stairway no longer
 
 THE LAST HOUR. Ill 
 
 echoed with voices of gay salutation, or with the sound of 
 multitudes of delicate and satin-clad feet, the rich and 
 undulating draperies of silken tapestry no longer waved 
 over the plumes and diamonds that had lent their grace and 
 brilliancy to the throng beneath them; and even the attend- 
 ants, wearied by the excitement of their recent exertions, 
 retired, leaving the scene to darkness and oblivion. 
 
 How many young hearts, that had entered these splendid 
 halls full of hope and pride, withdrew from them in weari- 
 ness and lassitude! and some there were to whom the 
 change was as great, as to the gay multitude assembled in 
 later days at Brussels, where the pealing of the cannon 
 that announced the tremendous conflict at Waterloo, caused 
 the ball-room to be exchanged for the battle-field. 
 
 Ideas, such as these, were rapidly passing through the 
 mind of Medwyn, as he sat by the couch of his wounded 
 friend, and gazed on his pale features, beautiful even in the 
 semblance of death. He slept, but the slumber was heavy 
 and agitated, and the frequent contraction of the polished 
 brow announced suffering and danger, and proved that his 
 sleep was rather the eflect of the anodyne, administered to 
 allay nervous excitement, than a natural visit of the "sweet 
 restorer." The cold gray light of morning stole through 
 the closed shutters, and gave a "deeper hue of paleness" 
 to the brow on which Medwyn's eye was riveted. He 
 touched the hand that was listlessly stretched on the couch; 
 the pulse was feeble and fluttering, and the touch, gentle as 
 it was, startled the slumberer. He opened his eyes, and 
 looked, as if unconsciously, around. His gaze at length 
 rested on Medwyn, and a faint, a very faint smile illumined 
 his face. He was apparently making an effort to speak, 
 when Medwyn prevented his intention by laying his hand 
 on his lips. The sign was understood, for he raised his
 
 112 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 own feeble hand, and pressed that of his friend yet more 
 closely to his lips. There was something inexpressibly 
 touching in this mute acknowledgement of the tender solici- 
 tude that Medwyn had felt and manifested ever since the oc- 
 currence of the sad event which now drew him to the couch 
 of de Vaudemont, and despite his efforts to prevent it, a" tear 
 fell on the wan cheek of his friend. The intensity of the 
 emotion that might have overpowered him, was happily some- 
 what dissipated by alow rap at the door, and he rose to admit 
 the surgeon, and physician, who came to renew their visit. 
 The attendance of the latter was given at the special request 
 of Medwyn, who had long known and prized him, not 
 only for the extent of his medical skill, which his success 
 had placed beyond all cavil, but for his amiable deportment, 
 and sterling worth. He had, for many years, attended Lord 
 Belmore and his family, before his present sojourn on the 
 continent. 
 
 " I am happy to relieve you from your painful duty, Mr. 
 Medwyn," said the benevolent and kind-hearted physician, 
 "but I fear I am a messenger of evil as well as good. I 
 shall be compelled to banish you for the rest of the morning, 
 for I regret to announce that your father has another attack 
 of the malady from which he has so recently been relieved, 
 and requests me to summon you to him without delay. I 
 am aware of the deep anxiety you feel for our patient," he 
 continued, lowering his voice to a tone still softer than that 
 in which he had at first spoken, as he observed the solicitude 
 with which Medwyn regarded his friend. " I will not give 
 you hopes that may, perhaps, never be realized, but I will 
 promise to deal with you honestly and fairly. The case is 
 one of the greatest difficulty and danger, but you may be 
 assured that the most ceaseless vigilance and attention will
 
 THE LAST HOUR. 113 
 
 be united with whatever medical skill I possess in his 
 behalf." 
 
 Medwyn pressed the hand of the excellent man without 
 speaking. His heart was too full to trust his voice. He 
 knew that Dr. M. was a man of few words, but that his 
 promises were sacred, and that whatever human skill and 
 benevolence could effect, he had secured for de Vaude- 
 mont. With one more anxious glance at the couch, where 
 his friend had again sunk into a disturbed slumber, he de- 
 parted. 
 
 He found his father ill, as the kind physician had re- 
 presented, but suffering more from the effects of nervous 
 and mental agitation, than from his usual bodily infirmity. 
 His manner was embarrassed, and even distressed, as Med- 
 wyn approached and with filial affection and courtesy 
 inquired after his health. Recovering soon, however, his 
 wonted self-possesion, he answered coolly, 
 
 "I am better this morning, far better than I was a few 
 hours ago. The shocking event of which we received the 
 news last night brought on my attack. Our first account 
 here was that you were killed." 
 
 Medwyn's heart was deeply touched by this expression 
 of solicitude for his safety. His father's manner had always 
 been cold and reserved towards him, and he had never 
 before manifested such parental solicitude. Alas! had he 
 known, that the illness which he thought was the effect of 
 anxiety for his welfare was brought on by the stings of a 
 troubled conscience, and the idea that one who had been 
 honoured with the friendship and confidence of Lord Bel more 
 should be arraigned as an assassin, how would it have chilled 
 his generous emotions! but the real causes of his father's 
 nervous excitement were concealed, and Medwyn gratefully
 
 114 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 acknowledged the kindness thus apparently expressed to- 
 ward him. 
 
 " I am happy to hear these expressions of filial affection 
 and duty, Percy," said Lord Belfnore, "for I am about to 
 put your generosity to the proof. Aware of the anxiety 
 you naturally feel to return home, I should not, under cir- 
 cumstances less urgent, prefer my present request, which is, 
 that you will accompany me to Italy, and remain there with 
 me two or three months." 
 
 Medwyn started at this unexpected proposition, so dif- 
 ferent was the disposition he had already, in his own mind, 
 made of those coming months. Lord Belmore had antici- 
 pated the embarrassment and unwillingness with which his 
 claim would be met. He looked fixedly at the changing 
 countenance of his son, and then, with a sigh, withdrew hia 
 eyes. 
 
 "It was an idle hope," he said, "the choice between a 
 father and a dearer object is easily made. I must then go 
 alone, live alone, perhaps die alone. I shall strive to be 
 resigned to my fate." 
 
 The last words were spoken in a low tone, and as if the 
 speaker were soliloquizing; but they fell with painful vivid- 
 ness on the ear for which they were designed. Had his 
 father demanded such a sacrifice in an imperative tone, it 
 might have awakened a spirit of resistance to a requisition 
 so unreasonable; but there was an irresistible eloquence in 
 that languid form and those subdued tones, that arrested 
 Medwyn's eye and ear. 
 
 "Yes!" continued Lord Belmore, "you have now a 
 right to be master of your own actions; I have no design to 
 command, and it is, perhaps, in vain to entreat." 
 
 " My father!" exclaimed the young man, overwhelmed 
 by the conflicting emotions which agitated his mind, " I
 
 THE LAST HOUR. 115 
 
 will do anything you wish, but allow me one privilege 
 first; that of returning home for a few days, and I will 
 then endeavour to prove my gratitude for your paternal 
 kindness.'" 
 
 " The sacrifice will then be unavailing," replied Lord 
 Belmore. " I am commanded by my physicians to leave 
 this place immediately, and to go, even before recovered 
 from my present attack, by short and easy stages, to a more 
 congenial clime. The winter is just approaching, and I 
 shall have time to reach the south before its rigour is severely 
 felt. The anxiety I feel to hasten my departure is, more- 
 over, heightened by the circumstances attendant on the 
 attempted assassination of de Vaudemont. Should de 
 Gourville be arrested, as the vigilance of the police gives 
 every assurance he will be, you will most probably be 
 detained to give evidence against him, as the only material 
 witness. A few more days, and the only opportunity I 
 may ever enjoy of ameliorating my health, nay, perhaps, 
 of saving my life, will be lost." 
 
 Lord Belmore ceased speaking, and again looked earnestly 
 at his son. The latter part of his appeal carried with it the 
 conviction of truth, for his wasted form and sunken cheek 
 spoke more eloquently than words could have done. 
 
 "I do not insist on a definitive answer at this moment, 
 Percy," he continued. " I shall await your decision a few 
 hours hence. I must endeavour to rest for the present, for 
 my own resolution to follow the advice of my physicians 
 is taken. I shall depart for the south immediately." 
 
 Medwyn retired with a heavy hearl from the sick chamber 
 of his father. His mind was embarrassed almost to distrac- 
 tion by the variety of emotions with which it was agitated. 
 The unaccountable silence of his distant friends perplexed 
 and alarmed him, and he had heretofore only been reconciled
 
 116 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 to remaining on the continent, by the prospect of a speedy 
 return to them. What might they not think of his continued 
 absence at a moment when he so ardently desired to prove 
 the depth and sincerity of his attachment? would they not 
 have reason to suspect him of duplicity? and then how 
 could he plead his cause when so fearful a distance separated 
 them? He well knew that it would demand all, nay, 
 more he feared, than all, his eloquence to reconcile Sir 
 Frederick Lansdale to his union with his now portionless 
 daughter; and even the guileless and confiding Ellen would 
 have but too much cause to distrust the sincerity of his 
 professions, if he remained so long absent at a period 
 fraught with difficulty and distress to herself as well as her 
 loved parent. 
 
 Then came the image of de Vaudemont. His pale face 
 and inanimate form seemed to reproach him with the 
 cruelty of leaving him to his probable fate. It was true, 
 that their attachment was of recent date, but there was 
 something in the confiding affection which de Vaudemont 
 seemed to bear to him, that deeply touched his heart; and 
 he had every reason to hope, that if his life were, by the 
 mercy of Providence, spared, he would rise from his couch 
 of languishing, a wiser and a better man. The sacrifice 
 he had contemplated, and so fervently expressed his deter- 
 mination to make, during their conversation just before the 
 attempt of de Gourville upon his life, proved not only 
 the depth of his attachment to himself, but the noble 
 generosity of a soul that had only been warped from its 
 original excellence, and which, under different circumstances 
 from those in which he had been placed, might have brought 
 to maturity the fruits of those seeds of virtue and wisdom 
 which had been in his early life implanted in it. He had 
 anxiously and affectionately sought the counsel and friend-
 
 THE LAST HOUR. 117 
 
 ship of Medwyn, whom he evidently regarded as the moni- 
 tor to guide his future course, and preserve him from the 
 snares in which he had, alas! been so fatally entangled. 
 To leave him now, on his couch of pain, perhaps of death, 
 would seem to be treacherous as well as cruel. But then, 
 a father's wishes, entreaties, his life perhaps depend- 
 ent on the faithful discharge of filial duty. 
 
 "The sacrifice is great, indeed!" said Medwyn inter- 
 nally, with a heavy sigh, " but it is one which heaven will 
 regard with approbation. In ordinary cases, 'it is a small 
 matter to be judged of man,' but in the present instance, 
 those whom I most prize and love will have too much rea- 
 son to condemn my apparent neglect. Painful as it is, 
 however, I will not swerve from the path of duty. My 
 decision is made." 
 
 " I await your commands, my father," he said, when, 
 after an absence of a few hours, during which he had again 
 visited de Vaudemont, he re-entered Lord Belmore's cham- 
 ber. " I have been to bid an adieu, perhaps a final one," 
 and his voice faltered, " to my wounded friend, though 
 I have, at least, the consolation of knowing, that he is in 
 faithful and competent hands. I am now ready to depart 
 at any hour you may indicate." 
 
 Lord Belmore knew too well the strict principles of duty, 
 by which his son was ever guided, to have doubted the 
 result of his reflections on the proposition he had made. 
 His preparations were already completed, and ere the day 
 was terminated, they were several leagues distant from the 
 metropolis. 
 
 The season was one which presented no temptation to 
 the traveller to linger on the route, and the anxiety of Lord 
 Belmore to reach his destination during the fine weather, 
 which happily favoured their journey, stimulated him to a
 
 118 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 degree of exertion that under other circumstances he would 
 have believed it impossible for him to make. The barriers, 
 which nature has placed between the northern and southern 
 regions of Europe, were passed with far less difficulty than 
 they had apprehended, and our travellers soon found them- 
 selves established in Florence. 
 
 Had Medwyn's mind been more at ease, a visit to this 
 land of poetry and romance, of music and of song, would 
 have been to him a source of the highest gratification. 
 Italy is emphatically the land of music; even the ordinary 
 greetings of the peasantry, as in their classic costumes they 
 return laden with the spoils of the vineyard to their humble 
 homes, have something of the rich harmony of recitative 
 music. Gladly would Medwyn have availed himself of 
 the opportunity of studying those splendid specimens of art 
 left in this favoured land by the hand of a Raphael, a 
 Correggio, a Titian, and by all the illustrious band who 
 have left the impress of an art, which, exerted by them on 
 the holiest themes, may almost claim a right to the sacred 
 epithet so often bestowed on it, of " divine." This is the 
 charm which gives to the Madonna de la Segiola a supe- 
 riority even over " the statue which enchants the world." 
 Venus de Medici cannot boast the holy beauty that breathes 
 in every lineament of the mother of the infant Saviour. 
 
 But beside the anxiety that oppressed the mind of Med- 
 wyn in his waking hours, and haunted his restless couch, 
 the attention required by his father's illness, occupied 
 almost his whole time. The mind of Lord Belmore was 
 evidently ill at ease, and deprived as he now was of the 
 resources of society that offered him such attraction in the 
 metropolis of France, he became restless and impatient. 
 Rome, Naples, were visited and forsaken, and even the 
 "City of the Hundred Isles," though farther north than
 
 THE LAST HOUR. 119 
 
 the advice of his physicians warranted, was, for the sake of 
 variety, made the place of their sojournment. The chilling 
 breezes of the Adriatic soon warned the invalid of his im- 
 , prudent choice, and Venice was exchanged for Milan. 
 There, for a while, he found relief in the charms of a soci- 
 ety, of which the illutrious family of Visconti then, as now, 
 were the highest ornaments. 
 
 " I believe it is in vain to deceive myself longer, Percy," 
 said he with a sigh, as he sat one evening near an open 
 window to enjoy the first breath of spring that was wafted 
 through the orange grove near it. " This air is soft and 
 balmy, but yet it is not enough so to revive me. Close the 
 window, and draw your chair closer to mine. I feel 
 strangely oppressed this evening; my voice would be lost 
 to you at that distance." 
 
 Medwyn immediately replaced in his portfolio the draw- 
 ing materials with which he had beguiled a tedious hour, 
 in sketching the facade of a neighbouring cathedral, and 
 approached the spot where his father sat. There was an 
 unusual degree of agitation in Lord Belmore's manner, 
 which alarmed his son, and he was about to ring for attend- 
 ants, when his father arrested him, and by a silent gesture 
 indicated his wish that he should occupy the seat near him. 
 
 " You have been attentive and dutiful to me, Percy," he 
 said, " during my stay in this foreign land. Nay," he 
 continued, after a moment's pause, " why should I limit it 
 to that period? You have never failed in the duty you owe 
 to me; would to God I could make a similar boast of my 
 fidelity to you!" 
 
 Again he paused, and his agitation became extreme. 
 
 " Do not interrupt me, Percy," he continued, as his son 
 was about to speak. " I know what you would say. The 
 goodness of your heart would palliate rny errors; but listen
 
 120 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 to me. The warnings I have received, that I have not long 
 to live, have been recently too often repeated to be disre- 
 garded. Until recently I have never known how much I lost 
 by keeping you at such a distance from me, and your affec-^ 
 tionate attentions have softened a heart, alas! but too obdu- 
 rate. Can you believe, that the generous sacrifices you 
 have made to me have been repaid by treachery and decep- 
 tion? yet it is even so: The pride of earthly distinction 
 and the world's wealth are fading before me, and I see their 
 vanity now that I am in sight of" that bourne whence no 
 traveller returns." I have wronged you, Percy, and those 
 that well deserve to be nearer and dearer to you than a 
 father, whose duties have never been fulfilled towards you. 
 With shame and grief do I make the confession," he 
 paused as if to recover strength to proceed, and a bright 
 spot for a moment burned in his cheek. " I have been 
 instrumental in separating you yet more widely from them 
 than even by the fearful distance that the land and sea have 
 spread between you. I have destroyed the memorials of 
 affection and remembrance that on either side were entrusted 
 to my hands." 
 
 He covered his face with his handkerchief as he spoke, 
 for the look of agonized reproach, which he read in the in- 
 genuous countenance of his son, was more than he could 
 bear. 
 
 '* I have more to say to you," he said, " but this painful 
 theme overpowers me. Leave me for the present, Percy. 
 When you know all, I fear you will regard me as indeed 
 less than a father; but you will at least, forgive me." 
 
 The last words were spoken in a broken and tremulous 
 voice, and they penetrated Medwyn's heart. He sank on 
 his knee and pressed his father's emaciated hand to his lips. 
 
 " Rather let me ask forgiveness," he exclaimed, " for 

 
 THE LAST HOUR. 121 
 
 my rebellious heart has, I fear, been but too apparent in the 
 manner in which I have received this appalling intelligence. 
 Forgive and bless me, my father, before I leave you!" 
 
 Lord Belmore laid his trembling hand silently on the 
 noble head that was thus bowed in meek submission be- 
 neath it. Another moment, and Medwyn had summoned 
 the attendants, and was pacing his own apartment. 
 
 It would be a vain attempt to describe the distressing 
 emotions awakened in his mind by the confession of his 
 father. A thousand dark and appalling images flitted be- 
 fore him. This, then, was the cause of the strange, cold, 
 unaccountable silence of his loved friends. And what was 
 at that moment passing in their minds with regard to his 
 apparent conduct? was it not enough that his hope of a 
 union with the being dearest on earth should be deferred, 
 perhaps destroyed, but that he must be lowered in her esti- 
 mation and appear in the light of a hyprocrite a deceiver? 
 He dared not think of the agency of his father in the trans- 
 action of which he had just spoken; the reflection crim- 
 soned his cheek. Thoughts, tender and soft, were mingled 
 with the darker current that rushed unbidden through his 
 mind, as he hastily paced the room. 
 
 The night was far advanced, when, exhausted with the 
 violence of his feelings, he threw himsolf on his couch, and 
 fell into a heavy and disturbed slumber. The images of 
 Sir Frederick Lansdale, of Ellen, of de Vaudemont, of 
 his father, alternately flitted before him. Even the slight 
 form of Ismene, as he had last seen her, with her pale cheek 
 shaded by the black veil that threw its funereal folds around 
 her, mingled with the group of shadowy images. Again 
 were her dark imploring eyes fixed in mournful " perusal 
 of his face;" she seemed to approach him near, and yet 
 nearer, until at last she laid her hand on his. Its touch was 
 9
 
 122 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 icy cold; he started, and awoke from his dreamy vision. 
 A hand rested on his own, and it was indeed, icy cold and 
 trembling. He looked up, and his father's favourite attend- 
 ant stood befoie him. 
 
 " I am sorry to rouse you from your sleep, Mr. Med- 
 wyn," he said, "but we knew not what to do without 
 alarming you. I fear my lord is very ill this morning. If 
 you please,"! will show you to his chamber." 
 
 Medwyn hastily wrapped his robe de chambre around 
 him, and followed his father's valet. He approached the 
 couch softly, and looked for a moment at the form before 
 him. One glance was sufficient to assure him of the terrible 
 reality. His father was no more! 
 
 "Forgive me, Mr. Medwyn," said the valet, as he saw 
 the deadly paleness that overspread his features, while he 
 supported him to another room; " I suspected the sad truth, 
 but I dared not announce it. These are strange people, and 
 I feared that without your testimony, his lordship's servants 
 might have been accused of his sudden death." 
 
 Medwyn was inexpressibly shocked by this unexpected 
 event. It was true, that his father's health had been for 
 some time past precarious, but he had never for a moment 
 imagined his life to be so near its close. Until a few months 
 past, he had been accustomed to regard him almost as a 
 stranger, and had he, before that time, heard of this visitation 
 of Providence, it would probably have awakened no other 
 emotion than that of awe. But now he wept with filial 
 tenderness and sincerity over those remains which were 
 destined to be 
 
 "By strangers honour'd, and by strangers mourn'd."
 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 " Ne me plaignez pas, si vous saviez combien de peines ce 
 tombeau m'& epargn^es!" 
 
 IT may be easily imagined, that Medwyn's return was 
 delayed no longer than the obsequies of his father, and a 
 necessary attention to his affairs, demanded. A few days 
 found him on his way to the metropolis of France, whence 
 he determined to return immediately home. The season 
 had been one of unusual mildness, and though the early 
 spring is generally dangerous for travellers amid the Alps, 
 the route was passable through a portion of Switzerland, 
 and he selected it in preference to the one by which he had 
 gone to the south. He accomplished the passage of the 
 mountains with less difficulty than he had anticipated, and 
 arrived safely in the valley on the northern side. The 
 region which he was now traversing is one of peculiar 
 beauty and interest, aud had it been a more propitious sea- 
 son, and his mind less harassed by painful reflections, the 
 wild and beautiful freaks of nature, which met his eye at 
 every turn, could not have failed to attract the admiration of 
 Medwyn. His route lay by the lovely lake of Geneva, 
 and the frowning towers of the chateau of Chillon, and the 
 rocks of Mellierie gave to its natural charms a wilder and 
 more romantic interest. 
 
 Just before entering on the picturesque vicinity of Lau- 
 sanne, and while his route yet followed the course of the 
 Rhone, his attention was drawn to the singular and lofty
 
 124 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 position of an isolated church in the midst of the valley 
 through which he was rapidly hastening. The delay, inci- 
 dent to a change of horses in the village at its base, afforded 
 him time to ascend the elevated eminence on which the 
 church rested. As he approached it, the soft and solemn 
 chant of a funeral dirge met his ear. The sound was sooth- 
 ing to a mind ill at ease, and he gently approached and 
 entered. The large wax lights were burning on the altar, 
 and a procession of priests in their sombre robes were as- 
 sembled near it. Clouds of incense threw their perfume 
 around, and gave a still more solemn and impressive effect 
 to the soft strains of the Stabat mater dolorosa, which stole 
 in gently breathing melody through the darkened aisles. 
 The procession began its march through them, and Med- 
 wyn retired through the door he had first entered, to per- 
 mit the continuance of their rites. His attention was there 
 arrested by the interesting appearance of a young man, 
 who seemed absorbed in deep and melancholy meditation. 
 As Medwyn passed near him, he started, and politely sa- 
 luted him. They were, apparently, both strangers, and 
 this circumstance, together with the subdued expression of 
 sadness that marked the brow of each, touched the " electric 
 chain" of sympathy, and Medwyn accosted him. 
 
 "These ceremonies possess unusual interest to me," said 
 the stranger, in reply to the remark addressed to him. " I 
 knew well the young and gifted being they are designed 
 to honour. She was not a native of this spot; her wild and 
 splendid genius was the offspring of a warmer clime, but 
 she was the adopted child of the canton of Valais, and the 
 exquisite music of the Improvisatrice will long be remem- 
 bered here, as in more civilized places; for her exquisite 
 talent was perfected amid more luxurious scenes, and dis- 
 played in the halls of princes. In an evil hour she was
 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT. 125 
 
 betrayed from the home that had been for many years blest 
 by her presence, leaving a dark void in the circle she had 
 once lightened with her smile. The aged and drooping 
 forms, you doubtless observed in the procession, were her 
 parents. Happily they were permitted to grant their for- 
 giveness and their blessing to the poor Ismene." 
 
 The stranger paused, for Medwyn was startled by the 
 name he had just uttered. The coincidence was too perfect 
 to admit of a doubt. It was then the minstrel of Versailles, 
 who had accomplished her last wish, that of " returning 
 to her humble home, to die." The unbidden tears sprang 
 to his eyes as he recalled the remembrance of the wild and 
 beautiful strains which rang in his ear when last he had 
 seen her, and the brilliant images of that eventful evening 
 crowded upon his mind. 
 
 " The Improvisatrice then returned to her parents and 
 home?" he inquired, " and did she obtain the entire for- 
 giveness of those whom she had so deeply wounded, and 
 so justly offended?" 
 
 " They would have been hard-hearted indeed," returned 
 the stranger, " if they could have withheld the blessing so 
 imploringly and so humbly sought. When she re-appeared 
 here, after her long absence, her once beaming smile had 
 departed, and the lustre of her dark eye was dimmed. The 
 peasants watched, with superstitious awe, her shadowy 
 form as it slowly disappeared in the mountain mist, when 
 she rambled in the dusk of evening, to avoid the inquisitive 
 eyes that were turned on her wherever she was seen. Yet 
 they regarded her with affection as well as wonder, for 
 there was still magic in the lightest tones of that exquisite 
 voice, and her very words were music. She soon regained 
 her influence over the simple hearts she had left, and when, 
 as a wreath from the mist of yonder dashing waterfall, she
 
 126 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 disappeared from their view for ever, they wept her depar- 
 ture as tenderly as if she had never strayed from their cot- 
 tage. Peace be with thee, hapless Ismene!" 
 
 Medwyn silently but fervently joined in the blessing in- 
 voked by the stranger. They descended the steep together, 
 and reached the village, where, after exchanging a cordial 
 adieu, they separated. 
 
 Painfully occupied as was the mind of our traveller, he 
 was not insensible to the charms of the lovely country 
 through which he was now passing. The beautiful lake 
 of Geneva glowed in the sun-light with prismatic colours, 
 and the snowy summits of the Alps beyond it were relieved 
 against the brilliant azure of a cloudless sky. The vicinity 
 of the towns through which he passed, brought the image 
 of the home he had left forcibly to his mind, and every 
 variety of woodland, of hill and dale, of hawthorn hedges, 
 and of tasteful cottages that adorn the Isle of Wight, were 
 here mingled with the wild scenery of Switzerland. 
 
 The rich and smiling valley was passed, and the route 
 now led among the rugged passes of the mountains of Jura. 
 Medwyn turned to take a last lingering look at the scenery 
 he was leaving, as he attained the summit that commands 
 the most extensive view of it. On each side lay the moun- 
 tains amid which he was about to enter, high, craggy and 
 dark, beautifully contrasted with the distant Alps, whose 
 soft and aerial blue seemed to melt into the broad and 
 calm waters of the lake below. There lay the lovely and 
 peaceful valley, with its fertile fields and villages and farm 
 houses, and far beyond the lake, so distant as to resemble 
 the white vapour that floated around it, rose the Alpine 
 king, Mont Blanc. ' 
 
 The bright picture was soon concealed from his view by 
 a huge promontory of rock that formed an angle in the
 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT. 127 
 
 road, and the remainder of the route for the next two days, 
 presented scenery too wild and savage to claim much atten- 
 tion or admiration. The vine-clad hills of Burgundy at 
 length appeared, and the rest of the journey through la 
 Belle France was performed with all the celerity which a 
 smooth country, fresh post-horses, and well paid postillions 
 could ensure. 
 
 Medwyn returned to his hotel in the metropolis, with a 
 heart throbbing with anxiety. The distance which had 
 separated him from de Vaudemont, and his constant change 
 of place, had deprived him of whatever communications he 
 might otherwise have received, and no word or line, that 
 gave him any hope of his recovery, had ever reached him. 
 He dared not trust himself to think of what might have 
 been his fate. His image constantly rose before him as he 
 had last seen him, pale, inanimate, and stretched on his 
 couch of pain, from which he would, most probably, 
 never arise. His imagination pictured his friend calling on 
 him in his last moments, and reproaching him with the 
 cruelty of thus quitting him in his utmost need. 
 
 Sucli were the ideas that flitted through his mind, as he 
 descended from the post-coach at the door of the hotel; 
 whence he instantly despatched a note to Dr. M. With 
 unspeakable impatience and anxiety he paced the apart- 
 ment, pausing with breathless eagerness to catch the sound 
 of every passing footstep, as the time arrived for the proba- 
 ble return of his messenger. An hour passed, and the 
 delay became too painful to admit of longer endurance. He 
 was hastily leaving the room, with the determination of ac- 
 complishing, in person, the object which he now blamed 
 himself for entrusting to less faithful hands, when the door 
 was thrown open, and the anxiously expected visitor ap- 
 peared.
 
 128 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 Medwyn looked earnestly in his face without speaking, 
 as he grasped his hand. The glance that met his was one 
 of condolence and sympathy, and his heart sank. 
 
 " I may then, I fear, apprehend the worst," he said, in a 
 voice which expressed the intensity of his feelings.' 
 
 Dr. M. looked at him with an expression of surprise. 
 " The worst," he said, " has already been announced here. 
 We learned yesterday, that Lord Belmore died suddenly a 
 few days since." 
 
 Medwyn breathed more freely. He had then been mis- 
 understood, and there might yet be hope. 
 
 " My apprehensions," he said, " were for my friend, de 
 Vaudemont. In one word, tell me; does he still live?" 
 
 The kind-hearted physician was almost overpowered by 
 the deep sigh which burst from the heart of Medwyn, and 
 the ejaculation of thankfulness, which involuntarily flowed 
 from his lips as he received his answer. 
 
 " He lives," he said, " and though still confined to his 
 house, to which he has been recently removed, you will find 
 him rapidly recovering. Nay," he continued, as Medwyn 
 hurried from the room, " you must remember that I am now, 
 comparatively, an old man, and that I cannot, as you do, 
 leap with the speed of a chamois down this spiral stairway. 
 Let me have the benefit of your young and vigorous arm, 
 and in return for your assistance, I will conduct you to 
 your friend." 
 
 " The bird has flown, I find," he continued, as they 
 entered de Vaudemont's apartments, and found them unten- 
 anted. " He had my permission to take the air, for the 
 first time since his accident, for half an hour to-day. Had 
 I known what happiness was in store for him, I should not 
 so readily have granted the permission." 
 
 " Happiness indeed!" exclaimed a well known voice near
 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT. 19 
 
 Medwyn's ear. He turned, and was locked in the embrace 
 of his young friend. 
 
 The benevolent physician looked with swimming eyes 
 on the overflowing of these two youthful and generous 
 hearts, and then, faltering out an excuse for his departure, 
 abruptly retreated, leaving them to the enjoyment of their 
 newly restored happiness. 
 
 "You find me, I trust," said de Vaudemont, as Med- 
 wyn seated himself by the couch, on which his friend 
 reclined to repose himself after the unusual exertion of 
 his morning drive, " as you have often kindly predicted 
 I should be, a wiser, if not a better man than I was before 
 the occurrence of the event which so nearly terminated 
 my existence. After you left me, my life was, for some 
 time, despaired of, and it appears almost a miracle, that I 
 have been snatched from the premature fate which seemed 
 hourly awaiting me. At that awful period, how vain, and 
 worse than vain, appeared to my sobered thoughts the 
 course of life in which I had been indulging. My fol- 
 lies, as the world, with too much levity, would call them, 
 magnified themselves into crimes of the deepest dye. 
 The revered images of my early friends and monitors, my 
 father and my guardian, flitted before my restless couch, 
 and their sad and solemn warnings, that had in my thought- 
 less hours been so often disregarded, rang in my ear, while 
 their kind glances of reproachful tenderness penetrated my 
 heart. The remembrance of misused talents, of wasted 
 time, of opportunities of once more finding the paths of 
 wisdom and piety, from which I had strayed, neglected, 
 lost perhaps, for ever, weighed down my spirit, and 
 almost crushed it beneath a load of despair. But a bright 
 and blessed light has since shown amid that Ethiopian dark- 
 ness, and I have arisen as if from the remembrance of a
 
 130 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 frightful dream, with a firm determination, not in my own 
 strength, which T now feel to be weakness, but by the 
 help of that Almighty arm on which I now lean for help, 
 and which will never fail me, to walk henceforth in the 
 paths of true wisdom." 
 
 Medwyn's heart swelled high with gratitude and joy, as 
 he watched the beautiful expression of the animated coun- 
 tenance on which his eyes were fixed. Sincerity, deep, 
 strong, and holy, was painted there in letters of living light, 
 and he could only press the hand that clasped his own. 
 
 " You will find me unchanged," continued de Vaude- 
 mont, with a smile, "only in one determination, that of 
 endeavouring to restore the gift of fortune, which, with her 
 usual blindness she has bestowed on one who needs, as little 
 as he merits it, to those who are worthier of her favours. 
 If your design is to remain here for some weeks, I shall, at 
 the end of that time, be sufficiently restored to accompany 
 you home, and our united persuasions may accomplish 
 much." 
 
 " I fear I should be a poor advocate in a cause where the 
 interest I have at stake might naturally and properly subject 
 me to suspicion," said Medwyn, " beside that I cannot 
 with sincerity, adopt your idea, though I know it arises 
 from the purest and noblest motives. Sir Frederick Lans- 
 dale will never take advantage, as he would say, of the 
 generous enthusiasm of youth. He would remind you of 
 the interests of later years, and convince you that his spirit 
 is as noble as your own. With regard to your design of 
 accompanying me to our native land, it would give me the 
 highest gratification to bear you company; but I cannot, 
 even for that happiness, longer delay my return. I should 
 not now be here, but for my solicitude for you. This very
 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT. 131 
 
 evening I must be on my way, but you will soon follow 
 me, and we shall then meet again." 
 
 With an affectionate adieu the friends parted, and Med- 
 wyn hastened back to his hotel, to make the preparations 
 necessary for his immediate departure from the metropolis. 
 
 What pen could portray the emotions that agitated the 
 breast of our young traveller, as the vessel in which he 
 embarked rode over the foaming billows, and neared the 
 white cliffs of his native shore! A thousand delightful 
 images crowded on his mind; but one, fairer, lovelier than 
 the rest, beamed brightly on his vision, as does the beacon 
 on the gaze of the tempest-tossed mariner. The short dis- 
 tance, that separated him from all his heart held dear, seemed 
 almost interminable. In vain did he endeavour to repress 
 his impatience by the supposition that he would be received 
 with indifference that the heart, which once beat so fondly 
 for him, was now estranged by mistrust, and that the sweet 
 smile which should have rewarded his constancy might be 
 chilled to coldness. An hour nay, a moment, he knew 
 would be sufficient to dissipate all suspicions, and one con- 
 fiding glance of those blue eyes would reward him for all 
 the pain he had felt during his absence. How wearisome to 
 his ear was the measured splash of the oars, when, after leav- 
 ing the ship, he watched the motion of the barge that was 
 tardily bearing him to the Isle of Wight. The wind, the 
 tide, all was favourable, and yet the distance seemed 
 endless. At length the blest moment arrived. The barge 
 neared the shore,' he sprang on the beach, and in half an 
 hour was in sight of the casket which contained his priceless 
 gem, the home of his loved Ellen. 
 
 His heart beat almost audibly as he ascended the well 
 known steps, and laid his hand on the door. The ceremony 
 of summoning an attendant was forgotten, the lock yielded
 
 132 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 to his familiar touch, and he crossed the threshold. Another 
 moment, and he was near the apartment where his happiest 
 hours had been spent, where his pure and ardent vows 
 had first been received, and where the tell-tale blush, the 
 averted glance, and the gentle sigh, had told him more 
 eloquently than words could have done, that he had not 
 breathed those vows in vain. He paused, for the idea now 
 arose in his mind of the agitation his unexpected appearance 
 might cause, and he gently approached the half open door. 
 How many well remembered objects there met his view! 
 each one, on which his eye rested, recalled some bright 
 moment of happiness. But it was silent, the room was 
 untenanted, and he entered. 
 
 He threw himself for an instant on the sofa to recover 
 from the effect of the emotion which oppressed his heart 
 almost to bursting, when a step was heard on the stairway; 
 he sprang from his seat, and approached the door, but the 
 step was not the one of sylph-like lightness, which had so 
 often sounded on his ear like the faint echo of distant music; 
 its tread was heavy and assured, and a stranger appeared. 
 
 Had Medwyn been less intensely occupied with his own . 
 emotions, he could not have avoided a feeling of perplexity 
 at the broad look of unfeigned astonishment, with which 
 the stranger regarded him. But his thoughts were far 
 otherwise engaged, and with the air of one who finds him- 
 self at home, he motioned the supposed visitor to a seat, 
 and rang the bell. 
 
 The look of astonishment, with which the stranger had 
 at first regarded him, was now changed to one of dismay, 
 and as Medwyn, almost unconscious of his presence, impa- 
 tiently awaited the answer to his summons, his eye was 
 arrested by that of the stranger, which was fixed upon him 
 with a stare of surprise, mingled with terror, and which
 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT. 133 
 
 could not fail to attract his notice. He now remarked for 
 the first time, that the stranger, a respectable middle aged 
 man, was without his hat, and apparently a guest. He 
 might, perhaps, have been surprised at seeing one, entirely 
 unknown to him, act with the familiarity of an inmate of 
 the house, and Medwyn instantly banished the feeling of 
 anger that was rising in his breast and on his brow, at being 
 thus so impertinently scanned. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," he said, with his usual courtesy, " I 
 thought at first that you were a visitor here. I now perceive 
 that you are a guest. Be seated, and I will ring for an- 
 attendant," and he again rang the bell. 
 
 It would have been impossible now to misunderstand the 
 expression of mingled astonishment and dismay that again 
 spread itself over the quiet features of the stranger. Med- 
 wyn, in spite of himself, experienced a feeling of indignation 
 at his extraordinary manner, as well as impatience at the 
 neglect of his summons, which at last found vent in words. 
 
 " Strange negligence!" he said to himself, as he hastily 
 paced the room, " but perhaps Sir Frederick has not returned 
 from his morning ride, you seem rather surprised," he 
 said to the stranger, " to see me apparently so familiar an 
 inmate here, but I have this moment returned from several 
 months sojourn on the continent, and my anxiety to see Sir 
 Frederick Lansdale renders me thus impatient." 
 
 The wonder and terror, that had marked the stranger's 
 features, at once vanished, and their usually placid expression 
 was restored. He heaved a sigh, and his mind seemed 
 relieved from some vague apprehension as he answered, 
 
 " I felt, indeed, not a little troubled at your manner, before 
 I understood the circumstances you have just explained. I 
 began to think that madness, nay, do not be angry," he 
 continued mildly, "before I mention the causes of my sus-
 
 154 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 pit-ion. Events may have occurred during; your absence, 
 of which you are as yet, unapprised. The summons to 
 which you so impatiently awaited an answer, was not 
 noticed, simply because the home is not now furnished with 
 attendants. It is no longer the house of Sir Frederick 
 Lansdale: it has been now nearly a month since he em- 
 barked with his daughter for the western world." 
 
 The expression of astonishment, which had at first marked 
 the brow of the stranger, was now transferred to that of 
 Medvvyn. He looked at the speaker, as if doubting the 
 evidence of his senses. 
 
 "It pleased his majesty," continued the stranger, "to 
 bestow on him large transatlantic possessions, which, in 
 process of time, if he fulfils his determination of passing 
 the rest of his life there, will make him even a wealtheir 
 man than he was while in his own country. His design 
 was to have delayed his departure some months longer, but 
 a sea voyage was recommended for his daughter's declining 
 health, and this was his chief inducement for departing so 
 abruptly. His possessions here are in the hands of agents, 
 of whom I am one, awaiting the claim of the rightful heir, 
 who is now on the continent." 
 
 The doubt with which Medvvyn at first felt disposed to 
 regard the communication of the stranger, was banished by 
 this simple explanation. It was a tale so " round and un- 
 varnished" that it was impossible to discredit it, and the 
 open honest countenance of the speaker gave the impress 
 of truth to his words, each one of which struck like a dag- 
 ger to the young and high throbbing heart he was uncon- 
 sciously wounding. For an instant, Medwyn stood speech- 
 less, bewildered; a conviction of the truth then flashed 
 on his mind, his brain reeled, and he fell almost without
 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT. 135 
 
 reason as without sense on the sofa from which he had 
 arisen. 
 
 The stranger hastily approached him, and for a moment, 
 his fears lest a madman should have found his way into the 
 house were renewed. He was too humane, however, to 
 follow the dictates of his inclination, and make his escape. 
 He threw open the window, and the fresh breeze soon 
 restored the scattered senses of his visitor. He rose, and 
 unable longer to bear the influence of a scene which over- 
 powered him, uttered a few incoherent words of adieu, and 
 instantly quitted this once loved spot. 

 
 136 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 THE CHIEFTAIN. 
 
 11 Yet deem not goodness on the savage stock 
 Of Outalissi's heart disdain'd to grow." 
 
 tr- GERTRUDE OF WYOMING. 
 
 " I sit in my tears in the cave 
 Nor do I sit alone the dark chief of Cuthel is there." 
 
 OSSUN. 
 
 IT was in the early part of the month of June, that lovely 
 season, when all nature, arousing from the benumbing in- 
 fluence of winter, is bursting forth in fresh luxuriance and 
 beauty, that two travellers were seen wending their way 
 over the wild and unfrequented road that led toward the 
 Allegheny mountains. They were both well mounted, and 
 the gallant steeds seemed to partake of the spirit of enter- 
 prise which evidently characterized their riders; for the 
 proudly arching neck and glancing eye, showed them still 
 unwearied by the exertion of many previous days travel. 
 The horsemen appeared intently engaged in looking at the 
 various objects of interest and curiosity that attracted their 
 observation, and occasionally dismounted, as some wild 
 flower, more beautiful than the rest of those which had 
 been so profusely scattered in this garden of nature, or 
 some fossil, hitherto, perhaps, unknown, invited their ex- 
 amination. The route itself, to those unaccustomed to its 
 wild romantic loveliness, was full of interest, and the moss- 
 covered rocks, crowned with arbor vitae, and that splendid
 
 THE CHIEFTAIN. 137 
 
 species of the Kalmia, known in this region by the name of 
 the mountain laurel, the gigantic sons of the forest some- 
 times enclasped in the twining folds of a huge vine, while 
 the graceful tendrils formed a canopy over some humbler 
 trees near their majestic supporters, or descendiug still 
 lower, in festoons of more fantastic drapery, swept the pure 
 current of a bright stream that was leaping on in joyous 
 freedom through the lovely wilderness; the deep blue of 
 the cloudless arch reflected from the bosom of the waters, 
 where their depth stilled the dashing current, all seemed 
 to strike the travellers with the force and the charms of 
 novelty. 
 
 " There is something of marvellous interest in this pri- 
 meval forest," said one of these wayfarers to his com- 
 panion, who was, apparently, some years younger than 
 himself; "yet methinks it would lose none of its attraction 
 by a road more distinctly traced. I have rather more expe- 
 rience in these wild regions than yourself, and yet I begin 
 to doubt, whether we may not have mistaken the directions 
 of our good old friend and guide, who promised to join us 
 again, in half an hour. The time has already passed," he 
 continued, looking at his watch, "and yet he returns not. 
 It would, perhaps, be as well to repose a few moments 
 beneath the leafy canopy of this superb wild vine, and await 
 his return." 
 
 To this proposition his companion made no objection, 
 and they descended, and easily found a shelter from the 
 increasing warmth of the summer sun, amid the shades of 
 the forest. 
 
 " Those who are accustomed to more luxurious indul- 
 gence," said the younger traveller, after quenching his 
 thirst in the pure stream, "can hardly imagine the pleasure, 
 even of a draught of cool water in the wilderness; though 
 10
 
 138 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 we have here rare opportunities of feasting more senses 
 than one," he added, gathering some of the blossoms of the 
 vine and of the azalea that bloomed in rich luxuriance 
 beneath his hand. 
 
 " You are disposed to be philosophical, this morning," 
 said his companion, with a smile. " It would be rather 
 difficult to persuade the society with which you have been 
 connected within the last year, lhat you can content your- 
 self with such humble pleasures. What would the court 
 circle of Versailles, for instance, think of your taste, if they 
 were to hear you expatiating on the charms of a wilderness 
 in the western hemisphere?" 
 
 "They would probably say, 'quand on n'a pas ce que 
 Fan aimc, ilfaut aimer ce que Von ,' " replied Medwyn, 
 for, as may have perhaps, been surmised, he was our young 
 traveller, "though I believe I should find little difficulty in 
 transferring my affections from scenes so heartless as those 
 to which you allude, to a home even in this lonely desert, 
 if it boasted all the charms that attach to that sweet name, 
 though a more civilized place may be found, possessing 
 many of its wild beauties, if I should determine on making 
 this country my permanent abode." 
 
 " The example of Sir Walter Raleigh will sustain us in 
 our choice," said the elder traveller, "and the circumstance 
 of other friends having selected the grants of land bestowed 
 by his majesty, in various parts of this region of country, 
 offers us an additional inducement to cast our lot somewhere 
 among them. I understand, that Sir Frederick Lansdale, 
 who has recently arrived, has determined to make a selection 
 hardly more than a hundred miles from the sea-coast, and 
 yet in view, though distant, of those blue and beautiful 
 mountains which surround us. He has, however, gone a 
 few days farther westward than we now are, to take a satis-
 
 THE CHIEFTAIN. 139 
 
 factory view of the whole ground. Strange to tell, his 
 lovely daughter insisted on accompanying him, notwith- 
 standing the fatigues of the route. Her health, which he 
 fondly urged as a reason why she should remain in a more 
 civilized part of the country, she found means to persuade 
 him would be greatly ameliorated by the bracing air of the 
 mountains, and accustomed as he is to indulge her in every 
 wish, and perhaps desirous at the same time to gratify his 
 paternal feelings, he permitted her to accompany him. We 
 shall probably see them in a few days." 
 
 Medwyn made no reply, for he was too ingenuous to 
 speak of the sole object of his visit as if it were merely 
 incidental, and his feelings did not permit him to make a 
 theme, to him so sacred, the subject of ordinary conver- 
 sation. The words of the traveller awoke a train of painful 
 thought in his mind, for he heard the delicate state of his 
 Ellen's health now for the second time alluded to. And 
 why had the rose forsaken that lovely cheek, and why was 
 the vermeil lip no longer wreathed in sunny smiles? She 
 believed* alas! with too much cause for her suspicion, that 
 she had been neglected and forsaken; that the heart, in 
 which she had fondly tiusted, had been estranged by the 
 world's honours and vanities, and perhaps she was sustained, 
 but the thought was too painful for endurance, only by 
 the reflection that he was unworthy the deep and pure 
 affection she had once confessed she felt for him. How 
 ardently he longed to dissipate this fatal illusion, which in 
 an hi ur, nay, a moment, he was persuaded would vanish! 
 but in the mean time, the fell destroyer might have marked 
 her for his own, and she might be already preparing to join 
 the loved group, of which she was the last survivor, in that 
 heavenly dwelling-place, where her young heart would no 
 longer be the prey oi withered hopes and blighted affections.
 
 140 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 The thought fell in all its chilling darkness on his mind, 
 and he arose impatiently from his resting place. 
 
 "It is in vain, I believe," he said to his companion, "to 
 wait longer for our old guide. The road is tolerably plain, 
 and I think, from the directions he gave us, that we run no 
 risk in continuing our route." And he was preparing to 
 remount his horse. 
 
 His companion shook his head. " This is not the first 
 time that I have been among these wilds,"~he said. "If 
 you will take my advice, you will wait at least half an hour 
 longer." 
 
 " There will be some danger in that experiment," replied 
 Medwyn, " for even if our guide should return in that space 
 of time, I perceive, above the tops of these lofty trees, a 
 brilliant sheet of white, mingled with the deep azure we 
 were just now contemplating with such admiration, and my 
 past observation warns me that there is something darker 
 and more threatening behind it. There is our monitor!" he 
 continued, as the faint sound of a peal of distant thunder 
 fell on his ear. " We shall probably have only a drenching 
 for our pains, if we stay here longer." 
 
 His companion rose from his recumbent posture, and 
 advanced a few paces into the route they had quitted. He 
 was evidently uncertain and perplexed, and hesitated, as if 
 at a loss what course to take. 
 
 " I am apprehensive," he said, " that we must have made 
 some mistake in the direction of our guide, who has hitherto 
 been so faithful, that I cannot mistrust him. Our safest 
 course will be for me to return to the point from which we 
 set out half an hour ago, where I can be assured of the pro- 
 per direction. It is needless for you to accompany me; I 
 will return immediately." 
 
 He threw himself into the saddle without awaiting Med-
 
 THE CHIEFTAIN. 141 
 
 wyn's reply, and putting spurs to his horse, was instantly 
 out of sight. 
 
 The reflections in which Medwyn had a moment before 
 been indulging, did not dispose him to exercise an extra- 
 ordinary degree of patience, and he felt rather vexed at the 
 sudden departure of his companion. The continued mutter- 
 ing of the distant thunder, too, gave him warning of an 
 approaching storm, and he determined to retrace his way, 
 and secure a shelter in the house they had left half an hour 
 before. He rode on, and, as he believed, in the road by 
 which they had reached the spot he had just quitted; but he 
 soon found himself perplexed by perceiving that it led in a 
 different direction. He turned, and endeavoured to regain 
 the route he had lost, but his perplexity increased, and the 
 obscurity of the path-way increased with it. He could no 
 longer doubt that he was lost in the intricate mazes of the 
 forest, and his embarrassment was heightened by the aspect 
 of the approaching storm, which was announced by fitful 
 gusts which soughed through the waving branches of the 
 trees above and around him. 
 
 Still, however, he pursued his uncertain way, when 
 suddenly his horse sprang aside, as if startled by some 
 unexpected obstacle. Medwyn leaned forward to see what 
 had excited his alarm, and observed a silken scarf of bril- 
 liant red fluttering in the wind, its hue rendered yet more 
 conspicuous from the dark outline of the tree, behind which 
 the wearer was partially concealed, and the masses of green 
 above, that gave it additional relief. With some difficulty 
 he urged his unwilling steed forward, and another bound 
 gave him a full view of a slight female form, retreating as if 
 with the hope of being still concealed by the trunk of the 
 gigantic oak, behind which she had taken refuge. Impelled 
 by his wish to take a nearer view of the stranger, Medwyn
 
 142 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTOR^. 
 
 threw himself from the saddle, and with the rein on his 
 arm gently approached the place where she stood. 
 
 Had the form possessed less attraction, it could not have 
 failed to awaken some interest in so wild and secluded a 
 spot; but the one, which now presented itself to his won- 
 dering eye, would, at any time, and in any other place, have 
 engaged his full attention. The figure was slight, hut beau- 
 tifully proportioned, and the erect stature, and finely turned 
 neck might have graced a queen. The taper hands, and 
 full arms, which even their singular colour could not de- 
 prive of their beauty, were bare, and an exquisitely sym- 
 metrical foot and ankle were displayed to the greatest advan- 
 tage by delicate moccasins, curiously inwrought in brilliant 
 colours with the quills of the porcupine. Her ebony hair 
 fell loose on her shoulders, which were partially concealed 
 by the scarf that had first betrayed her place of concealment, 
 and gave an air of yet more singular wildness to the dress, 
 which, partly European, and still characterized by the fan- 
 tastic taste of the children of the forest, well became the 
 elastic form before him. She raised her dark and brilliant 
 eyes as Medwyn approached and accosted her, and bestowed 
 on him a glance, such as the gazeHe, when about to fly to 
 the deep recesses of the forest, might have thrown on her 
 pursuer. Reassured, however, by the gentleness of his 
 address, her purpose was apparently changed, and to his 
 surprise, Medwyn found his inquiries answered in his own 
 language, imperfectly it is true, but still with sufficient 
 accuracy to be well understood. With that pride, however, 
 which finds a place even in the hearts of these children of 
 nature, she seemed unwilling to converse in a foreign tongue, 
 and he was able to understand her more by the gestures 
 with which she explained her meaning, than by the few 
 words she spoke.
 
 THE CHIEFTAIN. 143 
 
 . " The storm is near," said the maiden, as a heavy blast 
 swept through the forest, and the forked lightning quivered 
 around them; " follow me and I will find you shelter." 
 
 The deep roar of the thunder drowned the words she 
 apparently added, but following the motion of her hand, he 
 perceived, near the spot where she stood, a canopy formed 
 by the interlacing branches of the tiees, so thick as to be 
 almost impenetrable to the threatened rain. She motioned 
 him to advance, and to secure his horse beneath its covert. 
 Medwyn in silence followed her direction, and she seemed 
 impatiently awaiting his movements, as, with the humanity 
 and foresight of a practised horseman, he removed the sad- 
 dle. She again beckoned him onward, and he followed her 
 as she ascended a slight acclivity. For a moment she 
 paused, and stooped as if to find something concealed in a 
 crevice of a mossy rock near them. A flint and steel in- 
 stantly ignited two torches which she had taken from their 
 place of security, and presenting one to Medwyn, while she 
 held the other, with some difficulty he followed her through 
 an opem'ng in the rock. The passage through which they 
 proceeded gradually widened, and Medwyn paused as he 
 found that he was entering a subterranean grotto. For the 
 first time, the idea flashed on his mind, that he was about to 
 encounter some unseen dangers. True it was, that the 
 native sons of the forest had, at this epoch, retreated to a 
 land far distant from the region in which he now found 
 himself; but some individuals remained, and though they 
 had become reconciled to the manners and customs of their 
 European successors, the nations had never, " like kindred 
 drops been melted into one," and there might yet be a 
 feeling of hostility on their part, especially toward a stranger. 
 They were often stigmatized with treachery as well as cru- 
 elty, and was it not possible that he might be now entering
 
 144 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 a tomb that was to shut the light of day, which was fast 
 vanishing in the increasing gloom behind him, from his 
 view for ever? The thought arrested his steps, and he 
 paused. His conductress looked toward him, and the air 
 of surprise and of good faith, which marked the expression 
 of her features, reassured him. 
 
 " Enter," she said, " and fear not; the storm cannot 
 beat here, and here even the voice of the thunder is lost?" 
 
 Medwyn advanced, and to his astonishment found, that 
 they were now emerging from a small apartment that ap- 
 peared only an ante-chamber, to a long suite of rooms, lead- 
 ing in various directions, whose almost interminable height 
 and magnificent size were undistinguishable by the imper- 
 fect lights carried by his conductress and himself. The 
 blaze of the torches threw their fitful beams upon the walls, 
 which sparkled as if tapestried with cloth of gold inwrought 
 with myriads of costly gems, while lustres that depended 
 from the ceiling glowed with the prismatic brilliancy of 
 diamonds. The superb columns, the gleaming white of 
 groups of colossal statuary, of vases of alabaster, of 
 candelabras, of girandoles, of curtains sweeping with 
 heavy and graceful folds, even the outlines of a throne, 
 all flitted in shadowy forms before him, but more like the 
 unearthly phantoms of departed grandeur than the real ac- 
 companiments of a kingly palace, and seemed sadly mingled 
 with funereal monuments, which arose in the vast space, 
 with ghost-like whiteness, as the distant light fell on them, 
 and whose dark shadows seemed to reproach them with 
 permitting even that faint smile to illumine their obscurity. 
 
 As they continued to advance, Medwyn perceived lights 
 glimmering in the distance. His first suspicions began to 
 return, and arose with renewed force, when he perceived 
 that his companion and himself were not the only occu-
 
 THE CHIEFTAIN. 145 
 
 pants of this subterranean abode. The outlines of a tall 
 majestic form were gradually revealed to their view, and 
 Medwyn now distinctly saw the figure of a man seated on 
 one of the stalagmites which his imagination had moulded 
 into such a variety of images. A torch was burning on 
 either side of him, and threw a ruddy glare on his swarthy 
 features, which, though slightly marked by the hand of time, 
 yet bore a grave and noble expression; and the broad 
 sinewy chest, and erect port, the well turned and athletic 
 limbs, and above all the upward glance of the eagle eye, 
 and the proudly elevated head, displayed at once a monarch 
 of the forest. 
 
 Never had Medwyn approached the presence of royalty 
 with the feeling of mingled reverence and awe, which now 
 arose in his mind as he advanced toward the chieftain, for 
 such the superiority of his air, and the wampum belt and 
 eagle plumes denoted him. It was not that any emotion of 
 alarm for his safety mingled itself with those feelings, but 
 there was something in the grave, nay, deeply sad expres- 
 sion of the noble brow, in that majestic form, seated, as 
 it were/ amid the tombs of his exiled race, that accorded 
 well with the grandeur and sublimity of the scene around 
 him, and awakened a feeling of reverence which the courtly 
 splendour of a monarch, surrounded by all the prestige of 
 royalty, would in vain have sought to arrogate to itself.- 
 
 He remained motionless as a statue, while Medwyn and 
 his conductress advanced toward him, until the maiden 
 reached the spot where he sat, and uttered a few words in 
 a low voice. They were apparently explanatory, for he 
 slightly moved his head, as if satisfied with her communi- 
 cation, and motioned to Medwyn to be seated near him. 
 
 Medwyn was again surprised to find himself addressed 
 in his own language; and though the expressions of the
 
 146 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 chieftain, as he occasionally uttered them, were mingled 
 with words of his native tongue, he found no difficulty in 
 comprehending them, and following the train of thought 
 that was passing through his mind. 
 
 " Thou hast then sought a refuge from the storm beneath 
 the wing of the old Eagle?" he said. " It is well; thou 
 art welcome." 
 
 Medwyn respectfully acknowledged the courtesy, and 
 looked with increasing admiration at the magnificence and 
 sublimity of the scene around him, which the sudden tran- 
 sition from the light of day had before rendered undistin- 
 guishable. 
 
 ' rt Thou hast no cause for fear," continued the chieftain. 
 "Logan hath been branded by his tribe as the friend of 
 thy race. They have ere now sought shelter at my own 
 door, which is far hence. When faint, and weary, they 
 have found strength; when oppressed, they have found suc- 
 cour at my hand. They rewarded me evil; the flame and 
 the sword devoured all that were mine, there runs not one 
 drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature." 
 
 The chieftain paused, and his features were marked by 
 the strong emotion that heaved his broad chest. A tear 
 gathered in his eye, and fell on his swarthy cheek. He 
 dashed it away, as if ashamed of betraying a weakness 
 almost unknown to " the stoic of the woods, "and resumed, 
 as if soliloquizing. 
 
 *' This is not my dwelling place, though I have sought 
 it in my return to my desolate home, rather than owe obli- 
 gation to those who have wronged me. These echoing 
 vaults are dear to my soul they awake the voice of ye:,rs 
 that are gone, I pour forth my song of grief, arnd none may 
 answer but the echo. The ashes of my lone hearth have 
 been quenched in the blood of all I loved: Logan must fall
 
 THE CHIEFTAIN. 147 
 
 like the leafless oak, that hath been blasted by the light- 
 ning, and that the wind hath felled where it stood. None 
 will mourn for him, he is alone." 
 
 Again, the tear gathered in the dark eye of the chieftain, 
 and again he dashed it off. His glance kindled, and astern 
 and almost ferocious expression succeeded that of deep sad- 
 ness, which had marked his brow. 
 
 " It is not for the eye of the eagle to weep," he said. 
 " He that can gaze on the sun, may look unmoved on blood. 
 And I too, like the eagle, have marked the blood of the slain, 
 and rejoiced in my prey. Yes! I have been avenged! But 
 the tree of peace hath been planted over the bones of my 
 kindred, and thus my enmity shall die!" 
 
 His voice fell, as he spoke, and as he uttered the last 
 words, he threw from his hand a tomahawk, which in the ex- 
 citement of the moment he had raised from his side where 
 it rested. The murderous steel struck with force against a 
 stalactite that resembled the drapery of a broad curtain, and 
 instantly awoke a thousand echoes amid the vaulted apart- 
 ments, which reverberated with peals of thundering sound 
 throughout the mighty void. The echo apparently had its 
 influence on other presiding spirits, for Medwyn now be- 
 held, by the dim light, another figure advancing toward 
 them. As he approached the glare of the torches, his face 
 and form were yet more plainly given to view, and those 
 of the young warrior who approached might have offered 
 models for a Hercules. Tall, majestic, and erect as the 
 proud oak of his native forest, his step was light and free 
 as the mountain wind, yet the gigantic strength, indicated 
 by his muscular liiiibs, partially exposed to view- by his 
 wild and savage costume, and the firm expression of the 
 dark and brilliant eye, showed one accustomed to rely on 
 the prowess of his arm, and that the agile lightness of his
 
 148 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 step had never been tested, unless in pursuit of a flying 
 foe. 
 
 He advanced rapidly, bending a look of dark and stern 
 inquiry on Medwyn, as he approached the place where he 
 stood; but a word from the chieftain arrested him. 
 
 " It was I who awoke the echoes, Allanawissca," he 
 said: " the stranger means no evil, he is sheltered from 
 the storm beneath the eagle's wing." 
 
 This explanation seemed satisfactory to the young war- 
 rior, for he seated himself near, and drew together the dying 
 embers of a small fire, which had been kindled on the earth, 
 without manifesting farther displeasure at the presence of 
 one, who, at first, he had evidently regarded as an intruder. 
 
 " The stranger is wearied," continued the chieftain. 
 " It is not the first time, that the children of his race have 
 sought hospitality from my hand. Let Nimawha offer him 
 food." 
 
 The Indian maiden, who had retreated into the shadowy 
 obscurity, advanced, and brought from a recess, vvhicli had 
 served her purpose, the materials of a sylvan feast. Dried 
 venison, wild honey, and a rude preparation of maize, 
 formed its whole variety. To these, which she spread 
 before them, she added a small flask, containing, apparently, 
 some spirituous liquor. The eye of the chieftain followed 
 her movements, and a glance of indignation was kindled as 
 it rested on the flask. He stretched forth his hand and seized 
 it, while he bestowed a reproachful look on the maiden. 
 
 " And hath Nimawha then forgotten my charge," he 
 said, " and is the fire-king again brought before my eyes? 
 He that hath deprived our race of our senses, our reason, 
 our country? Let it not be said that Logan, too, hath 
 been his victim." 
 
 As he spoke, he poured the whole contents of the flask
 
 THE CHIEFTAIN. 149 
 
 on the embers, which had been rekindled by the hand and 
 the breath of Allanawissca. The luvid flame blazed up 
 with meteor-like brilliancy, and threw a momentary glare 
 around, which illuminated the arched vault, and the deep 
 recesses, disclosing them in all their dazzling magnificence. 
 
 Their slight repast was silently despatched, and the 
 young warrior seemed preparing to depart. The Indian 
 maiden glided from the apartment, and after a short absence 
 returned, and addressed a few words to the chieftain; 
 
 "The storm is past," he said to Medwyn, "and I will 
 yet show thee farther kindness. Thou hast been bewil- 
 dered in the forest; Allanawissca will guide thee on thy 
 way." 
 
 Medwyn unhesitatingly accepted the offer. He again 
 resumed the torch with which he had been furnished on 
 his entrance, and followed the light and rapid steps of his 
 conductor through the dark windings by which he had first 
 passed, until he found himself at the threshold of this wild 
 and splendid temple of nature. 
 
 The sun was again beaming brightly on the blue moun- 
 tains, anfl each shrub and spray shook a thousand spangles 
 from their dewy branches, as he followed the young war- 
 rior to the spot where he had left his horse. With a ges- 
 ture, which words could not have expressed more perfectly, 
 he motioned to Medwyn to mount and follow him. The 
 signal was instantly understood, and with the firm, rapid, 
 undeviating pace which distinguishes the Indian warrior, he 
 led the way. They passed for several miles through the 
 mazes of the forest, until the smoke of a chimney appeared. 
 His conductor pointed to it, and then looked fixedly at 
 Medwyn. Perceiving that his gesture was understood, he 
 paused for a moment to let the horseman pass, and then, 
 plunging into the depths of the forest, was instantly lost to 
 view.
 
 150 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 PENSEES. 
 
 " Ere his leisure pace 
 
 Amid the brown leaves could her ear alarm, 
 Close he had come, and worshipp'd for a space 
 Those downcast features, she her lovely face 
 Uplift on one whose lineaments and frame 
 Were youth and manhood's intermingled grace." 
 
 GERTRUDE OP WYOMING. 
 
 ^L FEW more days passed, and Medwyn found himself near 
 the spot which had been indicated as that where his wan- 
 derings were for a short space to terminate; where he 
 might hope to behold the bright reality of that blest vision 
 which was ever present to his view. 
 
 The day had been one of cloudless brilliancy, but the 
 sun was sinking in the western sky, and his last rays 
 gilded the tops of the mountains, as Medwyn and his com- 
 panion, preceded by their guide, emerged from the forest, 
 and came suddenly on the banks of a stream, broad and 
 rapid, yet clear and bright as crystal. Above the spot 
 where they were about to enter it, the dark-blue colour, 
 and the stillness of the current, marked its depth; below, 
 the rapid and noisy stream dashed in foaming torrents over 
 the rocks that at intervals interrupted its progress, and the 
 sound broke on the ear with a wild but musical effect. 
 
 As they crossed the river, the huge parapets of rock 
 which bounded it above, became more distinctly visible, 
 and on one tide resembled some mighty fortification, while
 
 PENSEES. 151 
 
 on the other, the projecting rocks, which corresponded with 
 cavities visible at intervals throughout its vast height, gave 
 the impression that some tremendous convulsion of nature 
 had separated them, and thus left a space for the river to 
 pursue its onward way. Below, lay a narrow but lovely 
 valley, already bearing some traces of the fostering hand of 
 man in the rich and verdant meadows that sloped to the 
 water's edge; and in a low but comfortable looking dwell- 
 ing, which apparently was the homestead of their proprie- 
 tor, while stretching off in the distance, and as if seen 
 through a vista, appeared the soft blue outline of the dis- 
 tant mountains. 
 
 This lovely and romantic valley, now known by the 
 name of " Clifton," has lost many of its charms from the 
 inroads of utilitarian hands; but enough of its wild beauties 
 remain to show those of which it boasted at the epoch 
 referred to. 
 
 Medwyn with some difficulty breasted the stream, as he 
 urged his horse through its rapid current. His guide, how- 
 ever, plunged fearlessly in, and he unhesitatingly followed* 
 A few minutes were sufficient to bring them in safety to the 
 opposite bank, and they now approached the dwelling where 
 he was certain of finding his revered friend, and the loved 
 being whose presence would have power to convert this 
 wilderness into an Eden. 
 
 What were not his feelings as he crossed that threshold! 
 It was a relief, and he breathed more freely when the good- 
 natnred host alone appeared, and directed him to a pathway 
 on the river's bank, where he was informed that his guests 
 took their evening walk. 
 
 With a throbbing heart he followed its mazy windings, 
 until he reached a bower, formed, by the fantastic hand of 
 nature, of the wild vine, whose rich blossoms perfumed the
 
 152 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 evening air, and something whispered that this was the spot 
 that was to be consecrated by the renewal of his vows. 
 
 He gently approached, and looked through the sweeping 
 tendrils. Ellen was there, and alone. Her beautiful form 
 had lost some of its roundness, and the soft cheek was pale, 
 but she was lovely, oh how lovely! One hand, as she 
 stood, held a small volume half opened, in the other weie 
 some wild flowers, on which her downcast eyes, concealed 
 by their long fringes, were steadfastly fixed. 
 
 " Pensees!" she murmured, as she looked more nearly 
 at the wild flowers in her hand, "yes! they are well named. 
 This splendid texture of purple velvet with its embroidery 
 of gold may, indeed, vie with regal magnificence, and remind 
 us that 'Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one 
 of these.' Well may they merit their name, if they bring 
 to mind the hand that created them. And yet earthly 
 thoughts will sometimes mingle with those that should per- 
 haps belong alone to heaven. How fondly do these pensees 
 recall the remembrance of days past, which ought to be 
 forgotten, and yet to which memory must cling, while life 
 remains!" 
 
 The voice ceased, and she raised those blue eyes, suf- 
 fused with tears. Was it a vision of the past that swam 
 before them, or was it, indeed reality? Yes! she could 
 doubt no longer; days, weeks, months of suffering were 
 forgotten, suspicion vanished as she met that love-speaking 
 glance, the pale cheek grew paler, and she sank almost 
 insensible in his arms. 
 
 "Ellen! dearest fairest loveliest!" murmured the gen- 
 tle and well remembered accents, as he pressed his lips on 
 the pure cheek and snowy brow, "have I then, notwith- 
 standing my apparent sins, of all which I am guiltless, been 
 remembered?"
 
 PENStfES. 153 
 
 " Oh Percy!" she replied, as a deep sigh relieved her 
 full heart, while the rose brightly tinged her cheek, and as 
 with sweet bashfulness she in vain endeavoured to disengage 
 herself from the supporting arm, "you know not what I 
 have suffered since we last met. I fear, I ought not to 
 believe you, and yet, how can I help it?" 
 
 She raised her eyes to his noble and ingenuous face as 
 she spoke, and they again sank beneath the glance they 
 encountered. The playful smile that was wont to wreathe 
 her lip once more rested on it. 
 
 " There, there," she whispered, " you must listen to 
 reason now; that is my father's step. See! he is ap- 
 proaching us!" 
 
 The surprise of Sir Frederick Lansdale was equal to that 
 of his daughter at his sudden and unexpected meeting with 
 his young friend. A few words of explanation sufficed to 
 banish every feeling of suspicion that might have found a 
 resting-place in his mind, and their short walk to the dwell- 
 ing of their host afforded them ample time to place their 
 relations on their ancient footing. His generous heart felt 
 a pang of regret when he heard of the fate of Lord Belmore, 
 and a silent tear fell in sympathy with that shed by his 
 youthful friend. 
 
 " There is one part of your narrative, Percy," said Sir 
 Frederick, after listening attentively to the adventures, of 
 which he had requested a minute detail, and in which he 
 felt, as may be presumed, a lively interest, " that seems still 
 involved in mystery, but on which I can throw some light. 
 This daring adventurer, de Gourville, for I am happy to 
 learn that he is now deprived of the assumed name of my 
 brother's adopted son, is actually in this country. He was 
 doubtless compelled to fly from the pursuit of justice, after 
 11
 
 154 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 his atrocious attempt upon the life of de Vaudemont. I 
 suppose he imagines himself safe here, not only from incar- 
 ceration in a dungeon, or the hand of the executioner, but 
 even from the infamous reputation of an assassin, which 
 must follow him wherever his dark deeds are known. You 
 are, perhaps, the only witness against him, and he has not 
 much reason to regard you with special favour. It would 
 be as well to be on your guard, for he has actually been 
 growling about in these wilds, and one evening alarmed my 
 daughter by way-laying her path in one of her evening 
 rambles, and making a passionate declaration of love to her. 
 I believe he might have saved himself the trouble," con- 
 tinued Sir Frederick, with an arch glance at Ellen, which 
 raised a blush on her cheek, " for she fled to the house with 
 the speed of a frightened fawn, and I could not persuade 
 her to resume her walks until this evening, when she met 
 with another adventure not quite so alarming." 
 
 The bright blush grew brighter as he concluded the 
 sentence. 
 
 " If his object is to pursue this vain hope," continued Sir 
 Frederick, " a knowledge of your arrival, which must ine- 
 vitably have reached him ere this, (for the visit of a stranger 
 to these regions forms quite an event,) we shall probably 
 be relieved from his unwelcome presence. My present 
 design is to return in a few days to a more civilized part 
 of the country, as I am satisfied with regard to the place 
 where I shall avail myself of his majesty's permission to 
 take up my residence. 
 
 " But you have not yet told us of many of your ad- 
 ventures, in all of which, we naturally feel the deepest 
 interest." 
 
 The events which have occupied many previous pages
 
 PENSEES. 155 
 
 of our narrative, formed the topics of their conversation, and 
 the night was far advanced, when Sir Frederick Lansdale 
 and his youthful companions bade each other a temporary 
 adieu.
 
 156 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 
 
 " Ton ceil comme Satan a mesure 1'abyme, 
 Et ton ftme y plongeant loin du jour et de Dieu, 
 A dit fc 1'esperance un 6ternel adieu!" 
 
 LAMARTINE. 
 
 GENTLY and sweetly did the few remaining days of the 
 sojourn of our visitors in this lovely valley, glide away. 
 The slight inconveniences of a mode of life to which they 
 had been unaccustomed, now only offered subjects of diver- 
 sion, and the good-nature of their host compensated for 
 many defects in his establishment. There was such plea- 
 sure in rambling among these romantic wilds! in seeking 
 the variety of beautiful wild flowers which the season had 
 scattered in rich luxuriance in their path in climbing the 
 neighbouring heights, from which a more perfect view of 
 the windings of the bright river, and the graceful outline of 
 the blue mountains, might be obtained. The novelty of 
 seeing 
 
 " The wild deer arch his neck from glades, and then 
 Unhunted seek his wilderness again," 
 
 was to them full of romantic interest, and it was with some 
 difficulty that Ellen could prevail on herself to part with a 
 young fawn, which their host had found in his rambles, and 
 with which he had presented her. The gentle creature 
 looked so meek and affectionate as it fed from her hand.
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 157 
 
 Often she determined to take it with her; but the inconve- 
 niences of such a compagne de voyage were represented in 
 too strong a light to be disregarded, and little Fidele would, 
 after her departure, probably find his way back to his 
 native forest, though their host promised to cherish and keep 
 him for her sake, until she should return at some future 
 day to pay him another visit. 
 
 The salutary influence of these scenes, and the fresh 
 breezes of the mountains, but still more the reviving power 
 of renewed happiness, soon restored the rose to the cheek 
 of Ellen, and her step regained its wonted elasticity. A 
 few days sufficed to banish all traces of the indisposition 
 which had awakened so many tender anxieties, and the light 
 of her sunny smile once more imparted hope and joy to the 
 hearts that delighted in its radiance. 
 
 The evening that preceded their departure from the valley, 
 was one of peculiar loveliness. A recent fall of rain had 
 raised the river beyond its usual fulness, but it was still 
 bright and pure as ever, and the rich green of the flowering 
 shrubs, that dipped their sweeping branches into its waves, 
 assumed a deeper tint. The moon was just rising "in 
 cloudless blue," and threw her silvery light on the foaming 
 spray that fell over the rocks, while above, the deep current 
 reflected back her beams as from a mirror. The shadows 
 of evening advanced, but the day had been warm, and the 
 balmy air offered a temptation to an indulgence, which even 
 Sir Frederick Lansdale, notwithstanding his scrupulous care 
 of his health, found himself unable to resist. They rambled 
 slowly along their favourite pathway, remarking the beauty 
 of the different objects in view, until a rustic seat, contrived 
 by the ingenuity of their kind host, invited to a moment's 
 repose. 
 
 " How tranquilly the moonlight sleeps upon that mirror-
 
 158 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 like sheet of water," said Ellen, pointing to the river almost 
 at their feet. " It is beautiful and transparent enough to 
 imagine it the abode of the water-spirits so charmingly de- 
 scribed in the legends of Germany. I could almost imagine 
 some lovely sprite beneath its waves." 
 
 "It would be strange," returned Sir Frederick with a 
 smile, "if you should have power to conjure one up, for 
 during the few moments of silence that succeeded our arrival 
 in this spot, I imagined that I perceived some agitation in 
 the water beyond, and a faint noise arrested my attention, 
 though almost lost in the dashing of the falls below. There! 
 listen!" he continued. 
 
 Medwyn advanced more nearly to the water's edge; the 
 waves became more agitated, and sparkled with yet greater 
 brilliancy in the moon-beams. The wild legends of Ger- 
 many seemed about to be realized, for a light female figure 
 emerged from the -waves, and presented itself to their 
 astonished view. The long ebony tresses were saturated 
 with water, and the clinging garments displayed in statue- 
 like grace the symmetrical proportions of a perfect form. 
 Medwyn recognised, at a glance, his companion of the sub- 
 terranean grotto. Nimawha, the Indian maiden, stood before 
 him. 
 
 "There is evil awaiting thee," she said to Medwyn, 
 " and I come to warn thee. A dark stranger is near, who 
 loves thee not. The vulture hath preyed on the warrior ere 
 now, and yonder white dove might mourn if thou wert his 
 victim. He hath offered gold to Allanawissca for thy life, 
 but the warrior scorned his bribe, even as the dark 
 stranger scorned the poor Indian maiden. Yet his own 
 evil eye is upon thee I have warned thee, remember!" 
 
 She was about to plunge again into the waves, when
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 159 
 
 Medwyn arrested her, and addressing her in her own wild 
 manner, he said, 
 
 " Why is Nimawha here, so far from the Eagle's nest? 
 hath she left his abode?" 
 
 " The Eagle dwells not in caves," returned the Indian 
 maiden. " Logan is near. He returns to his desolate home. 
 He has none now to love him but poor Nimawha, whom he 
 sheltered when she had none to pity her. When he is old, 
 Nirnawha will comfort him, and Allanawissca will protect 
 him." As she said this her brilliant eyes were cast down. 
 "Forget not," she resumed, "the warning 1 give thee; 
 there is danger near." 
 
 As she spoke the last words, she plunged into the silvery 
 stream, and at that moment a cloud passed over the face of 
 the moon. The breeze swept it on, and the planet reappeared 
 in all her glory, but the form of the Indian maiden had 
 vanished. 
 
 Ellen listened with a shudder to the words of warning 
 which Medwyn repeated, and even Sir Frederick Lansdale, 
 whose nerves were not so easily agitated, acknowledged 
 that there was some cause for alarm, when they considered 
 the desperate character of the "dark stranger," by whom 
 they naturally conjectured Nimawha signified de Gourville. 
 
 But amid the novelty of the scenes which succeeded 
 their sojourn in the valley, the circumstance just narrated 
 faded away. They left their kind host, who parted with 
 his visitors with unfeigned regret, and returned toward a 
 more cultivated region. A continued rain arrested the little 
 cortege, when they had accomplished only a part of their 
 journey. It was tantalizing; for in those wilds, even when 
 all around was restored to its usual brightness, the mountain 
 streams did not admit of a passage. 
 
 " I can find something to pass away the time," said the
 
 160 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 host of the humble habitation in which they had found shelter 
 for two days, and who seemed to congratulate himself, as 
 a bright thought entered his usually obtuse understanding. 
 " The moon is full tp-night, and if you will trust to my 
 guidance, I believe I can show you something that will be 
 better worth looking at than the walls of my poor cottage." 
 
 The offer of variety under such circumstances was too 
 tempting to be refused, and with some anxiety they watched 
 the aspect of the heavens, on which the promises of their 
 host seemed partly to depend. The sun set in "the clouds 
 of purple and gold that on his western throne attend," but 
 the full moon rose in cloudless splendour, and the dazzling 
 refulgence gave them almost the light of day. 
 
 Their host appeared with a smile of satisfaction on his 
 rugged features. 
 
 " It is a glorious night for our purpose," he said, " I am 
 ready to fulfil my promise." 
 
 His guests followed him as he silently strode before them 
 over a rough pathway that led down a gradual descent. 
 They walked on for some distance, when the rushing sound 
 of water was heard. 
 
 " The stream shows the effect of the recent rain," said 
 their host, as he pointed to a brawling torrent just below 
 the descent. "It is not often as full as you see it now. 
 The path-way is steep and rough just here," he continued, 
 "but pause a moment, and look up, perhaps you will be 
 rewarded for your pains." 
 
 His guests had hitherto been so closely engaged in sur- 
 mounting the difficulties of the path-way, that they had 
 bestowed but little thought on any other objects. Their 
 attention was now, however, awakened, and as they simul- 
 taneously obeyed the injunction of their guide, exclamations 
 of wonder and admiration burst from each lip.
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 161 
 
 A dark, cavernous ravine lay below, in complete shade, 
 leaving the imagination to picture whatever objects it might 
 fancy amid its obscurity. Masses of foliage on either side 
 of its inaccessible heights were partially illuminated by the 
 light of the moon, and their shadows varying with every 
 breath of the summer breeze that played gently through 
 them. Then uprose the enormous battlements of solid 
 rock, and the mighty arch, resembling the gigantic portal 
 of some grand ruined castle, gleaming brightly in the placid 
 moon-light, while the pale blue sky with its countless gems, 
 sparkled through the opening above. The stream that by 
 day-light is almost invisible, descending from the vast 
 height, and by this magic light shining like silver, the 
 awful stillness, unbroken by naught but the dashing of the 
 torrent that swept through the valley below, the faint 
 outline of the distant mountains, all conspired to strike our 
 travellers with mingled wonder and awe. They gazed in 
 speechless admiration at the magnificent object before them, 
 and almost started at the voice of their guide, who first 
 broke the silence that reigned throughout the scene. 
 
 " It is strange," he said, as a smile, mingled with a 
 glance of triumph at the astonishment he had occasioned, 
 passed over his face. " It is very strange, that with such 
 bridges, travellers should be detained in this country by the 
 swelling of a mountain stream." 
 
 His guests acknowledged the justice of his facetious 
 remark, and offered him their united thanks for the delight- 
 ful surprise he had prepared them. He waited with ex- 
 emplary patience until they had viewed the glorious arch 
 in all its different aspects, and until warned at last, by the 
 freshening breeze, of the expediency of a retreat, they 
 slowly retraced their steps, casting, as they ascended the 
 steep, many a " lingering look behind."
 
 162 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 An irresistible impulse led Medwyn to take another view 
 of this splendid arch after parting with his loved companions 
 for the night. A guide was unnecessary, for the path-way 
 was traced with sufficient distinctness to prevent any fear 
 of being lost in the mazes of the forest. "He found his way 
 with ease back to the spot from which their host had first 
 awakened their attention to the magnificent scene before 
 them, and leaned against a projecting rock, to survey it 
 more at leisure. 
 
 While he was thus contemplating this wonder of nature, 
 and while his thoughts were rising in grateful adoration to 
 that Almighty Being whose majesty and grandeur are equal- 
 ed only by his love, what was passing through the dark 
 spirit that was hovering near him? On the summit of that 
 superb arch stood de Gourville, revolving in his mind the 
 portentous thoughts of ambition, of hatred, of revenge, 
 that chased each other through it like the demons of a 
 region of despair. 
 
 " I was bereft of reason," he muttered to himself, " to 
 seek to entrust to such hands a deed which my own should 
 alone perform. Yet it would have been a source of stern 
 satisfaction to know that he died by the hand of a savage. 
 The fool glared on me with his dark eye, as if I had pro- 
 posed the deed to one who could have lost caste by its 
 execution, or perchance his ire was kindled by the con- 
 tempt with which I spoke of Nimawha. But why should 
 I waste my thoughts on such beings? time presses, the 
 deed must be done. Rash, haughty youth, thou that hast 
 crossed my path at every turn, on this spot do I renew 
 my vow of vengeance against thee! Thou shall die!" 
 
 A flush of rage rose to his brow, as he grasped the 
 instrument of death concealed in his breast. He turned on 
 his heel to leave the spot, when suddenly he found himself
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 163 
 
 arrested by a grasp like that of a giant, and the dark eye of 
 Allanawissca glared on his own. An echo of his last words 
 rang in his ear, "vengeance against thec! Thou shalt 
 die!" With all the strength of desperation he struggled to 
 free himself from that deadly embrace. It was in vain, 
 he felt himself borne as if by Herculean strength to the 
 brow of the tremendous precipice. Nearer, and nearer, he 
 approached the place of death; his own words again rang 
 in his ear, " on this spot do I renew my vow of ven- 
 geance against thee! Thou shalt die!" 
 
 A loud crashing sound, as if from the falling of some 
 weight from above the arch he was contemplating, awoke 
 the echoes, and fell with startling force on Medwyn's ear. 
 A moment passed, and the torrent swept by, bearing on its 
 troubled waters a human body. The bright moonlight 
 shone for an instant on the features, and Medwyn recog- 
 nised the retributive justice of offended Heaven, as that mo- 
 mentary gleam revealed the dark brow of de Gourville!
 
 164 A TALE OF OUR ANCESTORS. 
 
 v **t" - * 
 
 . * * ^ 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 ^* 
 
 "What is the world to theml 
 
 Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all, 
 
 Who in each other clasp whatever fair 
 
 High fancy forms, or lavish hearts can wish."" 
 
 SEA SONS. 
 
 A FEW words will suffice for the remaining events of our 
 narrative, which may be easily anticipated. Sir Frederick 
 Lansdale, his lovely daughter, and his son, (for he was 
 soon permitted to claim by the holiest and most tender ties, 
 that love and confidence which had for many previous years 
 been his,) found a resting place from all their wanderings in 
 the country of their adoption; and though they revisited 
 their native land, where Medwyn found his friend, de Vau- 
 demont, in possession of all that wealth and affection could 
 bestow, they considered the place where their happiest hours 
 had been passed, their home. In view of those beautiful 
 mountains which they loved for the sweet associations con- 
 nected with them, as well as for their own charms, though 
 but little more than a hundred miles from the sea-coast, they 
 selected their place of residence. Beneath their fostering 
 care, " the wilderness and the solitary place was glad," and 
 " the desert rejoiced and blossomed as the rose." Sir 
 Frederick Lansdale found his youth renewed in the joyous 
 light that illumined the sweet evening of his well spent life, 
 and long participated in the happiness and prosperity of his
 
 CONCLUSION. 165 
 
 ***!? -"i ** 
 
 * 
 
 children; and in that part of the still comparatively wild but 
 lovely region, named in honour of the virgin queen, which 
 they made the place of their abode, its inhabitants yet 
 fondly trace the manly virtues that distinguished the cha- 
 racter of Percy Medwyn, and the gentle graces of Ellen 
 Lansdale. 
 
 tf 
 
 * 
 JV* * 
 
 * A *5; ^f" ,
 
 
 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 CHAMOUNI. 
 
 EXCURSION TO THE VALLEY OF CHAMOUNI. ALPINE SCENERY. MT. 
 BLANC SEEN FROM ST. MARTIN. LAC DE CHEDE. GLACIERS. 
 MER DE GLACE. 
 
 OUR anticipated travels have already begun, and our 
 course has been directed first to the valley of Chamouni, 
 which offers so many attractions, or rather so many won- 
 ders, that it has become quite a fashionable place of resort. 
 
 We left Geneva yesterday, and there with our kind host- 
 ess left our petit s campugnons with the exception of the 
 eldest, who is now very well able to take care of himself, 
 even in these mountain adventures, where we were often 
 warned that we must remember the selfish motto of "chacun 
 pour soi." 
 
 During the first eight leagues of our route, we found 
 nothing worthy of remark, as the country in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of Geneva was bereft of all interest when 
 we lost sight of the town and the lake. It was then cha- 
 racterized by the same wild features which distinguish the 
 mountains of Jura, and the inhabitants were as uninteresting 
 as their country. The few Savoyards we encountered in 
 this barren region, appeared, for the most part, to belong to 
 the unfortunate race of cretins, who, notwithstanding their
 
 168 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 idiocy, supposed to be occasioned by the enormous size of 
 the goitre, are superstiliously believed, by the ignorant in- 
 habitants of these mountain?, to be the peculiar favourites 
 of heaven. 
 
 As we approached the little village of Cluse, it became a 
 problem rather difficult of solution, how we were to escape 
 from the prison of mountains, whose dark, craggy sides 
 surrounded us on every side, for in sailor's -phrase, we 
 seemed to be completely land-locked. The mystery, how- 
 ever, cleared up as we crossed the Arve, a rapid and brawl- 
 ing stream, which wound its way among the innumerable 
 chains of mountains. The houses on one side of the prin- 
 cipal street of this small village, are actually built against 
 the mountain's side, and after issuing through a little arch 
 from its damp and dark windings, we found ourselves 
 among some of the wonders of Alpine scenery. 
 
 Although I agree perfectly with the British traveller, who 
 says it is impossible to represent the wonders and beauties 
 of natural scenery even in painting, and an attempt at de- 
 scription must always convey but a vague idea of the ob- 
 jects it would endeavour to present to the mind; I do not 
 find this a sufficient reason for declining it altogether, espe- 
 cially as I have the assurance that my sketches will give 
 you pleasure, even if they are not so interesting as they 
 might be. He was writing for the world, I, for my 
 sister. 
 
 To continue, after this little digression. The route 
 passed through the village of Cluse, and then led us along 
 the banks of the Arve, sometimes so close to its brink, that 
 the wheels of the carriage were almost in the water, while 
 on the other side rose the bare and rugged sides of the 
 mountains, whose tops occasionally shot up into sharp 
 peaks, cleaving the clouds that gathered around us. Some-
 
 CHAMOUNI. 169 
 
 times enormous pi ejections from their sides seemed to 
 threaten the traveller below, and an idea of their vast height 
 was appropriately conveyed by the masses of snow in the 
 clefts of the rocks. 
 
 Amid this wild scenery, we continued until we reached 
 the valley of Maglan, whose small but fertile and smiling 
 fields were beautifully contrasted with the frowning rocks 
 above and opposite to it. Among these we discovered the 
 entrance to a grotto, which is said to be very extensive, and 
 is generally visited by travellers; but the ascent to it is 
 fatiguing, and our curiosity was not a sufficient stimulus for 
 such an enterprise. 
 
 The next wonder we met with was a cascade, (the Arpe- 
 naz,) which falls from a height of eight hundred feet above 
 the road. A cascade, from such a height, among the Alps, 
 is nothing remarkable, for we met with them at every turn; 
 but this one owes its peculiar beauty to its situation, com- 
 ing, apparently, from the very summit of the mountain, and 
 falling down a perpendicular wall of rock; it is broken into 
 a cloud of white and fleecy mist, and on reaching a projec- 
 tion about half-way down the mountain's side, the waters 
 again unite, and form a brawling torrent for the rest of its 
 descent. 
 
 This variety of mountains, rocks and streams, continued 
 to draw exclamations of surprise and pleasure from each of 
 our little party, until we reached the village of St. Martin, 
 where we were to spend the night. So often had we heard 
 of the view of Mont Blanc from this spot, that we were not a 
 little disappointed to find everything enveloped in clouds on 
 our arrival. Our only resource was to retire to rest, hoping 
 for a more favourable view in the morning. Happily, our 
 deferred hopes were realized, for on sallying out to the 
 bridge which crosses the Arve at this place, at a very early 
 12
 
 170 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 hour the next day, we were rewarded for our trouble and 
 our patience, by a scene, to whose beauties no pen or pencil, 
 however accomplished, could do justice. 
 
 The bridge on which we stood, appeared to be exactly 
 in the centre of an amphitheatre of mountains, and the 
 complete circle they formed looked so small, that we might 
 almost have imagined that we were surveying a panoramic 
 painting. This idea, however, was soon dissipated by the 
 grandeur of the objects in view, especially the principal 
 feature in the scene, the lofty and snow-crowned Mont 
 Blanc, whose outline of dazzling white, rendered still more 
 brilliant by the rays of the rising sun, was in complete 
 relief upon the ethereal blue of a cloudless sky. Just 
 opposite these eternal snows, at the base of the mountains, 
 were the same bright foliage and smiling verdure that had 
 before called forth our admiration in the valley of Maglan, 
 presenting in vivid contrast the terrors of winter and the 
 charms of summer, in the same scene. The cottages of 
 the peasants in the valley, and the spires of the village 
 churches relieved the landscape from the effect of its wilder 
 and more savage features. The rapid and foaming river 
 beneath us wound its way through the valley, until it was 
 lost to the eye amid the surrounding mountains, and, falling 
 occasionally in cascades over the rocks in its bed, completed 
 the variety and beauty of the picture. 
 
 It was with some difficulty that we tore ourselves from 
 the contemplation of this charming scene, to return to the 
 inn, where everything was prepared for our journey. The 
 carriage which was awaiting us, excited not a little merriment 
 among our party, being a char-a-banc, one of those little 
 vehicles you have seen represented in pictures of the Alps, 
 where the persons within sit sideways, with their feet resting 
 on a bench on the outside. On inquiring the motive for
 
 CHAMOUNI. 171 
 
 making them in this manner, we were told that it was on 
 account of the extreme narrowness of the roads, as this 
 form allowed the wheels to be closer together than any other. 
 They are built entirely without springs, so that you may 
 imagine the roughness of their motion, but our spirits were 
 elevated by the pure and exhilarating air of the mountains 
 to such a degree, that trifling inconveniences were quite 
 unheeded, and the beautiful variety of scenery on our route, 
 contributed to banish all sense of personal desagremens. 
 
 The finest view of Mont Blanc which we had during the 
 day was from the brink of the small Lac de Chede, where 
 its summit rises in dazzling magnificence above the dark 
 green of the fir-clad mountains below it. A fine cascade in 
 the vicinity of this splendid scene, closed the charms of the 
 route, for it began gradually to change, as we approached 
 more nearly to Mont Blanc, and we realized, on our arrival 
 in the neighbourhood of this mighty mountain, in all its 
 force, the poet's idea, that " distance lends enchantment to 
 the view." The beauties, one by one, disappeared, or were 
 rather lost in their exaggerated proportions, like objects in a 
 fearful dream. The soft and cloud-like masses, which had 
 appeared so graceful and lovely in the distance, changed to 
 frightful and barren rocks, and the needles of Mont Blanc, 
 those beautiful cones, which had so often challenged our 
 admiration during our journey, we found composed of 
 hundreds of flinty spires, bristling upon the sides of the 
 mountain, and terminating in one enormous peak that seemed 
 to cleave the very heavens. 
 
 We are near enough to see the glaciers, those wonders of 
 which we read and hear so much, and have already passed 
 quite close to the glacier de Rossons, esteemed one of the 
 finest of them all, though not very large. We had not 
 formed any distinct idea of their appearance, and as it may
 
 172 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 be the same case with yourself, I will give you the result of 
 our observation. 
 
 The valley in which we are at present, runs between 
 two ranges of mountains, rising in a succession of lofty 
 peaks, indented rather than separated by immense ravines, 
 which are filled with these masses of ice. The largest of 
 the glaciers are supposed to be formed from the streams 
 beneath them, and from which some of the principal rivers 
 of Europe derive their source. I am not philosopher 
 enough to explain the process by which these streams pro- 
 duce the enormous masses of ice above them, or to say 
 whether those masses have not rather been formed by the 
 congelation of the melted snow on the sides of the moun- 
 tains. All this must be left for wiser heads to settle; the 
 appearance is all I can speak of, and this is so very extra- 
 ordinary, that any attempt to portray it will give but a faint 
 idea of the reality. 
 
 The glacier de Bossons, which we passed on our way 
 hither, resembles a while hoar frost, on the grandest ima- 
 ginable scale; for some of the flakes, or spires of ice, are 
 more than a hundred feet high. Those of this glacier 
 appeared beautifully white, though they are often mingled 
 with earth and stones, which are gradually forced up by 
 the expansion of the ice, and it is not unusual to see rocks 
 of a large size upon the tops of the spires. 
 
 MER DE GLACE. 
 
 Some idea of the enormous size of these frozen masses, 
 is afforded us, by the fact of their undergoing no sensible 
 diminution by the summer's sun, which we found warm 
 enough to be very uncomfortable to our feelings. 
 
 The most splendid of these glaciers is the Mer de Glace,
 
 MER DE GLACE. 173 
 
 so called both from its immense size and peculiar appear- 
 ance, and it can be seen only by ascending the Mont Anvert 
 in its vicinity. This we determined to do immediately after 
 our arrival in the valley, and mules and guides were, ac- 
 cordingly, soon ready for the expedition. Behold us then, 
 mounted on these long-eared steeds, with a man at the bridle 
 rein to guide and direct their course, that is, of mine and a 
 younger member of the party, for the gentlemen disdained 
 such aid. 
 
 The best mule, and the most experienced guide being 
 accorded, as a matter of course, to me, I had the honour of 
 leading the van; and we began the toilsome ascent of a 
 mountain six thousand feet high. Whether I should have 
 had the courage to venture on such an expedition, if all its 
 difficulties and fatigues had been distinctly foreseen, is 
 rather a matter of doubt; though after it is happily accom- 
 plished, a visit to the Mer de Glace, certainly leaves nothing 
 to regret. 
 
 The narrow and rugged path which we slowly pursued, 
 wound in a zig-zag course up the mountain's side, and was 
 so rocky and steep, that the mules were compelled to have 
 recourse to a climbing attitude and motion, that was far 
 from being agreeable. In addition to this, the pathway 
 became narrower and narrower as we ascended, until there 
 was barely room for the animal to tread, and while the almost 
 interminable mass of rocks above seemed to be threaten- 
 ing us on one side, a fearful precipice yawned at our feet on 
 the other. 
 
 Just on the brink of one of those precipices, whence the 
 base of the mountain, several thousand feet below, was 
 visible, the path had been washed by a recent shower, and 
 a few inches more of earth on one side, or less on the other, 
 would have rendered it impassable. While the guides were
 
 174 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 exerting their skill to get us safely over it, the tinkling of 
 bells was heard, and four cows suddenly made their ap- 
 pearance, walking very sedately one after the other, on the 
 narrow and shelving ledge. At this rencontre there was a 
 dead pause, for the cows seemed quite as unwilling to risk 
 their necks as the mules, and there was no retreat for either. 
 The matter was decided by my guide, who obliged the cows 
 to yield in the only practicable way, which was to scramble 
 a few feet up the side of the mountain, as just on that spot 
 there was fortunately a little earth and grass, and there they 
 contrived to remain, almost erect upon their hind legs, with 
 their horns in the air, offering the agreeable probability of 
 tumbling down upon us, with all the consequences of such 
 a feat, while we were passing them. 
 
 After climbing up in this manner for three hours, we 
 attained a small Hospice on the summit of the mountain, from 
 which we had a full view of the Mer tit Glace. The path 
 leading to it presented more difficulties than any we had en- 
 countered in our ascent, but such an opportunity was too 
 tempting to be declined, and being provided with the long 
 iron-shod staves used by Alpine travellers on these occa- 
 sions, we descended, and soon found ourselves amid these 
 " thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice." 
 
 This glacier differs from that of the Bossons in the 
 broader undulations of its surface, which are here blended 
 into one common mass. The part which we visited, and 
 as far as we could see it, (for it is eighteen miles in length, 
 and a mile wide,) resembled immense waves of the ocean 
 suddenly arrested in the midst of a violent storm, and con. 
 verted into ice; and it is this resemblance which has given 
 it its name of the Mer de Glace. A beautiful stream was 
 shown us in the midst of the glacier, flowing rapidly in its
 
 MER DE GLACE. 175 
 
 crystal bed, until it was lost in a chasm of the ice, which 
 our guides told us was three hundred feet deep. 
 
 We walked about on this magnificent glacier, until the 
 chilling effect warned us of the expediency of a retreat, and 
 after resting half an hour at the Hospice, descended the 
 mountain on foot, which, though very fatiguing from the 
 rugged steepness of the path, was less disagreeable, and 
 certainly less dangerous, than betaking ourselves again to 
 the mules would have been.
 
 176 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 THE COL DE BALM. 
 
 ADVENTURES IN THE VALLEY OF CHAMOUNI. ROUTE OF THE COL DE 
 BALM. SPLENDID PROSPECT. PLEASANT PROMENADE. 
 
 Martigny, August 4th. 
 
 We are now in the village of Martigny, which we reach- 
 ed last evening, after a few adventures that were not par- 
 ticularly agreeable. 
 
 Having decided to cross the mountains at the Col de 
 Balm, in preference to the other road called the Tete Noire, 
 though the latter had greatly the advantage in the smooth- 
 ness of the ascent, we willingly made the sacrifice of our 
 comfort for the sake of the superb view which was pro- 
 mised us from the summit of the Col de Balm, and began 
 our march yesterday morning. The road admits the passage 
 of a small char-a-banc only a short distance, and we were 
 soon obliged to mount the mules as we had done on the 
 Mont Anvert. The route, however, was less unpleasant, as 
 it led up the side of a mountain; barren enough, it is true, 
 but covered with a scanty coat of short grass, which ren- 
 dered the motion of our little steeds less fatiguing than the 
 scrambling gait of the former adventure; but this advantage 
 we were not long to enjoy, for the path became steeper as 
 we mounted higher, and to increase the difficulties of the 
 ascent, the vapour-like clouds of which had been threatening 
 us from the beginning of our journey, began to descend in
 
 COL DE BALM. 177 
 
 rain, which increased to a heavy shower before we reached 
 the chalet on the summit of the Col de Balm. 
 
 It was happy for us that we had not the precipices of the 
 route to the Mer de Glace to encounter, for a gust of wind 
 came sweeping up from the valley below us with tornado- 
 like violence, just before we attained the summit of the 
 mountain. Finding it impossible to keep my seat on the 
 mule, I descended and endeavoured to walk, but the soft 
 earth yielded at every step, and the fatigue occasioned by 
 our former excursion, in addition to the wind and rain, 
 increasing every moment, convinced me that this too was 
 entirely impracticable. In a sort of despair, I sat down on 
 the grass, until the good old patient guide wrapped me in 
 a cloak, and put me again on the mule, with an umbrella in 
 my hand: a most useless precaution, this last, for the 
 wind instantly deprived me of it, and away it went whirling 
 over and over, until it was fairly lodged on a bed of snow, 
 in a ravine two miles distant on the other side of the moun- 
 tain, where we found it afterwards in descending. Certain 
 it is, that no palace was ever entered with more satisfaction 
 than was the miserable hut on the summit of the Col de 
 Balm on this occasion. 
 
 While we were drying our garments by a blazing fire, 
 and partaking of the rude fare afforded by the chalet, the 
 clouds gradually rose above the mountains, and left us a 
 splendid view of the chain of Alps on each side of us. 
 The valleys descending on either side of the Col de Balm 
 wind like a river in its banks through these enormous 
 heights, presenting in savage grandeur, and wild magnifi- 
 cence, a scene, of which any effort at description would be 
 utterly fruitless. The snow-clad mountains of the interior 
 of Switzerland, are its softest and most beautiful features, 
 being the most distant; and in truth, this is a charm, which
 
 178 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 for the future we shall, most probably, always associate 
 with these awful regions. 
 
 Having been warned by our guides, that we should be 
 obliged to walk a part of the way down the mountain on 
 this side, we began our journey on foot, and soon found 
 the reasonableness of their requisition in the steepness and 
 difficulty of the path, as it was infinitely worse than any- 
 thing we had heretofore encountered. With a staff in one 
 hand, and the other resting on the arm of the good old 
 guide, who told me, by way of encouragement, that I 
 walked like a chamois, I trudged along. The gentlemen 
 most probably found it little less laborious, though they 
 (of course) scorned to complain, and we endeavoured to 
 beguile the fatigue of the route by amusing ourselves with 
 the wonderful tales of the guides about the hunters of the 
 Alps, and making them again and again repeat the shrill 
 and peculiar whistle of the mountains, which may be heard 
 at a great distance, echoed from rock to rock. It reminded 
 us of some of Sir Walter's scenes of the Highlands of Scot- 
 land, and we could almost have imagined the bands of 
 Roderick Dhu springing up from the surrounding rocks 
 and shrubs. 
 
 A flash of lightning warned us, when half our journey 
 was accomplished, that the rain was not over; and the roar 
 of the thunder, reverberating among the mountains, though 
 grand and sublime, was far from producing a pleasing effect, 
 when we considered the prospect before us. The rain 
 soon again began to descend, and increased to such a tor- 
 rent, that we took refuge in a little barn on the road side, 
 where the newly gathered hay offered us a most welcome 
 seat. Night was, however, approaching, and as the guides 
 told us it would rather grow worse than better, we con- 
 tinued our toilsome march, and arrived at Martigny, drenched
 
 COL DE BALM. 179 
 
 with rain, after an agreeable little promenade of nearly four 
 leagues, upon a road over which an English or a Virginia 
 sportsman would hardly have trusted his favourite dog, and 
 certainly not his horse. 
 
 To-day we are reposing after our adventures, but our 
 design is to reach the top of the grand Mont St. Bernard 
 to-morrow, where the hospice and all its wonders will 
 afford a good excuse for the continuation of my journal.
 
 180 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 MONT ST. BERNARD. 
 
 ASCENT OF THE GREAT ST. BERNARD. PICTURE OP A CARAVAN ON 
 THE ROUTE TO THE PROPHET'S TOMB. KlND RECEPTION BY THE 
 FATHERS OF THE HOSPICE. THE DOGS OF ST. BERNARD. THE 
 CHAPEL. THE MORGUE. CHIEF PLEASURE OF THE VISIT. 
 
 WE left the little town of Martigny early on the fifth, 
 and began our pilgrimage to the celebrated Mont St. 
 Bernard. The ascent of the Alps commences near the 
 town, but the road is wide enough to admit of a small char- 
 a-banc for more than half the distance to the Hospice. The 
 mules, with their saddles on, were, accordingly attached to 
 the little vehicle, and slowly drew us up the mountain. 
 Everything around us looked dark, gloomy and barren, 
 and the few inhabitants of the mountains we encountered, 
 were proportionally miserable; frequently deformed by the 
 goitre, and occasionally presenting the idiotic countenance 
 of the unfortunate Cretins. This continued until more than 
 half the ascent was accomplished, when we reached the 
 auberge, where it was necessary to refresh the mules and 
 dismiss the char-a-banc. 
 
 At this little inn, we found a number of travellers, French 
 and English, who were, as well as ourselves, going to the 
 Hospice, and we all took our departure at the same moment, 
 mounted upon the mules. The size of the party made it 
 more agreeable, and there were some persons present, who 
 afforded not a little merriment to the rest, particularly a
 
 MONT ST. BERNARD. 181 
 
 certain baroness of our acquaintance, who never having 
 mounted a horse in her life, was then upon her first eques- 
 trian expedition; and with one guide to hold her on the 
 saddle, and another at her bridle rein, she rode with all the 
 grace of a sack of corn on a voyage to the mill. 
 
 The part of the route we were then traversing was really 
 beautiful and very highly cultivated; steep and mountain- 
 ous always, but walled up in a succession of terraces, 
 that at a distance looked almost like stair steps. The pea- 
 sants, who, just in this smiling spot appeared far happier, 
 healthier, and superior in every respect to those we had 
 met with before, were just gathering in a rich golden har- 
 vest; and though we were interested in this appearance of 
 industry and comfort, so rare in these barren regions, it was 
 rather inconvenient for us, as the huge loads of wheat and 
 rye upon the little donkeys, who were as effectually con- 
 cealed by them as MacdufFs army by the forest boughs of 
 Dunsinane, interrupted our progress every moment. 
 
 We slowly continued our journey for one or two leagues, 
 when the aspect of the mountains gradually changed, and 
 at last became awfully gloomy. For several miles before 
 we reached the Hospice, a barren and frightful wilderness 
 was all in view. High and enormous mountains lifted their 
 craggy and peaked summits, covered with snow, above the 
 clouds, and nearer their base, where we were pursuing our 
 toilsome and rugged pathway, we saw nothing but arid 
 rocks, and occasionally a brawling torrent, rushing down 
 their steep sides across the road. Not a vestige of human 
 habitation, or cultivation was in sight, not a tree or a shrub 
 to be seen, not even a tuft of the Rhododendron or Alpine 
 rose, which flourishes best among the rocks of the high 
 Alps. 
 
 Amid this scene of desolation our party slowly wandered,
 
 182 FRAGMENTS OF A JOUBNAL. 
 
 one after another, and as it was composed, altogether, of 
 about twenty persons, with baggage mules, and a large 
 supply of provender, we might have formed no unapt 
 representation of the worshippers of Mahomet, going on a 
 pilgrimage to the tomb of the prophet. 
 
 When we arrived within half a league of the Hospice, our 
 attention was drawn toward a small stone building, the first 
 we had seen for a long time, and we were informed that it 
 was one of the hospitals of St. Bernard. On looking into 
 it, the only object within was far from contributing to 
 soften the feeling of awe inspired by our route; the dead 
 body of an unfortunate traveller met our startled view. 
 Seated in an attitude of listlessness and despair, the mourn- 
 ful appearance of this poor tenement of clay, whose spirit 
 had long since sought another home, sufficiently indicated 
 the manner in which he had encountered the great de- 
 stroyer. The body was in the same dress and attitude in 
 which it was discovered in the snow of the wilderness, and 
 placed in this manner to be recognised by the friends and 
 relatives of the deceased. 
 
 Turning away from this melancholy spectacle, which 
 effectually banished the few traces of gaiety left during our 
 pilgrimage, we continued to proceed; passing still over 
 rocks and among mountains, through snow banks of several 
 feet in depth, until we arrived at the celebrated Hospice of 
 St. Bernard. 
 
 Two huge dogs first welcomed our arrival, followed by a 
 comely, well dressed, amiable looking priest, who invited 
 us to enter without any ceremony, and very kindly made 
 all the necessary arrangements for our accommodation. It 
 was late in the evening when we arrived, and though the 
 first part of the day had been uncomfortably warm at the 
 foot of the mountain, in this region of eternal snows, we
 
 MONT ST. BERNARD. 183 
 
 were chilled through. It was really bitter cold, and all the 
 party flocked around the fire as eagerly as we should do in 
 the month of December, for the transition made it much 
 more severe. 
 
 Brilliant anticipations of the luxurious fare of the monks 
 of the Hospice had been indulged and expressed by several 
 of our travellers, and there was a laughable elongation of 
 faces among them, when an apology was made for the frugal 
 meal to which we were conducted, it happened to be a 
 fast day. The slight repast offered us was, indeed, hardly 
 sufficient for wearied travellers, and salad and dried prunes 
 were not exactly the sort of fare calculated to repel the 
 searching cold. We soon retired to our allotted apartments, 
 where, notwithstanding the want of fire-places, and the 
 stony hardness of the beds, we managed to sleep profoundly. 
 
 Early in the morning we were roused by the chant of the 
 priests, who were saying mass in the church, which was 
 under the same roof and quite near our rooms. Having 
 made a hasty toilette, we sallied out, and a few steps led 
 us into the midst of them. We found it quite a respectable 
 church, and considering the situation, handsomely arranged, 
 and apparently kept in the neatest order. The most re- 
 markable thing within it is a fine marble monument to the 
 memory of Dessaix, ornamented with several superb bas- 
 reliefs, one of which represents him in his last moments at 
 the battle of Marengo. 
 
 After putting our contribution in the tronc, which is a 
 ceremony of some consequence in this establishment, where 
 entertainment is nominally offered gratuitously, we made 
 our retreat, and while the rest of the party visited the Morgue 
 I employed myself in making a collection of the delicate 
 little flowers which grow in great numbers around the lake, 
 for there is a lake about a hundred yards long in this ele-
 
 184 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 vated spot, though it is frozen nine months in the year 
 These little flowers are peculiarly delicate and beautiful, 
 and I found about twenty different sorts in as many minutes. 
 While I waa occupied in putting them between the leaves 
 of a guide du voyageur, which served for a temporary her- 
 barium, the party, who had finished their visit to the Morgue, 
 returned with dejected looks from this repository of the 
 dead. Within it are always a number of human bodies, 
 found in this bleak and houseless region, which after having 
 undergone every means of restoration to life without effect, 
 are placed in the garments and attitude in which they are 
 first discovered by the servants and dogs of the Hospice, 
 who are daily employed during the winter in looking for 
 them. The dogs are immensely large, gentle, and very 
 sagacious, and remarkable for the acuteness of their scent. 
 These qualities render them such useful auxiliaries of the 
 maronniers, or men who seek for the travellers, as instances 
 have sometimes occurred when persons have been restored 
 to life, after being actually disinterred by these faithful ani- 
 mals from the snow drifts beneath which they were buried. 
 
 We did not think it worth while to waste our time by 
 looking over the books which are kept in the principal 
 salon for the effusions of travellers. Our researches were 
 limited to the scrap of Madame de Stael, which has been 
 so often criticised by tourists, and which seemed to us re- 
 markable only for being an odd mixture of fine words, 
 without beginning or end. 
 
 But though we did not trouble ourselves to read what 
 other people had written, we could not resist the temptation 
 of adding a little to the nonsense annually scribbled here, 
 and if any one should ever take the trouble to decypher 
 my contribution, it will most probably bring to mind the 
 droll exclamation of the good gentleman who left a bojk at
 
 MONT ST. BERNARD. 185 
 
 the house on the Montanvert, near the Mer de Glace, to 
 receive the brilliant thoughts of the visitors he supposed 
 would succeed him. He says, "J'ai pense que les grandes 
 impressions que 1'on recoit ici, donneraient de grandes 
 pensees; que la purete la legerete de 1'air qu'on y respire, 
 les ferait rendre avec nettete: par suite j'ai donne un registre 
 au Montanvert, pour que les voyageurs y consignassent 
 leurs reflections. Je m'en repens ce que j'ai lu, ce que 
 je lis ici, me desespere. On a du bon sens quand on se 
 determine a voir la vallee de Chamouni, maisje vois qu'on 
 le perd en y arrivant." The laughable despair of this 
 worthy personage would be perhaps heightened if he were 
 to see the scrap I perpetrated, but happily it will not offend 
 his eye, and you have a claim to it, as I promised you all 
 my thoughts during the journey. 
 
 In distance seen, thou Alpine height, 
 
 How soft thy azure tints appear, 
 And when in sun-set's roseate light 
 
 How brightly pure, how calmly fair! 
 
 Thus to the ravish'd eye of youth 
 Appears the world in colours bright, 
 
 Eager he flies to know the truth 
 And snatch the bliss that charms his sight. 
 
 Thou Alpine height! how chang'd thy form, 
 
 As thy tremendous base we near, 
 Thy awful peaks amid the storm 
 
 In dread sublimity appear! 
 
 Alas! poor youth! couldst thou have known 
 
 That world thou hast so gaily sought, 
 Its wearying cares, its chilling frown, 
 And e'en its joys, how dearly bought! 
 13
 
 186 * FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 Yet if in virtue's rugged path, 
 
 To thee " to overcome" is given. 
 Receive the sacred staff of faith, 
 
 Ascend! Ascend! and mount to Heaven! 
 
 It would be difficult to say what gave rise to such a com- 
 parison at such a moment, for it is certain that none of us 
 ever felt less disposed to quarrel with the world, than when 
 we found ourselves, as it were, completely out of it. 
 
 With unusual alacrity we mounted our steeds to descend 
 the mountain, and all of us heartily agreed to the suggestion 
 of one of our party, that " it was really worth the trouble 
 of paying a visit to the grand Mont St. Bernard, for the 
 pleasure of getting away."
 
 THE CITE D'AOST. 187 
 
 THE CITE D'AOST. 
 
 DESCENT ON THE ITALIAN SIDE OF THE ALPS. ROMAN ANTiaurriES, 
 CASTLES OP THE MIDDLE AGES. THE HAUNTED TOWER. PIED- 
 MONT. FORT DE BARD. IVREE. A WARNING. AN ALPINE 
 STORM. PIVARONE. THE CHEVALIER LEONE. OCR HOST'S 
 STORY. THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 THE descent of the St. Bernard, on the southern side, 
 resembles the ascent on the other for some distance; 
 always wild and savage, and for the first three leagues, 
 which we were compelled to descend upon the mules, the 
 same naked and barren rocks, the same huge mountains, 
 appropriately called Montagms Mortes, destitute of trees 
 or human habitations, presented themselves on every side. 
 
 It was with no small satisfaction that we reached the 
 little village of St. Remy, whence a small char-a-banc was 
 practicable to the Cite D'Aost, at the foot of the mountain. 
 The descent from this place was comparatively easy, 
 though the road runs during the whole distance upon the 
 edge of a precipice so frightful, that it appears wonderful 
 how Napoleon with his sixty thousand men and artillery 
 could have passed it in safety, especially at that season of 
 the year, for in many parts of the road we remarked poles 
 of twenty and thirty feet in height, planted to mark its 
 course when buried in snow. A place on the edge of the 
 ravine was shown us, where the first consul's horse slip- 
 ped, and he was saved only by the presence of a man near
 
 188 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 him, who is still living to boast of having preserved this 
 life, then so precious to all around him. 
 
 As we approached the Cite D'Aost, our attention was 
 particularly attracted by the picturesque vineyards in its 
 vicinity. A number of terraces are walled up against the 
 side of the mountain, all of which are surmounted with 
 columns; and the vines being planted several feet behind 
 them, and trained on frames supported by these columns, 
 they resemble a succession of porticos, covered with vines. 
 Here, as well as throughout the Vallee D'Aost, the pecu- 
 liar and graceful appearance of the vineyards cannot fail to 
 attract and refresh the eye of the traveller. In some places 
 the vines are trained to hang in rich festoons, and the fruit 
 is particularly fine, as its depending position affords it the 
 full benefit of the sun, unimpeded by the foliage above. 
 
 A few hours delay in the Cite" D'Aost were not unwel- 
 come, after our adventures amid the mountains, and while 
 arrangements for the continuation of our journey, which we 
 left to the good judgment of our obliging compagnon de 
 voyage, were going on, we took the opportunity of seeking 
 out some of the antiquities of the town. These, notwith- 
 standing the frequent notice of them by travellers, we found 
 " few and far between," but they are, nevertheless, inter- 
 esting. 
 
 Our attention was first attracted by a fine old Roman 
 relique, a triumphal arch, which is in a wonderful state of 
 preservation, considering that it was, as is testified by 
 inscriptions upon it, built thirty years before the Christian 
 era. The Corinthian capitals, with which it is adorned are 
 still beautiful, though the stone has, as it were, melted 
 beneath the touch of time, until they are half worn away. 
 
 The remains of an amphitheatre of immense magnitude 
 were likewise pointed out, and these, with a bridge, and
 
 THE CITE D'AOST. 189 
 
 part of the ancient walls of the city, were all that we saw 
 of Roman antiquities. The most remarkable characteristic 
 of these remnants of by-gone days is the immense size of 
 the stones of which they are composed, by which the works 
 of the ancients may always be distinguished from those of 
 the middle ages. 
 
 Among the curiosities of the Cite D'Aost, the remains of 
 a feudal castle were shown us, and one of its ruined towers 
 is regarded with superstitious awe by the inhabitants, who 
 devoutly believe it to be the abode of a spirit. The un- 
 happy lady, who they say appears nightly on its walls, was 
 starved to death by a jealous husband; and the plaintive cries 
 of this poor famished ghost, have given to the tower the 
 name of cris-de-faim, which has been changed by the rough 
 patois of the peasants into Bramafam, by which title it is 
 recognized. 
 
 The house of the leprous man, who has been made the 
 hero of a pretty little tale, was likewise displayed, though 
 it is much more interesting in the romance than in reality. 
 
 While we were examining these antiquities, the prepara- 
 tions for the continuation of our journey were completed, 
 though we were much disappointed to learn that one of the 
 three queens of Sardinia was then on a visit in this part of 
 the country, and that in anticipation of her return, all the 
 post horses had been ordered into her service. As it re- 
 quired relays of nearly five hundred horses for her majesty 
 and suite, we were obliged to forego the pleasure of travel- 
 ling post from the Cite D'Aost, and our last resource was to 
 take possession of the only carriage and pair left in the 
 town, and which, as may be supposed, afforded rather a 
 blank prospect for either comfort or speed. 
 
 We were, however, consoled for the slowness of our pro- 
 gress by the beauty of the scenery in the Vallee D'Aost,
 
 190 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 enlivened as it is by the rapid and romantic Doria, which 
 winds its way through every variety of cultivated fields, and 
 woods almost deserving the name of forests. You may 
 well imagine that the contrast of all these with the arid and 
 frightful desert we had so recently left, enhanced their 
 charms in our eyes. 
 
 This beautiful valley must doubtless be rich in " legend- 
 ary lore," for at the base of the mountains, on picturesque 
 heights throughout its whole length, are a number of fine 
 old castles, with all their accompaniments of walls, and 
 towers, and loop-holes, and donjon keeps, and battlements. 
 We were told that none of them were inhabited, and that 
 the fertile fields, over which they domineered, were all the 
 property of a certain countess, some relative of the existing 
 royal family. The romance, however, if there was any, 
 must have been confined to the inhabitants of the castles, 
 who were probably as far elevated above the people in the 
 plain in personal advantages and education, as their tower- 
 ing habitations were superior to the wretched huts of the 
 peasants below. It would be impossible to exaggerate the 
 miserable appearance of these poor creatures, for hardly one 
 of those we met among them presented the ordinary propor- 
 tions of humanity. In some of them, the goitre was fright- 
 fully conspicuous, in others the features and limbs distorted, 
 and frequently the countenance denoting perfect idiocy. 
 Even the children that we saw seemed to have inherited the 
 misfortunes of their unhappy parents. 
 
 The most interesting object in our second day's ride 
 through this valley was the Fort de Bard, which being built 
 on a high promontory of rock, projecting from the enormous 
 mountain on one side, leaves barely room for the river to 
 pass between it and the opposing mountain on the other 
 side. The road runs through the principal street in the
 
 THE VALLE D'AOST. 191 
 
 small town, the houses of which on one side are built against 
 the mountain, and the other against the rock on which stands 
 the fort; and in many places there are bridges which pass 
 from the top of the houses in the town to the fort. It there- 
 fore excites no little surprise, and requires no small effort 
 of the imagination to conceive how Napoleon could have 
 passed his artillery through this difficult and dangerous 
 defile, then defended by the Austrians, who had given 
 solemn assurance that such an impossibility could not, and 
 should never be achieved. It is a sufficient monument in 
 itself of the talent, courage and perseverance of this wonder- 
 ful man. 
 
 We stopped at the town of Ivree at the termination of the 
 Vallee D'Aost, in the hope again of being able to procure 
 post-horses; but the same reason still existed why we could 
 not have them, and we were obliged again to engage our 
 old voiturier with his poor jaded horses. While we were 
 waiting for them to take a little refreshment, a lady, appa- 
 rently of some rank and consequence, having stopped at the 
 same house, and breakfasted in the same room with us, 
 entered into conversation, and talking volubly on many sub- 
 jects, told us that she lived very near. She described her 
 country as one of peculiar loveliness, (to which we willing- 
 ly added our testimony,) and bewailed the miserable condi- 
 tion of its population, which she said were as unprincipled 
 and vicious, as they were hideous and deformed; that their 
 characters were in exact accordance with their appearance. 
 The ideas of robbery and murder, if they had never entered 
 my head before, might have intruded themselves after her 
 account, which was expressed in the glowing style of her 
 country. Seeing us preparing to depart, she advised us 
 strongly, if we had any regard for our safety or comfort, to 
 take warning by the clouds that were hovering over the
 
 192 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 river, and the muttered threats of the distant thunder, and 
 to postpone our departure a few hours, telling us that the 
 storms in that part of Piedmont were extremely violent, and 
 that we might probably repent of our experiment when it 
 was too late. We, however, paid but little attention to her 
 suggestions, and continued our journey. 
 
 When we had proceeded a few leagues, the heavens 
 became darker and darker until everything was involved in 
 a portentous gloom: the wind blew in fitful gusts, and every- 
 thing announced the approach of the tempest, which at 
 length broke forth with unparalleled fury. For two hours 
 and a half it raged with unremitting violence. The sharp 
 and vivid flashes of lightning came in quick succession, 
 followed by the deafening roar of the thunder, and the rain, 
 mingled with a " pelting, pitiless" hail, poured like a deluge. 
 The road was soon flooded with water in such a manner 
 that it was impossible to distinguish it, and the little rivulets 
 that crossed it at intervals were swollen to torrents. 
 
 Notwithstanding these difficulties, we continued to pro- 
 ceed, hoping to reach a place of shelter, until a tree, felled 
 by the wind across the road, impeded our progress. A man, 
 who happened to be running in the same direction, with an 
 axe in his hand, aided the coachman in taking it out of the 
 way, as the smaller branches only, of the tree, were lying 
 in the road, and told us that a quarter of an hour more would 
 bring us to the village to which he was hastening. 
 
 Just as we came in view of the wished for village, and as 
 the alarmed coachman was considering the aspect of a tor- 
 rent which impeded his progress, a large tree fell imme- 
 diately before the horses' heads, while another came down 
 with a crash behind, and thus left us almost in the bed of a 
 roaring flood, increasing every instant. At this new obstacle, 
 the poor old coachman, who had been gradually losing the
 
 PIVARONE. 193 
 
 few ideas he possessed, "completely lost all presence of 
 mind, and letting the reins fall in an agony of despair, he 
 jumped from his seat, and with his hands clasped, and up- 
 turned eyes, began an " ave Maria." 
 
 It was not to the influence of Latin prayers that I attributed 
 the merciful interposition of that divine hand which watched 
 over and protected us during this scene of peril; but it was 
 by that Providence that we were forcibly, as it were, 
 detained just in the spot where we had been blocked up, 
 for it was comparatively sheltered, and there we were com- 
 pelled to remain until the subsiding rain permitted some of 
 the villagers to see us. In the course of half an hour the 
 torrent, which had been chiefly formed by the deluge of 
 rain during the storm, began to diminish. As it subsided, 
 the villagers flocked out, and, provided with poles to feel their 
 way, several of them undertook to come to our assistance. 
 The tree was soon cut out of the way, and with the aid of 
 a coachman, who appeared to have rather more skill and 
 presence of mind than our own, we passed the torrent, and 
 arrived in a few minutes in the village, with which we had 
 been so long tantalized. 
 
 A respectable looking old man with a bottle of wine in 
 his hand, came to the carriage, and insisted on our partak- 
 ing of it as an antidote to the cold and wet, and his cordial 
 manner, in addition to the disinterestedness of the men who 
 had aided us to reach the village, and who positively refused 
 to receive any compensation for the valuable service they 
 had rendered us, convinced us that our acquaintance at the 
 inn knew but little of the characters of those people she 
 despised and feared. It effectually proved the justice of 
 the old rule to " believe only half what we hear," for though 
 her account of the storm was fully verified, she was certainly 
 not correct in her judgment of the characters of her conn'
 
 194 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 trymen. We may, however, say in her justification, that 
 we had observed a marked difference in the country as well 
 as the population, from the time we emerged from the 
 Vallee D'Aost, and her account was perhaps not intended to 
 apply to the village of Pivarone, in which we then were. 
 
 A slight examination of the only inn in the village, which 
 presented an aspect of woful desolation and discomfort, 
 together with the kind and cordial manner of the old gentle- 
 man, who had accosted us while in the carriage, and still 
 remained near us, induced us to accept his hospitable offer 
 of receiving us for the night. 
 
 " My house is but a poor one," he said, " but you will 
 have, at least, a shelter from the storm, and a kind and hearty 
 welcome." 
 
 Without farther hesitation, we followed him to his house, 
 though in the first glance, there was little else than his frank 
 welcome to recommend it. 
 
 A fat rosy little woman, whom he introduced as his wife, 
 though her juvenile appearance would have announced her 
 to be his daughter, took me by the hand at the door, and 
 led me to a seat in the middle of the room, where we entered, 
 and the appearance of which was so very extraordinary, 
 that a slight sketch of it may not be uninteresting to you. 
 
 There was just light enough in the apartment to render 
 "darkness visible," and it was with some difficulty that we 
 groped our way to our allotted seats, over the rough, 
 unpaved floor, unpaved even with bricks or stones, for it 
 was neither more nor less than the naked earth, beaten into 
 a hard and uneven surface. Upon this floor were gambol- 
 ling whole nests of kittens and cats, dogs and puppies, and 
 little children, who appeared to be the best friends in the 
 world. Two or three stout young men were walking about 
 the room, and a delicate and rather pretty looking woman,
 
 THE CHEVALIER LEONE. 195 
 
 who was called a sister-in-law of the family, was seated 
 upon a sort of sofa, with a fan and snuff-box, evidently 
 playing the fine lady. The man, who had conducted us 
 over the torrent, was in attendance behind her chair, and as 
 we learned, was her servant. Two young Catholic priests, 
 in ' their black gowns, were likewise present, and from 
 their ease and familiarity, we soon judged formed part 
 of the family. A good-natured, slip-shod woman servant, 
 who appeared to be the only domestic of the house, 
 flourished about, laughing and talking at the highest pitch 
 of her voice, and apparently giving as many orders to her 
 mistress, as she received from her. 
 
 All these things we saw by the light of two or three 
 tallow candles, which were soon brought in, for it was quite 
 too dark before, to form any opinion of these good people. 
 
 A long consultation between the mistress and the maid, 
 ended in a proposition to conduct us up stairs, where we 
 had the promise of private rooms for a dry toilette, of which 
 we all stood in need after our exposure to the storm, and 
 we were preceded with much ceremony up a sort of ladder 
 which served for a stairway. This appeared the more 
 strange, as there was an ample stairway of stone leading 
 nearly in the same direction, and landing in the same pas- 
 sage where our ladder terminated; but for some reason, best 
 known to themselves, they had preferred the ladder. When 
 we at length arrived on the second floor, we were not a 
 little surprised at being conducted quite in state from one 
 room to another, until we had passed through five large 
 apartments, high pitched and airy, with vaulted ceilings, 
 and enormous windows and doors. The furniture of one 
 of these rooms bore marks of former grandeur, for the walls 
 were tapestried with crimson damask, and the bed curtains 
 were of the same rich material, while on the cornice above,
 
 196 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 still waved the white plumes that are seen in the chambers 
 of princes. The walls of all these apartments were hung 
 with old fashioned paintings, and coats of arms and heraldic 
 devices were pointed out with no little pride by the master 
 of the house, who now announced himself as the chevalier 
 Leone, and who led the way through the rooms, though 
 every step was accompanied with an apology for having 
 nothing better to offer. 
 
 We had hardly time to make the desired change in our 
 garments, and to assemble our little group around a blazing 
 fire in one of the chambers, when all the family, one after 
 another, the priests among the rest, flocked into the room, 
 where they all sat until supper was announced. We then 
 descended to the supper room, which we found to be 
 the same we had first entered. The ample board was 
 spread with excellent fare, fish, flesh and fowl, vegetables 
 and fruit, cakes and compotes, and all manner of ct ceterus, 
 were accompanied with a variety of excellent wines, which 
 all the company appeared to find to their taste, particularly 
 the two young priests, who swallowed glass after glass of 
 the sparkling Malvoisie, until one of them appeared to be 
 considerably inspired, and began in a sort of improvisatore 
 strain, to relate stories, much to the amusement of the com- 
 pany. 
 
 We could not enter into the merit of his tales, not at all 
 understanding the barbarous patois, and but imperfectly th*e 
 soft and flowing Italian, in which he alternately spoke, but 
 they seemed highly diverting to the family, particularly the 
 maid servant, who stood behind him, giving him an occa- 
 sional slap on the shoulder, or a playful and encouraging 
 pull by the ear, as she found the story amusing and agreeable. 
 
 Our excellent host was too polite long to permit any di- 
 version to the members of his own family, in which his
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 197 
 
 guests could not participate. He gently withdrew their 
 attention from the improvisatore stories of the young priest, 
 and related some of his own adventures during the early 
 part of his life, which soon absorbed the attention of his 
 hearers. The flower of his youth, he told us, was spent 
 in the army, and several years in the service of Napoleon. 
 During this period of his eventful history, he had been 
 taken prisoner by the Austrians, and eighteen long and 
 weary years of captivity had been his hard lot. In addition 
 to the outlines of his own history, he gave us a more de- 
 tailed account of that of a young officer of Napoleon's army, 
 which was so full of romantic interest, that though I may 
 run some risk of mistakes in repeating it, asl cannot under- 
 take to give it in the patois French of our host, I must still 
 ask permission to translate for you in my own way. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 
 
 The eighteenth century had just terminated its dark and 
 stormy career, and a new era, illuminated by the " rising 
 sun of Napoleon," began to dawn on the world. Already 
 had that genius and valour been displayed, which had 
 awakened the enthusiasm of his own nation, and had not 
 only aroused the jealousies of all Europe, but even the 
 haughtiness of Oriental Rulers had been humbled before 
 him, and the mysterious and stately monuments of Egyp- 
 tian pride had witnessed the terror of his arms. The sud- 
 den return of the conqueror from his campaign in the east, 
 though unexpected, as undesired, by the Directoire Fran- 
 pai's, was hailed with apparent enthusiasm by all classes of 
 la grande nation, and the peals of the merry bells, the 
 brilliancy of the fire works and illuminations, the splendour 
 of ihe fetes that awaited his appearance in the metropolis,
 
 198 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 bore testimony to the delirium of joy that agitated the pub- 
 lic mind. But though again, after a long and perilous cam- 
 paign, restored to his home and friends, an innate contempt 
 of the forms of fashionable society, united to a deep and 
 settled policy, often deprived the brilliant circles of the capi- 
 tal of their eagerly expected guest. Absorbed, apparently, 
 in literary or scientific pursuits, the gay throng in vain 
 awaited his arrival at the theatre, the salon, or the ball 
 room. He came not, nor was any apology or explanation 
 offered to justify his absence. At this period it may be 
 easily imagined that the amiable Josephine was the cyno- 
 sure of all eyes. Though already anticipating the splendid 
 destiny, which a mysterious prophecy had, in her youth, 
 partly revealed to her, no pride or hauteur was ever awa- 
 kened by it in her gentle heart; and, followed, admired, 
 caressed, beloved by all, she received the homage which 
 her august partner so unceremoniously declined. To the 
 charm of a kind and affable deportment, was added the at- 
 traction of taste, elegance and luxury, and the salons of the 
 future empress were, even at that time, thronged with the 
 elite of the gay, the literary, and the fashionable world. 
 
 It was at one of these receptions, more than usually bril- 
 liant and crowded, that two young officers, who had made 
 their easy and graceful entre exchanged compliments with 
 their numerous acquaintance throughout the rooms. They 
 then retreated behind a group of savans, assembled around 
 a collection of rich and curious specimens of oriental art, 
 and antiques that defied even the experienced eye of Volney, 
 and the criticism of the accomplished daughter of Neckar, 
 apparently with the design of conversing together, without 
 the restraint which a large and splendid circle necessarily 
 imposed. 
 
 " Thou art apparently a favourite here, de Beaufort,"
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 199 
 
 said one of these young gallants to his companion, who 
 seemed somewhat his senior in years as well as rank, and 
 whose frank and manly bearing accorded well with his fine 
 person and military dress. 
 
 " If I am indeed so fortunate, Alphonse," he replied 
 with a smile, " it is a happiness easily attained, and one 
 which I am persuaded will sooner or later be the lot of 
 my young friend. It is only necessary to sacrifice in 
 some degree that delicate brilliancy of complexion, which 
 is indeed too effeminate for our bold calling; with a 
 trusty toledo in the land of the Moslem, to return resolutely 
 the blows dealt by the yataghan of the Mameluke, and 
 to receive, in the stead of a superior officer, such a mark of 
 courtesy as this." As he spoke, he passed his hand 
 slightly through the dark locks that clustered around his 
 noble forehead, (which still retained its original fairness, 
 though the rest of his handsome features had received a 
 tinge from a warmer sun than that which lightens the skies 
 of " la belle France") and revealed on the temple a small 
 but deep scar. " Did it not savour too much of boast- 
 ing," he continued, " I might recommend to your notice, 
 too, the crooked blade which bestowed the favour on me, 
 and which is now passing from hand to hand, among these 
 savans near us, who seem to have forgotten the levity 
 with which they were treated among the pyramids, when, 
 as soon as an attack was threatened, the exclamation was, 
 ' Put the asses and the savans in the middle.' But let 
 us turn to a more congenial theme," he added gaily, " I 
 have a thousand questions to ask about old friends and" 
 
 " And young ones, doubtless, also," said his youthful 
 companion, laughing as he finished the sentence for him. 
 " The Egyptian campaign cannot surely have banished the 
 recollection of the beautiful Estelle" A slight glance of re-
 
 200 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 proachful warning was the only reply of de Beaufort to his 
 volatile companion, for at this instant a newly arrived group 
 appeared in the apartment, and the two young friends joined 
 the throng, who pressed forward to offer the homage of 
 their respect to the persons of whom this group was com- 
 posed. 
 
 It would be difficult to imagine a greater contrast than 
 these persons presented. A tall and gaunt, yet stately look- 
 ing man, on whose head had already descended the snows 
 of age, and whose rigid features and heavy brow betokened 
 rather more than the firmness they usually indicate, ad- 
 vanced into the apartment, and on his bony arm gently 
 reposed that of a young girl, whose loveliness and grace 
 might well claim for her the title so recently bestowed on 
 her by Alphonse de Montalais, of "the beautiful Estelle." 
 It was not, however, the rare union of a complexion of 
 almost dazzling fairness with the soft dark eyes of a 
 warmer clime, the exquisitely moulded features, the "ver- 
 meil tinctured lip, and tresses like the morn," and the sym- 
 metrical loveliness of her person, that imparted to Estelle 
 St. Helene the charm which all who approached her felt 
 and acknowledged. It was to the pure and gentle heart, 
 and the richly cultivated mind, which beamed through her 
 eyes, and heightened the loveliness of her varying cheek 
 with every changing thought, that the fascination might 
 rather be attributed. To the "rose of England," which 
 she inherited from her mother, had been added, both by 
 nature and education, those solid virtues and attainments, 
 which, when united to the brilliant graces of the French 
 capital, are always irresistible. 
 
 Close in attendance upon this singularly contrasted pair, 
 and apparently an attache to their party, came a young 
 man, whose face and mien were almost as remarkable as
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 201 
 
 those of the two personages who immediately preceded him. 
 His bearing and address denoted gentle birth and breeding, 
 yet his person was ungainly; his smile resembled rather the 
 sneer of the " Corsair" than that of the carpet knight; and 
 there was something in the glance of his piercing eye that 
 startled while it riveted the attention of the observer. 
 There was a degree of watchful jealousy in the attentions 
 he from time to time bestowed upon the fair Estelle, which 
 seemed to be a source of as much annoyance to her, as of 
 complacent approbation on the part of her stern companion. 
 The trio made their progress through the apartments, inter- 
 rupted at every step by the homage of the large and brilliant 
 assembly, and at length approached the group behind 
 which de Beaufort and his friend had retreated before they 
 were withdrawn by this new attraction. 
 
 The sabre which he had commended to the notice of de 
 Montalais was now in the hands of a virtuoso, who was so 
 intent on the examination of its embossed and jewelled 
 handle, that he forgot the position of the crooked blade, and 
 by a slight movement of his hand, the keen edge came in 
 contact with the fair arm of the youthful beauty, who was 
 standing near, unconscious of her danger. The exclama- 
 tions of surprise and terror that echoed round first awa- 
 kened the virtuoso to a sense of the mischief he had perpe- 
 trated, and in despair at the discovery, he expressed a 
 thousand regrets; but the care with which the extent of the 
 injury was instantly concealed by the thick folds of a cache- 
 mire, and the gentle smile which responded to his voluble 
 apologies, assured him, more than words could have done, 
 that he was forgiven. De Beaufort, who saw the move- 
 ment, and sprang forward to arrest the hand of the luckless 
 virtuoso, removed the weapon to a more secure place, but, 
 lingering for an instant under this pretext, he found an op- 
 II
 
 202 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 portunity of saying, in a tone so low that none but the 
 most acute observer could have divined the import of his 
 words, " Is it an omen of good or of evil, that what hath 
 been aimed at the heart of de Beaufort, should also have 
 wounded Estelle?" Softly as these words were uttered, 
 they were caught by the listening ear of the watchful 
 attache, though they were noticed only by a basilisk side- 
 glance; but the deep blush, which suffused the cheek of the 
 lovely being to whom they were addressed, and the down- 
 cast expression of her starry eyes, told him that neither the 
 words nor the half suppressed sigh, which accompanied 
 them, had been unheard by her. 
 
 The accident, which had occurred, afforded her haughty 
 protector an excuse for abridging a visit seemingly made 
 with reluctance, and in less than an hour after their en- 
 trance, they were sought for in vain, they had left the 
 brilliant scene. 
 
 " Beautiful as ever, and gentle as beautiful!" exclaimed 
 de Beaufort, as he threw himself on the coach seat by the 
 side of his youthful companion, after giving the brief order 
 of " k 1'hotel," to his domestics. 
 
 " And lovely in character as in person," added de Mon- 
 talais, as if continuing the train of thought awakened in 
 the mind of his friend. "It were surely a deed of noble 
 daring to rescue this angelic being from the iron grasp of 
 such a guardian as the old Comte Grimaldi, and an action 
 yet more meritorious to redeem her from the frightful thral- 
 dom with which she is threatened in falling into the clutches 
 of his detestable nephew. I marvel, that she withers not 
 beneath the glance of d'Arnauld, as a rose of our fair clime 
 would perish in the scorching rays of an Egyptain sun. 
 But women, even the loveliest and the best, have their
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 203 
 
 caprices, and the world says, that the fair Estelle is ere long 
 to become the bride of d'Arnauld." 
 
 " Estelle St. Helene the bride of d'Arnauld !" repeated 
 de Beaufort, who had been roused by the last words of his 
 companion from the deep reverie into which he had fallen. 
 " Never, Alphonso! never!" he added yet more energetically. 
 " They may force her into a convent as the only asylum 
 where she can be secure from their persecution, they may 
 rob her of the fair heritage left her by her noble father, 
 but orphan, and unprotected as she is, save by those whose 
 courtesies are to her what the breath of the simoom is to 
 the traveller in the eastern desert, she has received an 
 inheritance more precious than the world's gold, in a spirit 
 that would never brook such an indignity, or could not sur- 
 vive it. No! The hand of Estelle will never be bestowed 
 on mortal man unaccompanied by her heart." De Mon- 
 talais shook his head and smiled. 
 
 " Miracles as great," he said, " have been wrought by 
 
 hands less skilful, and hearts less daring." He was 
 
 interrupted by his friend, who suddenly grasped his arm, 
 while the flashing light of a lamp that streamed for an 
 instant through the coach window, betrayed the emotion 
 which agitated his fine features. 
 
 " Forgive me, Alphonse," he said, at length, " if I have 
 interrupted you rather rudely. This is a theme on which 
 the slightest approach to levity offends my ear and wounds 
 my heart. You have often reproached me with the mys- 
 terious concealment which marks all my communications 
 on this subject, nor do I feel assured that I am right in 
 speaking with less reserve at present; yet, from a friend so 
 kind and so discreet, I can withhold nothing. Know then, 
 that the troth of Estelle St. Helene has long since been 
 plighted to me, and that her father's blessing sealed the
 
 04 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 precious gift. My brain would turn if I were to attempt a 
 relation of all the circumstances which have led to our pre- 
 sent estrangement. The machinations and artifices, which 
 have been employed for this purpose, have taxed to the 
 utmost the iron inflexibility of Grimaldi, and the subtle 
 ingenuity of d'Arnauld. Yet I fear them not, and were I 
 convinced that the heart of Estelle is still mine, no human 
 malice, no earthly power should snatch her from me." 
 
 " If there is aught in the testimony of ' a thousand blush- 
 ing apparitions' that flitted over her fair face as her eye 
 encountered yours," said de Montalais, who had lislened 
 with the deepest interest to the communication of his friend, 
 " you would be unjust to doubt it. But why," he con- 
 tinued, " do you not immediately resolve these doubts by 
 explanations that could not fail to be satisfactory? It would 
 be difficult to persuade me that the eloquence of Eugene 
 de Beaufort could fail in such a cause." 
 
 " Briefly," replied de Beaufort, " because it is impossible. 
 To-morrow's sun will find me on my way to the Rhine, 
 and though 1 have, at present, the prospect of a speedy 
 return to the metropolis, I know not what work may be 
 carved out for me when once there, though at present my 
 purpose is merely to deliver the communications with 
 which I am charged, and which could not have been en- 
 trusted to other hands." 
 
 ' True," said de Montalais, musing, " our rude trade 
 affords but small leisure for softer and more pleasing occu- 
 pations yet perchance, a letter" 
 
 " In vain," interrupted de Beaufort hastily, " I know 
 too well from sad experience, the sleepless vigilance that 
 bars all access to so unwelcome a messenger. I must bear 
 ray present griefs as I may, until my return, which I trust
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 205 
 
 will not long be delayed; and then my destiny for good or 
 ill shall be determined, whatever it may cost me." 
 
 They passed, as he uttered these words, through the 
 porte-cochere of de Beaufort's hotel, and after exchanging 
 affectionate adieus, the two friends separated for the night. 
 
 In one of the finest of the ancient hotels of " Le Noble 
 Faubourg," a suite of apartments had been thrown open as 
 if for the reception of visitors. The rich gilding of the 
 vaulted ceilings, the size and magnificence of the mirrors 
 that covered the walls, save where rich specimens of Italian 
 art occupied a portion of the space; the draperies of crimson 
 velvet with their deep fringes of gold, and above all the costly 
 luxury of the superb carpeting and tapestry of the finest 
 Gobelin work, displayed the luxurious taste of the possessor 
 of the mansion. The evening had closed in, and the rich 
 lustres and or moulu candelabras threw their brilliant light 
 around, but the splendid apartments were still unoccupied. 
 At length, a light step approached, and the fairy form of Es- 
 telle St. Helene was reflected again and again by the bril- 
 liant mirrors around her. 
 
 With a slow and uncertain step, she passed through the 
 gorgeous suite of rooms, and paused not until she reached 
 a small apartment at the extremity. Bestowing a slight 
 glance on the delicate tapestry of folds of white satin that 
 draped the walls, and the exquisite gems of art, both in 
 painting and statuary, with which it was adorned, she ap- 
 proached the mosaic table, surmounted by a Sevres vase of 
 the rarest workmanship, filled with exotic llowers, which, 
 even more tJfan the softened moonlight lustre shed through 
 vases of alabaster, marked the boudoir. She selected from 
 among them a half blown rose, in which the faint tinge 
 rivalled her own pure cheek, and for some moments ap-
 
 206 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 peared absorbed in thought as her downcast eyes rested 
 upon it. 
 
 " Sweet rose of Provense!" at length she exclaimed, as 
 a tear fell through her long silken lashes. " How little 
 did I dream, when last I placed thy dewy blossoms in my 
 hair, that when next I saw them, they would be moistened 
 with my tears!" A slight shudder passed over her frame, 
 as the sound of a step on the marble stair-way interrupted 
 her reverie, but a transient ray of surprise as well as 
 pleasure illumined her features, when, instead of the anti- 
 cipated intruder, her father's faithful old steward, Pierre 
 Dubois, stood before her. 
 
 "Pardon me, my dear young lady," he said with a 
 respectful reverence, " for interrupting you at so unseason- 
 able an hour, and when you are probably in expectation of 
 more distinguished visitors, as these illuminated halls would 
 testify; but my duties in the metropolis are ended, and I 
 am about to return to my native land. I could not, how- 
 ever, resolve to depart, until I had seen, once more, the 
 daughter of my excellent and lamented lord. To-morrow, 
 I propose returning to the land of my fathers." 
 
 " To Switzerland!" exclaimed Estelle. " Oh my kind, I 
 had almost said, my only friend, do not desert me at such 
 a time as this; delay your departure at least a few weeks, 
 for I know not to what desperate extremity I may be driven 
 in that time!" She covered her face with her hands as she 
 spoke, and the tears fell fast through her fair and slender fin- 
 gers. Pierre stood in respectful silence, until her emotion 
 permitted her again to speak. " You see, Dubois," she said 
 at length, looking up, " how much less happy I am in this 
 magnificent prison than when, in our old chaleau of Pro- 
 ven$e, I was free as the birds and the flowers. But more 
 than this, I cannot now tell you. Let me, however, conjure
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 207 
 
 you not to leave me yet; seldom as you can gain admittance 
 to me, it is still a consolation to have you near. Promise 
 me, then, that you will remain." 
 
 " It was only on condition that I should never again apply 
 for admittance, that an entrance was granted me, this even- 
 ing," said Dubois, " and I fear my stay will avail but little, 
 my dear young lady. But I already know, perhaps, more 
 than is suspected, and I, at least, will do nothing to grieve 
 you farther. I will remain." 
 
 " Thanks! thanks, my kind friend, and now we must 
 part, lest your present visit should, indeed, for the future, 
 bar all access to me. Yet stay one moment," she added, 
 taking from her finger a costly ring. " Present this to your 
 excellent Eleanore, as a token of kind remembrance from 
 me." The old man received the jewel with respectful 
 courtesy, and kissed with reverence the fair hand that 
 extended it. In a moment more, the lovely Estelle was 
 again contemplating her Proven9e rose, in silence and alone. 
 
 A brief space of time elapsed after the departure of 
 Pierre Dubois, ere another and a more assured footstep 
 was heard on the stairway. The bright flush, that suffused 
 the cheek of Estelle, changed to an almost deadly paleness, 
 as the domestic, with ceremonious courtesy, threw wide the 
 folding doors of the farthest room, and announced the name of 
 " d'Arnauld." The first movement of the gentle solitaire 
 seemed to indicate a desire of attempting a retreat, but a 
 glance at the apartment she had left, to follow the faithful 
 Pierre, determined her to remain where she was. Such 
 an apparition was less appalling by the light of a grand 
 salon, than in the shadowy obscurity of the boudoir. Sup- 
 pressing the mingled feelings of fear and aversion which 
 rose in her heart, she received the approaching guest with
 
 208 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 dignity and grace, and the agitation she at first manifested 
 was subdued: she was composed and calm. 
 
 " May I hope," he said, as he advanced toward her, 
 ' that I am not guilty of intrusion? How fortunate I may 
 esteem myself in being admitted to these usually deserted 
 halls, blest as they now are with the presence of the fair 
 Estelle, and still happier am I in finding her thus alone!" 
 
 " The commands of the Comte Grimaldi are a guarantee 
 for both," replied Estelle, with a degree of hauteur foreign 
 to her usually gentle manner, and which was contradicted 
 by the slight tremulousness of her voice. " I possess not 
 the power, if I had the will, to contravene them." 
 
 " Most uncourteously spoken, most fair lady; am I then 
 to infer that had it depended on the will and pleasure of the 
 beauteous being before me, these apartments would have 
 been still deserted, or their chief attraction absent?" 
 
 * It would ill become me," replied Estelle, with the same 
 grave dignity that had from her first appearance marked her 
 manner, " to be wanting in courtesy to the nephew of my 
 guardian and protector; beneath his roof, the Signor 
 d'Arnauld has always assurance of welcome." 
 
 " Ay, from their august excellencies, the Comte Gri- 
 maldi and his interesting consort," returned d'Arnauld 
 with a sneer. " But the welcome of both I would willingly 
 barter, for one kind glance from the bright eyes of Estelle." 
 
 " The feeble health of the countess, and the unfortunate 
 state of her mind," said Estelle, with a slight glow of indig- 
 nation, " might protect her from the shafts of levity and 
 sarcasm. I am here but as her representative: would that 
 she could resume her place in the society, from which she 
 is debarred." 
 
 " That you might resume yours, during the approaching 
 summer, amid the shades and solitude of your chateau of
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 209 
 
 Provenge?" inquired d'Arnauld, with a penetrating glance. 
 There was an expression in his voice and eye, that accom- 
 panied the word solitude, which enkindled a crimson blush 
 on the cheek of his lovely auditress. " Happily for me, 
 however," he continued, " so barbarous a plan will not be 
 carried into execution. As soon as the health of the coun- 
 tess will admit of it, which we trust will be in a few days, 
 we shall leave this metropolis for the brighter skies of my 
 native land. The Comte will pass the summer at his Italian 
 villa." As he slowly pronounced the last words, he fixed 
 his keen eyes on the face of the fair listener, as if to watch 
 their effect, though a less penetrating observer might have 
 detected, in the start of surprise and alarm with which they 
 were received, the agitation they awakened. " When once 
 in that witching land of sunshine and of song," he still con- 
 tinued, as if he had not perceived the emotion his former 
 words produced, " what may I not hope? Cannot even 
 the obdurate heart of the beauteous Estelle be softened by 
 such enchanting influences, and this fair hand then be mine?" 
 
 " Never! signer," was the prompt response, as the fair 
 being he addressed recoiled from his touch as from a ser- 
 pent. " A broken heart would be an unworthy gift, and 
 the hand you seek is not mine to bestow. I had hoped 
 that it would not again be necessary to rend aside the veil 
 that conceals the past, to seek reasons for my rejection of 
 your suit." 
 
 " Nor does it need, loveliest, I would rather the past 
 should be for ever buried in oblivion. Reasons! what reasons 
 need be alleged for steeping the past in the waters of Lethe, 
 when the heart is as yet unbroken, and the hand has been 
 rejected!" 
 
 A flashing glance from the bright eyes of Estelle, as she 
 sprang from her seat, warned the bold lover that he had
 
 210 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 gone beyond the limits of his usual prudence. Recovering 
 herself instantly, however, she said, " this, I presume is 
 to humiliate my pride. The tale has reached my ear ere 
 now: but why should aught so idle be repeated to me?" 
 
 " Who is there to gainsay it, fair lady?" said d'Arnauld 
 with increasing audacity. " Can I not, myself, bear testi- 
 mony to unanswered messengers from the hand of Estelle 
 to Eugene de Beaufort? Is not this a proof that the world 
 will readily believe?" 
 
 "Beware, signor," said Estelle, speaking with more 
 firmness than she had hitherto been able to assume, "beware 
 how you put the world in possession of such proofs 
 mirrors sometimes betray what the wily tongue would not 
 willingly reveal. Within the porte-bouquet of those flowers, 
 but now sent me from the hand of my young kinsman, 
 Alphonse de Montalais, and which the Signor d'Arnauld 
 took from the hand of his messenger, my eye detected a 
 letter: it has disappeared, and in its fate I have read that 
 of my own, and of those which have responded to them. 
 May they not be a type of the hapless being for whom 
 they were destined? crushed destroyed by the hand that 
 might have saved and blest them!" The unbidden tears 
 sprang to her eyes as she spoke, and she turned to leave 
 the apartment. 
 
 " Stay!" exclaimed d'Arnauld, on whose dark brow the 
 portentous clouds of rage and shame had contended for 
 mastery while she was speaking; "stay!" he repeated, 
 grasping her hand, " hear me before you depart, rash girl! 
 It is time to throw aside this idle mask of flattery and deceit. 
 Ere many days have passed, you will be far from your 
 native land the sunny clime of Italy will be your home; 
 there I have friends to aid my will, priests to do my bidding, 
 gold to compass all my wishes, and hear me swear that
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 211 
 
 ere the autumn returns, Estelle St. Helene shall be the 
 bride of d'Arnauld! Remember, I am powerful; thou 
 friendless and unprotected." 
 
 " I do indeed remember it, cruel and hard-hearted man," 
 said Estelle, with a degree of energy, at which she was 
 herself surprised. " I do indeed remember it, would that 
 I could ever forget it amid these scenes of treachery and 
 persecution. But friendless and unprotected as I am, I fear 
 thee not. Thou hast wealth and menials, but I have at 
 least one friend, whose goodness is infinite, and whose 
 power will ever guard me from a fate so dreadful!" 
 
 She raised her eyes to heaven as she spoke, and such 
 was their seraphic expression, that the guilty d'Arnauld 
 shrunk with superstitious awe from their radiant loveliness, 
 and releasing her hand from his grasp, she instantly dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 " The uncertain glories of an April day" were drawing 
 rapidly to a close, when a party of horsemen, who had been 
 for many previous hours threading the gloomy mazes of the 
 Black Forest, entered the celebrated pass of the Holenthal in 
 its vicinity. The dark shadows thrown across their narrow 
 and rugged road, which wound its way on the margin of a 
 brawling stream, swelled almost to a torrent by the floods 
 of the early spring, were deepened by the enormous para- 
 pets of rock, which shot up to the distance of nearly a 
 thousand feet above, and almost met over their heads, while 
 the slight glimpse they occasionally caught of the heavens, 
 displayed a dense mass of rising clouds. The rain was 
 already pattering among the wintry leaves that had been 
 swept by the blast across their pathway, and the distant 
 thunder echoed among the surrounding hills and mountains. 
 
 The horsemen rode onward at a rapid pace, and in
 
 212 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 silence, until they emerged from the awful gloom of the 
 pass, when an exclamation of surprise and pleasure at the 
 beautiful contiast, afforded by the prospect before them, burst 
 from each lip. On one side, the mountains were crowned 
 with the remains of ancient castles, which redeemed their 
 dark and savage appearance, and invested them at once with 
 romantic interest, on the other, though still mountainous, 
 the country was apparently fertile, and finely cultivated, arid 
 their road wound its way through a rich and smiling valley 
 between: just in front, were the distant mountains of Alsace, 
 beautifully relieved against a brilliant though portenlous 
 sky, while the spires of Fribourg, particularly that of the 
 cathedral, through the Gothic network of which the sun 
 darted his departing rays, ci owned the lovely picture. 
 
 The orb soon sank beneath the horizon, and the bright 
 light of his parting smile was soon obscured by the dark 
 and threatening clouds which rose rapidly in the heavens. 
 
 Just as the young officer, who was, apparently, the 
 commander of the party, spurred his horse forward, as if to 
 encourage them to yet greater speed, ere the gathering storm 
 should spend its fury on their unsheltered heads, the noble 
 animal received a severe contusion from a sharp angle of 
 rock that projected into the path-way. The rider threw 
 himself from the saddle to examine the extent of the injury, 
 which was even greater than he had anticipated. A closer 
 scrutiny convinced him that the gallant steed could not, 
 without the greatest difficulty and danger, traverse the 
 remaining two leagues of the route. 
 
 " Here is, indeed, an unexpected obstacle to our pro- 
 gress," said de Beaufort, for, as may have been already sur- 
 mised, the young officer was no other than our hero: " What 
 is to be done under such circumstances? Dubois, my good 
 young friend, you are better acquainted with this wild region
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 213 
 
 than any one present, can you not recall to your recollection, 
 some auberge between this and Fribourg where we can 
 pass the night?" 
 
 The young man, after a moment's thought, shook his head 
 and replied in the negative. 
 
 "A shelter we must have," continued de Beaufort, "if we 
 are compelled to dispute it with the owls that are hooting 
 from the battlements of yon ruined castle. Some part of it, 
 at least, may afford protection from the rain, until you can 
 ride forward, and procure me another horse. My own 
 brave charger may perhaps limp as far as the city, unen- 
 cumbered by a rider; but for the present, I will not be guilty 
 of the inhumanity of adding my weight to the pain he now 
 suffers." : , - 
 
 " A brave soldier need have no dread of the ghosts which 
 are believed to inhabit these crumbling walls," said Dubois, 
 " for each of the castles of these regions has its appro- 
 priate spirits and legends. I think I have some remem- 
 brance of having once played hide and seek in this one, when 
 on a visit with my mother to her parents in Fribourg. Small 
 comfort, indeed, it promises," he continued, as they passed 
 through the court, and entered the ample portal. " I wish 
 it may afford you shelter, until I can execute your com- 
 mands." 
 
 He urged his horse forward as he spoke, and soon was 
 lost to view in the increasing gloom. 
 
 At any other moment, de Beaufort would have been 
 deeply interested in contemplating the rude magnificence of 
 the monument of feudal power and wealth which they were 
 now exploring. But he paused not to examine the armorial 
 bearings of the arched entrance, nor the remains of bas 
 
 O 
 
 reliefs and pilasters that adorned the facade. He passed on 
 from one roofless hall to another, until he perceived that the
 
 214 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 thick dank grass no longer waved around his feet, and, 
 looking up, discovered that the roof of this end of the build- 
 ing was still standing, and afforded a tolerable protection 
 from the rain, which now began to fall in torrents. 
 
 To a soldier, the accommodation of his horse is always 
 deemed of far more importance than his own, and a large 
 and once magnificent hall, adjoining the one in which de 
 Beaufort and his companions had found shelter, provided 
 theirs with a refuge from the storm. Without even the 
 advantage of a light, which became each moment more 
 desirable, the prospect of awaiting the return of Dubois in 
 this comfortless abode, would have awakened no small 
 degree of impatience in spirits less accustomed to hardship 
 and privation; but amid the gay and buoyant group that had 
 sought shelter within these ruined walls, the very incon- 
 veniences of their situation were subjects of merriment, and 
 jests and bon-mots enlivened the obscurity of their resting 
 place. One by one, however, the jocund voices died away, 
 and the drowsy divinity began to spread his influences 
 around: de Beaufort soon followed 4he example of his young 
 companions, and taking possession of a sort of dais, or 
 raised spot on the ruined floor, which they had laughingly 
 awarded him as the place of honour, he drew his soldier's 
 cloak around him, and the cares and fatigues of the day 
 were soon buried in oblivion. 
 
 How independent is the dreaming spirit of the rough and 
 harsh realities of corporeal existence! Bright and beautiful 
 were the visions that floated through the imagination of the 
 young soldier, as he pressed his hard and comfortless couch. 
 Can it be doubted, that the fairy form of his loved Estelle 
 gave to his sweet dream its most potent charm? 
 
 And still he slept, and longer might have dreamed, but 
 that he was partly aroused to a consciousness of his real
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 215 
 
 situation, by a singular sensation of insecurity in his posi- 
 tion, and as if the earth on which he reposed was rocking 
 beneath him. Ere he had time fully to recover himself, he 
 felt that he was sinking lower and lower, until on awaking, 
 he found, to his astonishment, that the scene around him 
 was entirely changed. His companions had all disappeared, 
 and by the light of a large lamp suspended from the ceiling, 
 which threw its broad glare around, he saw, that instead of 
 the ruined hall in which he had sought repose, he was now 
 in an ample apartment, furnished with the richest profusion. 
 Yet a strange mixture of luxury and barbarous rudeness 
 was displayed in its arrangement. Silken couches were 
 strewed with sabres and cutlasses, and the table, apparently 
 spread for a banquet, and heaped with massive silver plate, 
 was also loaded with pistols and other implements of des- 
 perate strife. 
 
 Struck with surprise at this strange phenomenon, de 
 Beaufort, now fully arbused, seized the sword, which be- 
 fore he slept he had deposited at his side, and was springing 
 to his feet, when he felt both his arms rudely pinioned by 
 unseen hands from behind. 
 
 " Not so fast, my young gallant!" said a rough deep 
 voice close to his ear. " What! is it in this uncourteous 
 manner that the visitors to our lordly castle use their hos- 
 pitable entertainers?" 
 
 " He hath left a goodly company above, that he might 
 the more quickly come into our embrace," said a voice, 
 hardly less harsh and grating than the first that had spoken. 
 " I would he had brought a few of his attendants with 
 him; our gains might have been better worth the trouble of 
 aiding his descent among us." 
 
 "Villains!" exclaimed de Beaufort, struggling in their 
 grasp, " Let go your hold, or"
 
 216 FRAGMENTS OF A. JOURNAL. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" interrupted the first speaker, drowning his 
 voice in a derisive laugh. " How bravely the young cap- 
 tive strives for his liberty! we must have help; what ho 
 Burkhardt!" 
 
 The door of an adjoining cell was thrown open, and three 
 men rushed into the apartment. With their assistance, the 
 prisoner was effectually secured. 
 
 "And now," said the facetious host, "thou may'st finish 
 thy sleep upon the silken couch on which thou art for the 
 present laid; but beware lest thou provoke us farther. Thy 
 voice in its utmost pitch cannot penetrate these walls, and 
 beside these goodly weapons, which thou seest strewed 
 around, we have other means of silencing such contumacious 
 guests." 
 
 As he spoke, he threw aside a trap door, within a few 
 feet of de Beaufort, and the sullen roar of a torrent was 
 distinctly heard beneath. 
 
 " It were as well," he continued,' " and far wiser, to 
 await our decision on thy fate, as to descend still lower in 
 our abode, where our ears would be as little annoyed by thy 
 appeals to thy sleeping companions, as they are now insen- 
 sible of their loss." 
 
 He tossed back the trap door as he spoke, and rejoined 
 his companions who were assembling around the table. 
 
 The love of life is strong in a youthful breast. Despite 
 the determined bravery of his character, de Beaufort re- 
 coiled from the dark and awful abyss that had thus been 
 suddenly revealed to him. He could no longer doubt that 
 he was in the hands of robbers, by whose ingenuity he had 
 been entrapped, as it was most probable, that the very spot 
 selected for him by his young friends, when they laid them- 
 selves down to rest, concealed the trap door by which he had 
 (Vpremled among these banditti, and it was no less certain
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 217 
 
 that he was completely in their power. Resistance could 
 only hasten the fate that he anticipated, and some faint 
 glimpse of hope might be cherished from the deep draughts 
 of wine, which his ferocious hosts now began to imbibe. 
 Their wassail was long and loud, and amid the boasts of 
 daring deeds, and hoarse laughter mingled with oaths and 
 execrations, de Beaufort's attention was suddenly arrested 
 by a sound familiar to his ear. 
 
 " Thou art a brave boaster, Grunthal," growled the 
 hoarse voice, that had first addressed de Beaufort, and 
 which belonged apparently to the chieftain of the band. 
 " But thy deeds are ignoble in comparison with mine. 
 Thou must have the benefit of distant travel and lordly 
 company, ere thou canst compare with thy commander. 
 What thinkest thou of being employed in matters of state, 
 in being bearer of despatches from the powerful Comte 
 Grimaldi to the great ones of Austria?" 
 
 De Beaufort's startled ear was now completely enchained, 
 and he listened with almost breathless attention to the 
 details of a treasonable correspondence, which, from the 
 revelations of the robber chief, appeared to be passing 
 beween the stern guardian of Estelle, and the enemies of 
 his country. 
 
 " Yes!" continued the chief, throwing a package of 
 letters on the table, " there is my patent of nobility, and what 
 is better, a bond for a thousand ducats when they are deli- 
 vered. Let me henceforth hear no more of your vain boast- 
 ing. I have surpassed ye all." 
 
 A chorus of dissonant laughter followed this harangue, 
 and again the conversation reverted to deeds of darkness 
 and of blood. The wine flowed in torrents, and the 
 sound of their revelry echoed through the vaulted roof of 
 the huge apartment. 
 15
 
 218 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 " A curse light on you, ye roaring wassailers!" yelled 
 the chief, trying to drown the voices of his companions, " the 
 noise ye make would startle the dead from their graves. I 
 marvel ye are not afraid of arousing the white spirit that 
 frightened off the fools who had their abode here ere we 
 came." 
 
 " By the saints!" said Burkhardt, who was rather more 
 overcome by the effects of the wine-cup than the rest of 
 his companions, " I would that brave spirit would now 
 appear among us; right good sport it would be to pledge it 
 in a goblet of this choice Johannisberg!" 
 
 As he spoke these words, the attention of the band was 
 suddenly drawn toward their chieftain, who started from his 
 seat. The expression of drunken levity on his face was in 
 an instant changed to one of awe-stricken terror, the fiery 
 flush of his cheek was blanched to a livid paleness, his 
 grizzled hair arose, and his eyes seemed "starting from 
 their spheres." 
 
 " There! there!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper, as 
 he pointed to the farther end of the room, " see, caitiff, 
 what thy blasphemous tongue hath conjured up!" 
 
 The eyes of the whole band were eagerly turned to a 
 distant corner of the apartment, indicated by the hand and 
 the glance of their chieftain; and to their unspeakable horror, 
 and to de Beaufort^l infinite astonishment, they beheld, 
 standing in an arched niche of the wall, a tall attenuated 
 figure, covered with long floating garments of the purest 
 white, as if clad in the vestments of the tomb. 
 
 With loud cries of terror the whole band rushed in the 
 opposite direction, stumbling over each other as they fled 
 precipitately from the subterranean apartment, leaving de 
 Beaufort alone with this strange apparition. The voices of 
 the robbers died away in the distance, and the figure emerg-
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 219 
 
 ing from the recess in which it had previously stood with- 
 out motion, and apparently without life, advanced toward 
 him. 
 
 Though almost a stranger to impressions of nervous 
 terror, yet so great had been the excitement of the last three 
 or four hours, that de Beaufort shrunk from the mysterious 
 form which now approached him. Without a word, the 
 singular shade approached the table, grasped eagerly the 
 papers, which had been thrown on it by the chieftain, 
 raised a knife from the banquet table of the wassailers, and 
 drew near him. Could it be that he had escaped death 
 from the hands of the robbers, only to meet it, in a form, 
 if possible, still more terrific? 
 
 His doubts were speadily solved by the phantom, which 
 seemed only intent on severing the bonds of the captive. 
 In an instant he was free, and with newly restored energy 
 he responded to a gentle and steady voice, which whispered 
 in his ear, " follow me!" 
 
 As one walking in his sleep, the bewildered de Beaufort 
 followed the rapid pace of his mysterious conductor. They 
 passed first through a long and narrow passage leading from 
 the niche in which the form had first been seen, and after 
 several subterranean turnings and windings, they reached 
 the deserted court and ruined entrance. The gray light of 
 morning was already beginning to dawn, and by its light he 
 perceived for the first time, that he had not been conducted 
 by an unearthly spirit, but that a living being, a tall female 
 form, stood before him. 
 
 Throwing aside quickly the floating white garment and 
 veil which had produced so supernatural an effect, she 
 appeared in the simple garb of an Alsatian peasant. 
 
 "Permit me," she said, "to offer one more testimonial 
 of my willingness to serve you, and one dearer to you than
 
 220 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 life. Take these," she continued; offering the papers she 
 had secured, when in the robbers' apartment; "they may 
 be more precious than gold, and preserve this ring," taking 
 a brilliant from her finger, "until we meet again. And 
 now, permit me to go under your escort as far as Fribourg, 
 for this haunted ground may otherwise be as fatal to me, as 
 it had nearly proved to you." 
 
 As she spoke these words, the trampling of horses was 
 heard, and de Beaufort beheld his companions rapidly 
 approaching. 
 
 The explanations and revelations that followed, it would 
 be needless to relate. They served to beguile the distance 
 that remained, and the sun was brightly gilding the lofty 
 spire of the gothic cathedral of the city, when they entered 
 its walls. 
 
 " Delay not," whispered the unknown deliverer of de 
 Beaufort, as he, with renewed thanks, bade her farewell. 
 " There is a danger which threatens the being thou lovest, 
 greater even than that thou hast so recently escaped. Fare- 
 well, and receive my blessing for thyself and her!" 
 
 A few days succeeded the events just narrated. The 
 evening was closing in, and the superb hotel of the Comte 
 Grimaldi blazed with even more than its wonted magnifi- 
 cence. But its haughty possessor entered not his own 
 splendid apartments. With a lowering brow, arid a coun- 
 tenance " sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," he 
 slowly and musingly paced the floor of a large and dimly 
 lighted library in a retired part of the hotel. 
 
 His reverie was interrupted by the entrance of a valet, 
 who approached, and with a profound reverence, presented 
 a note accompanied by a card. He then awaited, with re- 
 spectful humility, the orders of his lord
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 221 
 
 The dark brow of the Comte grew still darker as he read 
 the address presented to him. 
 
 " Admit him not;" he said, in a tone of angry decision. 
 
 The domestic bowed, and was about to withdraw, when 
 his stern lord, who had approached the dim light, that alone 
 relieved the apartment from obscurity, glanced slightly at 
 the billet he held in his hand. His cheek was blanched to 
 a degree of still greater paleness, as he read the few words 
 it contained, and hastily arresting the retreat of his valet, 
 he reversed his former order, and directed him to attend 
 the visitor to the library. A few minutes elapsed, when 
 the door was thrown open, and de Beaufort entered. 
 
 " I thought not, signor," he said, with a graceful, but 
 rather haughty reverence, " to have again intruded myself 
 into your presence after our last interview. Yet I deemed 
 it essential to your interest as well as my own happiness, 
 to seek an explanation of what deeply affects both." 
 
 " I know no explanation that is necessary on the part of 
 either;" replied Grimaldi, with an air of defiance. " The 
 order I gave for your admission, was only in consequence 
 of this note I hold in my hand, which promises some 
 important revelation." 
 
 De Beaufort suppressed the feeling of indignant pride 
 that rose in his heart and flushed his cheek. 
 
 "Your age, signor," he repliecL " alone prevents the 
 retort that was rising to my lips. The object of my visit 
 may be explained in few words. I demand an interview 
 with Estelle St. Helene, and that without delay." 
 
 Astonished at the boldness of the young officer, who thus 
 presumed to address him, Grimaldi started: his brow 
 darkened like a thunder cloud. 
 
 "It is in vain, signor, to attempt to intimidate me by a 
 lowering frown and haughty words," returned de Beaufort,
 
 222 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 with firm dignity; " know, proud Corate, thou art in my 
 power, thou darest not deny my request." 
 
 As he spoke, he drew from his breast a package of letters, 
 and approaching the lamp near which Grimaldi stood, dis- 
 played the superscription of the first to his astonished view. 
 Instantly his whole aspect was changed. As if startled by 
 some fearful apparition, his rising brow relaxed its severity, 
 his fixed gaze stared on de Beaufort as on a spectre, and he 
 exhibited the ghastly terror of a condemned criminal. 
 
 " Thy life is in my hands, as thou art now aware, Comte 
 Grimaldi," said de Beaufort, " yet thou shall find that the 
 injured may be generous. Once more, I demand an inter- 
 view with Estelle St. Helene." 
 
 Without a word of reply, the hitherto haughty Grimaldi 
 summoned an attendant, and complied with the request. 
 
 During this interview, the fair Estelle was the sole occu- 
 pant of the splendid apartments in a distant part of the 
 hotel. With anxiety and trepidation she had once more 
 obeyed the stern injunction of her guardian to repair to the 
 salons, where she was informed that he would speedily join 
 her to receive his visitors. Her cheek was paler than its 
 wont, and as she entered the rooms she cast an uncertain 
 glance around. A sigh, breathed as if to relieve a throbbing 
 heart, escaped from her lips as she advanced, and she 
 seemed to congratulat^Jierself on being alone. But soon, 
 the sound of approaching footsteps awakened in full force 
 the emotion and alarm which had for a moment been sup- 
 pressed; her varying cheek betokened the anxiety of her 
 fluttering heart. She turned, and beheld, not as she 
 had anticipated, the dreaded d'Arnauld, but Eugene de 
 Beaufort! 
 
 It would be as vain as useless to attempt to describe the 
 surprise of the lovely Estelle, or the happiness of her lover.
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 223 
 
 It will be sufficient to say, that the explanations which oc- 
 curred during their interview, left not the slightest shade on 
 the past. 
 
 " Strange," said Estelle, at length, musingly, " strange 
 indeed, was the adventure of the haunted castle, which has 
 been blest in so singular a manner to us. The ways of 
 providence are mysterious and wonderful. But did the 
 Alsatian peasant give you no clue by which you might dis- 
 cover her?" 
 
 " She gave me a token of some value," replied de Beau- 
 fort, displaying the ring entrusted, to him by his deliverer. 
 
 Estelle took the jewel from his hand. " It is impossi- 
 ble," she said, examining it attentively, " that I can be 
 mistaken; this is certainly the ring I sent by the hands of 
 my father's faithful steward to his excellent wife. They 
 are both devoted to me, and I believe would sacrifice life 
 itself in my service. I see!" she exclaimed " I under- 
 stand the mystery now! The kind Eleanor has often told 
 me, in my childhood, tales of a haunted castle of her native 
 land in the vicinity of Fribourg. Her intimate acquaint- 
 ance with all its turnings and secret doors enabled her to 
 approach the subterranean apartment of the robbers by a 
 way unknown to them, and by counterfeiting the white 
 spirit, to save you at the risk of her own life. It was doubt- 
 less through her son, the young Dubois, that she was ap- 
 prised of your danger, and secured'your escape." 
 
 " And thus," continued de Beaufort, " preserved a life 
 which would have been worthless but for" 
 
 The sweet smile on the lip of the beautiful Estelle, and 
 the gentle glance with which she raised her bright eyes to 
 his, completed, better than words could have done, the sen- 
 tence of Eugene. But suddenly the ruby lip was blanched, 
 and an expression of deadly terror succeeded the placid
 
 224 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 loveliness of her smile. As she looked up, she beheld in 
 the large mirror opposite where they stood, the form and 
 face of her dreaded persecutor, d'Arnauld. His counte- 
 nance revealed the fiendish passions of his guilty heart, as 
 he hastily unsheathed a stiletto. Another moment might 
 have been fatal to de Beaufort, but the gleam of the upraised 
 dagger flashed in his eyes from the opposing mirror, and in 
 another moment, his dastardly foe was prostrate at his feet. 
 " Take thy worthless life!" exclaimed de Beaufort, as he 
 snapped the unmanly weapon in twain, and threw the 
 pieces from him, " but depart hence, and pollute no longer 
 with thy presence an air which thou art unworthy to 
 breathe. Let me never more behold thee, lest I be tempted 
 to proclaim thee a coward and an assassin!" 
 
 To the astonishment of the brilliant circles of the metro- 
 polis, among whom surmisings had already arisen with 
 regard to the fate of the fair Estelle, instead of bestowing 
 her hand, as had been anticipated, on the nephew of her 
 haughty guardian, who had suddenly disappeared, the stern 
 Comte Grimaldi was seen occupied with preparations for 
 her union with de Beaufort. Deeds were signed, and 
 parchments delivered with surprising alacrity; and even the 
 paternal office of bestowing the fair bride on her happy 
 lover was, with seeming courtesy and willingness, assumed 
 by him. 
 
 Never had lovelier lady or more gallant knight knelt 
 before the altar; and well did the chaplet of snowy orange 
 blossoms wreathed in her auburn tresses, and the bridal veil, 
 with its transparent folds, that floated over her fair shoulders, 
 become the face and form of the beautiful Estelle. 
 
 The rite was concluded, and de Beaufort, with the arm 
 of his lovely bride gently resting on his own, was descend-
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 225 
 
 Ing the broad steps of the church, when a young officer 
 interrupted his dream of bliss, by placing a letter in his 
 hand. The radiant expression of his fine features changed 
 to one of the deepest anxiety, as he glanced at the few 
 words it contained. The cabalistic writing, which he in- 
 stantly recognised, told him but too plainly, that its con- 
 tents could not be disregarded. It allowed him hardly per- 
 mission to escort his fair bride to the elegant hotel prepared 
 for her reception. 
 
 " Bright vision of happiness, how soon hast thou fled!" 
 sighed de Beaufort, as they entered his halls. " My life! 
 my love! we must part, and that instantly; nor have I 
 even the poor privilege of saying wherefore." 
 
 " Part!" repeated Estelle with terror, " Oh, why this 
 mystery? why should the few words of that strange scroll 
 have such magic power?" 
 
 " I dare not reveal their import," said de Beaufort. " Ere 
 long it will be permitted to me to explain the cause of this 
 sudden movement, that comes as if to crush the life from 
 my heart; but now, I can only say Adieu!" 
 
 Sad, indeed, was the parting of these youthful lovers, but 
 to de Beaufort the stern decree was irresistible as fate, and 
 a few hours found him with his regiment many leagues dis- 
 tant from the Metropolis. 
 
 To a mind of keen sensibility, there is an agony in un- 
 certainty and suspense, hardly surpassed by the most terri- 
 ble reality. The mysterious haste, with which de Beaufort 
 had been summoned, convinced his bride that some great 
 enterprise of difficulty and danger was in contemplation. 
 The anguish that he manifested in parting with her plainly 
 revealed that he foresaw the uncertainty of his return. The 
 very circumstance of his concealing from her the object of 
 his journey convinced her of his danger.
 
 226 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 " I cannot endure this suspense!" she exclaimed, as she 
 paced the apartments after his departure. " Far better 
 would it be to follow, nay, to perish with him!" 
 
 From the faithful Dubois she learned, that the regiment 
 had taken the route to Dijon, and thence would proceed to 
 Lausanne. Her resolution was speedily taken. This beau- 
 tiful city, or that of Geneva would offer her a residence, in 
 which, at least her present suspense and anxiety might have 
 a more speedy termination than by remaining in the metro- 
 polis; and with her kind and trusty attendants, Dubois, and 
 his excellent Eleanore, she departed. 
 
 Arrived at Lausanne, her anxiety became yet more in- 
 tense. The sudden movement of the mighty conqueror, 
 before whom all obstacles seemed to melt away, indicated 
 his purpose of crossing the Alps at the Grand St. Bernard, 
 and it now began to be understood. The dangers, which 
 threatened his army on the Italian side of the Alps, could 
 not be concealed. 
 
 " Let us meet once more before we part for ever!" ex- 
 claimed Estelle, as her faithful attendants in vain attempted 
 to console her. " At the Hospice of St. Bernard, I may at 
 least have the sad satisfaction of again bidding him fare- 
 well!" 
 
 " The route at this season of the year is fatiguing and 
 dangerous, my dear young lady," said Pierre, "I fear much 
 that you may repent of your resolution." 
 
 He ceased, however, to oppose himself to her wishes, 
 when he witnessed her distress. 
 
 " I am almost alone in the world," she said with a sort 
 of despair, " why should I fear to perish, if I am never to 
 see him more?" 
 
 On arriving in the village at the base of the Grand St. 
 Bernard, they found that the army, in its recent departure,
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 22T 
 
 had drawn off all the means of conveyance at hand, and it 
 was impossible to procure even a guide for the whole dis- 
 lance. A peasant consented to permit the use of his mules 
 until they should arrive within a league of the Hospice, but 
 farther than that he would not go, fearing to be impressed 
 into the service. 
 
 " I have walked many a league on a far lighter errand," 
 said Estelle, " on these conditions, we will depart without 
 delay." 
 
 Pierre shook his head, but the resolution of his beloved 
 young lady triumphed. 
 
 The morning was bright and beautiful, as at the dawn of 
 day they set forth. The valleys at the base of the mountain 
 were covered with the fresh and tender green of the early 
 May, and all was smiling and beautiful; but as the little 
 cortege wound its way among the gloomy terrors of the 
 Montagnes Mortes, the aspect of the heavens changed 
 with that of the surrounding scenery. Long streams of 
 fleecy mist rolled slowly over the dark summits of the 
 mountains, and the occasional gusts of wind, that swept 
 across the steep and rugged road, indicated a speedy change 
 of weather. In vain did they use both entreaties and gold 
 to induce the sturdy peasant to accomplish the remaining 
 league of the route; his determination was inflexible, and 
 with a heavy heart, Pierre aided his beloved charge in 
 descending. 
 
 Slowly and silently, they pursued their toilsome way on 
 foot. The recent passage of the army of Napoleon had 
 rendered the road less difficult in places, where at that 
 season, without such an advantage, it would have been 
 impassable. They had accomplished nearly half of the 
 route, when^ the gathering clouds lowered, and the snow 
 began to fall around them. With his trusty iron-shod staff
 
 228 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 in hand, and his arm supporting the steps of his sinking 
 protegee, the faithful Pierre moved steadily onward. But 
 the snow began to drift across their path, and the fleecy 
 shower was rapidly concealing it from their view. 
 
 "Hasten, hasten, my dearest young lady!" he exclaimed, 
 " I have been in these Alpine wilds before now; you 
 know not the danger to which we are exposed!" 
 
 Thus exhorted, his lovely charge increased the rapidity of 
 her pace; but the violence of the wind, and the whirling 
 eddies of snow, that dazzled and blinded them, soon over- 
 whelmed both with fatigue. Breathless and exhausted, 
 they paused, and Estelle, gliding from the support of her 
 kind attendant, leaned for rest against a projecting rock. 
 
 "Do not, I beseech you, dearest lady, attempt to sit 
 there for rest," said Pierre, alarmed at the paleness of her 
 cheek, " there is more danger in rest than in the most violent 
 exertion." 
 
 But the fair being, to whom the exhortation was ad- 
 dressed, heard him not. Exhausted by fatigue, and be- 
 numbed with the penetrating cold, she sank insensible at 
 his feet. 
 
 In vain did the unhappy Pierre make the surrounding 
 rocks and mountains echo with his frantic cries for aid; 
 in vain, with his icy hands, did he endeavour to chafe her 
 marble brow. No sign of consciousness appeared. In the 
 extremity of his anguish, he alternately prayed and wept, 
 and wrung his hands 
 
 He threw himself in despair by her side, when a sudden 
 noise awoke a gleam of hope in his breast. A large dog 
 bounded over the rocky path-way, and stood at his feet. 
 
 " All hope then is not extinct," exclaimed the old man, 
 " Heaven be praised for its mercies!" 
 
 As he spoke two marronniers were seen descending the
 
 THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE. 229 
 
 mountain, and with their aid, the slight form of Estelle was 
 speedily conveyed to the Hospice. 
 
 " Where am I?" exclaimed Estelle, as with a deep sigh 
 she awoke from the state of insensibility into which she 
 had fallen. " What strains of music are those I hear?" 
 
 " Heaven be praised!" again ejaculated her kind old 
 attendant, as the tears chased each other over his furrowed 
 face; " I had feared never to hear that loved voice again. 
 But we are safe, dearest lady, we have found refuge in 
 the Hospice of St. Bernard." 
 
 " St. Bernard!" she exclaimed, " Oh Eugene!" 
 A loud burst of military music arose, as she pronounced 
 the last words. Notwithstanding the recent exhaustion she 
 had suffered, she sprang forward, and attempted to open the 
 door; but it was secured on the outside. The only win- 
 dow of the apartment opened into the front court of the 
 Hospice. She flew toward it, and, looking out, beheld the 
 formidable array of the legions of the conqueror. The tri- 
 coloured banners were waving above the heads of the 
 mighty multitude, and the sound of the trumpet was min- 
 gled with the tramp of cavalry. The eye of Estelle passed 
 quickly over the grand host, and rested on two officers near 
 the Hospice. The face of the elder was turned toward 
 her, and presented features, which, once seen, could never 
 after be forgotten. The broad pale forehead, the eagle 
 glance, the expression of the symmetrical and firmly closed 
 mouth, would have revealed to her, had she not already 
 seen him, the leading spirit of the legions around him. In 
 the younger, she instantly recognised Eugene de Beaufort. 
 " Eugene!" she exclaimed, " Oh Eugene!" 
 Her voice was lost even in the apartment, amid the clash 
 of arms and a loud burst of music. A few moments more, 
 and the mighty host had disappeared from her view!
 
 230 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 It was in the lovely month of June, 1800, as the moon 
 was rising in silvery radiance over the peaceful lake of 
 Maggiore, and ere the soft and brilliant tints of an Italian 
 sunset had faded away, that a youthful pair were seen, 
 slowly wandering through the fragrant groves of orange and 
 myrtle that adorned the picturesque gardens of Count 
 Borromeo's fairy palace. At one moment they paused to 
 contemplate the waves of the glassy lake, that sparkled in 
 the moon-beams; at another, they looked on the bright 
 foliage that adorned the Isola Madre, and again the faint 
 glow on the distant and snow-capped summit of Monte 
 Rosa, challenged their admiration. Need it be said that 
 this happy pair were Eugene de Beaufort, and his beautiful 
 bride? 
 
 Crowned with laurels, earned on the field of Marengo, he 
 had richly earned the privilege of passing* the time of the 
 armistice in this region of enchantment. 
 
 " Since that period," continued our host, " I have fre- 
 quently had tidings of my young friend, and though years 
 have since passed away, he is still blessed with all that 
 fortune and affection can give. For my own part, I 
 was, at the period to which my story refers, far less fortu- 
 nate. Imprisoned, as I before said, for the long and weary 
 space of eighteen years, I found, on my return to my home 
 and friends, many changes; my wife, as you may have 
 observed," he added, with a smile, " is young enough for 
 my daughter, and the little ones you now see gambolling 
 around me, should have been my grandchildren. My 
 troubles, however, have had, at least, one good effect, that 
 of softening my heart to the distresses of others." 
 
 To this we responded heartily and gratefully; and of this
 
 LOMBARDY. 2 3j 
 
 extraordinary scene, and still more extraordinary company, 
 we took our leave at a late hour of the night, and retired to 
 rest, which was most welcome after this day of fatigue and 
 anxiety. 
 
 At an early hour the next morning, our good host sent 
 some of his numerous household to examine the condition 
 of the road, and as they brought back a favourable report, 
 we prepared to resume our journey. A delicate attempt at 
 remuneration for the trouble we had caused, not only to the 
 attendants of our host, but several of the villagers, was dis- 
 covered, and arrested so abruptly, that we dared not press 
 it farther, and (with the exception of the frolicsome maid 
 servant, who laughingly pocketed the five-franc pieces 
 showered upon her,) our offers were declined, and we were 
 only permitted to express our gratitude for the patriarchal 
 kindness and touching hospitality of this good man. Cer- 
 tain it is, that we shall never forget the Chevalier Leone, 
 and the village of Pivarone. 
 
 We were fortunate enough at the little town of San Ger- 
 mano, to find one pair of post-horses that had been left by 
 the queen. Of these we availed ourselves, and dismissed 
 the poor old pair that had rendered us such important 
 service the day before. At the next post we could con- 
 gratulate ourselves on being out of her majesty's route, 
 and the pleasure of travelling rapidly over a smooth road, 
 with fleet horses and brisk postillions, can only be appre- 
 ciated by travellers, who had experienced as many vicissi- 
 tudes as ourselves. The change in the aspect of the coun- 
 try, was as great as that in our mode of travelling; and the 
 perfect level of the rice fields, and crops of waving maize, the 
 wide spreading and beautiful meadows, bordered by rows 
 of willows and poplars, in the lovely plains of Lombardy, 
 presented a most pleasing contrast with the mountains
 
 232 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 among which we had been wandering. These mountains, 
 though still in view, and near enough for the snow on their 
 summits to be distinctly visible, were yet at a sufficient dis- 
 tance to assume that " azure hue," so essential to render 
 them beautiful. The plain stretches out to their base, unin- 
 terrupted by the slightest rise, and it is impossible to 
 imagine a more lovely country than that through which we 
 were rapidly gliding. 
 
 Not the slightest temptation was offered to us to pause 
 at the towns of Vercelli and Novarro, through which we 
 passed on our way: they both presented an appearance of 
 poverty and decay, that was anything rather than attractive 
 or inviting. 
 
 We stopped a short time at the baths of Oleggio, which 
 we found a fine establishment, filled with visitors from all 
 nations, doubtless drawn to this charming spot by the beauty 
 as well as the salubrity of the situation. The view from the 
 gardens is unique; the snow-clad Alps on one side, and 
 the lovely valley of the Tessin on the other, melting away 
 in the distance, and the smooth blue line of its beautiful and 
 boundless horizon interrupted only by the innumerable spires 
 of churches, resembling masts on the distant ocean. 
 
 During our drive that evening, we had an opportunity of 
 judging for ourselves of Italian scenery, and the Italian sky, 
 and no description, however glowing or romantic, can equal 
 the reality. It may have been that we were particularly 
 favoured in the aspect of the heavens, as their brilliancy was 
 perhaps heightened by the purifying influences of the recent 
 storm, but it is certain that we never saw them arrayed in 
 such colours before. The sun, for several hours before he 
 disappeared, presented a silvery brightness, which might be 
 looked at without the painful effect ordinarily occasioned by 
 looking his majesty in the face. As the orb descended, he
 
 AN ITALIAN SUNSET. 333 
 
 was " shorn of his beams" by a misty veil of clouds, and 
 gradually changed from a brilliant white to a delicate rose 
 colour, which deepened until he entirely disappeared. For 
 half an hour a soft twilight succeeded, when the horizon 
 brightened, the light bluish clouds which were hovering 
 over the distant mountains assumed all the rich and varied 
 hues of the rainbow, while the sky above presented the 
 glowing and golden tints so finely portrayed in the sunset 
 pieces of Claude. The bright yellow light illuminated the 
 whole scene around, and had just faded away as we reached 
 the Lago Maggiore, on whose shore is the town of Arona, 
 where we terminated our day's journey. 
 
 16
 
 234 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 THE RfGHI. 
 
 EARLY on the brightest morning we had seen for many, 
 many days, we mounted our horses to cross the Brunig on 
 our way to Lucerne, in the hope of meeting that evening 
 with our fellow-travellers, who had pursued the more direct 
 course from Berne. The air was fresh and pure, and the 
 heavens without the slightest cloud. An involuntary sigh 
 accompanied an expression of regret that we had not been 
 favoured with this splendid day for our excursion to Lauter- 
 brunnen; but we consoled ourselves with the hope of ob- 
 taining an indemnification for our disappointment, by reach- 
 ing the Righi while it remained clear. The weather in 
 these wild regions is so uncertain, that we felt particularly 
 anxious to reach this celebrated mountain, before another 
 change should deprive us of the view from its summit. 
 
 " You cannot reach the Righi to-day," said one of our 
 guides, while remarking the effects of the first rays of the 
 rising sun upon the mountains and valleys below us, from 
 the summit of the Brunig. " What a pity!" he added 
 " we have had so few such days as this during the sum- 
 mer!" 
 
 The remark increased our anxiety to proceed; but with 
 the decided tone which those who happen to be "dressed 
 in a little brief authority" are wont to assume, the guides 
 told us we spoke of impossibilities, and we continued to 
 walk our horses over the mountain, and to remark its 
 beauties, which, though not extraordinary, are very pleas-
 
 THE RIGHI. 235 
 
 ing. As we approached its summit, we were informed by 
 our loquacious conductors that we were passing the line be- 
 tween Berne and Unterwalden. They continued to amuse 
 us with their comparison of the respective merits of the two 
 cantons, in which their opinions were exactly opposed, 
 (one being a Protestant and the other a Catholic,) during the 
 descent, where we found the road, though rugged and nar- 
 row, redeemed from its savage wildness by passing through 
 a superb forest of beech trees, which sprung from the clefts 
 of enormous masses of rocks, thickly covered with moss. 
 We enjoyed this refreshing shade until we reached the 
 auberge in the valley below. Here we stopped for a short 
 time to procure a little char-a-banc, to carry us through the 
 valley of Sarnem. This lovely spot, though perhaps less 
 known to travellers than any other part of Switzerland, 
 offers every charm that nature and fine cultivation can 
 afford. Its verdant fields are rendered yet more fertile by 
 the quiet little lake of Lungern, which occupies but a small 
 portion of the valley, and whose dimpled surface was 
 laughing in the bright morning sun. Its placid beauties 
 contrasted well with the Brunig we had just descended, 
 shutting out on that side every object but the snowy and 
 dazzling peaks of the mountains of the Oberlandt which 
 peered above it. We paused for an instant at a turn in the 
 road, to take a last view of this singular and beautiful fea- 
 ture, and then rapidly continued our route. 
 
 Our frolicsome coachman seemed inclined to favour our 
 design of travelling quickly, for he appeared to be perfectly 
 inspired by the fresh air and bright sun. He began first to 
 whistle, and then to sing in a sort of bass voice, not unlike 
 that of the cows he had doubtless been in the habit of 
 attending before being exalted to his present station; accom- 
 panying each cadence with a motion of the head, well
 
 236 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 calculated to produce the impression that he had learned 
 this gesture from the same noble source. From time to 
 time he gave a shrewd glance from the corner of his eye 
 to see how the jest was relished, when finding we were 
 almost as merry as himself, he began a sort of wild chant 
 peculiar to the mountains, and descended from his seat at 
 every little hill, more for the pleasure of dancing to his 
 music, than the charity of resting his horses. As we pro- 
 ceeded, his spirits rose higher and higher. He barked at 
 the dogs, squeaked at the pigs, baaed at the goats, squinted 
 at the girls, bowed with mock reverence to the old men 
 until his head touched the horses' tails, and saluted all the 
 old women with a peal of laughter. It is impossible to 
 conceive anything so ridiculous; especially when contrasted 
 with the grave demeanour of a respectable old domestic we 
 had brought with us from Berne, and who, seated by his 
 side on the coach box, or rather the front seat of the char, 
 was quite scandalized at the attention he attracted, and the 
 astonishment of all these various inhabitants of the valley, 
 who remained rooted to the spot where they had been 
 saluted by our Jehu, staring after him in mute wonder. It 
 was impossible not to laugh and we did laugh, as the 
 French say, " attx larmes." His merriment was, how- 
 ever, interrupted by the appearance of a fine old church, of 
 grand and imposing appearance; and as we passed through 
 the lofty portico, supported by double rows of columns of 
 fine black marble, we observed that he crossed himself with 
 an expression of deep devotion. Our tour of observation 
 was soon finished, and we departed quietly, without dis- 
 turbing the devotions of the pretty peasant girls, who with 
 uncovered heads, (probably left so for the innocent pleasure 
 of showing to the best advantage their bright locks, secured 
 by large silver bodkins ornamented with sparkling stones
 
 THE RIGHT. 337 
 
 of different colours,) were kneeling near the altar. We 
 soon accomplished the remainder of our journey to Alpnach, 
 a little village on the banks of the lake of the same name, 
 which properly is a part of the lake of Lucerne, or the four 
 forest cantons. 
 
 Having arrived at this place so much sooner than we 
 anticipated, we again indulged the hope of reaching the 
 Righi before sun-set, and lost no time in procuring a boat 
 to continue our route. The promise of additional reward 
 procured us additional oars-men, and our frail bark was 
 soon flying over the blue waters of the lake. We had 
 heard so much of the beauty of the lake of Lucerne, that 
 this part of it entirely disappointed our expectations: on 
 every side we saw nothing but high and barren mountains, 
 and the scenery is entirely too rugged to be pleasing. But 
 on emerging suddenly from the Alpnach see into the wider 
 part of the lake, as we turned the corner of a huge promon- 
 tory of rock, we found ourselves in another region. The 
 pretty little town of Kersiten was just before us: on the 
 right stood the town of Stantz; on the left rose the peaked 
 summits of Mont Pilatre; and on the opposite side of the 
 broad lake we saw the glittering spires of the capital of the 
 canton. The rugged mountains were all soon in the rear, 
 and the shores of the lake on each side presented the high- 
 est cultivation and the richest verdure. The lake was 
 tranquil as a mirror; and the beautiful scene looked even 
 more lovely reflected from its peaceful bosom, because, as 
 our old domestic said, " there the picture was varnished" 
 Even the hay-makers, in their gay costumes, lost none of 
 their picturesque effect by being seen renverses. 
 
 We glided rapidly past this pleasing scene, and soon 
 reached the town of Weggis, at the foot of the Righi. 
 Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, we determined to
 
 238 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 attempt the ascent, and our guides and horses were speedily 
 in readiness. We found less difficulty and fatigue than we 
 had anticipated, in the ascent; for the road is far better than 
 that of the mountain passes we had recently encountered in 
 the valley of Chamouni, and we yet hoped to reach the 
 summit before sun-set. High, and higher we climbed, 
 until all the mountains and lakes of Switzerland seemed to 
 be laid out below us: range after range of mountains of 
 every shade of azure appeared, until the snowy heights of 
 the mountains of the Oberlandt crowned the glorious scene. 
 Then we paused; for, it was impossible to reach the sum- 
 mit before the sun went down, and we stopped to watch 
 the beautiful effect of his last rays upon the snow-clad 
 mountains. Their dazzling whiteness was changed by 
 degrees to the purest and most beautiful rose colour; then 
 the roseate hue gave place to a ghost-like white, which 
 brought forcibly to mind the end of all living, and this was 
 succeeded by a blight and aerial blue, which faded, with the 
 approach of night, into a sober gray. We were still half a 
 league from the summit, and were yielding to the advice of 
 our guides to dismount at the auberge they pointed out to 
 us; but learning that there was another inn at the highest 
 point, we resolved to proceed. We were encouraged in 
 our determinations by the appearance of the moon, which 
 was rising in full splendour; and though the silver light 
 was too faint to give us a perfect idea of the magnificent 
 scene below, it yet added to its enchantment. Another 
 half hour brought us to the inn on the summit, where we 
 found a party of about fifty people, who were all merrily 
 engaged at supper. The comforts of this establishment 
 certainly would not have been a sufficient attraction to its 
 numerous guests, for they were " few and far between." 
 Not so, however, were the little chambers in which we 

 
 THE RIGHT. 239 
 
 were all penned up for the night; for, as they were sepa- 
 rated only by thin board partitions, the conversation of 
 those within them was only prevented from becoming 
 general by the variety of languages spoken among them. 
 It was a little babel. Just as the voices of two giggling 
 girls, which were heard after the rest were silent, had died 
 away, a tremendous wind arose, and blew with a fury that 
 threatened to carry us all off together to the foot of the 
 mountain; and the idea of being whirled like a "fe.uille 
 morte" as the French naturalist said when in the same 
 situation, " into one of the lakes below, or among the rocks 
 of the unfortunate Goldau," was certainly not the most 
 agreeable in the world. 
 
 I believe there were but few persons in the auberge who 
 closed their eyes that night; for, those who were not appre- 
 hensive for their safety, feared that the wind might bring a 
 change of weather, which would deprive them of the view 
 of the rising sun; and this idea, with the discomforts of 
 mine host's beds, was sufficient to banish " nature's sweet 
 restorer." It was with no little pleasure that we heard the 
 mountain horn announce a clear morning the signal that 
 is always given to travellers on the Righi, when the sun 
 promises to rise without clouds. After a hasty toilette, of 
 which a cloak formed the most important part, we all hur- 
 ried out to the highest point of the mountain, distant only 
 about forty or fifty feet from the auberge. The sun was 
 partially obscured by a few light clouds for some minutes, 
 but the sky above was perfectly clear, and the view entirely 
 unimpeded by mist, so that we might well felicitate our- 
 selves upon our visit to this celebrated spot, whose charms 
 can never be exaggerated nor even described. On the 
 eastern and northern side appeared innumerable mountains; 
 and the splendid chains of the Oberlandt, now of a dazzling
 
 240 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 white, rendered still more brilliant by the rays of the sun, 
 rose in stately grandeur above the azure of those nearest in 
 the picture. On the north and west, the view appeared to 
 extend to th6 ocean, or to infinity; for it seemed to have no 
 limit. The Black Forest was pointed out to us on this side, 
 and the course of the " dark rolling Danube" likewise 
 indicated. As far as the eye can reach, the mountains are 
 interspersed with lakes, of which we counted twelve, dis- 
 tinctly seen. Just at the foot of the mountain on the eastern 
 side, we had a complete view of the unfortunate valley of 
 Goldau, and the Rossberg, whose slide, many years ago, 
 buried three villages with four hundred inhabitants beneath 
 an enormous mass of earth and rocks. It is affecting even 
 at this lapse of time to view the fatal spot, and behold this 
 once beautiful and smiling valley converted into a rude 
 monument of those who perished there. Even the lake, in 
 its vicinity, is half filled up by the immense rocks that were 
 tumbled from their lofty resting place. It has been sup- 
 posed by some naturalists that the Righi is composed, like 
 the Rossberg, of a succession of strata, between each of 
 which there is a sort of slippery clay, liable to be acted on 
 by long rains, as well as internal springs. As these strata 
 are said to be upon an inclined plane, it is conjectured that 
 a part, or indeed almost the whole mountain might slide 
 off, and be precipitated into the lake of Lucerne below. 
 You will, I doubt not, felicitate us that this agreeable little 
 adventure did not occur during our visit to it, for we cer- 
 tainly had not much desire to add to the splash. 
 
 After regaling ourselves for several hours with this mag- 
 nificent view, so often denied by the clouds to travellers, 
 who sometimes wait many days on the mountain in vain, 
 we felt that we had been particularly favoured, and were 
 completely indemnified for any former disappointments.
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 241 
 
 We descended slowly on foot on the northern side, having 
 ascended on the southern, keeping in view the most serene 
 part of this beautiful picture, and in a few hours were 
 reposing in the chapel of William Tell at the foot of the 
 mountain. This little chapel has nothing remarkable about 
 it, except the interest it possesses in connection with the 
 celebrated personage whose name it bears. It is said that 
 on this spot he killed the tyrant Gesler; and there are seve- 
 ral other chapels dedicated to him in this part of Switzerland. 
 However great our admiration of the heroic acts of the 
 patriot, we did not care to visit each of his chapels, and 
 satisfied ourselves with this one as a specimen. We were, 
 indeed, well content to take a chaise at the little town of 
 Kussnacht, in its vicinity, to continue our route to Lucerne; 
 for, a walk from the top of the Righi to its base, is no 
 ordinary promenade; and in the present instance, it had 
 been somewhat lengthened by our visit to the chapel, and 
 rendered more laborious by the warm rays of a vertical 
 sun. 
 
 We had not preceded more than a mile, when the chaise 
 seemed to me to move slowly, and yet move slowly, and 
 at length entirely stopped. The cause of our detention 
 was explained by the coachman, who said that the narrow 
 road was occupied by a caleche, which had been accidentally 
 broken, and that we could not proceed until it was removed 
 out of the way. We descended for a short time to facilitate 
 the operation, and were surprised to find that the caleche 
 had been occupied by two gentlemen, one of whom was an 
 old friend and acquaintance. The other I remembered well 
 having seen the evening before at the auberge on the Righi, 
 and being struck with his air, and manner, and the pensive 
 sadness which clouded his brow. The most natural arrange- 
 ment was, that we should offer them the vacant seats of our
 
 242 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 chaise, as they were, as well as ourselves, journeying to 
 Lucerne. Our friend immediately accepted the ofler, but 
 his companion, with graceful courtesy, declined it. 
 
 " You are less accustomed than I am to climbing these 
 mountains," he said with a melancholy smile to his friend. 
 " I prefer, at present, a solitary walk. Adieu!" and striking 
 into a pathway which led from the more frequented route, 
 he disappeared. 
 
 We re-entered our chaise, accompanied by our friend. 
 
 "I am rather surprised," he said, "that I should have 
 
 presented to you Lord , with whom we have just 
 
 parted, for the first time. You must have met with him 
 before in the haute societe de Paris, though he spends 
 much less of his time there than he did in his more youthful 
 days. He says, that his career of folly and dissipation was 
 arrested by a visit to these mountains, where he witnessed 
 a scene that made an indelible impression on his mind, and 
 essentially aided in changing him from the thoughtless being 
 he then was, to the sober and rational man you now behold 
 him. The excellence of his character is well known in his 
 own country; and he occasionally visits the continent, not 
 to renew the mad career in which he was once engaged, 
 but for health and recreation; and, as he says, to revisit this 
 spot, lest he should again become too much devoted to the 
 world, and that he may be reminded by it of the instability 
 of all things here below. He last evening gave me so 
 beautiful and touching a picture, that I have made a sketch 
 of it not without his approbation, however, for that would 
 b'e betraying confidence. He told me that he did not object 
 to his experience being made a beacon for others; and that 
 I had his permission to record the events of his early 
 history, with the proviso that his real name should not 
 appear."
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 243 
 
 Here our friend drew from his pocket a small manuscript, 
 which we entieated him to read for our entertainment during 
 the ride. To this he assented. 
 
 " Some of the other dramatis persons, with whom you 
 will become acquainted, during the recital I am about to 
 make," he said, " you will, I doubt not, see on your return 
 to your far distant native land, though 1 have taken the same 
 
 liberty with their names as with that of Lord , whom 
 
 you will recognize under the title of Lord de Vaux. Indeed 
 I think it most probable that you are already acquainted 
 with the charming family to whom I allude. Should you 
 find a resemblance to them in my description, I hope you 
 will inform me if my picture is accurately drawn." 
 
 Seeing the impatience with which we awaited the open- 
 ing of the manuscript, our friend dispensed with father 
 preface, and thus began: 
 
 On a bright and lovely morning in the latter end of the 
 month of June, 1806, a small char-a-banc was seen slowly 
 wending its devious way through one of the romantic valleys 
 at the base of those stupendous mountains, that rise in 
 isolated majesty on the northwestern side of the lake of 
 the four forest cantons in Switzerland. As it was traversing 
 the road that leads from the town of Schwitz to the Righi, 
 it might well be imagined that its course was directed 
 towards this regina montium, from whose summit the view 
 at sunrise has been well said to "form an epoch in one's 
 life that can never be forgotten." Whether this was the 
 design, or whether, as the slackened motion of the little 
 vehicle seemed to indicate, it was about to pause on the 
 outskirts of one of the thriving villages that dotted the 
 green and smiling valley, may perhaps be ascertained by 
 some reference to its inmates. There were four persons;
 
 244 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 three ladies, one of whom was apparently rather in the 
 wane of life, while the other two seemed to have numbered 
 hardly eighteen summers; and a young man, who was 
 evidently the guardian and escort of the party. It may be 
 perhaps as well to mention another individual, who certainly 
 thought himself the most important personage of the 
 groupe, whatever consequence other people might be dis- 
 posed to attach to his pretensions. This was an Italian 
 grey-hound, the most beautiful and diminutive of his species; 
 nestled in one corner of the little carriage, his head reposed 
 in tranquil security on the lap of the younger of the ladies, 
 while an occasional glance toward her face, seemed to invite 
 the caress often bestowed by her delicate hand. Though 
 this dainty favourite could not boast the "ears of jet, and 
 emerald eyes" of the classic and "pensive Selima," yet 
 the " velvet of his paws" might have almost rivalled her's; 
 and some reason he had to be proud of his silken coat of 
 silver gray, his snowy breast, and the soft dark lustre of his 
 gazelle-like eyes. There seemed to be a sort of mysterious 
 sympathy between this dumb companion and his lovely 
 mistress, which, however, a few minutes observation satis- 
 factorily explained; they were alike beautiful, and alike 
 dependant on the kind care of friends; for they were alike 
 mute. It has often been observed, that when several per- 
 sons are travelling in company, they are either unusually 
 communicative and gay, or particularly silent and contem- 
 plative. The latter mood seemed to possess our travellers; 
 for, during the last half hour, not a word had been spoken, 
 except an occasional exclamation of wonder or delight, as 
 each turn in the road gave them, in ever varying beauty, 
 the bright bosom of the lake of Lucerne, or the soft aerial 
 blue of the distant Alps, in contrast with the bold dark 
 outlines of the nearer Right or the Rossberg.
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 245 
 
 As the char approached the village to which its course 
 was directed, the attention of the young ladies was attracted 
 by a neat residence, in which the snug comforts of a Swiss 
 cottage were singularly blended with the embellishments of 
 English taste; and one of them exclaimed 
 
 " There is a sweet rural looking place, Henry! I think 
 that house would exactly suit our mother's taste." 
 
 "I am glad it meets with your approbation, Mary," 
 replied the young man, "as it happens to be the one I have 
 selected for your six weeks' sojourn; and if I have been 
 equally fortunate in another quarter," he added, taking his 
 mother's hand, "my frequent visits to this valley, during 
 our stay in Lucerne, will not have been fruitless. As to 
 poor little Olivia," said he, glancing toward their silent 
 companion, " she cannot well be said to have a voice in the 
 matter." 
 
 " I am sure you have done all to ensure my comfort that 
 filial duty and affection could suggest, my son," said his 
 mother, gently pressing the hand that held her's; "you 
 know I am not very fastidious: all I wish is a quiet retreat 
 during your tour through Scotland, which I hope will not 
 be delayed beyond the appointed time. It was only for 
 your gratification, my children, that I have consented to 
 wander so far from my native land, whither we must soon 
 retrace our steps. I believe I can hardly consent even to 
 revisit England before our return." 
 
 " I know not exactly what the fashionable friends we met 
 with in Florence last winter will think of our choice," said 
 the young lady. " They will, I dare say, wonder a little, 
 that we should prefer this secluded valley to the shores of 
 lake Leman's crystal tide, or the rocks of Melleirie." 
 
 " It is true," replied her brother, " that Geneva or 
 Lausanne might offer a gayer residence, yet this valley has
 
 246 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 many charms; and its vicinity to the Righi may perhaps 
 render it at some future time as popular as other places of 
 resort in Switzerland. It is certainly as pleasing as Inter- 
 lachen, which is becoming so great a favourite; and besides," 
 he added gaily, " when it is understood that Mrs. Leslie 
 and her lovely daughter are here, it will need no other 
 attractions." 
 
 " Thank you for my share of the compliment, brother," 
 said Mary. " But you have not yet suspected the cause of 
 our mother's fancy for this spot. Do you know," she 
 added, looking at her mother with an arch smile, " that I 
 begin to think her preference for the neighbourhood of the 
 lake of the forest cantons may be found in its having once 
 been the residence of William Tell. Have you never 
 heard the tradition of one of her ancestors being descended 
 from the Swiss patriot?" 
 
 " You have mistaken the cause of my preference, my 
 daughter," said Mrs. Leslie, "though it is certain that it does 
 exist. There is something sweetly soothing in the remi- 
 niscences of by-gone days, even when sad thoughts are 
 awakened by them;" and as she spoke, a shade passed over 
 her still lovely face. " I visited this spot many, many years 
 ago, when I was blessed with youth, health, happiness, 
 friends" she paused, and the unbidden tears started to her 
 eyes " yet I would not be so ungrateful as to complain," 
 she continued meekly. " I am now blessed in my children, 
 and I trust I can appreciate the beneficent tenderness of an 
 all-wise Providence." 
 
 At this instant the carriage stopped at the grille of the 
 little court in front of their new home, and the travellers 
 were saluted with much ceremony and more kindness by 
 their host and hostess, who with their only daughter, a 
 buxom and blooming lass, came forward to meet them.
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 247 
 
 Mrs. Leslie was rather surprised when the hostess addressed 
 her in very tolerable English, though with a marked accent 
 
 " You are welcome to our humble roof, lady," she said; 
 "and the more welcome, because you speak in a language 
 most dear to me. Until I had attained the age of my 
 daughter Annette there, I had heard no other. But will 
 you please to glance at the rooms we have prepared for 
 you? though simple enough, they are the best we have." 
 
 The accommodation she now displayed was far better 
 than her guests had anticipated; a neat parlor, with trelliced 
 windows, from which the grand and beautiful scenery of 
 the adjacent country was visible; a small salle-ci-manger 
 adjoining it, and two chambers above, separated only by a 
 thin partition, were all she had to offer. This was sufficient 
 for Mrs. Leslie and her two young companions; and her 
 son declined putting the family of their host to farther 
 inconvenience for his accommodation, as his stay was so 
 short. He should remain wiih them only two days, and 
 for that space of time his lodging might be in the neighbour- 
 ing auberge. The two days quickly passed away; and 
 with a few silent tears, and the tender blessing of his kind 
 mother and lovely sister, Henry departed, promising that 
 his stay should not in any event exceed six weeks. 
 
 The hours of ennui that succeeded his departure, his 
 fond friends endeavoured to alleviate by arranging their little 
 household in such a manner as to insure them a profitable, 
 if not pleasing use of the time which would elapse during 
 his absence. Books they had been careful to provide, and 
 to these, with Olivia's port-folio, and Mary's harp, which 
 at no small pains and cost had been transported to this 
 retired spot, and now formed the chief ornament of their 
 parlour, they looked for their principal sources of pleasure 
 during their brief sojourn in the valley. The time they
 
 248 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 had recently passed in Italy, had been chiefly devoted to 
 perfecting themselves in these accomplishments, for which 
 they had both at an early period of their lives manifested a 
 decided taste and the graceful and spirited sketches of 
 Olivia de Tracey, and the sweet voice and harp of Mary 
 Leslie, were not unknown among connoisseurs even in that 
 beautiful and classic land. It was not, however, a desire of 
 distinction in fashionable society that induced Mary to 
 devote several hours of each day to music; she was the 
 most devoted of daughters; her mother's health was delicate; 
 and often when her spirits were agitated or low, the soft 
 stealing melody of her daughter's loved voice would soothe 
 and calm her, and " witch the shade away." There was 
 something indeed in that voice which touched less tender 
 hearts than that of a fond mother; and few could have heard 
 its soft, rich, thrilling tones, even in speaking, far less in 
 song, without feeling convinced that its beautiful possessor 
 added ineffable sweetness of character to her more brilliant 
 charms. It was no wonder, then, that those accents should 
 have been received with pleasure, or each graceful move- 
 ment of her symmetrical form, and change of her expressive 
 and lovely face, should have been watched with the deepest 
 interest by one to whom she was almost the only earthly 
 treasure. 
 
 Three weeks had glided a-way almost imperceptibly to 
 our travellers in their quiet seclusion, when Mrs. Leslie was 
 a little startled one morning by the rather precipitate entrance 
 of her daughter into her apartment, her heightened colour 
 evidently manifesting the occurrence of something that had 
 disturbed her usual gentle equanimity. 
 
 " What has happened, my love?" said she, laying her
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 249 
 
 book down, and looking up anxiously; "have you any 
 tidings of Henry?" 
 
 "I have, dearest mother," replied Mary; "but nothing is 
 the matter do not be alarmed." 
 
 " Then why did you enter in so brusque a manner; and 
 where is his letter?" 
 
 " I have no letter, dear mother, and I am sorry I sur- 
 prised you so much; but when I inform you that the bearer 
 of my brother's message is Charles Lennox, and that he is 
 now under our roof, you will, I am sure, pardon my abrupt 
 interruption of your morning occupation." 
 
 " I shall be happy to welcome him here, my dearest 
 child," said Mrs. Leslie, rising from her seat, but exhibit- 
 ing much less surprise at the intelligence of his arrival than 
 Mary had anticipated. "I loved Charles tenderly when a 
 child, for the sake of his mother, who was my dearest 
 friend; and he had many pleasing and, indeed, winning 
 qualities as a youth. Since he left us to return to his friends 
 in England, you know I have seldom heard of him, except 
 that he passes the greater part of his time in the French 
 capital, the gayest of the gay." 
 
 " You will hardly recognise the hair-brained youth we 
 loved so much, and so often quarrelled with at home," said 
 Mary, "so much has our young kinsman improved in 
 elegance and assurance," she added in a lower voice, as 
 her mother left the room, and she turned to a mirror that 
 gave back her blushing cheek, to arrange the silken ringlets 
 which had been a little disturbed by her meeting with her 
 former friend and cousin. 
 
 When she descended to the parlour, she found her kins- 
 man engaged in earnest conversation with her mother. He 
 rose on her entrance, and gracefully offering her his seat on 
 17
 
 250 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 the sofa, continued the subject which she had apparently 
 for a moment interrupted. 
 
 "I perceive," he said, "that beautiful and mysterious 
 little being is still under your protection," glancing slightly 
 toward Olivia, who was sitting in a recessed window. 
 " May I inquire if she will return with you home?" 
 
 " I think not," said Mrs. Leslie, " if I may rely upon 
 the letters I have recently received from her connections in 
 Paris. The cloud of mystery in which she was enveloped 
 when you last saw her has been partially dispersed. She 
 is now no longer forlorn and friendless, as when she was 
 first confided to my care. By the death of a near relative, 
 she has become entitled to a considerable estate; and this 
 circumstance, with the accounts they have received of her 
 exceeding beauty, and singular talents, has determined her 
 friends, as they now call themselves, to request her speedy 
 return to them. She is devoted to her country, to the 
 memory of her parents and her brother; and I believe it 
 would give her more pleasure to wreathe a garland of immor- 
 telles for them within the precincts of Pere la Chaise, than 
 the most delightful amusement could afford to one less sad. 
 But she knows we are speaking of her." 
 
 And in truth, by that singular instinct, if it may be so 
 called, by which those who have been visited with her mis- 
 fortune, know when they are the objects of attention, Olivia 
 had perceived that she occupied their thoughts and conver- 
 sation. A slight blush tinged the almost marble hue of her 
 cheek, as she rose and glided softly from the loom. With 
 the benevolence which characterized her every action, Mrs. 
 Leslie rose and followed her, saying, as she departed, 
 
 " As Olivia has discovered that we were speaking of her, 
 it is but fair to let her know the substance of our conversa- 
 tion."
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 251 
 
 "It is indeed singular," said Charles, drawing his chair 
 nearer the sofa, doubtless for the purpose of conversing with 
 more facility with his lovely cousin, " to see such rare 
 beauty in a little moving statue. I have never seen so ex- 
 quisite a model in miniature. There is something marvel- 
 lously beautiful in the contrast of those bright dark eyes and 
 exquisitely pencilled brows, with the alabaster hue, ' if hue 
 that may be called which hue has none,' of her complexion. 
 How radiantly lovely she appeared a few minutes ago, 
 when that faint tinge of rose appeared on her cheek, like 
 the beam of the setting sun on the Alpine snow. Is it 
 possible there can be any feeling under that ordinarily quiet, 
 cold exterior?" 
 
 " It is said that Etna is covered with snow as well as 
 Mont Blanc," said Mary, smiling. " But to answer your 
 question," she added, more gravely, " Olivia has feeling 
 she is affectionate and grateful, and any marked kindness is 
 never forgotten by her. When she designates me, it is by 
 placing her hand on her heart. She loves with the simpli- 
 city of a child, and with her whole soul; and I have often 
 heard my mother express a fear, that when she is withdrawn 
 from the quiet circle in which she has hitherto moved, and 
 is thrown more into the world, the professions of its heart- 
 less votaries may be misunderstood by her, and that she 
 may form some hopeless attachment which will perhaps 
 cost her her reason or life. I am, however, answering your 
 question rather too much at length." 
 
 " Not at all," said Charles: " that may not be when you 
 are the speaker and I the listener. But you cannot surely 
 have any faith in the idea of a broken heart; trust me, that 
 is a chimera, fit only for love-sick youths to believe, until 
 they are cured of their credulity by the sober realities of 
 life. If you are so forgetful of our former friendship, and
 
 252 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 treat me with such coldness," he continued, as Mary with- 
 drew the hand he had gently imprisoned in his own, "I 
 shall be compelled to pay my devoirs at the shrine of another 
 divinity; and as this lilile Venus approaches both in beauty 
 and colouring the 'statue that enchants the world,' I think 
 I shall dedicate myself to her." 
 
 Mary shook her head 
 
 * Thoughtless as ever, Charles," she said. " But were 
 I to say anything on this subject, you might suppose me 
 jealous of the admiration which you have expressed to me 
 of this beautiful statue; and which she, with far more than 
 the ordinary ease 'with which such expressive glances are 
 understood, read in those you bestowed on her all, nay, 
 perhaps, much more than you have said to me." 
 
 The re-entrance of Mrs. Leslie at this moment arrested 
 the reply that Charles was about to make. Remarking the 
 lateness of the hour, and apologizing for his interruption 
 of their morning avocations, he took his leave, after receiving 
 a kind invitation to repeat his visits to the cottage frequently 
 during his sojourn in the valley. 
 
 It may be easily conjectured, that Charles availed himself 
 of the permission thus frankly and kindly given. Notwith- 
 standing the light and playful manner in which he conversed 
 with his lovely cousin, a deeper feeling was awakened in 
 his heart, in looking on this fair creature, whom a few years 
 before he had loved with all the enthusiasm of youthful 
 passion, and now beheld in the full bloom of beauty. With 
 the confidence, that a very handsome and rather vain cavalier 
 is apt to indulge, he had not for a moment permitted the 
 idea to cross his mind, that she was not equally well pleased 
 with the heightened grace of his manners, and improved 
 elegance of his person; and before he had traversed half 
 the distance between the cottage and his lodgings in the
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDA17. 253 
 
 village, he had formed a thousand plans for the future, over 
 all which his charming cousin should preside. It was true 
 that there was something rather too reserved in her manner 
 toward one who had formerly been her friend and playmate; 
 but that was perhaps occasioned by her instinctive percep- 
 tion of the depth of his attachment to her, or she might 
 have been offended by the familiarity with which he met 
 her after their long separation. He did not doubt, however 
 that a day would suffice for their reconciliation. In the 
 words of Cardinal Mazarine, he said, "Ze temps et moi." 
 "This shall be my motto," said Charles, as he reached 
 his door: "and if I remain in this dull region a month, I 
 shall consider the time well spent that ensures my favour 
 with a creature so gifted." 
 
 Many successive mornings found Charles a visitor at the 
 cottage, improving well, as he thought, the opportunity thus 
 allowed him of cultivating the acquaintance and good 
 opinion of its interesting inmates. His gay and lively 
 sallies amused Mrs. Leslie, while the careless playfulness 
 of his manner concealed the depth of his passion for her 
 beautiful daughter. To Olivia his attentions were un- 
 bounded: he soon learned to converse with her with perfect 
 facility, and as an avenue to her favour he neglected not to 
 cultivate the good will of her graceful little favourite, who 
 returned his caresses with interest. Mary, the ingenuous 
 and guileless Mary, was the only one of the little group 
 who harboured a suspicion of these pleasing arts. Her 
 noble nature scorned the least approach to coquetry, and 
 she wished sincerely for some suitable occasion, to dissipate 
 the impression she could not doubt her kinsman had received, 
 that he had only to ask, in order to receive her heart and 
 hand. But how was this to be done? He constantly
 
 254 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 alluded to their former childish intimacy, and as long as he 
 placed their friendship on that ground, and alluded as he 
 often did to his relationship with her, it would have been 
 prudery to refuse him the pleasure of conversing with her, 
 of accompanying her in a morning ride, or an evening pro- 
 menade in their host's neatly kept grounds, which were 
 more extensive than so small an establishment seemed to 
 warrant, and were laid out according to his ideas of English 
 taste, in which he had been much aided by Jiis good wife. 
 She had occupied many days of her youth, in planting 
 hedges on each side of gravel walks, all of which led, though 
 in various directions, from the door of the cottage to a fine 
 grove of linden trees, as fondly cherished as her blooming 
 Annette, and to which the growth of forty years had given 
 considerable stateliness. Near this grove a summer house 
 had been constructed, rather rudely it is true, as old Rudolph 
 himself was the architect, yet the framework of the building 
 signified little, while it was tapestried within, and ornament- 
 ed without by the dark green foliage and crimson blossoms 
 of the woodbine, the delicate bloom of the clematis, and 
 the silver stars and fragrant breath of the jasmine. It may 
 be easily supposed that this spot was not without its attrac- 
 tion to the inmates of the cottage, and that they often sought 
 in its refreshing shade a refuge from the rays even of the 
 declining sun. Yet Charles found some difficulty in per- 
 suading his fair cousin to spend only a few minutes with 
 him there, and observed, not without some apprehension, 
 that Mary was always happier when their interviews were 
 observed by Olivia or her mother. 
 
 " Do you not walk to-day, chere cousine," said he, as he 
 made his appearance in the parlour one morning, with his 
 usual graceful entre, and inwardly felicitating himself on
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 255 
 
 finding Mary and her harp its only occupants. " The air 
 is soft and balmy, and it is beautiful beautiful as 
 
 "What?" said Mary, colouring at the expression with 
 which the words were uttered. 
 
 " Nay, do not blush so prettily, ray sweet coz, or it will 
 destroy my argument for tempting you to walk namely, 
 the fear that your roses would wither, without fresh air. I 
 was only going to repeat the words of a witty friend, who, 
 when at a loss for some expression to signify his admiration, 
 always says, 'beautiful! as the face of a woman!' But on 
 farther reflection," he added, " I believe the sun is a little 
 too warm, and this trellised window affords a charming 
 air." Drawing a chair near to her own " d-propos of airs, 
 your harp reminds me of the land of song. Did you visit 
 Venice during your sojourn in Italy?" 
 
 "Our visit there was very brief," said Mary "we had 
 hardly time to glance at its stately palaces, or to hear the 
 song of the gondoliers, before we were hurried away. I 
 had not even time to select a chain of the delicate workman- 
 ship for which its artisans are celebrated, and for which I 
 had an especial fancy." 
 
 " A most fortunate circumstance for me," said Charles, 
 " as it emboldens me to make an offering which, for several 
 days past, I have been seeking an opportunity to present;" 
 producing at the same moment a small casket, which opened 
 with a concealed spring, as he held it towards her. It con- 
 tained two biacelets, of the rarest and most exquisite work- 
 manship, one of them a singular assemblage of gems and 
 finely wrought precious marbles, or pierres dures the other 
 formed of a number of small chains, so minute as almost 
 to require the aid of a microscope to distinguish the links, 
 the clasp being beneath a small but perfect miniature like- 
 ness of himself, to which the artist, with inimitable skill,
 
 256 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 had added many beauties, undiscernable even in the hand- 
 some original, without destroying the resemblance: the 
 miniature was surrounded with the purest brilliants. 
 
 " I think," he said, " I cannot have forgotten the size of 
 that fair and rounded arm," offering to clasp the bracelet 
 which bore his likeness on it. 
 
 Mary blushed and hesitated. " Your offering is too 
 costly, Charles. Why dicLjou not bring me a rose? I 
 should have preferred it greatly." 
 
 " Because roses will wither, fairest, and then the donor 
 might be forgotten. Is it possible, that you mean to refuse 
 so small a gratification to your friend, your old playmate, 
 your cousin?" He added, in a voice that showed his dis- 
 appointment, as she still seemed to hesitate, " you will not, 
 you cannot be so cruel!" 
 
 Mary was touched at the tone in which the last words 
 were spoken. " I meant not to wound you by my re- 
 fusal," she said; and as she spoke the fair arm was extended 
 toward him. 
 
 " You will then wear this, for my sake," said Charles, 
 " and when you look on it, think of one who offers it aa a 
 souvenir of the past; and," he added, in a lower, softer, and 
 more earnest tone, " a pledge of the future." 
 
 Mary withdrew her arm decidedly. " On those terms, 
 Charles, I cannot accept your offering and indeed I 
 have wished for some days," she paused and hesitated, 
 in extreme embarrassment, for the noble ingenuousness of 
 her nature strove wilh the bashful pride of a maiden's 
 heart. The former would have had the victory, but for 
 the entrance of Olivia, who returned at this critical moment. 
 Charles concealed his extreme vexation beneath the tone of 
 careless raillery he knew so well how to assume. 
 
 " Why this is prudery," he said, " downright, prudery,
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 257 
 
 ma copricieuse.' I have made many inquiries of one of our 
 mutual fiiends concerning you, and though I confess his 
 replies were not very satisfactory, I should at least have 
 supposed he would have given me some information re- 
 specting this new and unexpected trait in your character." 
 
 " Made inquiries concerning me?" said Mary, evidently 
 at a loss for something better to say. 
 
 " Yes, of you, sweet, blushing rose! I inquired of our 
 friend Edward Montague, whom I lately met in Paris, 
 and who had the felicity of spending some months in Flo- 
 rence during the past winter." 
 
 As he spoke, he looked with a penetrating glance at his 
 fair cousin; but Mary at that moment stooped to raise a 
 sheet of music that the air from the window had wafted 
 from it? place near her harp. 
 
 " I see," he continued, " you are determined, by your 
 cruelty, to drive me to the shrine of the little Venus." 
 
 As he spoke, he approached Olivia, and returned the 
 caress -of her favourite by joining the costly bracelets to- 
 gether and clasping them around the white and slender 
 throat of the little animal, at the same moment gently plac- 
 ing her hand on the clasp, to indicate that the offering was 
 made to her. Again, the beautiful rose tint, which had 
 attracted his admiration, gleamed brightly on her cheek, 
 she bent over her little favourite, and unclasping the gem- 
 med bracelets, examined them with fixed attention. Her 
 proficiency in painting, showed her at a glance the exquisite 
 finish of the miniature; and the gems by which it was 
 surrounded were unheeded. Could a deeper feeling lurk 
 under the expression of unqualified admiration, which ani- 
 mated her beautiful features, as she gazed upon this mar- 
 vellous work of art? Could it be that the young stranger 
 who had almost abandoned his own country for the sunny
 
 258 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 land she loved so dearly, and who brought with him from 
 the spot which she had been accustomed to regard as an 
 earthly paradise, so many graces and accomplishments, 
 had awakened a feeling in that youthful heart unknown, 
 unfelt before? This idea certainly occurred to Mary, as 
 she looked on the blushing cheek of Olivia, but Charles 
 was too much absorbed in his recent vexation to think of 
 anything else at that moment. With his usual self-posses- 
 sion, however, he took his leave, and endeavoured, by every 
 means afforded him, to dissipate the unpleasant impressions 
 he had received during his visit of the morning. 
 
 A stroll through the wild and romantic environs of the 
 village, and the exhilarating freshness of the mountain air, 
 soon restored his self-complacency. He looked on the 
 affair of the bracelet only as a momentary caprice, which 
 needed no farther explanation. The following morning 
 found him again at the cottage, apparently in one of his 
 gayest moods. Mary flattered herself that he perfectly 
 understood the explanation she desired to make of her 
 feelings toward him, and that a few hours had sufficed to 
 reconcile him to the discovery. She therefore felt more at 
 ease with him, and listened to his lively sallies with far 
 more pleasure than she had hitherto done. The absence 
 of Olivia, and her mother, who excused herself soon after 
 his arrival, as she was making up her despatches for her 
 absent son, Mary now regarded with indifference, and she 
 offered to beguile an hour, which she feared might be 
 otherwise rather dull, in playing for him some of the new 
 music with which he had furnished her on his first arrival. 
 
 " How does it happen, Charles," said Maiy, rising from 
 her harp, after striking the last chords of a fashionable 
 opera he had brought her, and resuming her silken tapestry
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 259 
 
 on which the expanding flowers and buds and tendrils were 
 beginning to rival the glories of a Flemish picture, "how 
 does it happen that you find Paris so enchanting?" 
 
 " Enchanting!" echoed diaries, in a voice of surprise; 
 " is it possible, my fair coz, that you, with all your exqui- 
 site tastes, can ask such a question? Methinks an answer 
 might be found in the charms of that divine air, whose 
 ravishing beauties still penetrate my soul through my ear, 
 and which, though now as delightful as a harp and fairy 
 touch can make it, loses nothing by being heard arnid the 
 splendours of accompanying scenery, and the rich and 
 varied harmony of the finest artistes, vocal and instrumental, 
 that Europe can afford." 
 
 " I can easily imagine, Charles," said Mary, " that you 
 may find pleasure in listening to fine music, though I think 
 your expressions are rather extravagant, and pardon me, 
 almost profane. I do not like to hear the word ' divine' 
 applied quite so often to things which appear to me un- 
 worthy of the appellation; but you have not yet satisfactorily 
 answered my question." 
 
 " I will answer it, sweet coz," replied Charles, " and as 
 much at length as you will, provided you promise not to 
 interrupt me by a homily, if I should chance to bring a few 
 divinities on the stage. I am glad, however, that our friend 
 Montague is not here. I protest his solemn air is worse 
 than any sermon you can preach, Mary; when I speak of 
 the pleasure of a gargon at Paris, he looks as cold and 
 stern as the Righi in the month of December. I fear he 
 has infected you with some of his precious ideas." 
 
 Mary blushed. " You are unjust, Charles, very unjust, 
 to one who really loves you, though he believes, that with 
 all your boasted happiness you are not happy in Paris. 
 He thinks that the life you lead there, though it may arnuse
 
 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 you for a time, will add neither to your stock of wisdom, 
 virtue, or or anything else that an honourable and up- 
 right man should endeavour to attain." 
 
 Mary paused; for at the conclusion of her speech, she 
 encountered a keen and penetrating glance from Charles, 
 whose brilliant eyes were fixed upon her with an expres- 
 sion she had never observed in them befoie. There was a 
 sarcastic and haughty curl of the lip in his half smile, that 
 gave her a feeling almost of dread. She blushed yet more 
 deeply, and bending her eyes on her work, seemed silently 
 absorbed in its progress. An unpleasant silence of a minute 
 succeeded, when Charles, in a deep, and rather subdued 
 voice, said 
 
 'I am really vastly obliged to Montague for his affec- 
 tionate solicitude; doubtless you concur with him in opi- 
 nion?" 
 
 " I!" said Mary, " oh no, I know nothing about it; you 
 have not even answered the simple question I asked you 
 this morning." 
 
 "What was it?" said Charles, resuming his usual air of 
 gaiety and thoughtlessness, " oh, I remember, you asked 
 me why I found Paris enchanting? You have so often 
 made this inquiry, or something very like it, that I believe 
 I must answer it at length. Would you like a description 
 of the life of a fashionable man, like myself, par exemple 
 for a day, or a week?" 
 
 "I will hear it for a day," returned Mary, " and then, if 
 it is sufficiently interesting, you may go on to the end of 
 the week." 
 
 " As to that matter," said Charles, " I must confess there 
 is not quite so great a variety as we generally boast of; but 
 you shall judge for yourself. Where shall the curtain rise 
 first? suppose we begin the drama at the cafe dc Paris.
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 261 
 
 Imagine a few friends in petit comite Sir Harry V., Lord 
 L., Col. C., and your humble servant taking possession of 
 one of the choicest appartcmens of this pleasantest cafe on 
 the Boulevards, at six o'clock precises; and, according to 
 our precise arrangement, meeting the sonp and salmon at 
 the door of our salle-a-manger. Then, with light hearts 
 and good appetites, sitting down to a dinner, not ordinary 
 and tavern-like, but wreathed with flowers and sparkling 
 with lights, like a Grecian feast. Imagine us enjoying all 
 the exquisite delicacies of the cuisine Francaise and the 
 ambrosial streams of purest wine not the vulgar produc- 
 tions of Oporto, Xeres, and Madeira, but the more ethe- 
 rial charms of Burgundy, Chateau-Margaux, Champagne, 
 Johannisberg, vin de Faille, Hermitage" 
 
 Mary interrupted him by laughing. " Really, Charles," 
 said she, "one would suppose from the interest you mani- 
 fest, that you were describing the fabled nectar in one or 
 the other of these favourites. But as I cannot appreciate 
 their merit?, I will, if you please, exchange them 'for a 
 little of the conversation that seasons the entertainment." 
 
 " Conversation!" said Charles; " you cannot doubt that 
 the ' feast of reason and flow of soul' could be wanting? 
 The attic salt is the only sort of which a profusion is ad- 
 missible at a French dinner. Let me see if I can give you 
 a sample:" 
 
 " Why were you not at Long Champs to-day, Lennox? 
 I should have had an opportunity of showing you my 
 divinity, the youthful and elegant Madame P.; I should 
 have enjoyed the pleasure of proving to you the favour I 
 am shown in that quarter; though I was near paying dear 
 for it to-day, by the loss of life or limb, or perhaps both, in 
 approaching too near her coupe. Centaur as I am, Wild- 
 fire actually prevented me from acknowledging the salute
 
 262 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 she gave me, by touching with her lips the tips of her rosy 
 fingers. She is certainly a nice creature a perfect amour, 
 I would lay a wager of a hundred Napoleons to a centime, 
 that she is a thousand times more lovely than your boasted 
 and beautiful Mary." 
 
 Mary started, and the eloquent blood mounted to her 
 temples. She raised her eyes for an instant, and then again 
 busied herself with her work. Charles continued silent for 
 some minutes. 
 
 " Well!" said Mary. 
 
 " Well!" repeated Charles, " you do not seem to relish 
 my description, ma belle cousine what has given so bril- 
 liant a tinge to your delicate complexion?" 
 
 " Charles," said Mary, raising her eyes, with an expres- 
 sion of sweet ingenuousness, " there are doubtless many 
 Marys to whom the epithet of 'beautiful,' would be more 
 applicable than to me. Yet I cannot help supposing it 
 probable that your friend alluded to me." 
 
 " Supposing that you have supposed rightly," said 
 Charles, half doubtingly, half playfully. 
 
 "In that case," said Mary, " I confess I should not feel 
 especially flattered by such a notice from such a quarter. 
 I could not esteem it a very great compliment to be so 
 lightly named by one, who, though he may be your friend, 
 certainly from the specimen you have given of his conver- 
 sation, has shown that he possesses not a few of the attri- 
 butes of a coxcomb." 
 
 " Most gravely and sagely spoken! Montague himself 
 could not have made a speech more solemn. I shall begin 
 again to harbour the suspicions that first raised those man- 
 tling blushes on your transparent cheek: take care that I do 
 not penetrate all your thoughts through his brilliant but 
 slight veil."
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 263 
 
 Again he paused, and again the embarrassment of his/air 
 audi tress was manifest. 
 
 " You have not finished a day yet," she said, at length, 
 " though you promised me a week in Paris, if I would 
 listen. You have not even finished your feast, but I believe 
 that has lasted long enough; let us suppose it over, and the 
 cloth removed." 
 
 " It would be most uninteresting to pursue the process that 
 far," said Charles, "for it has been many centuries since 
 that antediluvian custom, as well as the barbarous antiquity 
 of drinking toasts and healths has been exploded in Paris, 
 even if it ever existed. The bois d'allonges would cut a 
 sorry figure by the side of our polished old tables. No, no 
 we do not thus drain our cups of pleasure to the dregs; 
 we leave the feast, with all its decorations, its garlands, its 
 lights, its bronzes dores, porcelaine de Sevres, vermeil, 
 cristaux, fyc., only to exchange this for a scene still more 
 delightful for, we are never at a loss for occupation at this 
 witching hour. The opera, the theatres, Frescati's, the 
 salon, the bal a 1'ambassade or or a thousand other equally 
 attractive places, engage us for the next six or eight hours. 
 These are the hours in which a man of fashion lives, in the 
 rest of the twenty-four, he only exists. At three or four 
 in the morning, behold me au logis, where, with the aid of 
 croisees bien fermees, and protected yet more effectually 
 from the intrusion of the light by the ample folds of Lyons 
 satin, I enjoy the luxuries of a French couch, secure within 
 its graceful canopy from all that may prevent the influences 
 of that most welcome visitor Morpheus. I know not exactly 
 whether I should acknowledge my hour of rising; it is 
 indeed rather too soon for a fashionable man, but owing, I 
 presume, to early habit, I have an inveterate practice of 
 awakening precisely at eleven. In vain does Dupont don
 
 264 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 his softest pantouflles, and step with cat-like pace into my 
 chamber; he finds me invariably striking my repeater, which 
 gives me the hour of eleven. * What is the hour, Dupont?' 
 4 Onzes heures precises, Monsieur.' ' How is the weather 
 this morning?' ' Un peu orageux, Monsieur.' 'Ah! I 
 thought so; a man of fashion is a perfect barometer! Well. 
 have you read the journals this morning. what news is 
 there?' ' No sare; dat is to say yes sare; on a attrappe 
 qualre voleurs dans la rue St. Dennis, et trois dans la rue 
 St. Martin la grande revue .|nra lieu demain, et*le bal de 
 1'opera au profit cles indigens le dimanche en huit, voila 
 tout, Monsieur.' ' Why, Dupont, that is exactly what you 
 told me yesterday, whtn I asked you the same question.' 
 ' No sare; dat is to say yes sare; it is de nouvelles of dis 
 morning je vous assure parole d'honneur it is de most 
 perfect true, de most exacte verite". Mais, Monsieur, le 
 bain est pret, et le dejuner vill be ready in one petite demi 
 heurc.' The petite demi heure passed, and my tasteful 
 cabarat of Sevres and vermeil removed, I await my usual 
 visitors in my robe dc chambre brodee, and pantouffles de 
 velours. 4 Monsieur, voici, M. Le Coiffeur, M. Le Tailleur, 
 
 M. Le Gantier, M. Le Bijoutier, M. Le .' ' Bah! why 
 
 did you let all these people in? Bid them wait in the anti- 
 chamber, and send the jeweller to me.' Exit Dupont, and 
 entre M. Le Bijoutier. It would be impossible to select a 
 jewelled cane, and a chaine (/'or in less time than an hour 
 and a half. This important matter accomplished, there is 
 no leisure for the rest. I have a rendezvous aux Tuileries 
 at two, and there is barely time for the toilette. * Dismiss 
 those people in the anti-chamber, Dupont, et defend la 
 porte.' ' Yes sare dat is to say no sare dere is a gentil- 
 homme who wishes to speak wid you, Monsieur.' 'I am 
 not in, Dupont or rather I am not up. No, I believe I
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 265 
 
 am au bois de Boulogne. That will be far enough to banish 
 this intruder, I hope." Soon after I overhear the following 
 colloquy in the ante-chamber. 'Monsieur est sorti! are 
 you sure of it?' ' Oui, certainement, Monsieur, depuis 
 dix heures.' ' Oh! you must be mistaken he never rises 
 until eleven.' 'Mon dieu, Monsieur! I know, certainement 
 je suis son valet; il est sorti il est au bois de Boulogne 
 depuis dix heures, parole d'honneur, je vous assure, it is 
 de most perfect true de most exacte verite!' My visitor 
 departs, and in an hour more I am ready for the Tuileries. 
 A lounge there, a ride en verite au bois de Boulogne, and 
 a visit or two bring me again to six o'clock. Shall I give 
 you another day?" 
 
 " Thank you I believe this will do. But is this a fair 
 sample? Are all your days spent in this manner?" 
 
 " It is a fair sample, most fair coz." 
 
 " And on Sunday?" 
 
 " Oh, that makes no difference in Paris, you know; except 
 that the most delightful operas, and the most brilliant balls 
 are reserved for that day." 
 
 " And so, in this agreeable division of time, there are no 
 moments, far less hours, left for reading, reflection, corre- 
 spondence, deeds of charity, devotion " 
 
 " Stop! stop! lovely preacher; remember our compact. I 
 cannot accept a sermon in return for all my confessions." 
 
 "Well, I will not give you one; but, Charles, are there 
 no hours or moments, in which a suspicion crosses your 
 mind that all is not right, and that this is not the sort of life 
 a rational being would be content to lead?" 
 
 " An infringement on our compact again! yet I will 
 
 answer." As he spoke, a cloud passed over his brow he 
 
 pressed his hand an instant over his eyes, as if to shut out 
 
 some fearful vision, as he continued in an altered tone " I 
 
 18
 
 266 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 will acknowledge that impertinent thoughts sometimes 
 intrude on my gayest hours; that I feel as if the sword of 
 Damocles were suspended over my head; and that there 
 have been moments when I would almost have exchanged 
 my delirious pleasures, for the mortal repose of Pe re la 
 Chaise" He said these words rapidly and earnestly, and 
 an expression almost of despair usurped the place of his 
 usually gay and careless smile. " Are you answered now, 
 Mary?" 
 
 " I am, indeed; but I did not intend to give you pain. 
 One more question, and my inquisition is finished. What 
 becomes of these fashionable people, if they happen to be 
 ill? I suppose they are not exempted from all human 
 infirmities." 
 
 " No, that is very certain; indeed, I believe they are rather 
 more liable to them than you sober people. But then they 
 never permit their cares to mar the pleasures of others. In 
 this they are truly philosophical." 
 
 "I agree with them heartily, so far," said Mary; "but 
 there are moments when we have a right to expect the 
 sympathy of our friends. I think I have heard that you 
 were once ill at Paris." 
 
 " Not once only, but often. I was once attacked by the 
 grippe, in its most ferocious style; and have twice narrowly 
 escaped zfievre nerveuse." 
 
 " And did your friends manifest their concern?" 
 
 " Oh yes, certainly. It is true, I never saw them; but 
 cards were sent, pour demander; and they all congratulated 
 me on my recovery, which they had been assured was 
 almost a miracle. They took it for granted that they would 
 not be admitted, and feared to disturb me. I am not sur- 
 prised at their repugnance to a sick chamber: pah! the 
 remembrance of it is gall and wormwood. To see a gay
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 267 
 
 youth, whom one is accustomed to admire en grande cos- 
 tume, stretched out like a cadavre; but it is enough. How- 
 ever, I am unjust. Sir Harry V did call one morning, 
 
 and sent for Dupont. When he returned, I desired to know 
 what he said. ' Did he ask after my health?" ' No sare 
 yes sare, dat is to say, he desire me to inform you dat he 
 hope to see you au Champs de Mars to-morrow, as he learn 
 dat de chevaux sont arrives; de chevaux dat you import 
 from Angleterre; and dat he will parier one mille Napoleons 
 contre une centime dat his Wildfire and Selima will beat 
 Daredevil and Mary Leslie." 
 
 Mary started from her seat. " Oh, Charles, is it possi- 
 ble that you can have made such a use of my name?" 
 
 Charles threw himself on one knee, in an attitude that a 
 danseur de Vopera might have envied. 
 
 "Beauteous Mary!" he exclaimed detaining her by 
 clasping her hand within both of his, with the most graceful 
 air of supplication, while Mary, now really vexed, tried in 
 vain to escape " Fairest of saints! have I not made confes- 
 sion of all my sins even of this last, which you seem to 
 consider the most heinous? And am I to be repaid with 
 scorn, instead of receiving absolution from those lips; or 
 even a sign of the cross from this delicate hand!" kissing it 
 as he spoke. 
 
 " Charles," said Mary, now overwhelmed with confusion, 
 " why do you treat me so like a child? With all your pro- 
 fessions, you have proved that you have no respect for me. 
 Pray, let my hand go." 
 
 " I cannot, unless you promise me forgiveness, peace, 
 absolution Mary!" 
 
 "Anything, anything there is Olivia's light step; and 
 I confess I would rather even she should not see you thus 
 feigning the gallant"
 
 368 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 " Feign!" repeated Charles " but I obey. Adieu ma 
 belle!" and after imprinting another kiss on the imprisoned 
 hand, he released her, and the impatient girl flew to her 
 chamber. 
 
 Charles retraced his steps slowly and thoughtfully. This 
 last interview certainly was not very satisfactory; and to 
 add to his disquietude, he found letters on his table urging 
 his immediate return to Paris, on account of the illness of a 
 near relative. It was true that the vexation he felt was not 
 a little alleviated by the reflection, that the demise of his 
 old uncle, whom he had hardly known, would leave him 
 possession not only of a title, but a superb estate. Yet he 
 felt an invincible repugnance to leaving the valley, until he 
 should have ascertained, with perfect accuracy, the real 
 state of his beautiful kinswoman's heart. 
 
 He waited only for the decline of the summer sun, and 
 as his last rays tinged the snowy peaks of the distant Alps, 
 he again returned to the cottage, in the hope of finding its 
 inmates straying through the refreshing shade of the grove, 
 or among the secluded walks; and thus affording him the 
 opportunity, he now so ardently wished, for a perfect eclair- 
 cissement. As he had anticipated, he found the cottage 
 untenanted, and passed quickly through one of the avenues 
 to the grove. On emerging from the leafy canopy which 
 shaded and bordered the walk, he found himself within a 
 short distance of the fair object of his search; but to his 
 infinite surprise and vexation, she was not, as he had fondly 
 hoped, unattended; but was apparently listening with evident 
 pleasure, though with downcast eyes and a heightened 
 colour, to the animated conversation of another cavalier, and 
 that cavalier young, handsome, graceful, and as he knew 
 but too well, in all more important matters, a most for- 
 midable rival. For an instant, Charles lost his usual self-
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 269 
 
 possession, and the anger and jealousy that gnawed his 
 heart, were plainly manifest in his countenance; but imme- 
 diately recovering himself, he advanced with a rapid step, 
 and the exclamation of " Ha, Montague! my ancient friend 
 and comrade!" In spite of the apparent friendliness and 
 careless gaiety of the salutation, there was too much of 
 pique and mortification discernible in his air and manner, 
 to escape the observing eye of him to whom it was addressed. 
 His greeting was, however, reciprocated with perhaps less 
 of hauteur, but with a dignified, yet frank and graceful 
 courtesy, which made Charles almost ashamed of the hearti- 
 ness with which he wished his rival anywhere but in his 
 present most enviable position. He was, however, too 
 much a man of the world to permit his feelings to betray 
 him into farther indiscretion; and by the time they had 
 emerged from the grove, and joined the rest of the little 
 party in the summer house, the conversation had become 
 general and animated. As the twilight dews began to de- 
 scend, Mrs. Leslie proposed their return to the cottage; and 
 Charles, in bidding them adieu, remarked, that this was pro- 
 bably his last visit, for he should leave the valley on the 
 following day. 
 
 " To-morrow?" said Mary, with a smile. " You have 
 then forgotten the promise you exacted from Olivia and 
 myself, to make an excursion on the lake. Our good host 
 will be quite heart-broken when he hears of your determi- 
 nation; for I think he felt a peculiar anxiety to present us to 
 his brother's family on our way thither. I dare say he 
 would have no objection to an additional oar," she added, 
 glancing at Montague, who readily offered his services. 
 
 " Yes, it is true," replied Charles, who had secrectly 
 determined at all hazards to remain another day, but who 
 only desired to see if no objection would be made to his
 
 270 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 departure, " I cannot forego so great a pleasure. I shall 
 claim your promise." 
 
 Many revolving and unpleasant thoughts banished the 
 sweet influences, that are wont to " knit up the ravelled 
 sleeve of care," from the eyes of our young hero, after he 
 had retired to rest. He tossed on his sleepless pillow until 
 dawn, and then sank into a heavy slumber. He was 
 aroused by a tap at the door; and, starting up, perceived with 
 surprise, that it was near mid-day. 
 
 " You are late, my young gallant," said old Rudolph, 
 putting his good-humoured face within the door. " Our 
 party has been ready and waiting for the last hour." 
 
 Ashamed of his apparent want of gallantry, Charles 
 speedily equipped himself for the expedition, and following 
 the counsel of the host of the cottage, he arrayed himself 
 in a light, thin garb, appropriate to the season, and peculiarly 
 suitable for the severe exercise he was about to undertake. 
 He found his handsome rival again in possession of the 
 field, and inwardly upbraided himself for permitting him to 
 have even this slight advantage. 
 
 The good host had provided them with horses and another 
 guide beside himself, to traverse the distance between the 
 valley and the far-famed lake of the forest cantons, in the 
 prospect of whose charms they all anticipated so much 
 pleasure. The morning was gloriously beautiful, and the 
 pure azure of the sky was reflected in cloudless splendour 
 from the mirror-like surface of the lake, as it broke on the 
 view of the little party at a sudden turn in the road, or 
 rather the broad pathway that led to the house of Rudolph's 
 brother. This singularly constructed building, presented 
 all the grotesque variety of architecture peculiar to the 
 canton; yet its air of snugness and comfort, the goodly rows
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 271 
 
 of bee-hives that found protection beneath its broad project- 
 ing eves, the evidences of plenty revealing themselves on 
 every side, made ample amends for what might have been 
 deemed bad taste; and its rude simplicity was soon forgotten 
 in contemplating the romantic beauty of its situation. The 
 house, or chalet, if it might be called by so humble a title, 
 was placed about midway the descent of a gentle sloping 
 hill, which terminated at the water's edge; the hill, and the 
 little fields that surrounded it, were adorned with the richest 
 verdure. In front, a range of snow-clad mountains melted 
 away in the distance, and made a fine contrast with the 
 tranquil loveliness of the broad lake; while, in the rear, rose 
 an enormous rock, redeemed, however, from its savage 
 wildness by innumerable tufts of the Alpine rose, the fir 
 trees that crowned its summit, and the brilliancy of a dash- 
 ing waterfall, that soothed the ear with its pleasing though 
 monotonous sound, and was broken into a cloud of white 
 mist as it fell into the stream, that was hurrying on with its 
 tributary waters to the lake. 
 
 As soon as the approach of our little party was perceived, 
 the inhabitants of the chalet came out, with the simple 
 hospitality which has always distinguished their country, 
 to welcome them. The family, old and young, were 
 dressed in their gayest attire, the athletic young men and 
 stout blooming girls in their holiday costume the latter 
 looking still taller, from their singular yet pretty head-dress, 
 resembling a huge butterfly with its wings erected, or the 
 sails of the paper Nautilus. The good old hostess regaled 
 her guests with the most delicate of her cream cheese, the 
 freshest honey, and white bread, which last was regarded 
 as no small luxury in that wild region; and the family only 
 permitted their guests to depart, on the condition of another 
 call on their return from their excursion on the lake. The
 
 272 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 young men both offered their services as oars-men, but our 
 cavaliers declined their aid; there could, surely, they all 
 agreed, be no necessity for more than two oars, which, 
 with one spare hand, could be easily managed. 
 
 " Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows," said 
 Mary, when they had skimmed lightly over the surface for 
 nearly a league, and the fresh air and beautiful scenery had 
 inspired them all with almost equal gaiety. 
 
 * Youth on the prow," continued Montague, looking 
 towards old Rudolph, who had stationed himself there, 
 "and pleasure at the helm," he added, with a smile, resign- 
 ing his oar to Charles, whose turn it was to use it, and 
 taking his place by Mary's side. " I trust our good old 
 guide does not anticipate 'the sweeping whirlwind's sway,' 
 for he appears rather puzzled by something that he is look- 
 ing at with such intense interest.*' 
 
 In truth, the old man had laid down his oar, and was 
 looking at some distant object with fixed attention. 
 
 " I like not that frown on the brow of old Pilatre," said 
 he, looking towards that redoubtable mountain, which is 
 still regarded with a sort of superstitious awe by the simple 
 inhabitants of the country, on account of the ancient tradi- 
 tions connected with it. He pointed, as he spoke, toward 
 the peaked summits of the mountain, behind which a small 
 but very black cloud was discernible. " When he puts 
 on his cap," he added, " it is like replacing the plumed hat 
 of royalty all humbler people must hasten their departure 
 from his presence." 
 
 " I fear we shall find some difficulty in obeying the sig- 
 nal of his majesty," said Charles, " for I have been pulling 
 with might and main for the last five minutes to little pur- 
 pose. The wind has certainly changed, or at least risen; 
 for there was hardly a breath when we left the shore."
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 273 
 
 "It is too true," added their host, as he resumed his oar, 
 and exetted himself resolutely to direct the course of their 
 slight skiff to the place of their embarkation. "I fear much, 
 if this head wind continues, we may get a shower bath, if 
 nothing worse, ere yon rising cloud be past." 
 
 The breeze continued to freshen, and the sun began now 
 to be obscured by the clouds which rose with a rapidity 
 known only to those mountainous regions; long wieaths of 
 thick mist floated down the sides of Mont Pilatre, and the 
 glassy surface of the lake was broken into waves, which 
 rose higher with every blast that swept over them, until 
 they were crested with foam. Nearer and nearer the tem- 
 pest came sweeping on, and at length the red lightning 
 gleamed athwart the snowy billows, and a loud burst of 
 heaven's artillery announced its presence. The dangerous 
 situation of our little party was now manifest; and it seemed 
 in vain, that with stout arms and willing hearts, the oars- 
 men exerted their skill and strength. Their utmost efforts 
 could only prevent the boat from being driven in a direction 
 exactly contrary to their much desired haven. During this 
 trying hour, their fair companions were the chief objects of 
 their anxiety; and never did the serene loveliness of Mary's 
 character appear in a more perfect light. She neither 
 shrieked, nor fainted; and it was only by the paleness of 
 her cheek, and the compression of her beautiful lip, that 
 her full apprehension of their peril could be discerned. 
 She supported on her bosom the head of the shrinking and 
 timid Olivia, who sought, by concealing her face, to hide 
 at the same moment her terror, and the alarming scene 
 before her. At length a change, which old Rudolph had 
 anticipated, and of which he had already expressed his 
 fears, took place. The wind, which had so powerfully 
 obstructed their progress, suddenly veered, and a violent
 
 274 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 gust swept the boat with fearful velocity onward then for 
 a moment it died away. 
 
 " Now in Heaven alone is our trust," said the old man, 
 throwing down his oar in despair. " Another such blast 
 and we are inevitably dashed on yon beetling rock." 
 
 " In Heaven then be our trust," said Montague, who, 
 with the energy that superior minds are wont to exercise 
 under circumstances of difficulty and danger, had assumed 
 the command; " we are within reach of assistance if we 
 could make ourselves heard. It is not more than fifty yards 
 to the shore. I can discern even the chalet through the 
 mist." As he spoke, he raised his voice in its utmost 
 power to call its inhabitants to their aid, but in vain; its 
 tones rung like a silver-tongued trumpet to those around 
 him, but was lost amid the roaring of the storm. " The 
 mountain whistle, good Rudolph," he said hastily. 
 
 The old man replied only by placing his hand to his 
 mouth, and sending forth a sharp shrill whistle, well under- 
 stood by the hunters of the chamois amid the high Alps, 
 and which reverberated from rock to rock on the shore. 
 Almost instantaneously two men were seen bounding down 
 the slope that led from the chalet to the lake. 
 
 " My resolution is now taken," said Montague; " we 
 have only a moment left to rescue us from destruction. 
 You were once a bold and dexterous swimmer, Lennox, 
 and Rudolph has but now boasted to me of his skill. With 
 his aid you can easily support the slight form of Olivia, until 
 those hardy mountaineers come to our assistance. I will 
 myself be responsible for the safety of Miss Leslie." 
 
 " She shall not, she will not entrust herself to your 
 guidance!" exclaimed Charles, in a voice that betrayed 
 jealousy and passion, mingled with real apprehension for 
 her safety in so hazardous an experiment.
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 275 
 
 " I have saved life under circumstances of almost equal 
 peril," was the calm and laconic reply of Montague. 
 
 Charles felt an indescribable repugnance at being reminded 
 at this moment, of the time when, in their more youthful 
 days, he had been rescued from a watery grave by the 
 strong arm and dauntless heart of Edward Montague; but 
 the reminiscence awoke the better feelings of his nature. 
 He permitted Mary to resign the sinking form of Olivia to 
 his arms; while Montague, who waited only for this signal 
 of her approbation of his design, and one glance of her eye, 
 sprang with her into the foaming waves. The instant his 
 movement was perceived by the mountaineers on the shore, 
 they dashed without hesitation into the water and swam to 
 his aid; his example was speedily followed by the rest, and 
 a few minutes sufficed to bring them all in safety to the 
 land. The event proved the wisdom of Montague's coun- 
 sel; for the instant they had abandoned it, the frail bark was 
 driven by a blast, yet more violent than the first, full against 
 the projecting rock, and dashed into fragments. 
 
 Never was the hospitable kindness of the good inhabi- 
 tants of the chalet more lavishly bestowed, or more grate- 
 fully appreciated, than by those who were now so depend- 
 ent upon it. Fully two hours had elapsed, ere their good 
 hostess was convinced that their comfort had been suffi- 
 ciently secured. The buoyant spirits of youth, and their 
 happiness in having been delivered from such imminent 
 peril, soon restored their usual animation, and when they 
 all again met, their singular costume excited no little merri- 
 ment; as, habited in the peculiar dress of the canton, they 
 resembled a party equipped for a masquerade. The earnest 
 persuasions of their kind hosts, to delay their return to the 
 cottage until the next day, was graciously though decidedly 
 declined; for Mary knew too well the agonizing apprehen-
 
 276 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 sions that had agitated her fond mother's heart during their 
 protracted stay, to add to it a farther pang. The storm had 
 entirely ceased, and the dewy foliage sparkled in the light 
 of the setting sun, as they again traversed the road that led 
 to their temporary home. 
 
 Several times during their ride, Charles thought of seek- 
 ing an explanation with his fair cousin, which he well 
 knew she had often desired to make; but the formality 
 attending a request to speak with her alone, and above all 
 the very natural desire to be ignorant of that which he did 
 not wish to know, kept him silent. He flattered himself 
 in the belief that circumstances would soon occur, which 
 would place his pretensions in a far more favourable light 
 than at that moment; and before they had reached the valley, 
 his decision was made. 
 
 " Here then we part," he said, as they reached the grille 
 of the court. "It would be unkind as unmannerly in your 
 knights to intrude farther, after the fatigues and discomforts 
 of the day. Ere to-morrow's sun be risen, I shall be far, 
 far away!" 
 
 Mary hastily returned the adieux of the cavaliers, and 
 flew to the arms of her anxious parent, who clasped her 
 adored child and her loved protegee to her heart with tears 
 of pious joy and gratitude. And fervently did they offer 
 their united thanks to that Gracious Being, who had so 
 mercifully interposed to save them during the perils of the 
 past day. 
 
 Another and another week passed away, and our travel- 
 lers still lingered in their quiet seclusion. Apparently, Mon- 
 tague had found less difficulty than his rival, in persuading 
 the gentle Mary to permit him to accompany her in her 
 evening visit to their favourite withdrawing room the
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 277 
 
 summer house; for, each successive evening found them 
 there, often, it is true, accompanied by her mother and 
 Olivia; but it appeared certain, that the anxiety she had 
 formerly manifested, for their presence, during her inter- 
 views with her cousin, was far less with his envied friend, 
 than it had been with him. Indeed, no ordinary impediment 
 would have prevented Montague from availing himself of 
 the permission thus given him; and it was with a degree 
 of impatience, that made him almost overstep the bounds of 
 civility, that he found himself one evening arrested by an 
 acquaintance, who, a stranger as well as himself in the 
 valley, seemed resolutely bent on depriving him of his 
 accustomed visit, by relating all his own adventures. After 
 many ineffectual efforts, on the part of Montague, to appear 
 interested in this prosing conversation, and often " bustling 
 up with unsuccessful speed," the traveller began to suspect 
 that some more agreeable engagement might possibly have 
 awaited his tantalized auditor, and he condescended to take 
 his leave, after having inflicted himself for four mortal hours 
 on his "friend." The instant he departed, Montague 
 hastened rapidly to the cottage, but found, to his mortifica- 
 tion, the doors were closed for the night; and to his surprise, 
 his repeater sounded a quarter past eleven. It was too late 
 to request admittance; yet he could not deny himself the 
 gratification of a stroll through the grounds, by the light of 
 the moon that was now riding high in silvery brightness 
 through the Heavens, though his entrance might be deemed 
 somewhat lawless. Without much fear, however, of the 
 consequences, in case of the discovery of his trespass, he 
 sprung over the slight barrier that obstructed his entrance, 
 and wandered through the walks. He soon reached the 
 summer house; and, throwing himself on one of the rustic 
 seats, was speedily lost in a pleasing reverie, in which it
 
 278 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 may be naturally supposed, that the occupant of his thoughts 
 was the lovely being, who, in that hallowed spot, had re- 
 newed to him the vows of plighted love he had won from 
 her many months ere they had met there. It cannot be a 
 matter of surprise that, with such a subject of meditation, 
 breathing the sweet balm of dewy flowers, and gazing on 
 the resplendent beauties of a cloudless summer sky, studded 
 with countless stars, he should have been aroused from his 
 sweet reflections only by the sound of the distant village 
 bell, which tolled the hour of twelve. He rose, and was 
 departing with a slow and lingering step, when his attention 
 was attracted, and then enchained by the appearance of a 
 figure, gliding through one of the avenues that led to the 
 grove. It passed on so rapidly, that he had not time to 
 form any resolution before it had disappeared among the 
 trees. There was something so singular, so mysterious, 
 so unearthly in the gliding motion of this strange apparition, 
 and in the almost supernatural whiteness of its apparel, as 
 it gleamed in the light of the moon, and was then lost in 
 the leafy shade, that Montague felt an irresistible curiosity 
 to view it more nearly. His first impulse was to follow it 
 into the grove; but the idea crossed his rnind that it might 
 be the stratagem of some robber, who, aware of his presence, 
 desired to decoy him thither. While he hesitated, the ap- 
 parition emerged from the grove, and was apparently 
 approaching the spot where he stood. Ashamed of the 
 feeling of superstitious awe that involuntarily crept over 
 him, Montague determined to discover who, or what it was; 
 but when within a few feet of the place where he stood, it 
 turned with the same rapid, noiseless and gliding motion, 
 and in an instant had disappeared. Montague followed in 
 the same direction. He was certain that the avenue in which 
 he had lost sight of this extraordinary apparition, terminated,
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 279 
 
 after several serpentine windings, at the cottage door. He 
 pursued the same path rapidly and anxiously, knowing from 
 the thickly entwined shrubbery on each side, that the vision, 
 if a real being, which in spite of his incredulity with regard 
 to supernatural appearances he almost began to doubt, could 
 only find refuge in the cottage itself, where the avenue ter- 
 minated; but he was destined to disappointment the door 
 was closed and fastened, as when he had an hour before so 
 much desired to enter it; and he had no other resource than 
 to retrace his steps, and return to the village by the same 
 route he had pursued in entering the grounds. 
 
 It may easily be presumed, that Montague felt but little 
 inclination to sleep after this singular adventure. He vainly 
 tried to account for it upon any reasonable supposition. In 
 vain did he endeavour to trace any resemblance between the 
 stout person of Rudolph's blooming daughter on whom his 
 suspicions had at one time fallen, and the slight form, the 
 graceful, ethereal movements of the apparition he had beheld. 
 If a real being, it must have re-entered the cottage; and it 
 could have been none other than one of its inhabitants. 
 Mary, his loved, his beautiful Mary! never once crossed 
 his mind in connection with so strange a mystery; but 
 might it not have been Olivia? The face, as the vision 
 glided by him, was partly averted, and so concealed by a 
 long white veil, as to hide the features from him; yet he 
 thought he recognised the stature, and the symmetrical form, 
 and even the fair and delicate arm on which a gemmed 
 bracelet glittered in the bright moonlight, had been near 
 enough to him to challenge his attention. But then, why 
 should a being so helpless, so delicate, expose herself to the 
 night air at this unseasonable hour? What object could she 
 have had in view? Why was she thus alone; and would 
 her strange wanderings be permitted by her affectionate
 
 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 friends and guardians? All these improbabilities perplexed 
 him greatly; but he resolved, if possible, to satisfy his 
 doubts on the morrow. 
 
 As soon as a reasonable hour arrived which, from his 
 disappointment on the preceding evening, he began to think 
 would never come, so slowly did the moments pass he 
 paid a visit to the cottage. He found the little parlour 
 occupied by Mary and Olivia. It could not be imagina- 
 tion that pictured Olivia to him more delicate, and paler 
 than he had ever observed her before. A playful hint at 
 the want of gallantry, manifested in his unusual absence, 
 drew from him not only an explanation of the circumstances 
 that had caused it, but also of his moonlight adventure. 
 
 "It was indeed singular," said Mary thoughtfully; "but 
 with regard to Olivia, it is impossible that it could have 
 been herself. Her spirit, you would almost persuade me 
 it must have been; for, if you will look narrowly, you will 
 perceive beneath the folds of her muslin sleeve, the bracelet 
 which shone with so pure a lustre in the moon-beams." 
 
 Montague looked; and the shadowy outline of the arm, 
 as well as the bracelet, corresponded exactly with that of 
 the apparition of the grove. 
 
 " Why should we not ask her?" she continued. " She 
 certainly knows best, and can easily resolve our doubts." 
 
 Montague was about to interpose, but Mary had already 
 attracted Olivia's attention by a sign. 
 
 " Did you walk last evening last night, Olivia?" was 
 her first interrogatory. Olivia shook her head. 
 
 " I had a headache," was the reply. 
 
 " Where were you at midnight, last night?" 
 
 Olivia looked up with surprise; but not the slightest 
 expression of confusion appeared in her countenance not 
 the least agitation not even the slightest change of colour
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 281 
 
 betrayed any embarrassment. Apparently she fancied that 
 she had mistaken her friend's question, for she indicated a 
 wish to have it repeated. " Where were you last night, at 
 midnight?" Mary said again. 
 
 With a sweet smile of the most innocent simplicity, 
 Olivia laid her cheek on her hand, and closed her eyes. 
 " In bed and asleep," said Mary, translating her gesture. 
 
 " It is impossible to doubt the perfect truth and ingenuous- 
 ness of that lovely expression," said Montague musingly; 
 " yet it is strange, passing strange!" 
 
 " It must have been a sort of hallucination," said Mary, 
 smiling. " Perhaps you were thinking at the moment of 
 some fair lady; and this pretty ghost only appeared to show 
 you that spirits might be called, if not from the ' vasty deep,' 
 from a leafy grove, that would obey your behest. Of one 
 thing, however," she added, in a more serious tone, " we 
 may be certain that Olivia has answered us faithfully. I 
 have known her intimately, as you are aware, for many 
 years, and I have never known her to depart in the slightest 
 degree from the truth." 
 
 The gallantry of the reply to the first part of this speech 
 may well be imagined, but the latter part of it increased 
 Montague's perplexity. Yet he began to think that he had 
 permitted his imagination to dwell too much upon a matter 
 of but little concern to him; and though he naturally felt 
 much curiosity to solve this singular mystery, he resolved 
 to banish the subject entirely from his mind, which, in the 
 delightful society he was now favoured with, was no very 
 difficult matter. 
 
 " Alone and in tears!" said a well known voice, whose 
 deep rich tones were modulated to the soft cadence in which 
 a youthful lover is wont to speak, as they fall on the ear for 
 19
 
 282 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 which they are destined. " And may I not be permitted to 
 participate in this sorrow?" continued Montague, with a 
 mute but expressive acknowledgement to the fair hand that 
 extended an open letter to him, which had evidently some 
 connection with the distress he perceived. 
 
 " You will not be surprised," was the reply, " at my un- 
 happiness, when you know its cause; though it seems 
 almost like insensibility to the gifts of Divine Providence to 
 be absorbed in unpleasant meditations this lovely evening, 
 in the sweet embowering shade of this our favourite retreat, 
 and with so much to make me happy. But nay, do not 
 interrupt me while I explain my griefs to you. That letter 
 will tell you that my loved brother has been recently ex- 
 posed to great peril during a tour through the Highlands of 
 Scotland. He would fain persuade us that the injury he 
 sustained is very slight, and to relieve our anxiety, his 
 account is corroborated by a friend of our acquaintance; yet 
 he cannot disguise from us that the period of his return 
 hither is thus rendered uncertain, and our mother's anxiety 
 is almost beyond endurance. The declining health of our 
 poor Olivia, too, is a source of the greatest alarm and per- 
 plexity to us. She has drooped like a broken lily ever 
 since the departure of our young kinsman, and I cannot 
 help fearing, that she has given her unsuspecting heart in 
 return for his thoughtless gallantries. She regards him as 
 the preserver of her life, on the eventful evening of the storm 
 on the lake. She wears the beautiful miniature, he so heed- 
 lessly presented her, day and night; and so entirely am I 
 convinced of the delusion she indulges in the belief that he 
 is equally attached to her, that 1 wish much to undeceive 
 her. It is most probable, however, that she would persuade 
 herself I am mistaken, even if I were to undertake so pain- 
 ful a task. We have therefore determined to leave the dis-
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 283 
 
 covery to herself, in the hope that time and change of scene 
 may banish her present impressions. My mother's pro- 
 phetic fears," she continued, mournfully, " may be realized; 
 for I do not think my hapless friend would survive a know- 
 ledge of the truth. I may perhaps speak too freely, but I am 
 betraying no confidence; and you will, I know, appreciate 
 the motives that induce me to impart my thoughts to you." 
 It would be vain to attempt even a description of the 
 passionate eloquence, poured forth in the reply to this 
 explanation of our heroine. What a text for a chapter of 
 persuasion to abridge the long, tedious interval, destined to 
 separate him from his promised happiness! It may be 
 perhaps anticipating, to reveal the effect of his oratory; but 
 it is certain, that the interview ended by his finding that the 
 exaction of one little word, and even that one conditional, had 
 made him the happiest of men. Speeches, explanations, 
 and arrangements, sometimes occupy more time than those 
 who are engaged in them are aware of; and the bright moon 
 had poured her Hood of silvery light around, before all were 
 completed. The happy lover and his promised bride were 
 leaving the summerhouse on their return to the cottage, 
 when the aerial apparition of the preceding evening emerged 
 suddenly from the grove. With the same light, noiseless, 
 gliding motion, it advanced rapidly toward the spot where 
 they stood. The same gleaming whiteness distinguished 
 its apparel: again were the features partly concealed by a 
 long veil, which, as it floated on the summer breeze, added to 
 the supernatural appearance. Again it advanced near enough 
 for Montague to distinguish the sparkling gems that encircled 
 the delicate arm. Determined, if possible, not to be baffled, 
 as he had been when it had before crossed his path, he was 
 springing forward to intercept it, but he was arrested by the 
 supplicating voice of Mary
 
 284 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 " Stay! I entreat, I implore you stay!" she exclaimed, 
 in accents of terroi 1 , " there is far more danger than you 
 
 imagine in" A loud shriek from the shaded avenue, 
 
 whither the apparition had directed its course, interrupted 
 her farther explanation. " Seek not to know more now," 
 she said hastily. " To-morrow 1 may perhaps be able to 
 explain what appears so mysterious;" and with a rapidity 
 almost equal to that of the bright vision itself, she followed 
 its course toward the cottage. 
 
 We must now, for a short time, leave these scenes of the 
 valley, and pursue the footsteps of our young hero, who, in 
 happy ignorance of what was passing there, found himself 
 once more surrounded by the pleasures and luxuries of the 
 French capital. He was one morning reclining in graceful 
 indolence on the canape, still in the " robe de chatnbre 
 brodee, and pantouffles de velours," that he once mentioned 
 to our heroine, when the re-entrance of his valet, who had 
 apparently been charged with some commission of import- 
 ance, drew his attention from the morning journal whether 
 a journal des modes, or something of more consequence, 
 it might not be fair to say. Struck with the odd mixture 
 of real pleasure and affected sorrow, that gave to his attend- 
 ant the ludicrous expression of one of Hogarth's prints, he 
 almost anticipated the answer to his questions. 
 
 " Have you delivered my note, Dupont?" he said. 
 " Shall I be admitted this morning?" 
 
 " I bring de most triste nouvelles, mi-lord," replied the 
 valet, bowing with unwonted reverence as he uttered the 
 last word, " Monsieur, votre oncle, est mort!" 
 
 The annunciation of this expected event did not elicit any 
 very profound emotion: we will, however, do our hero the 
 justice to say, that it was received with a feeling of solem-
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 285 
 
 nity, to which a heart entirely deadened by the vanities of 
 the world, would have been a stranger. Insensibly, how- 
 ever, this feeling wore away; and, as he paced the apart- 
 ment, brighter thoughts soon rose uppermost in his mind. 
 
 " Lord de Vaux, twenty thousand a year," said he, 
 musingly. " What female heart can gold despise? espe- 
 cially when" and his eye rested involuntarily upon a 
 splendid mirror which reflected his elegant person to the 
 greatest advantage. "Mary! beauteous Mary! thou art 
 mine! How unfortunate it is, that I shall be delayed here 
 a week or perhaps longer! Something must be done in that 
 tedious interval. Who can tell what may be the conse- 
 quence of my apparent indifference?" 
 
 The next moment found him seated at his scrutoire, pen- 
 ning a rapid declaration of his passionate attachment to his 
 lovely kinswoman, with an offer of his heart, his hand, and 
 his brilliant fortune; his letter concluded with a thousand 
 regrets at being compelled to delay for a week his return to 
 " happy valley." Determined not to trust a communica- 
 tion of such importance to the uncertainty of the post, he 
 thought of some private and express conveyance, and his 
 favourite valet was speedily summoned. 
 
 " I think you have been in Switzerland, Dupont?" he 
 inquired 
 
 " Yes, mi-lord," replied the valet, with a slight shudder; 
 " I have been in dat terrible pays sauvage." 
 
 " Then, to oblige me, you cannot refuse to go again. 
 Take this letter, and depart with it immediately; deliver it 
 according to the direction. Be faithful, and your reward 
 shall be rich." 
 
 " To oblige mi-lord, certainement oui, mi-lord," said the 
 valet; the dismal expression of his countenance in the antici- 
 pation of so long a journey, and so tedious an absence from
 
 286 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 the place which he regarded as the only habitable spot in the 
 world, being somewhat dispelled by his young lord's last 
 words. " De suite, mi-lord," and with another profound 
 reverence and unusual alacrity he disappeared. 
 
 A few hours found him on the road to the place of his 
 destination; for, having twice travelled the same route in the 
 suite of an English nobleman, he was at no loss to find his 
 way. Before the week had elapsed, the important letter 
 was delivered, read and answered. The reply may be 
 easily conjectured, without being literally cited. It con- 
 tained a frank avowal of a previous attachment and engage- 
 ment on the part of the fair writer, a sincere expression of 
 regret, that her sentiments toward her kinsman had not, as 
 she had hoped and believed, been explained during his visit 
 to the valley, with the kindest appreciation of his preference, 
 and the hope that he would still retain for her the friend- 
 ship which would ever be reciprocated on her part. All 
 this was expressed in the most gracious and graceful man- 
 ner, but without leaving a shadow of a doubt with regard to 
 her sentiments. The letter was signed, sealed and delivered, 
 and in an hour after his arrival, the valet of mi-lord was on 
 his return to Paris. 
 
 But the little blind god, who seemed to take such a mali- 
 cious pleasure in baffling our hero, had prepared another 
 disappointment for him. In passing through Lucerne, the 
 faithful Dupont, unhappily for his young lord, though as 
 he deemed it happily for him, met with a pretty soubretle, 
 who had been detained, as she said, amid these mulheu- 
 reuses montaignes, by the caprice of Madame la Comtesse, 
 in whose service she was. It would have been cruel and 
 ungallant to decline her invitation to spend a day in the 
 town of Lucerne; and this day involved another and an- 
 other, Dupont still relying upon the difficulties of the route,
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 287 
 
 and an account of his " hair breadth 'scapes," which he 
 tiusted a "parole d 1 honneur" would confirm. Impatient 
 at his unexpected delay, Charles resolved not to await his 
 return; and as soon as the arrangements which had retarded 
 his departure were accomplished, he set out for the valley. 
 A few days rapid travelling brought him to Lucerne, where, 
 it may be easily foreseen, he did not meet with his attendant, 
 that worthy personage having taken good care to set out in 
 the direction by which his young lord came, as soon as he 
 heard of his arrival. It was with great impatience that 
 Charles watched the declining sun on the last evening of 
 his journey, and with no small vexation that he found it 
 entirely too late to attempt to pay a visit to the valley before 
 the next day. 
 
 The succeeding morning arose in cloudless splendour. 
 Our young hero, as soon as a reasonable hour arrived, 
 procured a guide and horses to pursue his way to the val- 
 ley. The buoyancy of his spirits was unchecked by even 
 a shadow of doubt as to his success, and the brilliancy of 
 the atmosphere corresponded well with the visions of bliss 
 that flitted through his imagination. Once, and once only, 
 as he looked on the bright bosom of the lake, he remem- 
 bered, that he had seen its placid loveliness succeeded by 
 the awful frown of the tempest; but the painful idea was 
 speedily banished, and all was again light and joy. He 
 was aroused from his pleasing meditations by his guide, 
 who, on reaching a path-way which diverged from the 
 beaten track, had made a dead halt. 
 
 " There lies the route," said Charles, who remembered 
 the spot well, indicating it by a motion of his hand, "why 
 do you not proceed?" 
 
 " Because," answered the guide, in rather a dogged tone. 
 " my good horse Wolff refuses to go farther."
 
 288 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 Charles was about to make an impatient and rather angry 
 expostulation, when his attention was attracted by the ap- 
 pearance of the animal, who had planted his feet in the 
 rocky pathway in the attitude of a mule when urged over a 
 dangerous precipice, as if with a determined resolution not 
 to move an inch farther. 
 
 " You travellers are for the most part Protestants, seig- 
 neur," said the guide, dismounting from his obstinate steed 
 and leaning his arm over the saddle; " and if I tell you a 
 piece of my mind, you will say I am a Catholic, and that I 
 am superstitious; but by the holy Virgin I believe Wolff is 
 right, and with your leave I shall follow his example." 
 
 " What is the meaning of all this?" said Charles, whose 
 patience was ebbing fast 
 
 "Why," continued the loquacious guide, " it means that 
 neither I nor my wiser horse will go farther into this val- 
 ley, both us of being convinced that some evil bodes it this 
 day. Do you not see the very flocks gathering together, 
 as they do before a storm? Do you not hear the cry of 
 those ill-betiding ravens as they scream from the fir trees 
 around us? Have I not twice seen the bats and owls flutter 
 by me creatures that would never have left their dark 
 hiding-places on this sunny day but for our warning? Do 
 you not see the eagles with their young wheeling over our 
 heads? and shall I disregard all these friendly warnings? 
 No! by the saints! no!" 
 
 " Then, in the name of the saints you worship," said 
 Charles, whose patience was exhausted by this long ha- 
 rangue, " begone, and let me find my way alone. I have 
 traversed this pathway often enough to know whither it 
 will guide me." 
 
 He threw himself from his horse as he spoke, and fling- 
 ing the bridle to his conductor, dropped a piece of gold into
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 289 
 
 
 
 his open palm, and in another moment was lost to view 
 amid the windings of the forest pathway. The guide re- 
 mained stationary for an instant, looked after him, shook 
 his head, and then taking his horses, which showed no 
 farther symptoms of the contumacious spirit they had mani- 
 fested, retraced his steps to Lucerne. 
 
 In the mean time, our young hero, with the light step of 
 a chamois, was rapidly surmounting the difficulties of his 
 route; and half an hour sufficed to bring him to the grille of 
 the little court in front of the cottage, which he fondly 
 thought contained his coveted treasure. Without waiting 
 to request admittance, he passed the court, entered the open 
 door, and stopped not until he found himself at the entrance 
 of the little parlour. He paused a moment at the threshold, 
 for all was silent within. A glance, however, sufficed to 
 show him that it was not untenanted; for the slight form of 
 Olivia was reclining on the sofa. She was apparently 
 absorbed in deep meditation, and her downcast eyes were 
 riveted on the beautiful miniature he had himself presented 
 her, and which she held in one hand, while the other rested 
 on the head of her faithful little favourite. A single step 
 within the door-way changed the scene. The little animal, 
 startled by its sound, raised his head from beneath the 
 delicate hand which reposed on it, and turned to look at 
 the intruder; but instead of manifesting the delight he had 
 formerly shown at the appearance of his friend, he looked 
 up with an expression of uneasiness and even terror, and 
 buried his slender head beneath the rich folds of the cache- 
 mere which was thrown around the lovely person of his 
 mistress. This slight movement, however, was sufficient 
 to arouse Olivia's attention; a hectic flush rose with meteor- 
 like brilliancy into her pale cheek, and on perceiving his 
 entrance, she attempted to rise from the sofa. A suppli-
 
 290 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 eating gesture from the intruder, however, aided by her 
 own agitation, prevented her intention. 
 
 " You have then been ill?" he said, in the graceful pan- 
 tomime in which he had become so perfect an adept during 
 his former visit. 
 
 Olivia took the porcelain tablet which lay near her, and 
 inscribed, 
 
 " Yes, but I am better now." 
 
 "And how is it, then," continued Charles, adopting her 
 own mode of communication, by gently taking the tablet 
 from her hand, " that I find you thus alone?" 
 
 " I am not alone," was the reply, " though I often wish 
 much to be alone. My health has suffered sadly since I 
 saw you last, though I think it would have been restored 
 by rambling in the sweet shade of the grove where we used 
 to walk. I have been debarred from this pleasure ever 
 since you were here, by my feeble health, which they tell 
 me was chiefly occasioned by wandering there twice in 
 my sleep; and the second time thrown into a state of ner- 
 vous terror, by being suddenly awakened by our hostess, 
 whose daughter mistook me for a ghost." A faint smile 
 illumined her beautiful features, as she presented the tablet 
 again. 
 
 "But how then," continued Charles, who, in spite of his 
 anxiety, found himself interested in these artless confes- 
 sions, " is it that your friends are not with you? Has the 
 friend you loved best forsaken you?" 
 
 "Forsaken me? Oh no! she is an angel of light!" raising 
 her bright eyes to Heaven, with an expression of devoted 
 affection. " She left me only half an hour ago, and will 
 return immediately. They have only gone to Lucerne." 
 
 " To Lucerne? Impossible! I have but just left it. 
 Who has gone?"
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 291 
 
 " All even the family of our host, whose places are 
 temporarily supplied by other but faithful attendants;" con- 
 tinued Olivia. "I might have accompanied them and 
 they persuaded me much to do so; but I believe I was 
 capricious, and did not just now care to witness their hap- 
 piness." 
 
 There was a mystery in all this, which embarrassed 
 Charles almost beyond endurance. How could he have 
 failed to meet the lovely being who was his attraction to 
 the valley, unless indeed, as might well have occurred, she 
 had passed by the more frequented route, while he pursued 
 the forest path? Another circumstance also greatly in- 
 creased his anxiety. Their brief conversation had been 
 carried on chiefly in pantomime, and Olivia had twice passed 
 her hand over her forehead. Charles remembered well an 
 explanation she had once made to him of this gesture. 
 Struck by the singular beauty of Montague's noble brow, 
 she had ever since her first acquaintance with him, indi- 
 cated his name by touching her forehead. Perplexed and 
 alarmed, he repeated his inquiries. 
 
 " They have gone to Lucerne," was the reply; and 
 Olivia made a sign of the cross with an expression of deep 
 reverence. 
 
 " To church?" said Charles, interpreting her gesture, 
 "but this is not Sunday, and your fair friend is not a Ca- 
 tholic," 
 
 " There is a Protestant church in Lucerne," was in- 
 scribed on the tablet in reply. 
 
 " Do you not yet understand?" raising her hand with a 
 gesture that startled and appalled her attentive companion. 
 Again he signed to her to repeat it. Olivia again made the 
 reverential sign of the cross, touched her brow, then pressed 
 her hand to her heart, clasped both hands together, and
 
 292 FRAGMENTS OF A JOURNAL. 
 
 raised them towards Heaven. Charles translated the ges- 
 tures aloud " at church, Montague Mary united 
 for ever!" he cried starting wildly from his seat, and for- 
 getful that even the world, far less the narrow apartment 
 contained aught but himself and his bitter disappointment, 
 he paced it with gestures of almost frantic despair. He was 
 flying from the room, when his eye was caught by the 
 death-like paleness of Olivia, who had sunk back in a 
 recumbent attitude on the sofa. The idea flashed across 
 his mind that he beheld in her another victim of unrequited 
 affection. He returned hastily, and throwing open the 
 casement, knelt by the sofa and raised her drooping head 
 from the pillow. 
 
 " Olivia! Olivia!" he cried in tones of agonized distress, 
 as if the hapless being he invoked could even in life have 
 heard and answered him. Alas! his cares were vain! 
 The rich masses of soft dark hair fell over his arm and 
 shaded her marble cheek and brow the silken fringed lids 
 were closed, and no returning beam of consciousness met 
 his anxious gaze the throbbing heart was still the grieved 
 spirit had passed away for ever! 
 
 " Is this then to be added to my cup of wo, just Heaven?" 
 he exclaimed, as the dread reality in all its awful truth burst 
 on him, and as if endeavouring to fly even from himself, he 
 rushed madly from the house. 
 
 Unconscious whither his steps were directed, he fled 
 through the forest pathway that had brought him to the 
 cottage, and continued in the same route, until utterly ex- 
 hausted by fatigue and mental anguish, he sank upon a 
 moss-covered rock. " Would!" he exclaimed in the bitter- 
 ness of his spirit, " would that yon dark and cragged moun- 
 tain had fallen on me and buried me beneath its ruins, ere I 
 had entered that once lovely, but now, oh how fatal spot!"
 
 THE VALLEY OF GOLDAU. 293 
 
 Could it be his disordered imagination which pictured to 
 him that awful mountain " bowing its cloud-capped head?" 
 No! it was no illusion! a loud crashing sound met his ear, 
 more fearful than the thunder of a mighty avalanche! the 
 earth shook as if rocked by an earthquake. He looked 
 again the dark mountain had disappeared from his view, 
 and the beautiful valley lay buried beneath a huge mass of 
 chaotic ruins! 
 
 " You will doubtless rejoice with me," continued our 
 friend, who at this moment closed his manuscript, "at the 
 almost miraculous escape of this lovely, and interesting 
 family, though with me you must mourn over the hapless 
 fate of the poor Olivia. It affords one more proof, however, 
 of the danger of flirtation, which has broken more hearts 
 than the world is aware of; and if my story may serve to 
 arrest one thoughtless youth, or one coquette amid a series 
 of heartless triumphs, it will not have been told in vain."
 
 294 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 " The world was very guilty of such ballads some three ages 
 since." 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 
 ON the noble site of a forest-crown'd height 
 
 An ancient castle stood, 
 Broad fields were near, and a stream flowed clear 
 
 Thro' its old majestic wood. 
 
 To the youthful heir of this realm so fair, 
 
 No boon had heaven denied, 
 He had all it sends, in wealth, in friends, 
 
 And in choicest gifts beside. 
 
 But mortals ne'er are contented here, 
 
 And he lov'd not his happy home; 
 New bliss he sought, and for this he thought 
 
 In distant climes to roam. 
 
 Sweet peace and ease could no longer please, 
 
 And those whom life had blest, 
 He hath left them all in the festive hall, 
 
 And wearied sought his rest. 
 
 Within his bower at the midnight hour 
 Appears a being fair;
 
 A BALLAD. 295 
 
 She waves, as she sings, her glittering wings 
 That float on the ambient air. 
 
 " Arise, sir knight!" said the faery sprite, 
 
 " And would'st thou happy be, 
 To my voice give heed, and away let us speed, 
 Far over the dark blue sea ! 
 
 " Pleasures are there, ever fresh and fair, 
 
 There thou shall happy be, 
 Light-hearted mirth, all the bliss of earth 
 Shall be thine, then follow me!" 
 
 To her voice he gives heed, and away they speed 
 
 Far over the dark blue sea, 
 Fast fills the sail to the freshening gale, 
 
 And the bark flies merrilie. 
 
 And soon they stand on fair Gallia's strand, 
 
 And gaily they wend their way 
 To pleasures bright, where the festive light 
 
 Might charm all care away. 
 
 And there might he find, for sense or for mind, 
 
 A banquet fair and free, 
 Or obey the behest as an honoured guest, 
 
 Of the courtly revelrie. 
 
 He moves along in the brilliant throng 
 
 Of knights and ladies all, 
 Noble and fair were gather'd there 
 
 To grace the stately hall.
 
 296 A BALLAD. 
 
 And dark eyes bright, as stars of light, 
 
 Shed around their magic spell, 
 And music's power, at that witching hour, 
 
 On the charm'd ear gently fell. 
 
 " The scene is fair!" said a soft voice near, 
 
 " Hast thou happiness found at last?" 
 But his wandering eye glanc'd carelessly, 
 And o'er all the bright scene pass'd. 
 
 " It is soft and fair, but I hope not here 
 
 Thy promis'd bliss to see, 
 For far have I rov'd from the hearts that lov'd 
 And only throbb'd for me. 
 
 " In the look askance, and the cold keen glance, 
 
 The stranger's fate I see, 
 But the gentle wile and the wreathed smile, 
 These, these are not for me!" 
 
 He spoke not again, for his thoughts had then 
 Far away o'er the ocean stray'd, 
 
 But the words had pass'd, and a cloud o'ercast 
 The brow of the beauteous maid. 
 
 ."_;;; 1 >',._, : -.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