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MATILDA; 
 
 A TALE OF THE DAY. 
 
 « Blush I not ? 
 Can you not read my fault writ in my chpek 
 Is not my crime there ? " 
 
 LONDON : 
 HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, 
 
PRINTED EY J. liKEIlIiLL. RLPERT STKli:ET;,HA\M AKKET. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 If the Readers of the following pages 
 expect " a novel," in the circulating library 
 sense of the word, they will probably be 
 disappointed ; and indeed the writer is by 
 no means sure that they will not be disap- 
 pointed, whatever it may be that they 
 expect to find. But if the incidents of his 
 tale should be deemed trite, and the cha- 
 
 8t2'?96 
 
ly FREFACE. 
 
 racters common, it will the more readily 
 be conceded, that he may have heard of 
 such things — that he may have seen 
 such people. 
 
 Perhaps it is the reverse of propitiatory 
 to own, that these pages have been penned 
 more with a view to divert their writer 
 than any one else. Not that he professes 
 himself indifferent either to the amusement 
 or edification of any one who may choose 
 to become his reader ; but he is unaffectedly 
 diffident as to his powers of communicating 
 either. Indeed, so strange does he feel in 
 his new character of Author, that if any, 
 the most easily pleased of his friends, should 
 unconsciously be indebted to him for having 
 
PREFACE. 7 
 
 " beguiled the tediousness and process of 
 their travel," on leaving London, or helped 
 them to wade through a long wet evening 
 on first arriving in the country, such will 
 be the utmost success he presumes to con- 
 template. 
 
MATILDA, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was early in the month of July, when that 
 most valuable department of the daily press, 
 which is headed " Fashionable Arrangements," 
 contained, among many other pieces of informa- 
 tion, which, however intrinsically important, 
 would not be so interesting to my readers, the 
 two following paragraphs : — 
 
 '' Lord, Ormsby (late the Honourable Augus- 
 tus Arlingford,) is arrived at Mivart's Hotel, 
 after an absence of two years on the Conti- 
 nent/' 
 
 " Lord and Lady Eatington will this day 
 entertain a distinguished party at their splendid 
 mansion in Grosvenor Square." ^ 
 s 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 That intelligence of this description should 
 have attracted every eye, is not to be wondered 
 at, when it is recollected, that, as the advance of 
 the season had diminished the number of these 
 events, the type in which they were announced 
 had proportionably increased in size and import- 
 ance ; and many an absent fair one, who had been 
 prematurely hurried from chalked floors to green 
 fields, had now no other resource than to make 
 that a distant study which was no longer a pre- 
 sent pleasure. But be this as it may, a little 
 before eight, on the day above mentioned, the 
 first carriage was heard to come clattering up 
 South Audley-street, containing Lord George 
 Darford and Henry Penryn ; two youths, most 
 comprehensively described as " Young men about 
 town."*' — " Very unlucky, my father wanting the 
 carriage afterwards," said Lord George. — " I do 
 so hate to be early. The half-hour introduction 
 to a dinner, like the preface to a book, should 
 always be skipped." 
 
 " One might know one was too early, the 
 fellow drives so fast," said Mr. Penryn, as they 
 swung round the last corner, at the risk of anni- 
 hilating a pensive nursery-maid, and all her 
 '^ pretty ones, at one fell swoop." 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 " I wonder who we shall have at the Eating- 
 tons'?" continued he; '* they have been too much 
 in the Pidcock line this year."" 
 
 " Yes,"" said Lord George, " and that's 
 another bore in being early ; for your human 
 lion is not like his royal brother — the hveliest 
 before he's fed." 
 
 Stopping at the door at this moment, the 
 length of time that elapsed before the thunder- 
 ing announcement of their arrival produced its 
 (usually instantaneous) effect, seemed to confirm 
 their apprehensions as to the flagrant punctua- 
 lity of their arrival ; and the tardy appearance 
 of one liveried lackey alone, in red waistcoat and 
 white apron, verified their worst fears. Many 
 a felon has ascended the fatal ladder with less 
 appearance of shame and contrition, than was 
 painted in the countenances of these unhappy 
 " young men about town," as they ascended the 
 carpeted stairs, — about to expiate the offence of 
 such unnatural prematurity of arrival ; and the 
 deserts of Arabia would hardly have appeared 
 more awful in their eyes, than did the soh- 
 tude of the drawing-room, where they found 
 themselves — literally first. Silence succeeded the 
 shutting of the door, which was at length broken 
 
4« MATILDA. 
 
 by Lord George ; whilst, by the help of the pier 
 glass, with his right-hand, he arranged his flat- 
 tened locks ; and, with his left, quelled the first 
 symptoms of insurrection in his neck-cloth. 
 
 " At least, we shall hear the lions all announced 
 — we shall know who the inmates of the mena- 
 gerie are to be to-day." Hardly had this conso- 
 lation been suggested, when the door was opened, 
 not by the regular ofiicer, the groom of the 
 chambers, who scorned to be a party to so 
 untimely an arrival, but by a mumbling footman, 
 who muttered something that was meant to be a 
 name, and disappeared ; having ushered in a 
 young man, dressed in deep mourning. Our two 
 friends regarded him with an unacknowledging 
 stare, which the stranger repaid in kind, as he 
 passed to a sofa at the further extremity of the 
 room, and unconcernedly occupied himself with 
 a newspaper ; whilst the two youths remained in 
 the window-place, where they had nestled them- 
 selves from a sense of solitude. 
 
 In any other civilized country in the world, 
 gentlcm^cn thus accidentally meeting, if they did 
 not, like the lady in the Anti-Jacobin, " vow an 
 eternal friendship," would at least, from the cir- 
 cumstance of meeting in the house of a common 
 
MATILDA. 5 
 
 friend, have been admitted to the local rank of 
 acquaintances, and received the regular brevet 
 allowances of nods, smiles, &c. But here we are 
 more afraid of being involved in a bow than in a 
 bad bet — of being obliged to acknowledge an ac- 
 quaintance than a bill — and the most persevering 
 dun is not so embarrassing as the face which, one 
 is obliged to own, has acquired a legal title to a 
 nod, from our having been incautious enough to 
 incur acquaintanceship with the owner. 
 
 There was something in the air and manner of 
 the stranger, which it was impossible for the most 
 unobservant not to remark as peculiarly distin- 
 guished ; and from the tact which the usage of 
 the world gives to every one in these matters, 
 such would certainly have been the opinion of 
 our two worthies, if their judgment had not been 
 wilfully biassed by the conclusion which they 
 logically deduced from having been every where, 
 and knowing every body, — that " him whom they 
 did not know they ought not to know ;"' and 
 they would as soon have adopted the doctrine of 
 the Preadamites, as have admitted, that any one, 
 worthy to be ranked among the elect, had ex- 
 isted prior to the commencement of their fashion- 
 able millennium, just two years before. There- 
 
6 MATILDA. 
 
 fore, expecting from the character of the Eating- 
 tons that the party would be rather a mixed one, 
 Mr. Penryn whispered to Lord George, — " I 
 think it's the new actor : to be sure this man's 
 figure looks better ; but then I only saw him in 
 Richard the Third, with hump, and all that sort 
 of thing.'' " No," said Lord George, " I think 
 it's the composer — what's his name ? — I caught 
 a glimpse of his head behind the piano-forte, last 
 week, at Lady I.'s, as I squeezed half in at the 
 door- way. You know he asks a hundred pounds 
 a night, and the Eatingtons are famous for pay- 
 ing in kind ; — turtle and champagne for notes — 
 you understand." 
 
 " I have it, George," retorted the other ; 
 " look at his black coat — depend upon it, it's 
 the Popular Preacher. I never heard him, to 
 be sure ; but I'm quite certain it's he." 
 
 The reader will be good enough to vmder- 
 stand, that this colloquy was uttered chiefly to 
 evince (to each other) the witty pleasantry of 
 the speakers ; for I would not have it supposed, 
 that thev were soio^norant of that onlv knowledge 
 to which they even pretended, as not shrewdly to 
 suspect, by his appearance, that the new comer 
 was, in point of fact, one of themselves ; though 
 
MATILDA. 7 
 
 they had hitherto, by some unaccountable acci- 
 dent, happened not to have become personally 
 acquainted with him. 
 
 The door was now opened, and the Dowager 
 Duchess of Dulladone and the two Lady 
 Townlys were announced. The former situa- 
 tion of Lord George and his friend was bliss, 
 compared to that in which they now found them- 
 selves ; for, besides the danger of being devoured, 
 as they would have expressed it, by the two Lady 
 Tow^nlys, to which their present unprotected state 
 seemed to expose them, their misery was increased 
 by the shame of having been convicted, by a dowa- 
 ger duchess and her two unmarried daughters, of 
 having arrived before them ; and the conscious- 
 ness of having thereby forfeited their best claim 
 to that admiration hitherto so lavishly bestow^ed 
 upon them from that quarter : the young ladies^ 
 idea of being " quite the thing," consisting in 
 nothing so much as pre-eminent un punctuality. 
 
 The stranger bowed shghtly to the duchess as 
 she passed to his end of the room, which she an- 
 swered with an inquiring curtsey, — her Grace''s 
 eye-sight, which was none of the best, being now 
 rendered more treacherous by the darkness of 
 room. " Who is it ?" said she to Lord George, 
 in a low whisper ; to which he replied, " Indeed 
 
8 MATILD.^. 
 
 I don't know," — ^in a tone of voice all hut imper- 
 tinently audible. At this moment their host 
 and hostess appeared from an inner room — Lady 
 Eatington employed with a half-drawn-on glove 
 — ^his lordship applying a half-opened pocket 
 handkerchief to his nose; both which actions 
 were meant to signify rather reproachfully, than 
 apologetically, " You have come sooner than we 
 expected — but here we are." 
 
 As we have introduced our readers to their 
 house, we shall be expected to make them ac- 
 quainted with the master and mistress; but 
 Lord and Lady Eatington were those every-day 
 sort of people of whose characters it is almost 
 impossible to speak in affirmatives. Perhaps the 
 two most positive characteristics of his lordship 
 were, that he was a receiver of rents in the 
 country, and a giver of dinners in town. To 
 speak negatively, — he was — no politician — no 
 farmer — no bel esprit — no connoisseur ; but the 
 most distinguished of all these classes met at his 
 house, to pronounce upon the merits of one of 
 the best cooks in Europe : in consideration of 
 which, every one, in accepting his invitations, 
 wrote to him — " Dear Eatington, 
 
 " Your's truly." 
 And every one enfiled the crowd at Almack's, 
 
MATILDA. 9 
 
 to squeeze Lady Eatington's hand when she first 
 came to town. 
 
 Her ladyship was naturally a very silly, and 
 by education (so called), a very illiterate woman; 
 but long habits of the world enabled her to con- 
 ceal this ; and if she was seldom as well informed 
 as her guests, she was always as well dressed as 
 her dinners — which answered all the purpose. 
 
 But how surprised were our young beaux, 
 and our old duchess, to see, that whilst they 
 themselves were casually recognised, the whole 
 of the attention of both host and hostess was 
 directed to the stranger ! As the arrival of 
 fresh company made the conversation less con- 
 strained, this was explained, though not to the 
 satisfaction of Lord George and Mr. Penryn, by 
 overhearing Lady Eatington telling the duchess, 
 whose ears were almost as defective as her eyes, 
 a long story, of which they caught — " Must recol- 
 lect" — " Augustus Arlingford" — " long abroad" 
 — " supposed early disap])ointment'''' — " recent 
 death of his brother" — " now Lord Ormsby" — 
 " very rich," &c. — which immediately produced 
 from her Grace, in rather a high tone, meant to 
 catch his lordship's ear at some distance, — " Ex- 
 cuse my blindness, my lord — Letitia and Cecilia 
 b5 
 
10 MATILDA; 
 
 — Lord Ormsby — you must recollect Mr. Ai*^ 
 lingford, though you were then very young — 
 quite children." 
 
 The reflections of Lord George and Mr. 
 Penryn, upon their half-wilful mistake, were not 
 very consolatory, as the former fame of Augus- 
 tus Arlingford occurred to them in all its pre- 
 eminence. Lord George now recollected that, in 
 his first conference with his tailor, he had been 
 strongly recommended the Arlingford collar, and 
 that a part of his dress, about which he was very 
 particular, had been called " A rlingford's." Mr. 
 Penryn, too, had a disagreeable reminiscence, 
 that whilst still at college, he lost a rouleau, when 
 Mr. Arlingford's colt won the Derby ; and both 
 distinctly remembered, that when they first came 
 out, if any very well-looking young man appeared, 
 all the oracles declared that he had " a look of 
 Arlingford ;" and this was the man whom they 
 had voted an awkward actor, a squab singer, or a 
 methodist parson. 
 
 From this time the cannonade at the street- 
 door became almost incessant, and every possible 
 variety of arrival was constantly swelling the 
 circle, which, with truly English instinct, had 
 formed itself round the place, where (strange to 
 
MATILDA. 11 
 
 say) there was not a fire ; and many were the 
 different ways of presenting themselves, which 
 might be remarked :— First, The tender scion 
 just budding in the first rays of fashion, who, 
 after advancing desperately, and retiring awk- 
 wardly from the circle, seemed anxiously to so- 
 hcit a protecting nod from those around him, 
 confirmative of the acquaintance he hoped he 
 had made. Then came the well-established man 
 of the world, who seemed carelessly to postpone 
 the duties of recognition, till dinner and lights 
 afforded him a more convenient opportunity of 
 doing so. To him succeeded the " ci-devant 
 jeune homme," whose " way of Hfe is fall'n into 
 the sear — the yellow leaf;'' who, with outstretched 
 hand, and perpetual " how d'ye do," went the 
 round of the circle, not bating " an inch of his 
 prerogative" of acquaintanceship. 
 
 The sun, though this was the time of year when 
 his hours are the most fashionable, had now com- 
 pletely removed the light of his countenance from 
 the party assembled; when, just as LordEatington 
 had expressed the necessity of waiting for Sir 
 James and Lady Matilda Dornton, the door 
 was opened, and it was with great difficulty 
 that the profoundest of her would-be admirers 
 
12 MATILDA. 
 
 could distinguish, through the deepening dusk, 
 the idol of the day — Lady Matilda Dornton. 
 
 But there was one there, from whose eye no 
 darkness could conceal that graceful form. Years 
 had not effaced its impression, and change had 
 not destroyed its interest. Through all his 
 wanderings among the fairest of every clime, 
 Lord Ormsby had still retained, as the beau Ideal 
 of beauty, his early recollections of her, whom 
 he had parted from with mutual vows of plighted 
 faith — whom he now first met as the wife of ano- 
 ther. 
 
 Lady Matilda had already made Sir James'^s 
 excuses, as " detained at the House,'' and was in 
 her turn putting some indifferent question, when 
 the mention of Lord Ormsby's name caught her 
 quick ear ; and she knew that the dreaded mo- 
 ment was arrived which, since his recent return 
 to England, she had felt must soon come. Many 
 of those who have already fixed upon Lady Ma- 
 tilda Dornton as the heroine of this history, will 
 be surprised to learn that she did not faint, nor 
 did she in any way outwardly expose herself, as 
 a true heroine ought to have done. But en re- 
 vanche she certainly heard not a word that Lady 
 Eatington, in reply to her question, told her about 
 
MATILDA. Ig 
 
 *' her poor little boy's hooping cough ;""* consci- 
 ous as she was, that her conduct to Lord Ormsby 
 had been in violation of her former engagement^ 
 and that her feelings were not in perfect harmony 
 with her existing duties. 
 
 I am very much disposed, at this particular 
 time, to enter into some little explanation with 
 my readers, in defence of my heroine (for such in 
 fact she is), and to extenuate in her what I cannot 
 quite excuse. But dinner being at this moment 
 announced, every thing must be postponed for so 
 important an event. All the little management 
 which generally accompanies this announcement, 
 was as usual put in action, but as usual the plots 
 were rather negative than positive. Bores were 
 avoided, — dowagers were shirked, — young ladies, 
 if plain, were aUowed to march together in double 
 file, — but nobody was particularly sought, — eti- 
 quette preventing precedence from being usurped, 
 even where it had been abdicated by its legiti- 
 mate possessor. In despair at these symptoms, 
 Lady Eatington, (who, if she had a fault as a 
 dinner-giver, it was that of interfering too much 
 in these matters) exclaimed rather loudly, " Lord 
 Ormsby, take Lady Matilda Dornton." He hesi- 
 tated a moment, and there was a pause among the 
 
14 MATILDA. 
 
 by-standers. He felt it was awkward to ad- 
 vance ; but as it was more awkward to decline, 
 half a minute mere saw them arm in arm descend- 
 ing the dusky staircase. Just by such uncertain 
 light, — at such an hour,— had they parted two 
 years before, but in how different a scene, — and 
 with what different feelings. It was on the eve of 
 his departure for the Continent, that he at length 
 tore himself from her at the gate of Delaval Park ; 
 whilst with looks that pierced the evening gloom, 
 and gently-protracted pressure of the hands, their 
 last words were " We part but to meet again.*" 
 Noiv they had met to part for ever, — and with 
 averted looks, linked for the moment by the forms 
 of society — the white kid glove hardly touching 
 the black sleeve — the constrained re-union of the 
 moment seemed in mockery of the separation that 
 they felt was final. 
 
 Who has not often experienced, that even 
 when the body has sometimes been most fettered 
 and hampered by the restraints of society, the 
 mind, as if in proud assumption of its indepen- 
 dence, has made some of its wildest excursions 
 through the boundless regions of past recollections, 
 and fancies for the future ? Certain it is that 
 both the lady and gentleman, whom we have left 
 
MATILDA. 15 
 
 in the most embarrassing of all possible situations^, 
 found their thoughts wandering, with a rapidity 
 truly surprising, through the scenes of their early 
 youth, — collecting, too, the most confused chaos 
 of recollection, — many circumstances trivial at 
 the time, — since forgotten, — but now presenting 
 themselves in all the freshness of yesterday ; no 
 two seeming to have the slightest connection, and 
 resembling each other only in this, that the same 
 actors were in each. — And all this passed with 
 an unaccountable celerity, that seemed to mock 
 the calculations of time, whilst they were descend- 
 ing two flights of stairs, with hobbling dowagers 
 before, and giggling misses behind. — Recalling 
 their scattered thoughts as they entered the 
 room, and shewing the most perfect self-command 
 in the eyes of the world, it was impossible for the 
 most attentive observer to discover, by the blaze 
 of light which illuminated the dinner-table, more 
 than a slight nervous convulsion about Lady Ma- 
 tilda's lip, and as slight a contraction on Lord 
 Ormsby's brow. Protracted silence would much 
 have increased the embarrassment of their situa^ 
 tion ; but, mostopportunely, Lord George Darford, 
 who w^as anxious to repair the mistakes of the last 
 half hour, had posted himself on the other side 
 
16 MATILDA. 
 
 of Lady Matilda ; and availing himself of his ac- 
 quaintance with her, fired a random shot between 
 her and her neighbour, which was meant to open 
 a communication between himself and Lord 
 Ormsby ; — this had the desired effect. If there 
 be a moment of the day when an Enghshman's 
 reserve is vulnerable, it is when he has a soup 
 plate before him ; and Lord Ormsby gladly seized 
 the occasion of getting rid of a little of the super- 
 fluous awkwardness of his position. An attempt 
 at a conversational trio was the consequence ; and 
 the former lovers, who had met as strangers, now 
 found themselves addressing each other as com- 
 mon acquaintances. But their situation, though 
 not remarkable to any one, was by no means com- 
 fortable to themselves, — when a slight commotion 
 among the servants at the door produced the 
 announcement of Sir James Dornton and Captain 
 Coulson. 
 
 Sir James was, in person, a man who might be 
 of any age that was neither young nor old ; and 
 as to general appearance, he was a man who 
 might, if he chose it, have dropped into any 
 vacant chair, at any table, without exciting a 
 remark one way or the other. But such was not 
 at all Ids idea of the situation in society of a man 
 
MATILDA. 17 
 
 of fifty thousand a year ; and it was with horror 
 that Lady Matilda observed him, with ostenta- 
 tious punctilio, moving up the whole length of 
 the room, with a sort of jerking strut, to make 
 his excuses to Lady Eatington. Full well did 
 she recollect Lord Ormsby^s talent for ridicule ; 
 for next to their mutual admiration of each other, 
 there had been no closer bond of union between 
 them than the constant indulgence of a good- 
 humoured species of quizzing, which the high 
 spirits and quick fancies of both induced them 
 reciprocally to vent on all around them. 
 
 Lady Matilda knew Lord Ormsby had never 
 before seen Sir James ; and it was with no small 
 degree of uneasiness, that she observed his eyes 
 open wider at the side view they caught of the 
 Baronet as he stood by Lady Eatington's chair — 
 his slight rotundity of form well harmonizing 
 with a singular obtuseness of features. But when a 
 rigmarole unnecessary apology, beginning with — 
 " Your Ladyship will excuse" — ••' Parliamentary 
 duties,'^ &c. ended with something about — " my 
 better half" — she thought that she should have 
 sunk into the ground, at the idea of Augustus 
 having lived to hear her called better half. 
 
 In the mean time, the general attention was 
 
18 MATILDA. 
 
 diverted by the inquiries made of Captain Coul- 
 son, who had quietly shpped into his chair, what 
 they had done at the House ? — " Oh, — we di- 
 vided ; we were a hundred and something — they 
 were seventy-eight ; I know it, because I helped 
 to count them as they went out. I betted young 
 Turford, the new member, a sovereign, that he 
 did not count them right ; he made it eighty- 
 two. I suppose he counted the Serjeant at Arms 
 four times." The Captain's laugh at his own 
 wit was rather awkwardly interrupted by an in- 
 quisitive gentleman asking what the question 
 was ? — " Oh, it was something about a place, or 
 some economical nonsense," — answered this faith- 
 ful guardian of the public purse. The inqui- 
 sitive gentleman now applied himself to Sir 
 James, who readily undertook to explain, but 
 soon got bewildered amongst — " Equalization of 
 duties" — " the revenue increased by being dimi- 
 nished" — " spirit of innovation" — " proper source 
 of influence of the Crown," &c. ; and when the 
 more frequent application of spoonfuls of soup 
 had become inadequate to fill up the interstices 
 of his ideas, and just as Lady Matilda, in a fur- 
 tive glance at Lord Ormsby, perceived ttie dreaded 
 curl of his lip, the Baronet was most providen- 
 
MATILDA. 19 
 
 tially rescued by a prudent pensioner opposite, 
 who, having retired to enjoy the fruits of an ac- 
 tive political life, was never anxious, -wantonly, 
 to enter on an unnecessary warfare, and there- 
 fore interposed with an opportune — " Sir James, 
 a glass of wine ;" which had the effect of turning 
 the conversation. I am sorry to be obhged to 
 state, that the party of which I have no^v de- 
 tailed so much, was afterwards reckoned a failure, 
 by most who had been invited to join it. Whe- 
 ther I may have mentioned any causes for this, 
 is for the reader to judge. I may, perhaps, in 
 some degree, have explained why those who first 
 met Lord Ormsby there, since his return, voted 
 him not near so pleasant a fellow as Augustus 
 Arlingford. I am obliged also to confess, that 
 from some unknown cause. Lord Eatington's 
 artiste did not that day maintain his usual repu- 
 tation ; which may account for the silent sulki- 
 ness of those " dainty spirits,'** (yclept wits,) 
 who are apt to make the " feast of reason and 
 the flow of soul" dependent upon the gratifica- 
 tion of their grosser appetites. Certain it is, 
 that immediately after coffee, the party separated 
 with feelings of mental and bodily disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
20 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Noja piu iin miglio in dieiro che died in 
 avanti'''' is an Italian saying, the application of 
 which is certainly as just to a retrograde move- 
 ment of one's mind in a book as of one's body in a 
 carriage. Admitting this, I am nevertheless 
 obliged to check a little the progress of my tale, 
 whilst I go back for the purpose of picking up 
 two or three stray events, which will be necessary 
 to the carrying of my reader easily to his journey's 
 end. I will promise, however, that if he will have 
 a little patience with me, I will not needlessly 
 linger by the way ; and that as much as possible 
 it shall be merely " reculer pour mieux sauter^'' 
 
 Lady Matilda Delaval, whom we introduced 
 in the last chapter as the wife of Sir James Dorn- 
 ton, was an only child, early left, by the death of 
 both her parents, to the absolute guardianship 
 of her uncle, who succeeded his brother in the 
 Earldom of Wakefield, and the splendid domains 
 of Delaval Park. — The person to whom the care 
 
MATILDA. 21 
 
 of a lovely and helpless female infant was thus 
 unhappily confided, had passed the first half of his 
 hfe in the pleasures of unbridled dissipation, and 
 now proceeded to devote the remainder as ex- 
 clusively to the toils of political ambition. He 
 had just succeeded in ruining the best of consti- 
 tutions in his early pursuits, when the change in 
 his situation, produced by the death of his bro- 
 ther, enabled him to squander a princely fortune 
 in attaining the objects of his later life ; and the 
 period when Matilda entered her eighteenth year 
 found her guardian v/ith one foot in the grave, 
 and the gouty hose, the legacy of his youth, ap- 
 propriately adorned with the glittering Garter, 
 — the reward of his declining years. 
 
 Matilda's father had passed the whole of his 
 married life abroad. Of her mother, little was 
 known, and nothing was ever said by her uncle. 
 It was thought in the family, that she had been 
 a foreigner of distinction ; and this supposition 
 seemed in some measure confirmed by the peculiar 
 character of Matilda's beauty; for in her was 
 presented a rare union of those distinguished 
 traits which we are accustomed to call purely 
 national, — a truly insular delicacy of complexion, 
 shaded by locks of raven black ; an eye of Ita- 
 
22 MATILDA. 
 
 Han fire, quenched only when the ready tear fol- 
 lowed an appeal to the feelings of the kindest 
 heart that ever beat in female breast. That she 
 could be the offspring of no mesalliance, was 
 marked by her possessing, in perfection, that in- 
 describable air, the effect of which we all feel, 
 though we are at a loss to give it a name. We 
 are, I am aware, accustomed to consider what 
 the French call " Vair noble, ^^ as inseparable 
 from great descent and high birth ; and this opi- 
 nion we involuntarily maintain, in spite of Bour- 
 bon brows, Austrian lips, and all the difficulties 
 one encounters in attempting to recognize this 
 mark of illustrious ancestry in the Royal repre- 
 sentatives of the Houses of Nassau and Hapsburg, 
 and the legitimate descendants of Charlemagne. 
 But certain it is, that though in some, the highest 
 born, the want of this may be peculiarly striking, 
 it never graces those who come not of gentle 
 blood ; and as certain it is, that there never was 
 so striking a specimen of its matchless charm as 
 was felt by all who saw Matilda Delaval. 
 
 It was not in the every-day development of 
 her talents, or the exercise of her feelings, that 
 the singular disadvantages of her education were 
 observable ; for she outstripped her instructors 
 
MATILDA. 23 
 
 in the usual routine of accomplishments, and 
 she had " a hand open as day to melting charity." 
 
 But no mother's watchful care had destroyed 
 the latent seeds of error in her guileless heart, 
 and proportioned in her youth the strength of 
 her principles to the warmth of her feelino-s. 
 No example of domestic happiness had told her, 
 widi the resistless power of habit, that woman's 
 proper sphere is Home. In the succession of 
 governesses whom Lord Wakefield had chosen 
 for her, she was satisfied provided they knew 
 their metier, and were neither vulgar nor fright- 
 ful. And when he (as he called it) retired into 
 the country, from the time that Matilda left the 
 nursery, it was by every variety of needy flat- 
 tery, and frivolous admiration, that she was sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 At one period, indeed, better prospects seemed 
 opening upon her. Ormsby Castle was in the 
 immediate vicinity of Delaval Park ; and Lady 
 Ormsby, who resided here during the minority 
 of her sons, was one of the most unaffectedly 
 good women that ever existed. From her mild 
 and affectionate precepts, Matilda could learn 
 nothing but good ; from the society of her daugh- 
 ter Emily, who was about her own age, she 
 
S4 MATILDA. 
 
 could derive nothing but advantage. It was 
 here, during the occasional visits of the sons to 
 their mother, that the acquaintance between our 
 heroine and Augustus Arlingford, which we 
 have taken up at a later period, commenced. 
 That this was not the least attractive part of 
 the intimacy to Matilda, may be imagined ; but 
 that it was the most beneficial, may likewise be 
 doubted. 
 
 But be this as it may, Lord Wakefield, who 
 was never suspected of blindness to his own 
 interest, or that of any one connected with him, 
 marked the progress of the connection, and did 
 not appear to disapprove of it. To this line of 
 conduct he was not induced merely by the pos- 
 session, on the part of Augustus, of a small 
 collateral property which had descended to him 
 as the second son, but by the contingency which 
 seemed probable, from the state of health of his 
 elder brother, then Lord Ormsby, that the mar- 
 riage of Augustus and Matilda would bring 
 about a very desirable union of the contiguous 
 property of Delaval and Ormsby : for this elder 
 brother had, from a puny child, grown to a 
 sickly man, as weak in mind as in body ; which, 
 added to his extreme shyness and dislike to 
 
MATILDA, 25 
 
 society, rendered his ever marrying extremely 
 unlikely. 
 
 But there was a description of female society in 
 which, as the shyness was not mutual, he found 
 he got on very well ; and he ended with making 
 his own legally, a lady, the right to whom had 
 previously been disputed among many : An 
 act which, like other acts for the enclosure of 
 common land, does not always answer to the 
 new proprietor. The immediate effect, however, 
 was a change in the disposition of Lord Wake- 
 field towards our hero. His lordship had pre- 
 viously become rather averse to the connexion, 
 from political differences. This new event very 
 much altered the ultimate prospects of the 
 younger brother ; and not anticipating that the 
 happy bridegroom would, as afterwards hap- 
 pened, die within two years without children, 
 he determined that all intercourse between 
 Matilda and her youthful lover should be at an 
 end. 
 
 About this time the temporary embarrassments 
 of Augustus (who had been left with that un- 
 fortunate modicum of younger brother's fortune, 
 which is too much for a profession, and too little 
 ^r '^dependence,) materially assisted Lord 
 c 
 
26 MATILDA. 
 
 Wakefield's views : for an absence on the Con- 
 tinent being indispensable to the arrangement 
 of Mr. Arhngford's affairs, he left England, after 
 taking that tender farewell of Matilda at the 
 gate of Delaval Park, which has been before 
 referred to. 
 
 It is necessary here to state, in explanation' of 
 what afterwards happened, that though Lord 
 Wakefield was certainly a corrupt politician (if 
 that term implies that self was the governing 
 motive of his political conduct) ; yet had he been 
 by no means successful in feathering his nest, 
 having been as prodigal and wasteful in his own 
 affairs, as in those of the nation. Twice had he 
 been at the whole expense of unsuccessfully con- 
 testing the county, by starting Sir Simon Tooley 
 as a candidate for that honour, having no re- 
 lative of his own to put forward. 
 
 When, therefore, the bad times came, he found 
 himself almost inextricably involved; suffering 
 most severely at home from that agricultural 
 distress, which he spoke, for two hours in the 
 House of Lords, to prove did not exist. 
 
 Mortgages, bonds, annuities, and every pos- 
 sible species of pecuniary obligation, had been 
 accumulated by him; and it so happened that 
 
MATILDA. 8? 
 
 one of the very loan-jobbers whom in his public 
 profusion he had most tended to enrich, also 
 reaped the fruits of his private extravagance : 
 — one of those fund-lords, as they have been 
 called, who, in that revolution of property pro- 
 duced entirely by the anti-revolutionists, have 
 certainly become lords of the ascendant. 
 
 When, therefore, old Smithson died, leaving 
 all his wealth, and all his claims, to his nephew. 
 Sir James Dornton, for whom, as one of his 
 members, he had previously and easily procured a 
 baronetage ; it was with feelings approaching to 
 despair, that Lord Wakefield invited Sir James 
 down, that they might attempt to come to some 
 settlement. Judge then of his delight, when he 
 first perceived that the baronet viewed his niece 
 with a favourable eye. This he soon heard con- 
 firmed from Sir James's own lips — for men of 
 business are apt soon to come to the point in 
 these affairs. Connexion, too, was of the utmost 
 importance to Sir James, though beauty was 
 not without its weight ; (as where is the man with 
 whom it is?) Here then seemed a way out of 
 all Lord Wakefield's difficulties; namely, that 
 his only creditor should marry the heiress of that 
 part of his property which was entailed. Ac- 
 
28 MATILDA. 
 
 cordingly, with that inflexible perseverance with 
 which he always undertook every thing in which 
 his interests were concerned, he at once deter- 
 mined to leave no stone unturned^ till he had 
 effected his purpose. 
 
 The prospect was in many respects unpromis- 
 ing enough. Sir James was not a man to win a 
 fair lady's heart. He had succeeded to all the 
 purse-proud feeling of a nouveau riche, without 
 the shrewd sense which would have enabled 
 him to acquire a fortune for himself. But, as 
 we hinted before, he was most passable, whilst 
 quiescent ; and the presence of a man of whom 
 he stood so much in awe, made him negatively 
 much more agreeable, than he ever was after- 
 wards. Lord Wakefield, too, was far too judicious 
 a promoter of his interests, to allow him ever 
 unnecessarily to plead his own cause. But 
 still, when his Lordship himself, in his most 
 statesman-like manner, first broke the proposal 
 to his niece, its reception was any thing but 
 favourable. Though he studiously avoided all 
 allusion to her former attachment to Mr. Arhng- 
 ford, the knowledge of which he had also care- 
 fully concealed from Sir James, yet it was evident 
 that, unless some material change were effected in 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 Lady Matilda's feelings towards that person, the 
 failure of his scheme was inevitable. The first 
 advance towards this change was soon brought 
 about, though in a circuitous manner, and through 
 no very creditable channel ; whether accidentally, 
 or at the instigation of Lord Wakefield, the reader 
 must form his own opinion. 
 
 It was about this time that a few of the ultra- 
 loyal, hyper-religious, soi-disant well-disposed 
 part of the community, conceived that they best 
 established their claim to those self-created titles 
 by polluting their Sunday morning's breakfast 
 table with the most infamous publication that 
 ever disgraced the press. Fathers of families, 
 who would have thought their daughters' minds 
 poisoned if they had casually at a theatre listened 
 to a coarse expression of Shakspeare, systemati- 
 cally submitted to their inspection a paper teem- 
 ing with the grossest allusions and the most 
 flimsily-veiled double entendres ; thus preparing 
 their minds for the mornino: duties of that reli- 
 gion which prays deliverance from envy, hatred, 
 malice, and all uncharitableness, by the previous 
 enjoyment of the most malignant calumnies on 
 their neighbours, and abstracting their thoughts 
 from the things of this world only to violate, with 
 
30 MATILDA. 
 
 envenomed slander, the sanctuary of the tomb. 
 It was in this veracious record of passing events 
 that there appeared, in its usual style of vulgar 
 ribaldry, the most unfounded reports of a supposed 
 intrigue between Augustus Arlingford and a dis- 
 tinguished female resident in Rome, whom to see 
 is to admire. These might have been mere 
 random shots ; for that the journal in question 
 should wantonly attempt to defame and ridicule 
 any one, against whom, for whatever reason, it 
 entertained a prejudice, seemed only labouring 
 in its vocation. But the use made of these para- 
 graphs at Delaval Park looked as if they were 
 not written without an object. The arrival of 
 their favourite paper, which distance prevented 
 from coming so appropriately on the Sabbath as 
 in London, was always an event to most of Lord 
 Wakefield's inmates. Weak minds, hke dis- 
 eased stomachs, require unnatural excitement, and 
 this black-begrimed and highly -peppered literary 
 morsel was always devoured ^vith a most un- 
 healthy appetite. It seemed also, that the para- 
 graphs in which Mr. Arlingford's name was men- 
 tioned, though never addressed to Lady Matilda, 
 were always made the subjects of conversation 
 within her hearing ; and they constantly led to 
 
MATILDA. 31 
 
 the recollection of former frailties on his part, 
 for some of which there was unfortunately but 
 too much foundation : — till at last Matilda began 
 seriously to believe that he was a monster of in- 
 constancy, and that he had now forgotten her, 
 as he formerly had others. At this time Lord 
 Wakefield enjoyed the advantage of a most use- 
 ful ally, in the person of Mrs. Mechlin, a bat- 
 tered old female rake, but a woman gifted be- 
 yond the generality of her sex, with the power to 
 " make the worse appear the better reason." She 
 was the only one of the guests of her uncle with 
 whom Matilda lived on any terms of intimacy ; 
 it being impossible for any one to see much of 
 her, and resist the charms of her conversation. 
 Her experience, knowledge of the world, and 
 matchless tact, gave her considerable influence 
 over her inexperienced friend ; all of which were 
 exerted to bring about the projected marriage 
 with Sir James; which, in putting Lady Ma- 
 tilda at the head of a brilliant establishment, she 
 flattered herself would also secure her a delight- 
 fully imquiet asylum for her declining years. 
 
 It was the gradual operation of all these dif- 
 ferent causes which at last made Lady Matilda 
 think that she was wrong in rejecting so disdain- 
 
m MATILDA. 
 
 fully what appeared to all around her so very 
 desirable. It must be recollected, that she had 
 always been taught to consider marriage only 
 as an establishment — a sort of snug place for 
 life— of which the duties were easy, and the 
 emolument certain. It is true that she had loved 
 Augustus Arlingford with all the ardour of 
 youth, but also with all the heedless inconse- 
 quence of that giddy period. She had admired 
 his fine manly figure, laughed at his jokes, wept 
 when he went, and smiled radiantly at his return ; 
 but the moment of their separation had been the 
 first at which the idea of their ultimate union 
 had been distinctly arranged between them ; and 
 that this should now be, she felt was impossible. 
 Is it to be wondered at, that, alternately threat- 
 ened and cajoled by her natural guardian, art- 
 fully persuaded by her only friend, apparently 
 abandoned by her former lover, and (what per- 
 haps had more effect than all) very little perse- 
 cuted with the presence of her present suitor, she 
 at last consented to give her hand to Sir Jame» 
 Dornton ? 
 
 If there be any among those who have trodden 
 the weary ways of high life, who think either the 
 wtuation or conduct of our heroine forced or 
 
MATILDA. 33 
 
 unnatural, let them reflect a moment, and say, 
 (granting that the combination of circumstances 
 may be different,) which of the causes that led to 
 the event described, could not be paralleled in 
 the life of some one of their own female acquaint- 
 ances. 
 
 Hard, indeed, is the fate of many who an- 
 nually throng the matrimonial market, as, at the 
 regular return of Spring, young ladies come into 
 season with the green peas, and go out with the 
 strawberries. That the matronly merchants who, 
 at this yearly fair, come to barter their fresh com- 
 modities of beauty and accomplishments, in ex* 
 change for situation and a settlement, should re- 
 fuse to treat with those who can offer no other 
 security than that doubtful bond, — ^love in a cot- 
 tage, — does not seem unreasonable. But that 
 they should measure, with such accuracy, the dif- 
 ferent sizes of property, and weight of worldly 
 dignities, so that " if the scales do turn, but in 
 the estimation of a hair,*" their judgment is 
 influenced by it, while manners, person, and cha- 
 racter, go for nothing in the balance, does seem 
 rather hard upon those whose interests, after all, 
 must be what they have at heart. 
 
 Nor is this all ; for the favourable testimony of 
 c5 
 
54 MAtlLDA. 
 
 a certain set being necessary to the fashionable 
 reputation of a new beauty, the daughters are, 
 upon first coming out, by their mothers'* own 
 hand, inoculated with a fancy for " Detrimen- 
 tals," — perhaps to prevent their catching it natu- 
 rally ; and thus they become acquainted with 
 the value of those agreeable qualities which are 
 to have no weight with them one way or other in 
 their decision for life. Nor are the truly unex- 
 ceptionable young men, the objects of the un- 
 wearied pursuit of these maternal managers, en- 
 tirely without just ground of complaint ; for such 
 is the anxious precipitancy of the latter, that 
 before, by dancing half a dozen times, with a 
 young lady, the former have satisfied themselves 
 as to her merits in the varied figures of the ball- 
 room, they are expected to have made up their 
 minds as to her qualifications for the somewliat 
 more complicated mazes of m.atrimony; and, 
 accorcHngly, they are peremptorily asked whether 
 their intentions are serious, whilst they are yet 
 occupied in rounding off their first well-turned 
 compliment. 
 
 It is, indeed, wonderful, that connexions so in- 
 auspiciously contracted, should so often lead to 
 the mutual satisfaction of both parties. Perhaps 
 
MATILDA. 35 
 
 it might be possible to afford a plausible solution 
 of this difficulty ; but I have already broken my 
 anti-digressive compact with my reader; and 
 therefore hasten to resume the thread of my 
 story. 
 
 The day of the marriage was, indeed, a happy 
 one for Lord Wakefield. Sir James, in consi- 
 deration of the large fortune which Matilda 
 brought him at once, and of the residue of her 
 uncle''s property, which must come to her at his 
 death, had cancelled all the pecuniary obligations 
 which existed between them ; and, as Lord 
 Wakefield left the party he had assembled at the 
 marriage feast, where, in honour of the occasion, 
 he had broken the forced habits of temperance to 
 which he was now reduced, a new world of am- 
 bition seemed opening to him, by the revival of 
 his financial resources. It was but two hours 
 after these delightful visions were dancing before 
 his eyes, when the party below were alarmed by 
 a violent ringing at his bell, and he was found 
 suffering agonies with the gout in his stomach, 
 which increased in violence, in spite of all the 
 skill of his physician. On the table at which he 
 had just been sitting, was a paper, apparently 
 in his hand writing, which, as it might be of 
 
36 MATILDA. 
 
 importance, was examined. It proved to be an 
 unfinished letter to the Minister, which began — 
 
 " My dear Lord, 
 
 '' Hearing, from very good authority, that the 
 precarious state of poor Lord Snugborough's 
 
 health renders his life very*" uncertain, he 
 
 would have added, — in all the presumptuous 
 confidence of frail mortality ; — but it was a sen- 
 tence he was doomed never to finish ; — the 
 very post which was to have conveyed the ex- 
 pression of his reversionary hopes, informed the 
 Minister that the Noble EarFs own honours were 
 at his disposal, for some equally greedy ex- 
 pectant ; and poor Lord Snugborough continues, 
 to this day, in the undisturbed possession of many 
 well-earned dignities and emoluments. 
 
 To Matilda^s feeling heart, the sudden loss of 
 her only near relation, though he had never been 
 a kind one, was nevertheless a great shock. As 
 for Sir James, he vented his grief at his acces- 
 sion to thirty thousand a 3^ear,-by announcing 
 the fact to all his connexions, on paper with a 
 black border of a most preposterous breadth. 
 
 The principal effect of this change in their 
 atuation certainly was, that the new-married cou- 
 
MATILDA. St 
 
 pie saw considerably less of each other than th^y 
 would otherwise have done. During their stay 
 at Delaval, Lady Matilda was generally em- 
 ployed in little charitable details for improving 
 the comfort of those whom she considered as now 
 dependent on her. Sir James, on the other 
 hand, was occupied with many wholesome schemes 
 for the improvement of the property to his own 
 advantage. 
 
 At length, the first levee of the year found 
 them in town, where Sir James was presented to 
 his Sovereign, with weepers on his hands, and 
 the George and other insignia of the Orders of 
 the late Lord Wakefield in them ; and was re- 
 ceived with that well-known graciousness, which, 
 whenever the illustrious Individual pleases, is 
 personal, but which is purely official when 
 lavished on a man like Sir James Dornton — 
 a ministerial member, with six seats at his com- 
 mand. 
 
 From that time forward. Sir James was regular 
 in his Parliamentary duty, of sleeping six hours 
 every night at the House, till wanted to vote on 
 questions which he would not have understood if 
 he had heard ; whilst Lady Matilda, with a face 
 and figure which commanded universal admira- 
 
S8 MATILDA. 
 
 tion, and a manner which checked individual 
 impertinence, shone forth " the glass of fashion, 
 and the mould of form— The observed of all 
 observers." 
 
m 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 At the breaking up of Lord Eatington'^s dinner 
 party. Lord Ormsby was tempted by the fineness 
 of the night, (the rarest of all temptations in 
 England), to wander about the streets, occupied 
 by his own reflections ; when his desultory course 
 was for a moment impeded by a brilliant equi- 
 page, which, after swinging against the curb- 
 stone past several doors, stopped with a sudden 
 jerk at that of a splendid mansion, just before 
 he arrived at the same point. The foot pavement 
 was immediately fully occupied by the two foot- 
 men, who proceeded with much needless bustle 
 to the ceremony of unloading. He was involun- 
 tarily stopped therefore, whilst this was effected ; 
 and, as he stood on one side, completely veiled 
 in that obscurity in which the capricious econo- 
 my of gas still indulges five houses out of six, 
 he thought that, by the partial light from the 
 open door of the hall, he recognised a female 
 form, in the lineaments of which, he could not 
 
40 MATILDA. 
 
 be mistaken. It was indeed Lady Matilda Dorn- 
 ton ; who, having deposited Sir James at Boo- 
 dle's, was returning home. He fancied that, 
 before exposing herself to the blaze of light from 
 within, a hand hastily raised to her face chased 
 away a lingering tear. He had just persuaded 
 himself that this could be but fancy, when, in 
 reply to a question from a servant as to the car- 
 riage, a voice, every note of which vibrated on 
 a responsive chord in his breast, answered, in a 
 tone evidently of stifled emotion, '' No more to- 
 night." She is not happy then, was the suspi- 
 cion which crossed his mind as he passed on : 
 and though he would have given the world to 
 have made her so, it is certain that this ne\r 
 view of the subject made him see, with a much 
 less jaundiced eye, the outward advantages by 
 wliich she was surrounded. As he pursued his 
 wanderings, the idea often occurred to him, that 
 this unhappiness might be connected with the 
 meeting of that evening; but it was as often 
 rejected, as the groundless suggestion of unwor- 
 thy vanity, utterly unsupported by any thing in 
 her past conduct. The result of these contradic- 
 tory musings was, that when at length he found 
 himself at his hotel, he gave orders that his 
 
MATILDA. 41 
 
 travelling carriage should be in readiness next 
 morning, to convey him to Ormsby Castle. 
 
 When Matilda had dismissed her carriage, 
 she ascended to her boudoir. Of all the happiest 
 refinements of luxury, the result of so many 
 centuries of progressive civilization, there is 
 nothing like a lady''s boudoir. The outward 
 ostentation of a splendid establishment, and the 
 solid magnificence of the choicest table, are as 
 nothing, compared to that union of attractions 
 which here is found, all partaking of the deli- 
 cacy of character of its fair proprietor; the 
 privacy and seclusion adding to the value of all 
 the luxuries with which it is crowded. Matilda's 
 dressing-room was a matchless model of its kind. 
 It is true, that the approaches to the inner reces- 
 ses of this magic bower were, like fair Rosamond's 
 of old, somewhat intricate; but the labyrinth 
 was only formed by a redundancy of varied 
 comforts, and the universal presence of orga- 
 nized confusion. Whilst the toilet-table groaned 
 with caskets, into which the mines of Golconda 
 seemed emptied, and shone with glittering cases 
 where all the perfumes of Arabia had been dis- 
 tilled, around were scattered the various imple- 
 ments for music and drawing, and the still more 
 
42 MATILDA. 
 
 various articles commonly called nic-nackerings, 
 the fruits of the frivolous ingenuity of every 
 country, from China to the Channel. The walls 
 were divided between mirrors, whose merit was 
 multiplying for a moment, a form, otherwise 
 unique ; and a few shelves of books, whose judi- 
 cious selection proved, that the cultivation of the 
 mind was here, at least, as important an object 
 as the adornment of the person. 
 
 As Matilda entered, she seemed the guardian 
 genius of taste in this her favourite temple. 
 Here her return had been most impatiently ex- 
 pected by her attendant spirit, httle Ma'mseile 
 Felicie. 
 
 The fact is, that this was a night which had 
 long been looked forward to, as being fixed for 
 one of those forced exertions which the London 
 season often makes in its old age, to keep itself 
 alive ; and which frequently vent themselyes, as 
 on the present occasion, in a fancy ball. Matil- 
 da's costume was to be at once strikingly becom- 
 ing and novel ; it had been chosen by her with 
 her usual superior taste, and had been executed 
 by the unrivalled liandicraft of her Parisian 
 abigail. Felicie had been attentively admiring 
 her own work, and now met her mistress, hold- 
 
MATILDA, 45 
 
 ing in her hands in triumph a pair of the pret- 
 tiest shoes in the world, compared to which, 
 Cinderella's slipper would have appeared clumsy. 
 These, as the dress required they should be in 
 character, had been sent for expressly from 
 Paris, and had miraculously arrived before the 
 ball was over and forgotten ; and the national 
 little French woman now proceeded to enlarge, 
 v/ith much volubility, on the peculiar punctuality 
 of her countrymen ; when she was struck, as if 
 by a thunderbolt, at the sudden declaration of 
 her mistress, that she was not going out that 
 night. Recovering by degrees from the shock 
 she exclaimed, " Mais done, Miladi est malade," 
 with the protracted theatrical emphasis on the 
 word done, which is meant to express the sudden 
 discovery of an unwelcome explanation of a 
 circumstance otherwise perfectly unintelligible. 
 " No, I'm quite well," said Lady Matilda ; 
 " leave me — leave me alone.'' Doctor Willis 
 never left a patient with a shake of the head 
 more expressive of his opinion as to the seat of 
 the malady, than that given by Felicie, as, obey- 
 ing the command of her mistress, she quitted 
 the room. 
 
 " Alone ! yes, I am alone — alone in the world^'* 
 
44 MATILDA. 
 
 thought Matilda, as, seating herself at her dressing 
 table, she buried her taper fingers in her beauti- 
 ful hair, — discomposing its studied arrangement 
 in a reckless manner, which would have confirmed 
 Felicie's opinion ; whilst, pressing the palms of her 
 hands firmly against her closed eyelids, she seemed 
 anxious to exclude all outward consolation. Her 
 thoughts wandered mournfully on past times, 
 and what she was, and what she might have been; 
 and the sad conviction pressed stronger on her 
 mind than it had ever done before, that all the 
 budding hopes of happiness, which she had che- 
 rished in her youth, had been withered even at 
 that altar where they ought to have ripened into 
 maturity ; and that returning thence, her light 
 spirit depressed, and her warm heart chilled, 
 she had found the active exercise of her affec- 
 tions end, where it ought to have begun. 
 In the gay world an universal buzz of eager 
 admiration followed her wherever she moved; 
 but at home her talents were wasted — her accom- 
 plishments unnoticed. At home, the playful ex- 
 cursions of her buoyant fancy were checked, for 
 want of a congenial spirit ; and the spontaneous 
 ebullitions of her sensitive heart were smothered 
 in the utter absence of kindred sympathy. 
 
MATILDA. 45 
 
 As, oppressed with these reflections, she again 
 raised her head from her hands, the first object that 
 met her casual glance, was the brilliant and varied 
 display of her open jewel-box. " I cannot talk 
 to you,'" she ejaculated; "I cannot confide to you 
 my feelings,— yet it is to you, to such as you, to 
 such cold and senseless splendor, that I am wed- 
 ded." The contemptuous expression of her eye 
 suddenly changed, as she caught a ghmpse, amid 
 all this ghttering finery, of one ornament, simple 
 almost to plainness. It was a small locket that 
 had once been Emily Arlingford's, — ^it had been 
 an early gift from her to her friend, before either 
 had completely grown to womanhood, and when 
 first the duties of neighbourhood had completely 
 melted into the pleasures of intimacy. It con- 
 tained her own hair, and that of her brodier Au- 
 gustus. In a playful moment, and with a girlish 
 jest, she had taken it from her own neck to en- 
 circle that of Matilda. Matilda had not lately 
 seen it ; for Felicie, who thought it by no means 
 worthy of the good company it kept, generally 
 concealed it under some of its more splendid 
 neighbours. But now she seized it Avith eager- 
 ness, as it recalled, with the freshness of yesterday, 
 ihe day when it was given. She did not raise it to her 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 lips — a certain consciousness of feeling prevented 
 her — ^but her eyes continued long riveted on it as 
 by fascination. At last, a forced exertion of her 
 better judgment convinced her, that nothing 
 could be more injurious, or less correct, than the 
 continuance of this state of morbid indulgence. 
 She resolutely asked herself the question, why all 
 her domestic discomforts had this night appeared 
 so much more trying than ever ? and the answer 
 was any thing but satisfactory to her conscience. — 
 " No,*" she thought, " it is not by tender recol- 
 lections of what once was, or by vain repinings at 
 what is my lot, that I can hope to acquire strength 
 for the performance of all the dreary duties I have 
 undertaken. My best hope is, patient endurance, 
 — my surest safeguard, universal indifference." 
 Then, with an effort which had now become ha- 
 bitual to her, she restored herself to that outward 
 appearance of languid composure, which, except 
 when exhilarated by the temporary excitement of 
 a crowded room, had generally marked her de- 
 meanour since her marriage. Hardly had this 
 salutary change been effected, when a knock at the 
 street-door announced the return of Sir James, 
 which was presently confirmed by his creaking 
 shoes upon the stairs. Sir James was just the 
 
MATILDA, 47 
 
 sort of man whose shoes always creak. Liable 
 as we all are to error, I would not judge too se- 
 verely an occasional misdemeanour even of this 
 serious description. But any poUtesse-iyolice 
 magistrate in England would have convicted Sir 
 James as an incorrigible creaker. 
 
 Roused by these unwelcome sounds, and again 
 summoning Felicie, Matilda hastened to put on 
 the semblance of that repose, the reality of which 
 the suppressed agitation of her feelings seemed to 
 render extremely improbable. 
 
48 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 When Matilda the next morning entered the 
 breakfast room, she found Sir James already 
 seated at the table, and, by a certain important 
 twist of his chair, evidently about to make some 
 proposition to which he attached no small degree 
 of consequence. When this was the case, he was 
 apt, with a confusion of expression by no means 
 uncommon, to invert the order of his discourse, 
 whilst he seriatim propounded sundry w'eighty 
 reasons for inducing him to do something at 
 which no one could guess till the conclusion of 
 an apparently interminable sentence. The sus- 
 pence in which this kept Matilda, was in the 
 present instance protracted by an incessant inser- 
 tion of breakfast, which met his words on the 
 threshold of his lips. 
 
 " I have been thinking, that as we are not going 
 abroad for a fortnight, and one should always be 
 civil to country neighbours ; it is the duty of 
 great landed proprietors, and I am above think' 
 
MATILDA. 49 
 
 ing ill of a mail for his politics, particularly now 
 we have by our firmness put do^vn the Radicals, 
 (this coffee is as tasteless as Hunt's,) and the op- 
 position is quite contemptible ; (some more but- 
 ter, if you please ;) that we may as well ask Lord 
 Ormsby to dinner/'' At this unexpected conclu- 
 sion, Matilda involuntarily exclaimed, " Oh no, — 
 by no means — it is not at all necessary." Sir 
 James looked at her for a moment, evidently 
 Surprised at the vehemence of the objection. 
 " It is very odd that whoever I take a fancy to, 
 you as surely have a dislike for. I thought you 
 seemed very rude 'to him yesterday. But recol- 
 lect, Lady Matilda, ' Love me, love my dog.' " 
 There was something so ludicrous in the applica- 
 tion of this saying, to an obligation on her part to 
 like Lord Ormsby for Sir James's sake, that 
 Matilda, although it was a serious subject to her, 
 yet, with her naturally quick sense of the ridicu- 
 lous, had some difficulty in suppressing a laugh, 
 as she quietly answered that he had never seen 
 Lord Ormsby until the night before. But he 
 only rephed, that he had taken a fancy to him — 
 that be had just come from abroad, and therefore 
 could tell him many things he wanted to know 
 ^ Indeed, I asked him after dinner whether he bad 
 
60 MATILDA. 
 
 had the springs of his carriage corded — and whe- 
 ther they got good claret in Italy ; and I saw, by 
 his answers, that he was a superior person."" 
 
 Lady Matilda merely replied, that she did not 
 mean to doubt that he would be perfectly com- 
 petent to inform him on such points. 
 
 " Aye,'' said Sir James, " and my sister, Mrs. 
 Hobson, is just come to town from Manchester. 
 She, you know, is going to take her girls abroad 
 for the last finish, and we may have them the 
 same day, and he may tell us all about it toge- 
 ther.'' 
 
 Matilda's dislike to the embarrassment of re- 
 ceiving her former lover as a guest in her own 
 •house, was not at all diminished by the prospect 
 of having a vulgar family party to meet him. 
 But there seemed no remedy, as Sir James pro- 
 ceeded to sally forth to drop a preparatory card at 
 Lord Ormsby's ; leaving Matilda to receive the 
 Hobsons, who had arrived in town the night be- 
 fore, and were expected to call ; — and saying, as 
 he went out, — " You never saw my sister, Mrs. 
 Hobson, — you must like her, — very nice woman. 
 Connexion, not all I could have wished ; — in my 
 mind, great difference between a warehouse, and 
 a counting-house, — but Hobson's a warm man, 
 
MATILDA. Gl 
 
 — "Hobson's a very good name at Manchester."" 
 " Hobson a good name at Manchester !" thought 
 Lady Matilda, " then what a pity that they ever 
 brought it away, or did not borrow another for 
 travelhng purposes."" And she prepared to re- 
 ceive her guests. 
 
 Miss Betty Dornton was some years older 
 than her brother ; and having brought her charms 
 to market at a time when the prospects of her 
 family were not so extensive as they afterwards 
 became, (old uncle Smithson having then formed 
 only the nucleus of that immense wealth, which 
 he afterwards scraped together ; and certainly 
 having no intentions of bequeathing it in a lump 
 to any one,) her marriage with Mr. John Hob- 
 son was not at the time objected to. He was a 
 steady, calculating foreman, in a large manufactory 
 at Manchester. This situation he had gradually 
 improved into that of a master of foremen ; and 
 his small back lodging he had changed into the 
 largest extent of staring brick front in Man- 
 chester. 
 
 Mrs. Hobson, at the time of her marriage, was 
 a silly, showy, bustUng, chattering little body ; 
 with a brisk figure, and brisker tongue, good 
 humoured, illiterate, and vulgar. Twenty years. 
 
5^ MATILDJL. 
 
 and more than half as many children, had rather 
 taken from her briskness of figure — her person 
 seeming to have kept pace with her fortunes, in 
 increase ; but nothinoj had abated her activity of 
 tongue, as Lady Matilda soon found to her 
 cost, when the servant announced Mrs. Hobson, 
 the Miss Hobsons, and Master Hobson ; the last 
 a hobble-de-hoyish schoolbo}^ The three Miss 
 Hobsons I shall not attempt to describe indi- 
 vidually as to character, till the reader be- 
 comes by degrees better acquainted with them. 
 In their dress there was a sisterly sameness, con- 
 sisting, as it did, of bright pea-green cassimere 
 pelisses, superabundantly bebraided, and black 
 beaver bonnets with pink linings. The only dis- 
 tinction in their appearance, was, that IViiss Hob- 
 son's round rosy face was — one can't say shaded, 
 with small bright red corkscrew curls; whilst Miss 
 Anne, from having rather a higher bridge to her 
 jiose than was common in the family, had taken the 
 Grecian line, and had accordingly drawn two long 
 straight strips of sandy hair across her temples, as 
 she thought a la madonna. The third, Jemima, 
 was at that becoming age when young ladies' 
 hair is neither long nor short. As to the con- 
 versation of these Manchester graces, — being in 
 
MATILDA. 53i 
 
 considerable awe of a person of whom the Morn- 
 ing Post said so much as it did of Lady Matilda, 
 they confined that to occasional verbal corrections 
 of their mother's slip-slop, which their boarding- 
 school education fully qualified them to give. 
 As to Mrs. Hobson, she felt no such awe as that 
 with which the name and fame of Lady Matilda 
 inspired her daughters. Ever since her brother's 
 marriage, she had persuaded herself that her own 
 consequence was so much increased by the close- 
 ness of the connexion, that she did not feelabashed, 
 even in the presence of the cause of all that addi- 
 tional consequence. So she waddled straight up to 
 Lady jMatllda, in a scarlet velvet pelisse which made 
 the sun hide his diminished head in the dog-days; 
 and after a sisterly salutation, said, — (staring full 
 at her,) — "Well, I'm sure Jem couldn't have done 
 better." She then broke at once into the subject 
 now always uppermost in her thoughts ; namely, 
 the extraordinary circumstance of her being actu- 
 ally about to go abroad. 
 
 " Well," said she, " I hope that we shall all 
 live as one family in foreign parts. To think of 
 my going trapesing out of Old England! but 
 my daughters must have the same advaantages 
 as the Miss Tomkins's, though they did make 
 
54 MATILDA. 
 
 old Tomkins a knight the other day. But an^t 
 my brother a baronet ? to say nothing of you, 
 Lady Matilda. Then Dr. Snook says, that Je- 
 mima is rather pilmonary^ \ and that the air of 
 Italy will do her good ; and to be sure, if it was 
 not for fear of the muskitty's^ or bandittis, or 
 what do they call them as attacks one there, I 
 should like Italy well enough, and to see the 
 Pope, and the Venus of Meddi— what is it, my 
 dear?" (appealing to one of her daughters.) 
 " Medici, Mamma," said Miss Anne. " Aye — 
 Medici — and the Saint Peter's — but I don't think 
 so much of that, because weVe got a Saint Peter's 
 at Manchester. And that great cascade (Turny, 
 or what do they call it.?) that Briggs — old Briggs 
 of our town's son — shew^ed a fine picture of it, as 
 he did there at our exhibition, with the water all 
 so white, and the rocks so black, and the trees 
 so green; very pretty it was, and httle Briggs 
 himself sitting on a three-legged stool, with it all 
 splashing about him, poor fellow ; — and then that 
 Capital Colossus as the old Romans made. — 
 " Coliseum, Mamma,"" said Miss Hobson ; and 
 *« the Capitol," said Miss Anne, " is a building 
 by itself." — " Very well, my dears, a building by 
 itself, is it .? I thought it was in Rome — but Jem 
 
Matilda. 55 
 
 ought to know, for I suppose thafs what they 
 teach him at school." This changed the current 
 of her ideas, and called Lady Matilda''s attention 
 to a nuisance which the presence of more active 
 annoyances had hitherto prevented her from 
 observing. 
 
 Of all the demands that the ties of connexion 
 can make upon one's patience, there is nothing like 
 the precocious introduction, into general society, 
 of a genuine school-boy ; where, either by his 
 uneasy awkwardness, he makes all who see him 
 equally uncomfortable, or, by his pert self-suffi- 
 ciency, causes a more active disturbance. — Sir 
 James's saying, which he so aptly applied, of 
 " Love me, love my dog," is nothing to the trial of, 
 Love me, love my school-boy. It is true, though, 
 that school-boys are, after all, (to use a metaphor 
 peculiarly suited to the Hobson family,) the raw 
 material of which the finished articles, most sought 
 for in a drawing-room, must be manufactured. 
 There are, also, two varieties in the species ; your 
 private school-boy is much worse than your 
 public : by private schools, being meant all, 
 however large and however open, except two or 
 three, where the scholars are more select and 
 gentleman-like ; and which schools are therefore 
 called public. And never was there seen a more 
 
5a 
 
 MATILDA. 
 
 regular specimen of the worst kind of school-boy, 
 than that which met Matilda's eyes in the person 
 of Jem Hobson, as he sat on the very edge of 
 the sofa; his pale, shrunk, nankeen trowsers, 
 liaving worked their way up his spindle leg, 
 which was enveloped in a wrinkled cotton 
 stocking; the collar of his new coat, and his 
 black stock, alone, showing any embryo symptoms 
 of incipient dandyism ; his sandy hair plaistered 
 sideways with a wet brush, off his snubby, chubby 
 face; and his hands occupied in studiously 
 brushing, the wrong way, the nap of his shape- 
 less hat. 
 
 " Put your hat down, my dear Jem,'' said 
 Mrs. Hobson. " He is Sir James's godson ; we 
 reckon him very like him," appealing to Matilda, 
 who, tliough she said nothing, could not deny the 
 imputation. 
 
 " I am sorry his uncle's out. I brought 
 him here, as he is not going abroad with us, on 
 purpose to see him, as it is right boys should 
 know who they are to look to. Jem, I'm sure, 
 will do something for his godson, little Jem, as 
 we call him : perhaps, make him a Parliament- 
 man ; it is as good a trade as any ; at least, I'm 
 sure, so uncle Smithson found it. They say, he 
 must make six ; so he may as well have one of 
 
jTatilda. 5^ 
 
 his own kin as another. Who knows but, in 
 time, Jem may live to be a — what was that great 
 gentleman, who so civilly wrote to thank our 
 people for kilhng the Radicals ?" — « A Secre- 
 tary of State, Mamma,'' said Miss Hobson. 
 
 " Ah ! Why should not Jem live to be a Se- 
 cretary of State, Lady Matilda ? I can assure 
 you," continued the fond mother, " that all 
 pains have been taken with his speechifying; — 
 Jem, suppose you let your aunt hear that speech 
 that I say makes me think I hear you in the 
 House of Commons.'"' Matilda submitted to 
 this, as a minor evil to hearing the mother talk 
 about him ; and Jem, who, with all his shyness^ 
 preferred to his present state of awkward inac- 
 tion, that exposure to which habit had hardened 
 him, immediately prepared to comply ; and, 
 throwing his hand stiffly up, like a way-post, 
 began, " ]\Iy name is Norval,"- — in that gruffish 
 squeak, and with that measured twang, which 
 generally accompany such exhibitions. He was 
 proceeding, with wonderful success; and had 
 just arrived at the point where — 
 
 ** A baud of tierce barbarians, from the hills, 
 Rushed, like a torrent, down upon the vale, 
 Sweeping our flocks and herds," 
 
 d6 
 
58 MATILDA. 
 
 when the door opened, and in walked our two 
 friends of the preceding evening, Lord George 
 Darford and Mr. Penryn, who usually hunted 
 time in couples, and meant to kill half an hour 
 with Lady Matilda. Great, indeed, was their 
 astonishment at the party they found assembled, 
 and the exhibition they interrupted. Our young 
 actor might have added — 
 
 " Our shepherds fled for safety and for succour," 
 
 for sudden was the flight this produced in the 
 family; — Mrs. Hobson displaying to the still 
 wondering eyes of the intruders, as she moved 
 towards the door, the broad back of her splendid 
 pelisse, whose unequally-worn texture shewed at 
 once, tliat her velvet was English, and her habits 
 sedentary. The young ladies followed in a clus- 
 ter, stooping, shuffling, poking, and using every 
 other means by which English young ladies of a 
 certain class get out of the room. — Roscius, alone, 
 " still hovered about the enemy" — till, with 
 some difficulty, he had extricated his shapeless 
 hat from under the feet of Lord George, who 
 was, by this time, sprawling on the sofa ; and 
 having achieved this, with a formal bow, which he 
 had learnt at the same time as his speech, he left 
 the room. 
 
MATILDA. 5fF 
 
 ^' What, in the name of wonder,''' said Lord * 
 George, " is that young Esquimaux, whom we' 
 found exhibiting; and who are his attendant 
 squaws ?*" 
 
 " That Lady was the sister of Sir James ; the 
 others were her children;" Lady Matilda re- 
 pUed, in a tone calculated to stop any further 
 attempts at ridicule. 
 
 " Quite manque, our party at Eatington's,"'"' 
 said Mr. Penryn, thinking it right to turn the- 
 conversation. " A Quaker's meeting would have 
 been more lively," added Lord George. " I did 
 not find it pleasant, certainly," Lady Matilda 
 sincerely replied. — " Only think," said Mr. Pen- 
 ryn, " of their asking, together, two rival pur- 
 veyors of wit ; who, besides the natural jalousie 
 de metier, had had a downright quarrel. Of 
 course, as always happens, they got next each 
 other; and were so occupied in shewing that 
 they did not mind it, that they could think 
 of nothing else. But there is nothing so pro- 
 verbially unlucky as the lottery of a dinner- 
 table. One is sure to get next the person one 
 most wishes to avoid ; don''t you think so, Lady 
 Matilda ?" 
 
 This appeal was made at random, and without 
 
60 MATILDA. 
 
 any consciousness of how conclusive a testimony 
 she could bear to the justness of his proposition. 
 But Lord George saved her the awkwardness 
 of assent, by taking the allusion to himself. " I 
 trust. Lady Matilda will not assent to a doctnne 
 against which I must vehemently protest," said 
 he, with a slight bow. " Oh ! you George 1 — 
 Aye, I had forgotten," said his friend ; " but I 
 don't think your other neighbour. Lady Matilda, 
 seemed properly aware of the peculiar advan- 
 tages of his situation ; I never was so disap- 
 pointed in a man in my life as in Lord Ormsby.'' 
 
 " We used to reckon him a very pleasant fel- 
 low, before he went abroad," said Lord George ; 
 " I recollect, when I first came out, no party was 
 quite the thing, without Augustus Arlingford." 
 
 The reader will probably observe, tiiat there 
 is a little anachronism in this statement of Lord 
 George''s ; and that his recollection of their pre- 
 vious acquaintance had not occurred to him at 
 the meeting of the evening before. 
 
 " But," Mr. Penryn continued, " with all his 
 fun, he had always an infernal sentimental twrn. 
 Just before he went abroad, we all thought that 
 he had got some little rural attachment — some 
 Clarj, in the country." 
 
MATILDA. 61 
 
 " Perhaps, then, after all," said Lord George, 
 *' the constant swain is going to marry her ; for 
 as I was coming to you, I saw him get into his 
 travelling-carriage, at Mivart's." 
 
 This intelligence, which was communicated 
 towards the conclusion of their visit, was highly 
 satisfactory to Lady Matilda ; not only because 
 it relieved her from the immediate embarrass- 
 ment of the intended dinner, which her acquaint- 
 ance with the Hobson family had not rendered 
 less formidable, but also on general grounds; 
 for, however she might exert herself in pubhc, 
 the experience of her feelings of the preceding 
 evening, convmced her, that the less she saw of 
 Lord Ormsby the better. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Thanks to Mac Adam and a rapid succession 
 of " first and second turn out," our hero found 
 himself, towards the evening of the morrow, at 
 the lodge gate leading to Ormsby Castle. 
 
 Home is said to possess an universal attraction, 
 felt by the traveller in all his wanderings, — "Who 
 drags at each remove a lengthening chain ;" — 
 and the return to the scenes of our youth, at 
 whatever age, and under whatever circumstan- 
 ces, is supposed to impart a till then unknown 
 pleasure. But, like the seeds of all human pas- 
 sions, however equally innate in the breast of 
 all, its development is dependent on the habits 
 of the person, and its growth proportioned to 
 the strength of the charm by which it exerts its 
 influence. 
 
 The fanciful Gall may find the thieving boss, 
 or bump, alike prominent on the cranium of the 
 vagabond and the right honourable. On one, its 
 impulse irresistibly leads to felony and the gal- 
 
MATILDA* 63 
 
 lows ; on the other, at most, it can only tend to 
 suspicion at the gaming-table, or stifled disgrace 
 as a public defaulter. 
 
 And so it is with respect to the universality of 
 this attraction towards home. The returned 
 seafaring apprentice, who pokes his way back 
 to his indigenous garret in Wapping, can form 
 but a faint idea of the proud sensations of Lord 
 Ormsby, as he again entered the magnificent 
 domains of his native place. On every side thou- 
 sands of rival monarchs of the wood, with all the 
 accumulated dignity of centuries, and all the 
 freshness and gaiety of a young summer foliage, 
 waved their outstretched arms at the arrival of 
 their lord and master. 
 
 Varied glades of verdant lawn conducted 
 the eye where, from the summit of remote and 
 apparently inaccessible crags, the wilder scions 
 of the forest nodded their distant homage. The 
 mountain stream roared its rude welcome from 
 afar, which, at its nearer approach, was softened 
 into the silent tribute of an extensive lake. The 
 setting sun lent his oblique rays to ghtter through 
 every branch, and sparkle on the surface of the 
 waters, greeting our hero with a natural illumi- 
 nation, compared with which the greatest artificial 
 
64 MATILDA. 
 
 efforts of the tind, that ever victory bought, or 
 faction extorted, were dreary and pitiful. It was 
 thus that Lord Ormsby arrived at the mansion of 
 his fathers, for the first time as its master. 
 
 Let the landed interest grumble as they wiI^ 
 at the depreciation of their property, the most 
 successful stock-jobbing cannot give to " airy 
 nothings, a local habitation and a name." Tlie 
 honest pride in the hereditary possession of an 
 English gentleman's seat, is a feeling which no 
 mushroom wealth can buy. An old country 
 place is a friend whose aspect no neglect can 
 change, — a mistress whose beauties increase 
 with age. All other companions, absence alienates^ 
 caprice disgusts, perhaps whilst yet in youth 
 — or as age advances, increasing infirmities ren- 
 der as crabbed as ourselves, or death prema- 
 turely tears from us. But this our inanimate 
 mother meets us on our return, the last day the 
 same as the first ; with all the freshness and kind- 
 ness one left : the marks of our boyish fancy, not 
 neglected or thrown aside, but cherished even 
 as we imprinted them; only improved in one's 
 absence into a lovely maturity. The statesman, 
 who spurns all other domestic ties, yet owns this 
 power of attachment tahis hereditary place ; and 
 
MATILDA* 65 
 
 the greatest master of human nature who ever 
 wrote, makes the most ambitious of men, King- 
 killer Warwick, at the point of death, most 
 lament 
 
 " j\!y parks, my walks, my manors which I had."^ 
 
 Happy the man who feels these enjoyments, 
 and limits his other desires to giving, to all 
 around who are dependent on him, cause to 
 share in this feeling for the place of their birth. 
 That such is the contented lot of many now 
 living, there can be no doubt ; and yet they 
 allow some of their own body annually to slan- 
 der them by the monstrous absurdity of the 
 assertion, that the slightest alteration in the game 
 laws would drive them from the country. 
 
 Do they mean that the continuance of an ab- 
 surd, tyrannical, and, as it has been proved, 
 most insufficient and abortive system, for protect- 
 ing their monopoly in a healthy and manly 
 amusement, is their only object in life ? Do they 
 mean that they will abdicate all their gracious 
 and peaceful prerogatives, as petty sovereigns, 
 if they are not allowed also the truly Kingly 
 Right of making war upon their neighbours ? 
 
 But the fact is, that this is an idle threat. The 
 
66 MATILDA. 
 
 country gentlemen will continue to reside on their 
 estates, even though (which will never be the 
 case,) there should not be one " coney, hare, 
 pheasant, partridge, mallard, duck, tea], or 
 widgeon, grouse, heathcock, or moorgame,"'"' left 
 in the country : for they never will have the bad 
 taste willingly to emigrate to a ricketty two- 
 windowed lodging in a watering-place, with bad 
 port, retailed by the dozen ; one fat joint of 
 roasted meat, that offends their nose all the morn- 
 ing, before its appearance, and their palate after- 
 wards ; with a dark, dusty reading-room, for a 
 resource, and that very unqualified semi-gentle- 
 man sort of person, whom they so much abomi- 
 nate, for society ; in preference to the indulgence 
 of old-fashioned hospitality amongst their neigh- 
 bours, and the management of their own con- 
 cerns as an occupation. 
 
 Whatever Lord Ormsby's abstract opinion 
 was, upon this subject, it was not called into 
 play upon the present occasion. As it was still 
 early in the month of July, our hero had nothing 
 but solitude to expect during his sejour here, as 
 his mother had gone abroad soon after the un- 
 fortunate marriage of her eldest son ; principally 
 to avoid taking any decided step about a con- 
 nection which, as it was irremediable, her kind- 
 
MATILDA. 67 
 
 ness tempted her to forgive ; but which, she felt, 
 her duty towards her daughter enjoined her, as 
 much as possible, to avoid. 
 
 He was received, at the hall-door, by Mrs. 
 Brown, the old housekeeper, a sort of heir-loom 
 in the family ; whose fondness for him had often 
 shewed itself in his childhood, by first stuffing 
 him with sweetmeats, and then unmercifully 
 dosing away the mischief she had done. She 
 now met him, not quite with that warmth of 
 manner which the affection excited by his uni- 
 form kindness would have led one to expect; 
 but the fact was, that the joy which she felt, as 
 a good-hearted old woman, was not a little alloyed 
 by her professional regret, as an experienced 
 housekeeper, that he had come a day sooner than 
 she expected. This, however, having been ex- 
 plained away, and an assurance given, that any 
 want of due preparation was all owing to his own 
 fault, she led the way to his mother's sitting- 
 room. This, she said, she thought he would 
 prefer, whilst he was alone, as it would remind 
 him of old times. " You will find it pretty 
 much as you left it," she said ; " for when your 
 poor brother lost himself, (God forgive him !) 
 and they were coming here, I locked it up ; for 
 
68 MATILDA. 
 
 I could not bear that the like of she should be 
 where my Lady used to sit.*" 
 
 This disgraceful marriage had been a terrible 
 thorn in the side of poor Mrs.. Brown, com- 
 pletely identified, as she conceived herself, with 
 the family dignity ; and it had added to the 
 irritability of a temper, originally none of the 
 best. Lord Ormsby, rather from thinking that 
 he ought to say something, than from its being a 
 subject which he wished to enter upon with Mrs. 
 Brown, asked if his brother had ever lived much 
 there. 
 
 *' No, indeed," said Mrs. Bro\vn ; " they 
 corned with all their low set, but only staid two 
 nights; why, Heaven only knovvs." 
 
 This was not quite the plain and simple truth ; 
 as, besides Heaven, Mrs. Brown herself well 
 knew why ; having been indeed the cause : for 
 one of Lady Orm shy's servants having required 
 the attendance of Mrs. Brown in a summary 
 way, not very soothing to her self-importance ; 
 calling out — " Your Alhstrcss wants you f"* — 
 " Mistress., indeed V retorted the soured pur- 
 veyor of sweets ; — " my Mistress ! more people^^ 
 Mistress than mine, if all was tcld."' This having 
 been inmiediately repeated to her Ladyship^ 
 
MATILDA. G^ 
 
 slje had assaulted the housekeeper in a manner 
 which shewed, that want of practice, since her 
 elevation to the peerage, had not injured that 
 easy fluency, in a dialect called slang, in which 
 ladies of lier description often acquire a most 
 astonishing proficiency. It being impossible to 
 restore peace, her Ladyship's unhappy husband 
 had bribed her, (which was the only sort of in- 
 fluence he ever possessed over her,) to quit the 
 castle ; to which arrangement she the more rea- 
 dily agreed, as a country residence was not ex- 
 actly what suited her best. 
 
 In their way to his mother's room, Lord 
 Ormsby and his guide passed throiagh a long 
 gallery of family pictures ; the first of which, by 
 Holbein, was a female, with little grey eyes, and 
 sandy hair, combed straight back from the fore- 
 head, and a stiff figure, amazingly squeezed, 
 starched, and be-ruffed ; and on a tesselated 
 pavement, at her little pinched feet, was written, 
 " Lady Matilda Delaval, first Baroness Ormsby."" 
 This had been early subject of merriment to the 
 happy trio, which consisted of her twenty times 
 great-grand-children and great-niece. Many 
 were the jests at the pretended hkeness between 
 her and her merry namesake ; and great the 
 
70 MATILDA. 
 
 affected wonder, as to who should be the pendant 
 on the vacant pannel at the other end of the 
 room. The recollections which the sight of this 
 picture painfully excited in the mind of Ormsby, 
 seemed also to press strongly on that of Mrs. 
 Brown, who had also, probably, speculated, in 
 her way, upon the future occupant of the spare 
 pannel. " You will find, in my Lady^s room, 
 Mr. Augustus, (my Lord, I mean,) some music 
 and drawing-books of Lady Matilda Delavars, 
 (Dornton's I mean) ; I locked the door up, as I 
 said, when that happened, without looking what 
 was in the room. Perhaps you will find some 
 way to return them to her, now she's married, — 
 not quite as was expected, to be sure." And she 
 stopped a moment, and gave something between 
 a sigh and a wheeze ; caused, partly by the steep 
 staircase they had been mounting, and partly by 
 the recollection of the disappointment of long- 
 cherished stewardVroom gossip, when they used 
 to toast the union of the handsomest couple in 
 the county — Augustus Arlingford and Matilda 
 Delaval. On the floor, at the other end of the 
 gallery, leaning against the empty pannel, was 
 an open deal packing-case, sent by Annabella, 
 Lady Ormsby, as she now called herself, con- 
 
MATILDA. 71 
 
 taining her portrait, in the character of Diana, 
 with Ormsby Castle in the back ground. Whe- 
 ther the resemblance in feature was as striking 
 as the choice of character was appropriate, was 
 not easily to be decided; for where the head 
 should have been, only appeared the inverted 
 form of a well-shaped leg, naked to the knee : for 
 when, upon opening the case, Mrs. Brown had 
 discovered who its unwelcome inmate was, she 
 had left her just as she had found her, turned 
 topsy-turvy, with her head on the floor, and her 
 heels in the air. This neglect, on the part of 
 Mrs. Brow^l, of her usual habit of enforcing 
 rigid discipline in the drill and deportment of 
 every article of furniture, from a picture to a 
 poker, was intentional ; conveying, as she thought, 
 an insult, appropriately disgraceful, for her in- 
 trusion amongst the immaculate inhabitants of 
 the gallery ; and in this opprobious position she 
 left her, to await the final judgment of her new 
 master, which, she trusted, would be for the 
 flames. But, on the present occasion, Mrs. Brown 
 passed on in silence, leaving, to a future time, her 
 appeal to his Lordship for his sentence upon it ; 
 not wishing, unnecessarily, to enter on so hateful 
 a subject, at their first interview. 
 
 When she left Lord Ormsby in his mother's 
 
k-% MATILDA. 
 
 room, he acknowledged to himself with pleasure, 
 that it was indeed in the same state as when he last 
 saw it. AVarmly attached to his mother and sister, 
 many combined reminiscences of their presence 
 were highly interesting to him; but what he 
 most eagerly sought for was that collection of 
 little things belonging to Lady Matilda, wliich 
 Mrs. Brown had announced to him. One of the 
 first that fell into his hands was a small drawing- 
 book, which opened accidentally at a slight sketch 
 of himself. The history of this sketch he well 
 remembered. It was occasioned by some singu- 
 larity in the shooting dress in w^hich he had ap> 
 peared, and which struck Matilda and his sister 
 Emily as fantastical. The costume was recorded 
 with much quaint humour, but the face was any 
 thing but caricature; and, though sketchy, was 
 evidently the work of one who had found pleasure 
 
 . '' to sit and draw 
 
 His arched brows, liis hawking eye, his curls, 
 In her heart's table.'' 
 
 The surface of the di-awing was disfigured by 
 five or six long slender pencil marks, which, in a 
 moment of playful waywardness she had scratched 
 over it, when asked to shew it to him for whom it 
 was intended. 
 
MAllLDA. t^ 
 
 How uncertain and irregular are the approaches 
 to the seat of all human passions. Sometimes the 
 most trifling circumstance will casually find its 
 way, by a short cut, direct to the heart, when a re- 
 gularly connected chain of sentimental associations 
 wull in vain attempt an advance towards it. There 
 was nothing tended more irresistibly, though 
 against his better judgment, to revive former 
 feehngs in the mind of Lord Ormsby, than this 
 foolish trifle which he held in his hand, — connect- 
 ing, as he did, the arch glance of the single-hearted, 
 afl^ectionate girl who had drawn it, with the tear- 
 ful eye of the cate-worn woman whom he had 
 seen two nights before ; and contrasting the warm 
 and friendly hand, which in a playful struggle he 
 had endeavoured to prevent from destroying her 
 performance, with that which coldly touched his 
 sleeve as he handed her down Lord Eatington's 
 staircase. Poor Matilda ! in a hasty moment, as 
 she had scratched those feeble lines to efface his 
 likeness from the paper, even so she had endea- 
 voured to obliterate his image from her heart, and 
 even so she had destroyed its value and rendered 
 it unfit to be preserved. But in spite of her 
 abortive efforts, the earlier impressions remained 
 in all their former freshness, beneath. 
 
74? MATILDA. 
 
 The next morning, the lawyers who were to 
 meet Lord Ormsby from town on business, not 
 being arrived, he determined on a ride for a ride's 
 sake; and, mounting a favourite horse, he, oc- 
 cupied with his own reflections, left the choice of 
 the road a good deal to the animal, who in the 
 exercise of his discretion took him through the 
 grounds, and several miles of shady lanes, to the 
 gates of Delaval Park, — at which he made a dead 
 point. At this Lord Ormsby expressed his first 
 symptoms of difference of opinion ; but the horse, 
 who entertained a lively recollection of Lord 
 Wakefield's corn-bins, had been lately unused to 
 controul, and in his best days was a little bigotted 
 in his own opinions as to the road to be taken — 
 confirmed, too, in this instance, by the certainty, 
 from all former experience, that he was indis- 
 putably right, he thought proper to resist. Lord 
 Ormsby was in general a temperate as well as a 
 good horseman, but upon this occasion, perhaps 
 from irritation at being unwilhngly detained on 
 the spot where he had parted from Matilda, he 
 corrected the animal with unnecessary severity, 
 and then having carried, his point, as capriciously 
 caressed him ; saying " Poor Orlando ! you and 
 I must now turn our thoughts another way." 
 
MATILDA. 75 
 
 Putting into execution this plan, of disciplining 
 his own and Orlando's wayward inclinations, and 
 wandering farther away from home, and into a 
 part of the Delaval property with which he was 
 not very well acquainted, he began to be rather 
 doubtful of the road, when he saw approaching 
 him his old acquaintance, Dick Boulby, whom he 
 had known as Lord Wakefield's gamekeeper. 
 Dick was passing him without notice, when Lord 
 Ormsby stopped him, " What, Dick, don't you 
 know me again ?" After looking at him a mo- 
 ment, Dick exclaimed, " Why, if it beant Measter 
 Agoostus Arlingford, why I be hanged if I warn't 
 speering about you at that very moment.— You'll 
 excuse my not knowing you again, Sir. I'm a 
 bit over old to ken folks. Bad times sin' we met, 
 my Lord you be now — " 
 
 " Yes, but the times are getting better." — 
 " Worse wid me — they canna get better — You 
 might have made them better, and that were what 
 I was a bethinking me about, when first I seed 
 you. You were the best lang shot I ever met in 
 all my days ; but this baronet, he dinna ken the 
 trigger fra the cock, or may be whether shot 
 came fra stock or muzzle." 
 
 " Well," said Lord Ormsby, anxious to turn 
 
< O MAT! LDA. 
 
 the conversation, " he may be a very good master 
 for all that. But I had almost lost my way : 
 you can tell me the best road back to Ormsby ; 
 these lanes are rather crooked."" — " Crooked ! 
 they be strait enuf presently. That Sir James 
 he be going — (think o** that, Measter Arlingford !) 
 to make a road through Delaval Park, strait as 
 amy line in his father's ledger I — aye, and as 
 black too. — A rail-road to carry coal, think of 
 that. — AVhat wouM my lady's grandfather, auld 
 lord, as I used to follow when he rode hawking 
 tlirough whole range, have said when he went 
 fetar-gazing, to have com'd wid his nose int' 
 coal- cart ?'^ 
 
 " But, I dare say it isn't so," said Lord 
 Oimsby, " it's a false report." 
 
 ''- Over true," said Dick, " it were but yester- 
 day I was at our l)est wood — that you know, 
 where Mr. Scribbleton, my lord's secretary 
 peppered your legs in the Battev.'. Well, I seed 
 three chaps I did not ken, with poles and other 
 sort of machines, I guessed might be new fang- 
 led poaching tools ; so I went ti'd them, and they 
 told I, they wair surveyors — come down fra Sir 
 James to take elevation for line of rail-road. — 
 They say, howsomdever, they mun wait for 
 
MATILDA. 77 
 
 Parliament, and they canna do it without my 
 lady's word ; and she. Lord bless her ! is auld 
 lord's own grand-daughter ; she did a power of 
 good last winter. I'll hear it fra her own lips 
 l^fore I believe — Oh, Mr. Augoostus, she might 
 have had power as well as will to help, but for 
 this chap, — one canna make a silk purse out a 
 sow's ear, as my auld woman says -^ but if you 
 had " Lord Ormsby did not wish this compa- 
 rison to be pushed further, or indeed the appear- 
 ance of interfering in Sir James's concerns ; so, 
 Jiaving learnt the best road from his old friend, 
 he gave him something to remember him by, and 
 gallopped home : and there for the present we 
 must leave him.. 
 
7S 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The 16th of July, the day appointed for the 
 departure of the Dorntons for the Continent, 
 at length arrived. The intermediate time, since 
 we left them, had been employed by Sir James 
 in overloading himself with cumbrous com- 
 forts of every description, mostly patent portable 
 articles — that is to say, they were just portable 
 enough to stuff the carriages full of things other- 
 wise unnecessary. And being ingenious patent 
 contrivances, they had the peculiar recommen- 
 dation for travelling, that they could only be 
 repaired by the inventor. However, by dint of 
 a great deal of packing, they were at length all 
 stowed ; and Sir James and Lady Matilda 
 took their places in the travelling chaise, and 
 Mam'selle Felicie and her band-boxes in the 
 Britchker behind. 
 
 Partial as I am to Lady Matilda, and anxious 
 that the gentle reader should pass as much of his 
 time as possible in her company, I still do not 
 
MATILDA. 79 
 
 think it would be shewing her to advantage if 
 I were to induce him to travel bodkin between 
 her and Sir James. I shall therefore rather 
 propose to him, at least at starting, to take a 
 place in the family-coach of the Hobsons, which, 
 as stated in all the newspapers, left the Waterloo 
 Hotel in Jennyn Street, two days previous to 
 the last-mentioned departure. 
 
 We must, however, first introduce some of 
 the male members of the family, who have not 
 yet been mentioned. Mr. Hobson, himself, was 
 usually called Old Hobson. Not that he really 
 was older than many very personable people in 
 the world ; but his coat had a long waist and a 
 short collar, he abominated trowsers, always wore 
 long gaiters, never shewed his shirt collar, and 
 his wig was the meanest of scratches. Besides 
 this, he never laughed, and seldom spoke; and 
 when he did, always in a short testy manner. 
 These marks of age, more infallibly than any 
 number of years, constitute a man old in the 
 nineteenth century. 
 
 People wondered why old Hobson was not a 
 pleasanter old fellow. Every thing had gone 
 well with him in the world ; but the fact was, 
 that the situation into which his success had 
 brought him, produced that constant contradic- 
 
80 MATILDA. 
 
 tion between his actions and his inclinations, 
 which caused his surliness. Conscious that he 
 had made his own fortune, he was anxious to 
 shew the extent of his merit to tlie world, by 
 spending it with spirit ; and this desire was in a 
 state of perpetual warfare with that penurious 
 turn which had helped him to acquire liis 
 wealth. 
 
 This inward struggle was most apparent in 
 uifles, as reminding him most forcibly of the 
 little expenses he used to grudge in his hoarding 
 days. He would at any time rather pay a coach- 
 maker, than a postboy. On great occasions, 
 too, — such as the tour abroad, — his anxiety to 
 do the genteel thing laid him at the mercy of his 
 family. — His dislike to the journey only vented 
 itself in grumbling. — lie never ventured to offer 
 direct objection, much less formal opposition ; 
 but, as it was inevitable, comforted himself with 
 doing his best to make it disagreeable. 
 
 Such was the amiable being who now took his 
 seat in his new travelling-coach, with his wife by 
 his side, and three daughters opposite to them. 
 In the rumble behind, were squeezed those two 
 most hapless animals when abroad, a London foot- 
 man and an English maid ; the latter of whom, as 
 she complained herself, " did for all the ladies.'" 
 
MATILDA. 8| 
 
 The barouche-seat in front was occupied by 
 two much more important personages ; no other 
 than our friend Jem's two elder brothers. The 
 eldest, Tom, was what is called " in business ;" 
 that is, he spent ail his time in amusing himself, 
 whether as a pedestrian in poaching, as an eques- 
 trian in tumbling off broken-down hack hunters, 
 or in the vehicular line, in tooling the Manchester 
 Mail the last stage into that town. — But though 
 he was thus always occupied out of doors, in 
 bringing down birds, throwing down horses, or 
 driving down passengers, he was, nevertheless, 
 all this while " in the house ;'' that is, his name 
 did duty on many a bale of goods in large letters, 
 — " Hobson, Rising, Hobson, & Co." w^hile 
 his person was following these more agreeable 
 avocations. 
 
 It was with a view to settling Tom some- 
 where abroad, to increase the foreign connexions 
 of the house, that his father consented to his 
 accompanying them. 
 
 By his side sat a very different person, — his 
 brother, Mr. Valentine Hobson ; christened Va- 
 lentine, from his having been born on the 14th 
 of February, the anniversary of that sapient 
 saint. And, as it turned out, he had beea 
 E 5 
 
82 MATILDA. 
 
 appropriately enough named ; for mucTi of the 
 mawkish nonsense, and sentimental stuff of his 
 natal day, had instilled itself into his character. 
 He was incurably addicted to scribbling amatory 
 trash ; w^hich worst of all offences in old Hob- 
 son^s eyes, had been attempted to be corrected 
 by procuring him chambers in Lincoln's Inn, 
 to study the law. But the remedy, strong as it 
 may seem, had not been effectual ; for he had 
 never even then had a lucid interval, in which 
 he enjoyed, a temporary oblivion that " love,**" 
 rhymed to " dove f ' " thine,"*' to " pine ;" " eye," 
 to ^^ die ;" and that " heart,'' with a due sense 
 of its own importance, monopohzed " dart," 
 '« smart," "part," C7im multisaliis. This seemed 
 desperate indeed ; but a fortnight at Paris 
 having been known to effect wonderful cures in 
 sentimental cases, he was now on his way to 
 try that specific, and was going with his family 
 as far as Calais^ With his mother he was a 
 great favourite, as she declared she liked a man 
 who knew all BelVs Letters by heart. 
 
 This was the family arrangement, and thus 
 they had all taken their places, — the hapless Jem- 
 winking his red eyes at the hotel door. 
 ^ Good bye, Jem," said J\Iiss Hobson^ 
 
MATILDA. 83 
 
 " Good bye, Jem," echoed Miss Anne. 
 
 " Remember me to Miss Jones," said one. 
 
 " And me to Miss Donking," said another. 
 
 " And all of us to Bill Buckley,'' said a third. 
 
 " Learn your multiplication table better^ 
 boy," growled old Hobson ; and that was all 
 the farewell the kind father took of him. 
 
 " And stick to speechifying, and you'll be a 
 great man," sobbed Mrs. Hobson, in a tone in 
 which present distress struggled with feelings 
 of confident anticipation. 
 
 Poor Jem I at that moment he would have 
 given up the prospect of all his mother's am- 
 bitious plans for him at home — even the Home 
 Secretaryship — for the smallest place in the 
 foreign department, that he now saw before his 
 eyes. 
 
 At length the word was given, and the im- 
 mense vehicle put in motion, not without much 
 difficulty, and scraping, and scrambling, and 
 after two or three abortive jerks; though the 
 horses were four of Newman's best. 
 
 Hardly was this effected, when '' Stop I stop!" 
 cried Mrs. Hobson ; '' You must stop." 
 
 *-' Aye, stop, stop here for good," said old 
 Hobson ; " better late than never ►'* 
 
84 MATILDA. 
 
 " No nonsense, my dear,*" retorted Mrs. Hob- 
 son ; " but I have left behind, what I shall be 
 dumb-founded without. Madame (what's her 
 name'*s) Voyager's Manual Exercisey 
 
 " Voyager exercise, you'll have enough of 
 that in the voyage in the packet to-morrow," 
 muttered her husband. 
 
 But this was lost on Mrs. Hobson, who had now 
 pushed as much of her person as she could 
 through the open window, screaming " Jem." 
 Jem, who thought that of course they had stop- 
 ped for him, came grinning up, and was marvel- 
 lously disappointed, when he was only sent back 
 for a book. With such a messenger at such a 
 time it needed hardly be added, that the book was 
 returned missing; and the carriage was again, v/ith 
 the same efforts, put in motion. But once started, 
 there is no known weight that ever swung upon 
 four wheels, which four English post horses will 
 not take at the rate of ten miles an hour, provi- 
 ded always that the boys have the necessary spur 
 in the head, and these silver persuaders were 
 upon this occasion unsparingly used by Tom 
 Hobson. 
 
 By dint of this, as they reached Blackheath, 
 they overtook a Dover Safety Coach,— called 
 
MATILDA. 85 
 
 safety, originally, probably from going faster, and 
 carrying more passengers than was previously 
 believed possible; and certainly havingsince earned 
 the title, by being oftener overturned than any 
 other. — " Blow me,'' said Tom to his brother, 
 " if that an't our currier.''^ Then tapping the 
 front window, " I say, there's cur currier^ — 
 " Where's the cooreer f said Mrs. Hobson. — 
 " Let's look at the curiare,'''' said Miss Hobson, 
 as she thought with her best boarding-school 
 accent. " I haven't seen the cjuom'la ,'''' added 
 Miss Anne. " Damn the currier,'" said old 
 Hobson. — " That's our curry ^"^ was echoed from 
 John to Nanny on the rumble. 
 
 "What a miserable half-begotten looking 
 beggar he is," said Tom to his brother, from the 
 front. '* He seems a helpless sort of chap," conti- 
 nued John from the rear. ' ' Quite a poor cretur^'' 
 rejoined Nanny ; and to be sure he did not look 
 very happy and comfortable, bumping about in 
 the seat of the basket, his little legs danghng in 
 the air, and his short person elbowed into nothing 
 by two fat old women, who talked unremittingly 
 across him to each other, reckoning ihejvj'injieer- 
 ■mg man for nothing. The boys having gallopped 
 by the coach to Tom's heart's content, — they 
 
80 MATILDA. 
 
 arrived at Dartford, — where the expectations 
 Tom had excited in the boys, were to be reahzed 
 by old Hobson. This was rather a dilemma for 
 Tom ; for his father, when what he had given was 
 received with a remonstrating touch of the hat, 
 and, " Please your honour, we came a merry 
 pace," retorted, "Merry pace? racing, you rascals; 
 think yourself very well oflP I don't set old Martin 
 after you.'' But, Sir, the young gentleman — "" 
 the boy was rejoining, w^hen Tom, tipping him a 
 wink, made up deficiencies amply out of his own 
 purse ; and Lunnon Bill bowing, and having said 
 something in a satisfactory whisper to Dartford 
 Dick, they again gallopped off, before the coach, 
 the object of all Tom's anxieties, came in sight. 
 Without farther adventure they arrived at Dover, 
 where they spent their last English evening in 
 a truly national manner, — eating and drinking, 
 without intermission, during a continued succes- 
 sion of dinner, tea, and supper ; the intellectual 
 part of the entertainment consisting in Tom 
 Hobson's having the courier in to laugh at his 
 broken English. 
 
 The next morning, betimes, they were sum- 
 moned to tlie Steam Packet, — where the ladies 
 immediately descended to tlie cabin, '' to prepare 
 
MATILDA. 8T 
 
 for woe;'^ while old Hobson was unmercifully 
 beset by that licensed tribe of extortioners, con- 
 sisting of boat-men, ladder-men, custom-house 
 runners, ostlers, porters, and a long et cetera, — 
 '' Ah ! I knew, if I left England, I should pay 
 for it," he said ; "but this is beginning rather 
 soon ;" all the time fumbling the loose change in 
 his breeches-pocket, the complete disappearance 
 of which he would have thought utter ruin, 
 though now going where it would be perfectly 
 useless — he sneaked off in time, into some undis- 
 covered hole, from which he was not extracted 
 till they arrived at Calais. 
 
 And now, tliat deafening clamour, and bewilder- 
 ing bustle, with which sailors give to their ordi- 
 nary duties the same importance as if the vessel 
 were going to the bottom, were silenced ; the 
 all-powerful voi<;e of the Captain summoned, 
 from the cauldron beneath, a spirit, who rose half 
 through the hatchway, like a devil in a panto- 
 mime through a trap. The word was given; 
 and the steam-boat began tickling old Neptune's 
 sides with its claws. Part of the boards that 
 covered one of the w^heels being open, Tom 
 Hobson took his post there ; and being, as we 
 have already seen, a great amateur of rapidity in. 
 
88 MATILDA. 
 
 rotatory motion, was highly pleased with its 
 exertions, and kept crying — " Eravo ! go it, my 
 tulip ! spin along, my fine fellow ! bravo !"' till 
 the whirl of the wheel communicated itself to his 
 head ; and the sea acting equally upon both, he 
 was soon incapacitated for further observations. 
 
 Against the other paddle, in a pensive attitude, 
 leant his brother Valentine, who having, amongst 
 his other studies, read an Enghsh translation cf 
 Corinne, thought it necessary, like Lord Neville, 
 to take a pathetic farewell of the white cliffs of 
 Albion; which tender feeling, as he was only 
 going for a fortnight to Paris, his mother coun- 
 try, however partial a parent, could hardly be 
 supposed to reciprocate with any one of his 
 numerous family. However, there he stood, 
 leaning his fat face on his pudsy hand, and 
 trying in vain for a rhime to cliff, — " whifF^"* and 
 *• stifT^ being both unmanageable. At last his 
 head was turned before his couplet, — and his 
 patriotic sickness yielded to one of a less senti- 
 mental description — his mal-du-pays being suc- 
 ceecied by the mal-de-Ia-mer. 
 
 Such was the disabled condition of the Plobson 
 family, when their passage was concluded, (as is 
 always the case.) in less time than it was ever 
 
MATILDA. 89 
 
 done before, though in half an hour longer than 
 they were told was expected, at starting. They 
 now entered Calais harbour, and prepared to 
 expose themselves to the gaze of the crowd 
 assembled to criticise the last importations from 
 the island of beauty. 
 
 Nationality is a sort of generous illiberality, a 
 dignified selfishness, the indulgence of which, so 
 far from exciting self-reproach, one easily per- 
 suades oneself is praise- worthy , as well as pleasing. 
 The consciousness of monopolizing, within our 
 sea-girt isle, a proud pre-eminence of beauty, is 
 one of its most gratifying illusions. 
 
 Yet I own, that in returning along the Dover 
 road, I have been sometimes a little puzzled in 
 my attempts to be struck with this, as, in passing, 
 I have endeavoured to persuade myself, that a 
 slouching gait, high round shoulders, thick 
 waist, and thicker ancles, must belong to a lovely 
 face ; and leaning forward to convince myself, 
 ttie slight glimpse has not quite reahzed the 
 expectations national vanity had formed. 
 
 If such disappointment has sometimes been 
 my fate, in spite of all my prejudices, of which 
 I am proud, what must a Frenchman, whose pre- 
 judices are certainly the other way, think (when 
 
90 MATILDA. 
 
 he thinks at all) of the boasted beauties whom he 
 daily sees scrambling and shuffling to their inn, 
 with all the disadvantage of just recovering from 
 that most unbecoming of maladies, of which a 
 packet is the cause ? — their complexion (which is 
 always their first attraction,) completely disco- 
 loured ; their dress, (which is never their forte,) 
 splashed and draggled ; displaying, in short, all 
 the disfigurement, and none of the interest, of 
 recent distress. Though Venus did first come 
 from the sea, assuredly she never landed from 
 a packet. 
 
 We have, however, sent more favourable spe-. 
 cimens than the present representatives of an 
 English Venus, and her three attendant graces ; 
 who, in the persons of Mrs. and the Misses Hob- 
 son, with old Hobson, like Vulcan hobbling after, 
 excited no small merriment, as they made the 
 best of their way to Dessein's Hotel. 
 
91 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The feeling which one experiences in the first 
 change from an EngHsh to a French inn, must 
 be hke that of a horse, who is suddenly taken out 
 of a warm, close stable, and turned into a loose 
 box. In the first, he is often cramped for room ; 
 kept much too hot; plagued with superfluous 
 care and attention ; never left enough to himself; 
 and stuiFed beyond what he can eat. In the 
 other, he has a fine, roomy, airy place, to walk 
 about in, and nobody ever seems to trouble his 
 head about him, or to come near him, except at 
 random, to feed him, when they have nothing 
 else to do. 
 
 At any rate, if the comparison be not quite 
 just, it is one which struck Tom Hobson, as he 
 and his family were turned into a large, staring, 
 out-of-the-way kind of room, and left to their 
 fate. Minutes, that seemed hours, passed, and 
 there was no appearance of any one taking the 
 least notice of them. Mrs. Hobson,, on whom 
 
92 MATILDA. 
 
 the discipline of the packet had entailed a most 
 ravenous appetite, now became most clamorous. 
 All in vain ; — at last she heard a footstep on the 
 stairs, and salhed forth. There she caught a 
 stray waiter, singing — " Partani pour la Syj'iey 
 He was proceeding on his way, without attending 
 to her, when hunger made her bold ; and though 
 she had lost her " Manuel de Voyager^'' she 
 screamed at him, as she thought, in the words of 
 that useful publication, — " Je suis femrae, iljuut 
 me manger.'''' The gargon stared a momerit, 
 in astonishment ; when the truism contained in 
 the first part of the sentence, not seeming to 
 reconcile him to the obligation implied in the 
 remainder, — he passed on — " Partant pour la 
 Syr'iey Their case thus seemed quite despe- 
 rate ; when first an authoritative voice was heard 
 upon the stairs, abusing every body to the right 
 and left ; of which the most audible words were, 
 — '' Sacre ! de falre attendre ; Sacre ! Milord 
 Hohson ; — une des plus r'lclies families d'Angk' 
 terre ; — Sacre!'''' — and, to their astonishment, 
 tliere appeared the figure of the much despised 
 courier, sacreing into the room the identical 
 garc^on. Leon's altered appearance, in " Rule 
 a Wife and have a Wife,'' did not create greater 
 
MATILDA. 93 
 
 feJirprise, nor, indeed, a more complete change 
 in manner and deportment; nor v/as it easy to 
 recognise the little, helpless, much - enduring 
 being, in the shabby surtout and oil-skin hat, 
 iii the arbitrary, bullying, swaggering hero, 
 glittering in gold lace and scarlet, with shining 
 yellow leather breeches, and clattering about in a 
 commanding pair of boots. It was like the 
 Emperor Napoleon, rising from a sous-lieute- 
 nant of artillery, upon the extinction of the 
 ancien regime^ into absolute power. 
 
 Thus, after the short-lived anarchy of the 
 steam-boat, Pierre had completely superseded 
 all the former legitimate authorities of the Hob- 
 son family. From that time forward, nothing 
 could be done without him ; all Mrs. Kobson's 
 almost unintelligible wants were obliged to re- 
 ceive his sanction, before they could be satisfied.; — 
 old Hobson's emi~de-vie and water could not be 
 obtained v/ithout his approbation ; — Tom was 
 obliged to resign, into his more efficient command, 
 all future controul over the postillions ; — even the 
 young ladies coiild not lay their heads on a 
 downy pillow, unless it was procured by him ; 
 and when Miss Hobson desired that she might 
 liave deua gros matehts on her bed, he it was 
 
94 MATILDA 
 
 that saved her from the danger to which an un- 
 conscious substitution of one vowel for another, 
 might have otherwise subjected her. The dinner 
 was not only obtained at once by the exertion 
 of his authority, but upon the whole gave asto- 
 nishing satisfaction. True it is, that old Hobson 
 
 began by d g the soup, as mere salt-water, 
 
 with sea- weed floating in it ; by which he suc- 
 ceeded, as usual, in making what, from recent 
 recollections, was to all the party precisely the 
 most unwelcome of similies. Some 3Iamieno7i 
 cotelettes, too, excited much admiration; Mrs. 
 Hobson wondering why they were wrapped up 
 in paper ; and Tom, supposing that they were 
 meant for them to carry in their pockets, instead 
 of sandwiches. 
 
 Dinner being finished, and the rain continuing, 
 the party were again reduced to their internal 
 resources for amusement ; and as the "detail of 
 these is not likely to afford much gratification 
 to my readers, I shall leave them, for the present, 
 to pursue their journey, turning my attention to 
 more important personages. 
 
95 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Sm James and Lady Matilda Dornton were 
 left just about to start on a continental tour, and 
 just about to become, for the first time since 
 their marriage, entirely dependent on each other 
 for society. 
 
 ^ La Bruyere says, " Le commencement et le 
 declin de Vamoiir se font sentir egalement par 
 Vembarras oil Von est de se trouver seuls^'' This 
 is particularly applicable to those whose con- 
 nexions are dependent, for their continuance, 
 entirely on the will and pleasure of the heart, 
 whose only link is love. But those whom worldly 
 ^'iews have united " for better and for worse," 
 and who have made the state of the affections 
 an after-thought, are apt to find, in the embar- 
 rassment of a continual tete-a-tete^ no slight 
 hints of the above kind, but a very disagreeable 
 conviction impressed upon them; namely, the 
 confirmed negative of love, or the impossibihty 
 of loving. 
 
9<> MATILDA. 
 
 This unpleasant discovery is, in well-regiila» 
 ted families, almost indefinitely postponed. — Be- 
 sides the perpetual bustle of the London season, 
 which is always effectual ; even in a country- 
 house, the dreaded dependence on each other 
 may, for some time, be palliated cither by an 
 idle sporting brother or two, an unmarried sister, 
 who hangs a little on hand, a led captain, a fed 
 chaplain, or a nameless dependent of some kind 
 or other. But travelling is a desperate case ; a 
 daily tete-d-tetc, side by side in a close carriage, 
 is a powerful dispeller of all doubts or illusions 
 on the subject of likes and dislikes. How many 
 early friendships which have withstood the 
 caprice and rivalry of school or college, has a tour 
 through Europe dissolved ! The perpetual change 
 of every thing else, varying climates, postillions 
 with the different-coloured jackets of every state, 
 new towns daily rising in the distance, arrived 
 at, seen, and left behind again ; — all this gives 
 a preternatural sameness to the eternal presence 
 of one's post-chaise companion, which makes one 
 feel at length, as Sinbad did towards the old man 
 of the sea. 
 
 How much worse was the situation of our 
 heroine, whose travelling experience only con- 
 
MATILDA. . 97 
 
 Jlrnied her former fears, as to the state of her 
 feelings towards him, from whom the end of the 
 jouraej was to bring do separation ! 
 
 Lady Matilda had been gifted wicli extraordi- 
 nary quickness of feeling, but with an almost 
 imperturbable sweetness of temper united witli 
 it. The first was sensibly wounded, qf finding 
 with how perfectly unintellectual a comparsioii 
 she was paired ; — the latter was not a little tried 
 with perpetual ebullitions of vulgar selfishness, 
 which, somehow unaccountably, the atmosphere 
 of a- carriage, in travelling, seems singularly cal- 
 culated to bring out and display. 
 
 The day they landed in France, they bad 
 attempted to reach St. Omer, and were not a 
 little annoyed, upon arriving there, at finding 
 the gates were shut. This is, no doubt, a highly 
 praiseworthy precaution in the legitimate autho- 
 rities of a great empire ; but, to the uninitiated, 
 it does seem a little doub.tful, whether, in a time 
 of profound peace, a Limoniere, or even a Ber- 
 line en Poste, could overturn the governmentj 
 or even take the town, though they should not 
 arrive at the gates till a little after eight in the 
 evening. Remonstrance and entreaty were, how- 
 ever, alike in vain, and Sir James and Lady 
 
 F 
 
98 MATILDA. 
 
 Matilda were reduced to the necessity of passing 
 the night in a wretched cabaret in the suburbs, 
 where, but for the darkness, they would have 
 seen it boasted on a board, that extended over the 
 whole front, " Id on loge a pied et a cheval.''^ 
 
 Here Matilda, jaded and dispirited, found 
 herself in a long narrow strip of a room, whose 
 two sides were equally divided between windows, 
 against whose ill-closed casements the rain never 
 ceased to patter, and doors which obstinately 
 refused to shut, though most severely slammed at 
 each entrance of the sabot-footed attendants. 
 She threw herself into a little stiff-backed chair, 
 and leaning on a ricketty table, her eye fixed 
 upon two newly-laid logs of green wood, which 
 shewed more affinity to water than fire, by sim- 
 mering and weeping, instead of crackling and 
 blazing; the only symptom of ignition being 
 smoke, which in a body deserted the chimney 
 for the room. Her attention was called for a 
 moment to Sir James, who stood there, his 
 usually vacant countenance only marked by that 
 owlet look, which a sleepy traveller exhibits on 
 first facing the light; and his discordant voice 
 not softened to comfort her, but raised to abuse 
 the neghgcnce of the servants, who, by mislay- 
 
MATILDA. 99 
 
 ing his segars, had prevented him from adding 
 that delight to her situation. With such a com- 
 panion, in such a scene, Matilda felt that though 
 the luxuries and comforts of life do not, in 
 themselves, constitute happiness, their utter ab- 
 sence to those who are accustomed to both, can 
 very much aggravate misery. 
 
 If in those marriages, of which there are so 
 many, where mutual attachment is to be the 
 effect, and not the cause of the connexion, men 
 did but feel the necessity of bestowing, at least 
 as much care in concealing for a time, faults of 
 manner and of temper, as their vanity will still 
 induce them to take, in hiding, if possible, de- 
 fects of person ; if they were not so very hasty 
 in stripping their character of those borrowed 
 ornaments and artificial advantages, which it wore 
 as that of a lover, — they would not then lose the 
 opportunity, never to be recovered, of fixing 
 affections, which, if not theirs already, must at 
 that time be powerfully predisposed in their 
 favour ; for whilst the feelings newly kindled at 
 the altar are yet warm, and the inclinations 
 malleable, an impression that lasts for life is easily 
 stamped ; but a repulsive chill then given to the 
 heart, it remains cold and insensible ever after. 
 
100 IfATILDA. 
 
 I do not mean to state, that any temporarr 
 management could have rendered happy the 
 union of two persons so perfectly unsuited to eacli 
 other as Sir James and Lady Matilda. Vulgarity 
 was so strongly marked in his manners, and self- 
 ishness so thoroughly ingrained in his character, 
 that constant intercourse with him would have 
 been scarcely endurable by any one with much 
 less than Matilda's refined dehcacy of taste, and 
 even more than lier natural sweetness of temper. 
 
 Yet was Sir James what is called in the world 
 '' A good sort of man."" No very high praise 
 either, as it is a name which, in its very essence, 
 implies the utter absence of the agreeable ; — a cha>- 
 racter alike remote from the possession of those 
 minor talents which constitute the charm of every, 
 day society, or the endowment of those higher 
 t^ualities which excite extraordinary admiration. 
 A good sort of man is a man in easy circum- 
 stances, who has therefore never been convictefl 
 of dishonesty ; of phlegmatic temper, — who has 
 therefore never been guilty of any violent out- 
 rage ; — of mean abilities, — who has therefore 
 never either in private wittily satirized his neigh- 
 bour, or in public disturbed his country by his 
 political ambition. A strange misnomer, a good 
 
MATItDA. lot 
 
 sort of man. He may be a good man; he cer- 
 tainly never has proved Inmself a bad one ; but as 
 to being a good sort, specimen, or sample of a 
 man, heaven defend us from a world peopled 
 after such a pattern ! 
 
 For six long days, through detestable roads, 
 did Matilda swing side by side with Sir James, 
 who, when he had nodded himself out of an 
 uneasy nap, was generally occupied either in 
 lidgetting for his snuff-box, or grumbling at the 
 profusion of packages with which he had himself 
 loaded the carriage. Their road the while lay 
 through three hundred miles of unparalleled ugli- 
 ness, even in that most uninteresting country, 
 self-styled " La telle France^'' 
 
 '' La belle France'''' has no more pretensions to 
 beauty, than the majority of her daughters. 
 Like manv of them, she has not a sinde ^rood 
 feature in her face ; but unhke them, she does 
 not even do her best by adventitious aid to de- 
 serve the title she arrogantly assumes. The 
 slovenly mother of a smart family, she shews 
 herself boldly in all her unadorned ugliness ; her 
 whole form w'rapt in one shapeless, unvaried yel- 
 low gown every summer, which is changed iv^x 
 
102 MATILDA. 
 
 her old brown suit all the winter. England, on the 
 other hand, though her daughters are proverbially 
 dowdy, is a very coquettish elderly gentlewoman. 
 Not a defect but is carefully concealed — not the 
 smallest beauty, but is made the most of — decked 
 out in every variety of colouring, — verdure of 
 the softest velvet, shaped in fashion's newest 
 fancy, and flounced and furbelowed with woods 
 and plantations, trimmed in the best taste of 
 Mesdames Flora, Pomona, & Co. 
 
 For six long days, as Matilda journeyed on 
 through endless avenues and boundless plains, 
 " If," thought she, " my way through life is 
 to be like this, unvaried and uninteresting ; and, 
 like this, straitened by such irksome marks of 
 limitation, may the objects around hold out no 
 stronger allurements than the sameness of the 
 present prospect, to tempt a departure from the 
 strict line of duty." 
 
 Their route latterly had been rolling up and 
 down in a smooth shapeless undulation, which, 
 like a ground-swell at sea, though tame in itself, 
 often betokens the neighbourhood of bolder breaks 
 in the surface. In fact, the ridges had gradually 
 become sharper and steeper ; and the majestic 
 
MATILDA. 103 
 
 Alps in the distance had already begun to peep 
 above their cloudy screen, at the pigmy intruders 
 who were arriving at their outer gates. 
 
 The scenery about Moray, a httle village at 
 the foot of the Jura, is picturesque if not grand, 
 and forms at least an appropriate outwork at this 
 approach to Nature's stupendous pile. 
 
 As the Dorntons descended the last pitch 
 down to that village, which was to be their resting 
 place for the night, Matilda beheld, for the first 
 time in her life, real mountains ; as we can hardly 
 dignify with that title any of those round 
 punchy protuberances which we have in England. 
 She was enthusiastic in her admiration, whilst Sir 
 James only remarked that it was " devilish steep 
 and dangerous." 
 
 As it was yet early to stop, though too late to 
 cross the Jura that night, she was anticipating 
 with the first sensation of pleasure she had expe- 
 rienced for some days, a solitary ramble with her 
 pencil, leaving Sir James to superintend the 
 preparations for dinner, and amuse himself with 
 his segars, — when, as they drove up to the inn 
 door, half a dozen voices which Matilda too well 
 recollected, though habit had not yet rendered 
 them familiar to her, exclaimed at once, " Law ! 
 
1C4 MATILDA. 
 
 it''s my uncle and aunt, — How d'ye do, uncle ? 
 How dVe do, Lady Matilda ? How d^e do, 
 brother Jem ?" " Only think, our dickey-spring 
 broke, and Tom has cut his face ; and the stupid 
 blacksmith has made it much worse than it was 
 before (that's the dickey) ; and Betsy has sprained 
 lier ancle ; and Pa says that though it did look 
 so thick, (that is the iron spring,) it v/as all good 
 for nothing vrithin." 
 
 This clear explanation of their calamity ac- 
 counted for their being still detained here, but 
 did not reconcile to Matilda the necessity which 
 it entailed of her abandoning her solitary ramble. 
 Sir James, she knew, was the more jealous of any 
 inattention, on her part, towards his family, as 
 he v/as liimself rather more ashamed of them 
 than he would ever allow her to be of any thing 
 of or belonging to him. It was also a tender 
 subject with him, because once, when Matilda's 
 intimate friend, Mrs. Mechlin, had been criti- 
 cizing the dowdy appearance of the Hobson's, 
 and wondering why they went abroad, our hero- 
 ine had, in a thoughtless moment, said, that, 
 judging from their dress and address, she should 
 think they were hag-women travelling with sam-. 
 pies of Manchester fashions and manners. 
 
MATILDA. 106; 
 
 It is probable, that if. she had thought one 
 inDinent before she spoke, her fancy would have 
 suggested something better : — it is certain, that if 
 she had paused at all, she would have been alto- 
 gether silent on so delicate a subject. However, 
 her friend had repeated it heedlessly to Sir James, 
 as an excellent thing, and it had given prodi- 
 gious offence. Sir James's own manner towards 
 the Hobsons varied much, as it was alternately 
 governed by a desire to impress them with re- 
 spect for him, or other people with respect for 
 them. 
 
 Of, all sorts of pride, purse-pride, or tlie pride 
 of purse (if one must not coi?i a word, even for 
 one's purse), has the most influence upon every- 
 day deportment. The object of all pride is, to 
 make those around feel their inferiority ; to 
 effect which, the purse-proud man is, more than 
 any other, reduced to vhd voce assertions m 
 society. Pride of family may silently vent itself 
 in its sixteen quarterings on the pannel of a car- 
 riage ; or, it may lie quietly on one's table, in a 
 Debrett's Peerage, with a back like a youjig 
 tumbler's, broken just enough to shew with ease 
 what is required of it. Or, if it is rather the 
 f5 
 
106 MATILDA. 
 
 pride of recent rank than antiquity of descent, 
 it is amply gratified by the direction on the back 
 of a letter, or a brass plate on a front door. 
 
 But the pride of purse is of a much more 
 restless, obtrusive disposition ; it cannot satisfy 
 itself with the possession of the outward advan- 
 tages of wealth, for those are shared by the con- 
 stant succession of needy spendthrifts, who, each 
 in the course of his ephemeral existence, make as 
 much outward shew. It is only, therefore, by 
 an ostentatious and over-bearing manner in 
 society, that the purse-proud man can succeed in 
 his object of making himself disagreeable where- 
 ever he goes 
 
 There is, however, another distinguishing trait 
 in this description of pride, that, amongst its pro- 
 fessors there is much more subordination than in 
 any other. A man who is proud of his family, 
 will find some very sufficient reason why he is 
 quite as good as another, who, nevertheless, num- 
 bers several more quarterings ; but the wealthy 
 man's pride depends so entirely upon calculation, 
 — is so completely a matter of figures, — that the 
 man of ten thousand a-year, however bullying to 
 the man of two, would no more dispute about 
 
MATILDA. 107 
 
 giving way to the man of fifty thousand, than he 
 would think of denying the balance between the 
 two sums, if he saw them upon paper. 
 
 This it was that made old Hobson have so high 
 a respect for Sir James. He was proud of his 
 own exertions in having realized a good lump of 
 money in a common way ; but he looked upon 
 Sir James's enormous fortune with admiration ; 
 as a monstrous fungus, which old Smithson had 
 raised to a preternatural size, in the hot-bed of 
 corruption. Strong as this feeling was, it seldom 
 softened his manner so far as to shew what Sir 
 James thought the proper degree of respect ; but, 
 upon the present occasion, as the Dorntons en- 
 tered, old Hobson forgot Sir James altogether. 
 He had never seen Matilda before, and so true 
 it is, that transcendent beauty will sometimes 
 make an impression upon, apparently, the most 
 impenetrable stuff, that, for a moment, his crabbed 
 countenance relaxed into something approaching 
 towards admiration, of which a parallel instance 
 was never recollected, even by Mrs. Hobson, in 
 her best days ; and, rising from his chair, he 
 involuntarily muttered — " superfine I" 
 
 It was soon arranged between the gentlemen, 
 that as the inn boasted but one saloon, they should 
 
108 MATILDA. 
 
 all dine together in it. This being settled, Lady 
 Matilda retired to her own room, merely to escape 
 for a moment from the family ]3arty, but under 
 pretence of preparing for dinner. This excuse 
 being taken literally by the Misses Hobson, they 
 determined to do hkewise ; and summoning the 
 unhappy Nancy, they all three put her services 
 in requisition to make them smart for Aunt 
 Matilda. 
 
 Miss Hobson having, upon further inspection 
 of the damage done, been found not near so much 
 disabled as the carriage, acted as fuglewoman 
 for the other sisters to dress by ; so that, by the 
 time Lady Matilda returned to the saloon, by one 
 door, still in the same pretty Parisian redingote, 
 her bonnet only exchanged for the most be- 
 coming, because the most unpretending of caps, 
 the three sisters entered at the other, all in low- 
 gowns, with satin petticoats, short sleeves, pink 
 sashes, and white shoes. 
 
 Closely following his sisters, came our friend 
 Tom, his face not improved by sundry black 
 patches, the consequence of his fall; but his 
 neck, about which he seemed much more occu- 
 pied, .shining in the unsulKed purity of his best 
 starched cloth. Once before had he eeen Lady 
 
MATILDA. 109 
 
 Matilda, when he called to pay his respects in 
 London : but his introduction was not an aus- 
 picious one ; for her Ladyship's groom of the 
 chambers, who v/as a man of discrimination, 
 having introduced him as — " The young man 
 from Hamlet's, my Lady;" — she saluted hisn 
 with—" Haven't you brought your little bill 
 with you ?" — To whicli he replied — " Little 
 Jem, you mean, my Lady; my brother Jem."" 
 
 When they were seated, Mi's. Hobson beo'an : 
 — " Well, I'm sure it's all very pleasant tra- 
 velUng, to see people who can talk French so 
 fast; and then the roads all paved and strait, 
 like streets without houses ; whilst there they're 
 making all Lunnon like a turnpike road, with 
 buildings. I'm sure, Mr. Grumbleton told 
 Hobson, he did'nt know his counting-house in 
 Bishopsgate from his country-house at Hackney, 
 now they were both equally muddy and dusty. — 
 I'm sure you must like foreign parts, Lady 
 Matilda.". ' 
 
 " I am not," replied Matilda, '^ particularly 
 fond of roads which follow the crow in his flight ; 
 nor has the chaise-window shewn me much to 
 admire in passing through France : but I have 
 been very much pleased with all I have seen to- 
 
110 MATILDA. 
 
 day — without compliment,'' she added, smihng, 
 and rather amused at the unintentional flattery 
 which her speech might be supposed to convey. 
 '' Well, I admire all I have seen of foreio-n 
 parts,'' retorted Mrs. Hobson." — " Yes," grum- 
 bled old Hobson, " and the more you admire 
 them, the more they laugh at you ; you'd better 
 have staid at home; it's all very well for my 
 Lady there, who can shew herself against any 
 thing they can shew her."' 
 
 All the Hobson family were in mute astonish- 
 ment at the phenomenon of any thing so like a 
 civil speech coming out of the mouth of its head ; 
 though, perhaps, after all, it was only said to 
 give additional bitterness to his attack upon his 
 wife. She, however, seemed quite invulnerable, 
 as she continued, — " Well, never trouble your 
 head about all that, but send me some more soup, 
 my dear." — " Here," addressing Xhejille who was 
 waiting, — '' What is the girl staring at ? — Id, — 
 what d'ye call her ? — Gargon, prenez mon plat." 
 — The charge of staring was certainly well founded 
 against la Jille, for she could not take her eyes 
 off the profuse display of white necks and red 
 elbows, on the part of the Miss Hobsons, of 
 which she had never before seen the like; 
 
MATILDA. ni 
 
 and, with that nice observation of manners and 
 appearance with which French women of every 
 rank are always endued, she was puzzled beyond 
 measure, to account for the three " horreurs''' 
 being seated at the same table with a person like 
 Lady Matilda, whom one glance told her to be 
 " mise a merveille. That the mere accident of 
 travelling at the same time should have produced 
 this union among English people, all her former 
 experience told her was very unlikely, as she had 
 often known, when two solitary Englishmen had 
 arrived separately, that the last comer would 
 wait, starving for want of his supper, in his bed- 
 room, till the other had left the saloon, rather 
 than sit down in the room with a man he did 
 not know. 
 
 The souhrette'^ speculations were, however, 
 interrupted, by Sir James sending her to his 
 courier for his English comforts, in a canteen as 
 big as the trunk in which lachimo hides himself. 
 Cocoa paste, essence of coffee, &c. were not very 
 serviceable at dinner, but some Harvey's sauce 
 was hailed with great glee ; though, as there was 
 no fish, there arose some difficulty v/hether to 
 apply it to fricandeau^ Jricasse, pcitc ineUe, or 
 poulet roti. 
 
112 MATILDA. 
 
 The sight of all these English comforts, how- 
 ever, gave a new turn to Mrs. Hobson's feelings 
 about the comparative merits of the two coun- 
 tries. Her opinions were alv/ays as light) v 
 formed as they were loosely expressed ; and so 
 that she was but allowed to talk, she could be, 
 alternately, equally voluble on both sides of any 
 question. 
 
 " Well, after all, there is nothing like Old 
 England— where things are good, if they're dear; 
 and there is great cheating in all their cheapness 
 here. — What d'ye think? t'other night, when 
 we were at that tov^n (what's it's name ?) where 
 they all fought for ten years about one naughty 
 lady (more shame for them !)" " Do you mean 
 Troyes P" said Lady Matilda, smiling : " Yes, 
 Troy — aye — when we were at Troy, I saw how 
 cheap Champaigne was — so, thinks I, one may 
 have Port for next to nothing — so I sent for 
 som.e to make some bishop for my good man 
 there— who is as fond of it as mother's milk-r- 
 aye, for all you look so, you are ; — well, would 
 you believe it ? they charged more than ever I 
 payed for claret at the Bridgewater Arms, when 
 I wanted a bottle or two on some great occasion ; 
 now you see there was no reason in that at alU 
 
MATILDA. lis 
 
 To be sure, such things as they call wine here ! 
 they gave us a bottle the other night, they told 
 lis was wine, though their own name for it was 
 Saint Cider, I believe." " Saint Peray, mamma," 
 said ]\Iiss Hobson : " Ah — well — perry or cider, 
 it's all one, and not so good as Herefordshire — 
 neither." 
 
 As Mrs. Hobson was one of tliose persons who 
 talk for talking sake, and precisely becmtse they 
 bave nothing to say, — and as there is no reason 
 whatever, in the nature of that kind of talk, why 
 it should ever end spontaneously, — perhaps I had 
 better put a forced stop to it at once, if it be 
 only for the purpose of impressing my readers 
 with a due sense of my moderation, in letting 
 them off so easily, when I evidently have them 
 at my mercy. Sparing them, therefore, for the 
 present, any further echantillons of " Hobson's 
 choice," I will only add, that our heroine retired 
 early to her room, more than ever convinced, that 
 no bodily exertions can be half so overpowering 
 as those social eftbrts which labour to support the 
 forced intercourse of uncongenial companions. 
 
114 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The next morning, Pierre announced that all 
 the skill of the marischal had only succeeded in 
 rendering the dickey perfectly unserviceable, and 
 that it was now impossible that it could be mend- 
 ed short of Geneva. In this dilemma, the 
 Dorntons could do no less than offer to take 
 Miss Hobson with them, and let Tom share the 
 Britchker with Ma'mselle Felicie. This arranofe- 
 
 o 
 
 ment, which gave general satisfaction to all the 
 Hobson party, was proposed, by Lady Matilda, 
 with that unaffected facility with which she 
 always promoted any thing really good-natured, 
 without considering its effect upon her own im- 
 mediate comforts. 
 
 Tom was delighted at first Avith his new com- 
 panion, having been already long enough abroad 
 to think that there was a certain '' Je ne sais 
 quoi''^ about the appearance of Ma'mselle Felicie, 
 which was a very good equivalent for beauty. 
 Unfortunately however for him, the favourable 
 
MATILDA. 115 
 
 impression was not mutual. Tom was v^ery 
 much disfigured in his optics by his accident, 
 and FeUcie was not as much taken with his black 
 eyes as he was with hers. Then, too, though 
 she had been occasionally obliged to muffle her 
 tongue in English whilst in that country, she had 
 been very glad to get rid of the incumbrance ; 
 and upon starting for the Continent, she had de- 
 termined to lay it all by till her return, with her 
 own lumber, and her lady's old gowns. So that, 
 at present, Tom's eyes and tongue being as 
 unable as her's were unwilling to communicate, 
 their intercourse was not likely to be very inte- 
 resting. Besides all which, poor Tom completed 
 his disgrace with his new companion, by unwarily 
 stepping into one of her favourite band-boxes, 
 just as they were about to start ; on which she 
 muttered something about " gaitcherie •''' which, 
 without understanding it, his guilty foot told 
 him was not flattering, and he became affronted 
 in his turn ; and from that moment their Ute-d-tete 
 was as perfectly matrimonial as Sir James's and 
 Lady Matilda's had been before the intervention 
 of Miss Betty Hobson. 
 
 The ascent of the Jura, never a very exhilirat- 
 ing business, seemed most particularly tedious 
 
116 MATILDA. 
 
 to all the different detachments of the party 
 who were now crawling up it. But after leaving 
 the highest post-house, upon a sudden turn of 
 the road, there burst upon the bewildered gaze 
 a prospect unparalleled in its rare union of the 
 sublime and beautiful. 
 
 Far above rose, in the lonely pride of utter 
 desolation, the wildest regions of eternal snow, 
 whose pointed peaks seemed to pierce the firma- 
 ment itself. Down in the depths below, as the 
 morning vapours dispersed, were caught partial 
 glimpses of the glassy lake, over whose un- 
 ruffled surface many a light sail skimmed, in the 
 full confidence of summer security ; whilst the 
 varied banks were enriched with all that could 
 render delightful the scattered dwellings which 
 imparted universal animation to the scene. 
 
 Matilda clasped her hands in an ecstasy of 
 silent admiration. Even if she could have com- 
 manded cars wliich would have understood her 
 feelings, words would have been wanting to 
 express them. 
 
 Miss Hobson only exclaimed, " Law ! what 
 a way one can see, to be sure !'" 
 
 Sir James, having with some difficulty edged 
 himself to the front of the seat, dehberateiy 
 
MATILDA. 117 
 
 put down the side window, poked out his head, 
 and turning his back at once upon the ladies 
 and the landscape, gave his undivided attention 
 U) the arrangement of the drag-chain. 
 
 Pierre had remained with the Hobson coach 
 to perform the same service ; and seeing his 
 master peeping out of tlie window, he called his 
 attention to v/hat he was accustomed to consider 
 one of the lions of the route, " See one Errand 
 view, Serr ; there are des montagnes, tres af- 
 freux — de m.ountains ver much frightened — and 
 la has un pays tres riant — a contric which is 
 ver laughable/' 
 
 " Laughable,^' said old Hobson ; '' V\\ tell 
 you what — I sliali think it no joke if I'm pitched 
 to the bottom. So mind what you're at." 
 
 Even this, vociferated in no gentle tone, did 
 not disturb his three female companions from 
 the gentle slumber into which they had been 
 rocked by the lengthened ascent. 
 
 If the reader will condescend to |>€ep for a 
 moment into the Britchker, w^hich had been de- 
 layed at the last post for horses, there he will 
 find Tom so delighted at the rapid pace with 
 which, the carriage being light, the postillion 
 tried to catch his comrades in the descent, that 
 
118 MATILDA. 
 
 he never once took his eyes off the bumping 
 back before him. 
 
 Mam'selle Fehcie, on her part^ having caught 
 a distant glimpse of the town of Geneva, without 
 paying the least attention to her companion, 
 began, perhaps a httle prematurely, arranging 
 her hair, settling her bonnet, and making sundry 
 other Uttle coquettish preparations for her anti- 
 cipated arrival. 
 
 Nothing worthy of remark occurred to the 
 travellers till they came within half a mile of 
 Geneva ; when Miss Hobson suddenly exclaimed, 
 " What a funny carriage, with two ladies, who 
 look Hke English, and yet they don't. The 
 post-boys will run over them." 
 
 Matilda observed a charabanc, containing an 
 elderly and a young lady, who, however great 
 their general skill in coachmanship might be, 
 had now their united attention occupied in a 
 letter they were reading, and seemed, therefore, 
 in some danger of the catastrophe hinted at by 
 Miss Hobson ; and, as the postillions pulled up 
 to avoid this, our heroine caught a glance of the 
 strangers, just as their embarrassment was re- 
 moved, and recognised, in the younger lady, 
 the happy, cheerful face of her early friend, 
 
MATILDA. 119 
 
 Emily Arlingford, which now beamed with 
 more than its usual animation, as, almost im- 
 mediately after the carriages had separated, she 
 perceived Lady Matilda. 
 
 " Dear Emily,'' thought Matilda ; " she is 
 still the same, the same even in her affections for 
 me."' And losing herself in reflections on the 
 past, blended with anticipations of future pleasure 
 in her society, and finishing with a determination, 
 in which pride had some share, that to her, at 
 least, she would make the best of her present 
 situation ; she was hardly conscious when they 
 stopped at the hotel, that they had entered the 
 town of Geneva. 
 
120 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The state of Geneva has often puzzled me. 
 I have not understood why this pigmy republic 
 was allowed an apotheosis, v^hen the mighty 
 spirits of Genoa, and of Venice, were laid for 
 ever by the Holy men of Vienna. I was so 
 dull as not to comprehend at first that it was 
 a practical joke, on the part of those wicked 
 wags, the confederated despots — that, like Field- 
 ing's burlesque upon heroics in " Tom Thumb,"" 
 — Geneva v/as intentionally left to bring liberal 
 institutions into disrepute, by holding itself up 
 a* an example of the consequential insignificance 
 and petty policy of a free state. 
 
 I give the royal jokers credit for their trick, 
 though I have at length found it out. It is no 
 doubt indispensable that a republic, to command 
 respect, should be large enough to be inde- 
 pendent — that its interests should be of so dig- 
 nified and extended a nature, as to induce its 
 active servants to sink petty personal considera- 
 
MATILDA. 121 
 
 tions in their partnership in the common stock 
 of glory and of power. To ensure a chance of 
 this, it is necessary that the stake should be of 
 a certain value ; — for no one was ever heard to 
 devote himself enthusiastically to the duties of a 
 vestry meeting. The boundaries of the state, 
 too, should be felt as a defence, not as a restraint. 
 The sea, as being most closed against attacks 
 from without, and open to enterprise from 
 within, has most appropriately marked the. limits 
 of some of the mightiest modern republics — as 
 Genoa, Venice, and Holland. 
 
 To one who has ever bestowed a thought 
 upon these things, there certainly is something 
 irresistibly comic in the spectacle of a pocket 
 repubhc, squeezed down in the very centre of 
 overgrown empires, situated in a little watch- 
 making, tea-drinking town, on an inland lake, 
 with a few sail of pleasure boats. 
 
 The poking one^s nose against a microscope 
 all the morning, and scratching away at a barely 
 perceptible piece of mechanism, is, no doubt, not 
 the best way to acquire enlarged views of po- 
 litical institutions; and gossiping every evening 
 with half a dozen old women, over as many 
 
 G 
 
122 MATILDA. 
 
 cups of tea, is not the most perfect school for 
 popular declamation. There is much in all this 
 at which the muscles of the most rigid repub- 
 lican might involuntarily relax, though it is at 
 the same time a topic of triumph to every Ultra 
 in Europe, as they chuckle over it with undis- 
 sembled contempt. 
 
 But the best joke does not always bear exami- 
 nation. How much of all this ridicule applies 
 to the form of government itself ; how much is 
 caused merely by the petty limits within which 
 it is confined ? Would a tiny tyranny be more 
 sublime if a real legitimate king were established 
 as the main-spring in this watch-making town, 
 ruling despotically over every hand, whether in 
 the service of the minutes or the hours ? There 
 is not a Tory in England who has not quoted the 
 famous answer of a gallant English aristocrat, 
 who having, when a young man, been summoned 
 before the Syndic for some offence, and desired 
 to quit their territory in four-and-twenty hours, 
 replied, " Magnifiques Seigneurs^ il ne me faut 
 que trois minutes.'''' 
 
 It does not seem to me that much of the point 
 of this would have been lost, if it had been made 
 
MATILDA. 123 
 
 to a Prince of Pimlico, or a King of Petty 
 France or of Little Britain, if there had been 
 such persons, instead of a Syndic of Geneva. 
 
 But however this may be, there the conceited 
 little republic is — set up by the Holy Alliance to 
 be laughed at ; and it does its best, certainly, to 
 render itself a government at once unnecessarily 
 meddling and frivolously offensive. — Not that I 
 have any objection to the despots laughing at 
 their own hoax, provided they do not carry the 
 joke too far; which, however, I cannot but 
 think they have done, when they call upon those 
 whom they have at least nominally constituted 
 free, to refuse an asylum to those who have been 
 unsuccessfully struggling for real liberty. This, 
 however, is too serious a branch of the subject 
 to be lightly touched; — so let us join in the 
 laugh at the Genevese, — comforting ourselves 
 with the reflection, that we are not obliged to 
 take from the patient automaton makers at Vienna 
 their discredited specimen of a rival manufacture. 
 We need not look alone where their fingers 
 point ; nor will the inquiring spirit of the age, 
 in its search after those institutions best calcu- 
 lated tp promote human happiness, be confined 
 even to any quarter of the globe. If on the one 
 
124 MATILDA. 
 
 side of Europe we see, in the creeping paralysis 
 and premature decrepitude of Asia, the certain 
 effects of a long course of despotism, on the 
 other we behold, as a political prodigy, the Her- 
 culean infancy of the free States in America. 
 C'Jvilization rose with the sun in the East, and as 
 surely will it set in the West. 
 
125 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Their first breakfast in Geneva had not long 
 been despatched, and Sir James had only just 
 left Matilda alone, whilst he went to settle some 
 limizing for the day with his sister, w^ho was in 
 the same hotel, when an eager voice was heard 
 in the anti-room, — " Never mind, I'm sure she'll 
 see me" — and in one moment more Emily Ar- 
 lingford rushed into the arms of her early friend. 
 Lady Ormsby following, " I must have my turn 
 too, though I cannot run so fast ; — my legs are 
 grown old and stiff— but my arms are not," srjd 
 she, as she threw them round our heroine's neck . 
 
 Lady Ormsby had more than the mere re- 
 mains of beauty. Indeed, time had marked her 
 much more lightly than many a gay grandmo- 
 ther, who still enters the hsts as a rival to her 
 daughters' daughters, and plays off her veteran 
 batteries against a third generation of lovers. 
 But there are many things in which the world is 
 ready to take us at our own valuation. 
 
126 MATILDA. 
 
 Lady Ormsby had evidently long abandoned 
 all pretensions to beauty. Her dress, though 
 never neglected, was never conspicuous. She 
 would as soon have thought of flying as of flirt- 
 ing ; and, therefore, she was only considered as 
 a good-humoured, well-bred, cheerful chaperon. 
 In truth, she had long ceased to wish to shine 
 otherwise than with a borrowed light, or to 
 excite any other admiration than that reflected 
 back on her by the praises of her children. The 
 greatest source of affliction to her, next to the 
 death of her husband, had been the disgraceful 
 life of her eldest son ; but she regarded the pre- 
 sent Lord Ormsby with a mingled pride and 
 fondness which almost amounted to admiration. 
 He, however, was an eccentric planet, that only 
 occasionally crossed her path, to dazzle and de- 
 light. Her daughter Emily was the polar star, 
 on which all her worldly hopes were fixed. 
 
 Never was a daughter more worthy to en- 
 gross a mother^s heart — never was that purest of 
 earthly unions more perfect, cemented as it was 
 by respect without restraint, and affection with- 
 out blindness. 
 
 When a ready flow of pretty nothings had 
 given vent to the first ebullitions of pleasure, felt 
 
MATILDA. 127 
 
 by long-divided friends at meeting again, Lady 
 Ormsby said, " You must promise to come to 
 us at our little villa on Thursday. I have not 
 the pleasure of knowing Sir James ; but I can- 
 not allow myself to feel as a stranger to any one 
 connected with you. Besides, we Anglo-conti- 
 nentals do not stand upon the same form as you 
 have been accustomed to in London, where inti- 
 macy consists in writing little lying notes of 
 excuse, beginning, ' Dear Lady so and so," to 
 every one of five hundred friends. We do not 
 see people here through the same undistinguish- 
 ing medium. Society abroad is like a telescope ; 
 it allows one to pick and choose one's objects, 
 and bring those one likes as close as actual con- 
 nection could do.'"* 
 
 " Yes," said Emily, " and one has here no 
 tiresome duties of acquaintanceship; one may 
 present the small end of the glass when one 
 pleases, and so make distant acquaintances still 
 more distant, till those on the verge of the social 
 horizon need no longer be distinguished.**' 
 
 Matilda, to whom this image of the glass had 
 presented the pleasing, though fallacious, idea of 
 excluding from the sight all those whose position 
 was too close to be the subject of its influence, 
 
1 28 MATILDA. 
 
 added, " And even with the large end one'^s sight 
 is confined to what one wishes to see." 
 
 " Then I'll have mine fixedly facing you^ till 
 I quite stare you out of countenance. I cer- 
 tainly had no glass at all yesterday,**' said Emily, 
 '*' v\'hen I did my best to make you run over 
 me ; but we were just returning from the post- 
 office, and how could I be attending to any thing 
 else, when I was reading a letter from my"" — She 
 suddenly checked the animated tone in which she 
 was speaking, and added, more quietly, — " from 
 England.'"" Her eye at the same time wandered 
 unconsciously from her friend, and fixed itself 
 upon a hat of Sir James's, which, well brushed, 
 and with gloves danghng from the brim, was 
 evidently domesticated on a small table opposite. 
 
 Matilda's eyes followed those of her friend, 
 and this unwelcome memento of authorised in- 
 trusion, contrasting with former circumstances, 
 seemed to give a temporary check to both their 
 spirits ; but Emily continued, — " I dare say you 
 think me grown a terrible amazon, to manage a 
 Iiorse by myself, and drive mamma without mas- 
 cuUne help." 
 
 " How should I think so," replied Matilda; 
 " wlien you recollect the independent way in 
 
MATILDA. H9 
 
 which I used to ride over from Del aval to 
 Ormsby?" She suppressed a sigh, as she re- 
 collected whose presence occasionally gave her 
 confidence, and for whose offered accompaniment 
 her casual fears had formed the best excuse. 
 
 Lady Ormsby, by way of turning the subject, 
 said, — " I do not think that you will find many 
 people you know here. The annual flight of 
 birds of passage from the north, has not yet 
 taken place ; but your arrival tends more to 
 mark the approach of the season, than ever one 
 swallow did to make a summer. There are, by- 
 the-bye, two new comers, whom you will meet at 
 our house on Tuesday, Colonel Canteen and 
 Mr. Tynte. You must have seen the Colonel ; 
 he is principally famous as living to eat, instead 
 of eating to live: a very formidable character 
 in my small estabhshment ; nor, indeed, should 
 I have ventured to ask him, if there had been 
 any other pied-a-terre for him at present in the 
 town. All reste^ he is every where, and knows 
 every body ; is a good creature, and, come when 
 he may, nobody minds him."" 
 
 '^ And, go when he will, nobody misses him; 
 I suppose,'' said Lady Matilda; " for that gene- 
 rally follows from such a negative character^"" 
 
 65 
 
ISO MATILDA. 
 
 His travelling companion, the Rev. Mr.Tynte, 
 is much more of a character/' said Emily. " You 
 must have heard of him, as the great connoisseur 
 and amateur painter. With him art is not second 
 nature, but nature second art. The finest view 
 would be to him uninteresting, unless it would 
 make a good composition. I question whether 
 he could not see, even you, without admiration, 
 unless fortunately you reminded him of some 
 famous Guido, or well-known Titian." 
 
 « One must at best, then," said Matilda, " ex- 
 pect to be rivalled in his good graces by the rich 
 colouring of one's own gown." 
 
 " You will meet only one other person," con- 
 tinued Emily ; " a great friend of ours ; Count 
 Santelmo, an unfortunate Itahan refugee. You 
 must get his character from mamma : you re- 
 collect of old her partiality for a liberaV 
 
 " We saw much of him," said Lady Ormsby, 
 '^ at a time w^hen family circumstances prevented 
 our going out ; and I trust, that our society has 
 contributed to soften the melancholy loneHness 
 of his situation. He is, in my opinion, a man 
 who, had his destiny been cast as a native of 
 England, or the member of any free state, would 
 have filled Europe with his fame. But his way- 
 
MATILDA. 131 
 
 ward fate Is united with that of luckless Italy ; 
 and here he is, a wandering exile, dependent, at 
 present, upon the precarious protection of this 
 little republic. After the manner in which Einily 
 referred to me, you may think me, perhaps, 
 partial, both personally and politically ; but mine 
 is not the age when praise is hyperbolical." 
 
 Matilda had not formed any such a conclusion 
 from what had past ; on the contrary, there is a 
 sort of freemasonry amongst women, which en- 
 ables them to detect one another's feehngs, by 
 signs imperceptible to us ; and there was some- 
 thing in Emily's countenance, whilst Lady 
 Ormsby was praising Count Santelmo, which 
 made Matilda suspect that, at least in this in- 
 stance, she had inherited her mother's partiality 
 for a liberal. And this opinion was rather con- 
 firmed as Emily proceeded. " It's very odd, 
 Matilda, and shews how likenesses may exist, 
 independent of similarity of situation, local asso- 
 ciation, or family connexion ; — but there is some- 
 thing in Count Santelmo, which puts me irre- 
 sistibly in mind of you. There, now! that 
 smile is so like him ! — And, then, when he 
 has been reading Alfieri aloud to us, there is 
 something in the tone of his voice that has offen 
 
1S2 MATILDA. 
 
 brought back the recollection of you, and your 
 favourite, Shakspeare. To be sure, you never 
 used to break out quite so loud as he does some- 
 times.'' 
 
 Matilda's comment upon this was interrupted 
 by the return of Sir James, who was introduced, 
 in due form, to Lady Ormsby and Miss Arling- 
 ford ; and Matilda saw, with some dread, that 
 he was preparing a speech, of which he was, in 
 due time, delivered, consisting of an assurance of 
 the pleasure Lady Matilda and himself had 
 derived from Lord Ormsby \s society in London. 
 Lady Ormsby and Emily both looked a little 
 surprised at his declaration ; and as Matilda felt 
 that it must be conceived to imply rather more than 
 the exchange of a few casual words, at an acci- 
 dental meeting one day at dinner, she blushed a 
 little, in spite of herself, as she added, in a hur- 
 ried manner, though with an even tone, — " that 
 tliey had once met Lord Ormsby at dinner at 
 Lord Eatington's." 
 
 It was a trying moment for Matilda, when 
 thus obliged, for the first time, to mention liini 
 with indifference, in the presence of those coi- 
 nexions who knew so well on how different a 
 footing they had once been. But such is the 
 
MATILDA. 133 
 
 magic of a name, that the title of " Lord 
 Ormsby'" passed easily as that of a stranger from 
 her lips, when Augustus, or even Mr. Arliogford, 
 might have " stuck in her throat."" 
 
 The subject was now immediately turned ; and 
 the conversation, vmder the influence of Sir 
 James's presence, became common-place. They 
 discovered, among other things, that '' the Rhone 
 was blue ;" " tlie summer had been wet ;'' that 
 " Geneva jewellery was cheap, but not good;"' and, 
 having discussed these knotty points, they sepa- 
 rated, after Matilda's promise had been confirmed 
 by Sir James, that they would dine at Lady 
 Ormsby's villa, on the Thursday following. 
 
1S4 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 On the day appointed for Lady Ormsby's 
 dinner, the party, as proposed, assembled at the 
 villa. -Matilda was very much struck with the 
 manner and appearance of the young Count 
 Santelmo, though the presence of so many 
 strangers, and the embarrassment of communi- 
 cating in a foreign language, prevented him from 
 taking much part in the general conversation. 
 
 Colonel Canteen, as will be expected from 
 Lady Ormsby's account of him, did not waste his 
 undivided attention on the intellectual part of 
 the entertainment. But if he looked to the table 
 for his piece de resistance, he furnished between 
 whiles little entremtts of gossip, with whicli he 
 was always particularly well supplied. He 
 handed round several newly-reported marriages 
 for general discussion ; informed Sir James, 
 from the best authority, that there was at pre- 
 sent no chance of a dissolution of parliament; 
 and told Lady Ormsby that her son was returned 
 
MATILDA. 135 
 
 to town from Ormsby Castle, — of which indeed 
 she was before aware. 
 
 Matilda the while was much amused with her 
 neighbour, Mr. Tynte, whose eccentricities were 
 those of a well-cultivated mind. She attacked 
 him playfully for his preference of Art to Na- 
 ture, and he defended his mania with much good 
 humour, and with an enthusiasm half real, half 
 assumed, which was highly entertaining. 
 
 " I am not obnged,"' he said, " to confine my 
 admiration within the every-day limits of vulgar 
 vision — to acknowledge that sunshine is bright, 
 or green fields look fresh. A painter's eye can 
 derive interest from the wrinkled features of an 
 old burgomaster, or add dignity to a groupe of 
 boosing boors. There is no utensil, however 
 servile its purpose, which in our hands may not, 
 through the charm of colouring, become the means 
 of administering to the refined~pleasures of taste. 
 Now," added he, holding up a decanter of Bor- 
 deaux, " I should desire no better food for the 
 pallette than this." 
 
 The Colonel, who from the other side of the 
 table had caught part of this about taste, and, 
 as he thought, palate, and who was himself 
 agreeably surprised at widow's wine being so 
 
136 MATILDA. 
 
 good, interrupted him — " Good food for the 
 
 palate — indeed, I think so — how highly coloured 
 
 it is !" 
 
 " That is v/hat I was admiring,"' said Tynte ; 
 
 " with some of these other bottles, what a good 
 
 composition it would make.'"* 
 
 " What !" in horror interrupted the Colonel. 
 
 " Composition ! why its great merit is, that it is 
 
 genuine.'' 
 
 '' My dear Colonel,'' retorted the other, " you 
 
 have not now to learn that our tastes are dif- 
 ferent." 
 
 " No, indeed," said the Colonel, seeing his 
 
 mistake, "• I prefer a plain piece of varnished 
 mahogany to the best painted pannel, and the 
 maiden purity of a white cloth to the meretricious 
 beauties of the highest coloured canvas." 
 
 " But," said Tynte, again addressing Matilda, 
 *' in this transitory life we ought to attach proper 
 importance to the permanence of our pleasures. 
 It would not be gallant to hint that the most 
 perfect beauty will decay ; but you will admit, 
 that the most glorious sunset in nature soon ends 
 in darkness ; whilst mjj Claudes shine by lamp- 
 light, and glow even in winter. There is too 
 high authority for my taste, in a country where 
 
MATILDA. 13T 
 
 the sovereign has a gallery, instead of a seraglio, 
 of beauties." 
 
 " I am convinced/' said Matilda, " that to 
 you the animation of Hermione's statue would 
 have been a cruel disappointment, and 
 
 " ^Vould you r,ot deem it breathed, 
 
 And that those lips did verily bear blcod ?" 
 
 would have been uttered in despair." 
 
 The Colonel, who became a little impatient at 
 this lengthened discussion of a subject not quite 
 in his beat, and anxious to bring back the con- 
 versation within the more usual limits of dinner- 
 table gossip, said to Lady Ormsby, " I think 
 our friend Augustus was supposed at one time 
 to have blended this taste for fine arts, and fine 
 women, and to have been warmed, from his ad- 
 miration of the cold marble, into a most fervent 
 passion for tlie beautiful original. We thought, 
 at one time, that La Venere Vincitrice had so far 
 vanquished him, that he had forgotten England 
 and all in it." 
 
 This was a subject which I^ady Ormsby could 
 never bear to hear mentioned with common pa- 
 tience, though she knew it all to be an invention; 
 she therefore replied with more warmth than 
 
138 MATILDA. 
 
 was usual to her, " There never was the least 
 foundation for that report. It was the most 
 groundless piece of scandal that ever malice in- 
 vented, or folly propagated. Poor Augustus ! 
 I knew, from his letters at that time, that he had 
 forgotten nothing in England. It would have 
 been better for him if he had.'' 
 
 As she uttered these last words, in a tone of 
 strong feeling, her eyes involuntarily met Ma- 
 tilda's, and both mutually read, in the uncon- 
 scious expression of that momentary glance, 
 much that each would have wished to have con- 
 cealed. Lady Ormsby was annoyed at having 
 been betrayed into any thing that sounded the 
 least like a reproach on her young friend — which, 
 if it had been ever so well deserved, her good 
 taste told her ought never to have been even 
 hinted at by her. She did not, however, know 
 then how to mend the matter ; and the dinner 
 having been concluded, she made the signal for 
 leaving the table." 
 
 But what a new light seemed suddenly to 
 break upon Matilda ! Augustus Arlingford — the 
 universally admired, all-conquering Augustus 
 Arlingford, constant throughout to her, and 
 suffering severely from her unaccountable fickle- 
 
MATILDA. 139 
 
 ness, was an image which had never before 
 occurred to her as within the extremest verge of 
 possibiUty ; and yet all this seemed implied in 
 Lady Ormsby'^s words, and still more confirmed 
 by the confused and distressed expression of her 
 coimtenance as their eyes met. 
 
 Her first sensations at the discovery, (which 
 were all that a few minutes' stroll on the lawn 
 gave leisure for,) were of a mingled nature, and 
 there was much certainly that was soothing to her 
 feelings ; but yet she felt, that it was now more 
 than ever incumbent on her, studiously to avoid 
 his society, 
 
 Matilda's mind was occupied, during the drive 
 homewards, with a pleasing retrospect of the 
 social party they had just left. — Her's were not 
 feelings of gratified vanity, for there had been 
 no room for display, — but of satisfied self-esteem, 
 arising from the calm consciousness, latterly 
 rather unusual to her, that this was an intercourse 
 with minds and manners congenial to her own. 
 Perhaps I must own there was one little ingre- 
 dient mixed up with her recollection of the party, 
 which gave zest to the pleasure she had expe- 
 rienced, namely, the conviction which she had 
 extracted from Lady Ormsby's words and looks. 
 
140 MATILDA. 
 
 that Augustus had never viewed her with indif* 
 ference. In vain did she attempt to argue her- 
 self out of the pleasure she involuntarily derived 
 from those words. " Ought I on any account to 
 be rejoiced at such a discovery?" thought she; 
 " my lot in life, if not quite of my own choice, 
 is one for which I alone am responsible. If, too 
 late, I feel impatient at the bondage into wliich 
 I have sold myself ; is it any consolation to 
 know, that, but for my own act, all might now 
 have been after my heart'*s first wish ? If, in spite 
 of myself, I sometimes give vent to fruitless re- 
 pinings, ought I not to regret the knov.'ledge that 
 they are shared by one deserving a better fate ?" 
 
 She endeavoui'ed to persuade herself, that this 
 i^asoning of her calmer judgment had chastened 
 her feelings on the subject, and she turned to- 
 wards her companion Sir James, and tried, by 
 redoubling her usual efforts, to conciliate and 
 Dlease, to induce him to think favourably of the 
 coterie they had left. 
 
 But this was no easy task. Sir James was not 
 at all disposed to be pleased with any of the 
 party. The fact was, that he always felt most 
 at home in any society where merit was estimated 
 rather by length of purse than by length of head. 
 
MATILDA. l^± 
 
 Now, none of those they had that day met were 
 •AV'orshippers of golden idols. jNIr. Tynte was 
 much too high-flown to think of any thing so mat- 
 ter of fact as pounds, shiihngs, and pence ; — to 
 he sure, if a valuable collection of pictures had 
 come toJ:he hammer, he might then have envied 
 Sir James his almost unhmited power of ex- 
 changing written paper for painted canvas ; but 
 as it was, he contented himself with pitying him 
 its a Goth, without a particle of taste. 
 
 Colonel Canteen felt a respect only for that 
 part of annual income which went in weekly ex- 
 penditure, and would have valued a man rather 
 upon his butcher's and baker's, than upon his 
 tjanker's book. 
 
 Sir James had, indeed, made two or three 
 attempts to shew himself off to his two hostesses, 
 by leading the conversation to subjects of vulgar 
 ostentation ; but these endeavours had caused 
 much suppressed amusement to Emily, the effect 
 of which, Matilda had once detected ; and thou£:h 
 mortified, she could not but own to herself, so 
 just was the ridicule, that, under other circum- 
 stances, she would herself have joined in the 
 merriment. 
 
 One of the great characteristics of society 
 
142 MATILDA. 
 
 abroad is its freedom from the overwhelming 
 influence of wealth. In that erratic English com- 
 munity, which, like the gypsy tribe, is governed 
 in all its wanderings by rules and regulations of 
 its own, mixing as httle as possible with the 
 natives of the soil, the supreme authority is oftener 
 a matter of contest. It is generally, perhaps, 
 vested in an aristocracy, in the best sense of the 
 word ; but from nothing is it so perfectly free as 
 from the dominion of a phetocracy. A mere 
 man of wealth descends from his strong hold, 
 when, leaving behind him '• all appliances and 
 means to boot,'' he. puts himself on a level with 
 the economical traveller. 
 
 This Sir James began to feel, and was there- 
 fore already dissatisfied with Genevese society ; 
 and he gladly availed himself of an opportunity, 
 which offered the next day — of being absent for 
 a short time, on an excursion to Chamouni, an 
 expedition, however, which he did not consider 
 as at all suitable for Matilda to join in. 
 
145 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 Tin<: morning on which Sir James left Geneva 
 for Chamouni, was the most brilliant the summer 
 had yet produced. Sunshine at Geneva, like a 
 smile upon the face of a famous frowning beauty, 
 is doubly prized, both for its rarity, and the 
 magnificence of the charms which it illuminates, 
 and to the perfect enjoyment of which it alone is 
 usually wanting. 
 
 The fineness of the day had persuaded Lady 
 Ormsby and Emily to accompany Count San- 
 telmo on the Lake immediately after breakfast. 
 It was not yet mid-day when an English travel- 
 ling carriage, that seemed " stained with the 
 variation of each soil," marking that its inmate 
 had not lingered by the way, turned out of the 
 main road down the lane which led to the cam- 
 pagne on the lake ; and after a handsome head 
 in travelling cap had several times been thrust 
 tlirough the window, as if making inquiries, the 
 postillions finally stopped at the gate of Lady 
 
] 44< MATILDA. 
 
 Ormsby's villa. The traveller jumped out, and 
 was at the inner door before he was met by old 
 Wilson, the house steward, who, after giving him 
 a lengthened stare, exclaimed, " My Lord ! well, 
 to be sure — to think of your coming upon us all 
 like a little impromptu, as I may say !'"* for in his 
 residence abroad, Wilson too had acquired a little 
 foreign garnish for his tongue. Then altering 
 his tone he added, " But nothing's happened 
 amiss, I hope?"" 
 
 *' No, nothing at all, Wilson," said Lord 
 Ormsby, " only that I got away sooner than I 
 expected, — that's all. But where's my mother ?'' 
 
 " Why, her Ladyship is just stepped out for 
 a little promenade, I believe, but if you will wait 
 in here, I will fetch her myself/' To this Lord 
 Ormsby consented, as he did not wish to have the 
 family meeting under the restraint of a public 
 walk — which was what he perhaps understood by 
 Wilson's " promenade." He was left therefore 
 to himself in the sitting-room, which opened into 
 the conservatory. 
 
 " What a happy life," thought he, as he first 
 admired the room itself, and then the thousand 
 little comforts with which its present mistress had 
 adorned it. " Never idle, either of them, I'm 
 
MATILDA. 145 
 
 siire/' he continued, as his eye wandered among 
 various symptoms of elegant occupation, and at 
 last rested on the instrument, — on the desk of 
 which he was somewhat startled at recognizing, 
 in a well-known hand writing, '' Matilda Dela- 
 val,"" marked on the first leaf of his favourite 
 " Ombra adorafa."^^ 
 
 Full well he recollected the night at Ormsby 
 Castle when she had thus marked that paper, 
 and which had at the time drawn from him a re- 
 mark upon her thinking it necessary thus to ap- 
 propriate that which she had every way identified 
 with herself. " Could she then be thus near to 
 him ? Was it possible that on the very spot where 
 h"e was then standing, she had been lately delight- 
 ing his own family, with those tones to which he 
 had never listened without rapture ? — No, he 
 persuaded himself that these were all vain illu- 
 sions, the offspring of a heated imagination ; and 
 that a much more natural explanation was, that, 
 like those little relics he had found at Ormsby, 
 the music had formerly been left there, and that 
 his sister had now been practising it."" 
 
 He had nearly convinced himself that this 
 must be the case, when he accidentally took up 
 from another table a sketch book, with a pencil, 
 
 H 
 
143 MATILDA. 
 
 whose touch he well knew, left between the leaves^, 
 at a half-finished view from the very windows of 
 the apartment where he was seated. There 
 could be no mistake here. " Her pencil was 
 always left in the book/' This was apparently 
 so trifling a circumstance, that none but a lover's 
 recollection could have retained it as character- 
 istic; but the view spoke for itself; and, as he 
 took it to the window, and devoured it with his 
 eyes, " she is then actually at Geneva,*" exclaimed 
 hfi. 
 
 That he was not more surprised at the disco- 
 very, was what he could not account for. He 
 had never owned to himself that the possibility 
 of such a chance had had the least effect in deter- 
 mining him upon this foreign expedition ; whilst 
 it was so very natural he should be desirous to 
 see his mother and sister, that that reason alone 
 was quite satisfactory to one never rigid in self- 
 examination of the motives of every action to 
 which he felt inclined. 
 
 Whilst still gazing on the sketch which he held 
 in his hand, he was roused by a gentle tap at the 
 farther window, by which the garden entrance 
 passed which led through the conservatory into 
 the room ; — and turning round, he caught the 
 
MATILDA. l^T' 
 
 Isfst glknpse of a female form entering at the 
 glass-door. Almost at the same moment a well- 
 known voice exclaimed, whilst passing the conser- 
 vator}^, " My dear Emily, Sir James is gone to 
 Chamouni, and I can stay :"" — and the next 
 moment Matilda stood in amazement before him. 
 
 That moment was one made up of the purest 
 inspiration of feeling, and was as little amenable 
 to the dictates of preconcerted prudence, as the 
 effusions of gifted genius are to the dogmas of 
 art. "" 
 
 " Augustus!" escaped from her lips, in a tone 
 which thrilled the heart's core of Ormsby, and 
 created an obhvion of all things present and past, 
 save only the delights of that happy tim.e when 
 it was " familiar to him as a household word,''" 
 even from her lips. With her, too, the excla- 
 mation had ai'isen from a momentary self-obli- 
 vion. But instead of perpetuating, it caused it 
 in an instant to pass away. Her feelings since 
 her marriage had been so severely disciplined, 
 and under such constant controul, that with a 
 single effort she recovered the appearance of com- 
 posure. Not that the impression was transient, — 
 that it bounded lightly off, — that it was no longer 
 r-etained when no longer shewn ; but as a rock, 
 
148 MATILDA. 
 
 if dashed on the calm still lake before them, 
 would with its first shock only cause outward 
 agitation ; and whilst it sunk deeper and deeper 
 within, and was imbedded for ever in the bosom 
 of the waters, stillness would again have settled 
 on their surface, — even so, Matilda conquered 
 all external emotion, at a meeting which was not 
 however without influence on her after-fate. 
 
 With perfect calmness she began questioning 
 Ormsby as to his unexpected arrival. But his 
 feelings were much less tractable, — excited as 
 they had been, not only by the exclamation of 
 Matilda, but by the momentary expression of 
 her lovely face, glowing with matchless sensibi- 
 lity. It had seemed to him like the transient 
 glimpse of another, and a better world. In vain 
 he tried to force himself into common topics — 
 to account for his being there, — to stammer out 
 a common-place compliment on meeting her, — 
 to bestow some hackneyed praise on her drawing, 
 which he still held in his hand. At last he ex- 
 claimed, " It'*s all in vain, — I may form resolu- 
 tions in solitude, in a crowd I may maintain 
 them ; but in a meeting hke this I can but be — 
 myself ! Pardon this language, — this unwarrant- 
 able, but involuntary trespass on your tranquillity. 
 
MATILDA. 149 
 
 Pity and forget me !" then pressing her hand for 
 an instant to his lips, he rushed into the garden. 
 
 It had been a scene of such bewildering emo- 
 tion, such unexpected interest — previously so 
 utterly unforeseen — so rapid in its develop- 
 ment — so abrupt in its termination, that Ma- 
 tilda, wandering unconsciously forth, and finding 
 herself again in her carriage, felt, when first 
 roused by the servant inquiring for orders, like 
 one awakened from the confusion of a dream ; 
 but as hastily replying " Home, home," she 
 threw herself back in the carriage, every thing 
 that had passed recurred in all the agitating con- 
 sciousness of reality, and her feelings now biu'st 
 forth with a vehemence redoubled by previous 
 restraint. 
 
 Having reached the hotel unseen by any one, 
 to remodel her previous arrangements for the 
 day, became a difficult, but an indispensable 
 task. She had settled to dine at Lady Ormsby's 
 villa ; she had even sent her maid there with her 
 dressing things. That she must constantly be 
 liable to see Lord Ormsby as a common ac- 
 quaintance, she was well aware; but to meet 
 him at a family party in the absence of Sir James, 
 she would have felt at any time to be awkward. 
 
150 MATILDA. 
 
 jjerhaps incorrect, and, after the events of the 
 morning, she felt it to be impossible. Slie was, 
 however, rather puzzled how to give any reason 
 for her absence but the true one. At length she 
 dispatched a note to Lady Ormsby, excusing 
 herself on the ground, that Sir James had en- 
 gaged her to pass the day v/ith liis sister Mrs. 
 Hobson ; and what is more, she magnanimously 
 determined to act up to her own excuse, thus 
 punishing herself with positive penance, as well 
 as negative self-denial. 
 
 The extent of this additicnal self-inilictioii 
 can only be estimated by those who have felt the 
 wearing irritation of vulgar gossip, upon spirits 
 £ilready harrassed and oppressed. 
 
151 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The next morning, Matilda was surprised by 
 an unusually early visit from Colonel Canteen. — 
 It was soon evident to her, whilst he turned over 
 the first common-place topics of a morning visit, 
 that he was labouring with some suppressed 
 gossip, to which he attached no small degree of 
 importance. At length he began, — " I believe you 
 were present the other day, when Lady Ormsby 
 attacked me so violently for my allusion to her 
 son's Italian attachment. Well, do you know,, 
 it is all perfectly true ; even she must now allow 
 that it is satisfactorily confirmed. He has been 
 here, and he is gone again ! '' " Gone ! " said 
 Matilda, by v/hom that last word alone was 
 heard. " Yes, he''s gone ; but I thought you 
 would first be surprised to hear that he was come,, 
 for that, you know, was quite unexpected. Very 
 unlucky that you missed him yesterday ; though,, 
 to say the truth, he was not quite himself. But 
 how could you sacrifice yourself to those Hob- 
 go.ns?'' 
 
152 MATILDA. 
 
 Matilda's answer to this inquiry was inter- 
 rupted by the entrance of Lady Ormsby and 
 Emily. She immediately perceived, by the ex- 
 pression of both their countenances, that they 
 were out of spirits. There would have been, 
 probably, some little difficulty in introducing the 
 topic which was uppermost in all their minds, had 
 not the Colonel, who, the reader will perceive, 
 was completely upon a wrong scent, been so 
 proud of his supposed triumph as to begin almost 
 immediately : — " Well, you see, Lady Ormsb}^ 
 I was right : the bird has flown back to his for- 
 mer cage : — we have lost him again. I told you 
 that as long as the Simplon was open, we had no 
 chance of detaining him." 
 
 Lady Ormsby had known Colonel Canteen too 
 long, and was too well acquainted with his 
 peculiarities, ever to be seriously offended at any 
 freedom Ivhich arose from his desire to appear an 
 fait of all the tittle-tattle of society ; she there- 
 fore answered him quite in a spirit of candour, — 
 " Indeed, I w^as very much surprised at Ormsby 's 
 sudden departure ; he would give no satisfactory 
 reason for it; indeed, it seemed a subject on which 
 he did not hke much to be questioned. Mar- 
 shaDj his own man, told the servants that he had 
 
 ik 
 
MATILDA. 153 
 
 intended to stay much longer." — " Why," said 
 the Colonel, " I don't suppose he's such a Don 
 Juan as to make a confidant of his Leporello ; — 
 mine, you may depend upon it, is the true way 
 of solving the difficulty, — There was ' metal 
 more attractive' elsewhere. Besides, if his ori- 
 ginal intention had been to stay longer, what 
 prevented him ? — He saw nobody during his stay 
 but myself and Santelmo, who dined with you 
 yesterday. Which of us, I wonder, frightened 
 him away ?" 
 
 Matilda pretended to be more than ever intent 
 upon her work, but from under her eye she stole 
 a glance at Lady Ormsby, and was relieved at 
 seeing no mark of suspicion on her face. On the 
 contrary, the good old lady almost immediately 
 said, " He was not looking by any means well. 
 If you had seen him, Matilda, you would have 
 thought him dreadfully altered.'' 
 
 It was evident from this, that Ormsby had not 
 mentioned the meeting of the morning to his 
 family ; and that they should not otherwise have 
 heard of it was not surprising, considering that 
 Matilda had stopped at the garden entrance, and 
 that the servants were all occupied in searching 
 h5 
 
154 MATILDA. 
 
 for their mistress to inform her of the arrival. 
 But, upon hearing from Lady Ormsby this evi- 
 dent ignorance of what had happened, Matilda 
 felt in a dilemma how to act. On the one hand, 
 the usual ingenuousness of her disposition was 
 averse from any thing like concealment ;- — on the 
 other, it was apparent that Ormsby had been 
 desirous that his mother and sister should remain 
 m ignorance of her influence upon his actions ; 
 and ought she not to have some regard for liis 
 feelings, in refraining from the disclosure of a 
 circumstance so flattering to her own vanity ? 
 
 These two different impulses might have been 
 so equally balanced, as to leave her decision 
 doubtful, had not the presence of Colonel Can- 
 teen determined her otherwise wavering opinions 
 in favour of silence on the subject ; as she knew 
 that, in his hands, such a confession would at once 
 become matter of conjecture and inquiry, to 
 which she did not feel equal. 
 
 Emil}^, who had been searching about at the 
 other end of the room, now turned the conver- 
 sation, by saying, " Matilda, I wanted your 
 sketch book this morning; meaning to copy 
 that last view, by way of occupying myself. 
 
MATILDA. 155 
 
 after we lost poor Augustus. But I could not- 
 find it anywhere at the villa, nor can I see it 
 here.^^ 
 
 Matilda full well recollected in whose hands ■ 
 she had last seen it ; but, concealment of the 
 interview itself, of course, entailed equivocation 
 about this particular incident in it. She there- 
 fore only replied, "It was at your house when 
 I saw it last." 
 
 Soon after this, the visitors departed together. 
 When Matilda was left alone, she could not 
 help feeling rather dissatisfied with herself, for 
 the concealment of her interview with Ormsby, 
 True, her motives for it were most innocent, 
 originating entirely in a desire to spare the 
 feelings of one, for whom she would have made 
 any personal sacrifice, but on whom she had 
 hitherto been doomed to inflict nothing but pain. 
 
 There is, to a naturally candid and ingenuous 
 mind, something no less repugnant in the sup- 
 pression of the truth from diose who justly 
 claim our confidence, than in its wilful perversion 
 to a casual acquaintance. And to one unused 
 to the trammels of deceit, the intentional conceal- 
 ment of a fact, implying a tacit denial of it, often 
 leads to as much embarrassment and difficmty 
 
156 MATILDA, 
 
 in its consequencesj as the support of a positive 
 invention. 
 
 The greatest disadvantage attending this un- 
 lucky want of candour in the present instance, 
 was, that it first accustomed Matilda's mind to 
 couple Lord Ormsby's image with the necessity 
 of concealment ; — that it first gave the unac- 
 countable charm of forbidden pleasure to those 
 wayward recollections, which, hitherto, so far 
 from assuming the character of guilty pleasure, 
 had been no less innocent than mournful. 
 
15T 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 When Sir James Dornton returned from 
 Chamouni, he was loud in his lamentations at 
 having missed Lord Ormsby, and expressed a 
 determination to take the first opportunity of 
 cultivating his acquaintance. It appeared im- 
 possible, that he should be impeD^d to this 
 solely by a desire to do that, which, for some 
 reason or other, seemed disagreeable to Matilda ; 
 and it is but justice to him to say, that it after- 
 wards turned out that the real cause of his 
 eagerness on the subject, was the interest he 
 took in the projected rail -way, through his 
 property, at Delaval Park; by which he ex- 
 pected, that his income would in time be nearly 
 doubled; and as, to facilitate that plan, Lord 
 Ormsby's concurrence, as a near neighbour, was 
 to a certain degree necessary, he thought, with 
 a true vulgar feeling, that he could so far con- 
 ciliate him by civility and attention, as to diminish 
 the difficulty of obtaining his consent. 
 
158 MATI^LDA. 
 
 In a few days, the little coterie at the villa 
 returned to their daily habits of easy intercourse, 
 in ^vhich Lord Ormsby's ephemeral appearance 
 had been rather an incident than an interruption. 
 It is hardly necessary to say, that the sketch 
 book was never found; and the cause of our 
 hero's sudden arrival, and as sudden departure, 
 continued an enigma to ail but Matilda. 
 
 Even Colonel Canteen had his confidence- 
 in his own penetration on the subject a little 
 shaken, by hearing from some of his numerous 
 correspondents at Rome, that Lord Ormsby had 
 not made that place his destination. 
 
 Matilda now felt daily more and more inte- 
 rested in the prospects and future fate of young 
 Santelmo; and as progressive intimacy made 
 her more acquainted with his character, she 
 warmly sympathized in his sorrows, and was 
 even inoculated with the enthusiasm with which 
 he seemed devoted to the cause of liberty. She 
 had latterly, however, felt rather uncom.fortable 
 at his seeming to seek her society, in preference 
 to that of Emily. This was casually explained in 
 the course of one of their frequent conversations, . 
 in a manner at which her friend could not have 
 been hurt, though she might have been dis . 
 
MATILDA. 159 
 
 tressed. " I was utterly ignorant of the charm 
 of female society,"" said Saiitehno, " before the 
 acquaintance of the inmates of these walls became, 
 in my misfortune, an unexpected blessing ; — and 
 a blessing I am still infatuated enouo-h to think 
 it, though it has only raised — hopes I cannot 
 even call them — but v/ishes, which can never be 
 realized. Branded as my solitary fate is, with 
 the curse of singleness and isolation, it should 
 have been my duty to have avoided temptation — 
 to have had especial care that sympathy should 
 never shadow another's happier lot with the 
 reflection of my misery." 
 
 " You surely do not rightly estimate yourself," 
 said Matilda; " so far from your fate being cast 
 in a misanthropic mould, I think I never knew 
 any one whose taste seemed more peculiarly 
 fitted for the duties of domestic life." 
 
 " You have only seen me," Santelrao con- 
 tinued, " under the impulse of feelings, which, 
 for the time, have been irresistible. But still my 
 ruling passion is patriotism ; my fate is tied to 
 the fortunes of my unhappy country. How, 
 then, could I think of permanent domestic ties ? — 
 how could I aspire to be the founder of a family — 
 to undertake the duties of a husband and a 
 
160 MATILDA. 
 
 father — when I could offer only perpetual pro- 
 scription for a settlement — a dungeon for a 
 dower — and slavery for an inheritance ?''"* 
 
 '' But why view only the gloomy side of the 
 question ?"" said Matilda ; " the spirit of the age 
 is now working in your favour; the wishes of 
 the good and liberal, of every country, are en- 
 listed on your side ; and long days of happiness 
 and independence are yet in store for Italy." 
 
 " That some such latent hope is the spring 
 that supports this otherwise burthen some ex- 
 istence, I will not attempt to conceal ; yet, none 
 but those who, like me, have their whole soul 
 engrossed by the anticipation, are aware how 
 very distant that day may yet be; — by how 
 many conflicting difficulties it may yet be almost 
 interminably delayed. — But I am growing in- 
 finitely too political," said he, suddenly checking 
 himself. 
 
 " Oh, no !" said Matilda, " pray go on ; ever 
 since my childhood, I have always felt an inte- 
 rest in Italy, and all that relates to it, for which 
 I am unable to account." Thus encouraged, 
 Santelmo proceeded to discuss, more at length 
 than he had hitherto done, his own and his 
 country's prospects ; the course of which discus- 
 
MATILDA, 161 
 
 sion was occasionally diverted by inquiries and 
 observations on the part of Matilda, which her 
 acute and cultivated mind brought to bear on a 
 topic, in which her feelings were powerfully 
 excited. 
 
 I shall however give, for the sake of conti- 
 nuity, Santelmo's uninterrupted reflections, such 
 as they often occurred to him ; reminding the 
 reader, that they are the opinions at once of an 
 Italian, and of one who w^as an enthusiast on the 
 jsubject on which he was speaking. 
 
 " Italia hella^'' said he, " never perhaps so 
 perfectly monopolized the exclusive affections of 
 any other of her sons ; for I had never known 
 a mortal mother's care. Allowed in early child^ 
 hood to run wild about my grandfather's palace, 
 the soft and gentle nature of Italy supplied the 
 place of my lost parent. It was her sunny smile 
 that first gladdened my heart ; it was her balmy 
 breath that kissed from my cheek the tears of 
 infancy. As years passed over my head, self- 
 taught, I filled my memory with legends of her 
 early greatness and renown, and inspirations of 
 her poetical pre-eminence. Blinded by filial 
 love and gratitude, absorbed in her former famej. 
 
162 MATILDA. 
 
 and enwrapt in her ti'anscendent beauty, I wa» 
 yet ignorant of her present moral degradation. 
 At that time, under the protection of the mighty 
 genius, Avho then ruled the destinies of Europe, 
 her fallen state was never marked by outward- 
 opprobrium ; on the contrary, with the consi- 
 derate kindness of a partial protector, be dis- 
 guised, as much as possible, her disgraceful sub- 
 jection, flattered her little vanities, spent much 
 in adorning and improving her appearance, and, 
 what was most valued, allowed her a share in his 
 glory. If she had ceased to be respectable, she 
 was still, apparently, respected. 
 
 " What a change in her situation, when, from 
 the cherished and pampered favourite of a 
 mighty man, she sank at once into the purchased 
 slave of mean and sordid natures ; kept as the 
 mere servile instrument of their pleasure; pik 
 laged, insulted, despised, and brutalized ! Then, 
 it was that I felt all the infamy of her degraded 
 state — the prostitution of her beauties, by boorish 
 strangers. Then it was, too, that better hopes 
 had been excited, that even the much-respected 
 England had held out deceitful expectations, 
 tliat her disgracQ might be obliterated, and 
 
MATILDA. 163 
 
 that she might be again restored to the so- 
 ciety of nations, l^hus the bitterness of disap- 
 pointment was added, as a consummation to her 
 misery. 
 
 '' Maddened at the indignities offered to my 
 native laiid, whose injuries I resented as those of 
 a parent, I willingly joined those who were 
 united on the glorious principles of individual 
 liberty and national independence. Unfortu- 
 nately, indiscretions, provoked by acts of galling 
 tyranny on the part of the Government, precipi- 
 tated abortive attempts, which have themselves 
 tended to postpone our ultimate success. But 
 it is some consolation to think, that no prudence 
 or discretion v/ould have guaranteed ]:ieL'sona{ 
 security, under a Government with whom the 
 mere suspicion of entertaining in silence and in 
 secret certain opinions, is a positive crime ; and by 
 whom the mere possession of popular qualities, 
 undirected to any political object, is considered to 
 compromise the safety of the State. 
 
 " The failure of these premature insurrec- 
 tions has been, with some friends, I fear, as 
 well as foes, conclusive as to our incapacity for 
 freedom. This opinion, I think, has been hastily 
 and harshly taken up, without reference either to 
 
164 MATILDA. 
 
 the peculiar difficulties under which we labour, 
 or the unparallelied power to which we are op- 
 posed. What instance can be produced of a na- 
 tion succeeding in obtaining liberty in her first 
 struggle for it ? and is it nothing, that we have to 
 contend against the accumulated mis-government 
 of centuries, which has produced and confirmed 
 that very ignorance, in the body of the people, 
 which itself incapacitates them for appreciating 
 the advantages of a better state of things — thus 
 seeming at first to perpetuate that reciprocal 
 cause and efiect, which must for ever bar social 
 unprovement ? But even in more favoured coun- 
 tries, regeneration has not been the work of a mo- 
 ment. Even England, who afterwards achieved 
 the unique renown of the success of a bloodless 
 revolution, had first to wade through the wild 
 and turbulent violence of CromwelPs time, and 
 at the Restoration again relapsed into servility 
 and degradation, until at length her hour ar- 
 rived. Fickle France, always in extremes, and 
 charmed with novelty, sought at first with avi- 
 dity (regardless of the means by which it was 
 attained) the Utopian perfection of civil liberty, 
 of which the shadow now is only held at the 
 beck of the Bourbons. Is it nothing for us. 
 
MATILDA. 165 
 
 Stigmatised as we have been, individually, as 
 Italians, with a proneness to assassination, and 
 denounced as a sect bound together by a vow of 
 sanguinary extermination, that, in all our attempts 
 not an outrage has been committed, not a drop 
 of blood has been shed ? No Louis to the guil- 
 lotine — no Charles to the scaffold. Where then 
 are our proceedings censured ? Is it in that 
 land of political fanaticism, where Sandt^s dagger 
 was dignified with the plea of patriotism ? Or 
 is this respect for the persons of sovereigns found 
 fault with by the half- savage Serf of the Auto- 
 crat, Vv^ho, when tyranny passes endurance, pre- 
 fers the murdering the man to attempting the 
 controul of his measures ? Perhaps the exces- 
 sive mildness, the moral virtue of those concerned 
 in the projected revolutions, was one cause of the 
 failure. But this is an amiable error, which one 
 can never regret. The people, however, have 
 received sufficient warning not again to put their 
 confidence in princes. If these arch deceivers 
 should hereafter suffer from a recollection of 
 their perfidy, their blood must rest upon their 
 own heads. But Heaven avert such a calamity ! 
 and may the next attempt, whenever it takes 
 
X6G MATILDA. 
 
 place, if rewarded with success, be equally de- 
 serving of it with the last ! I have very much 
 under-rated our difficulties, when I have com- 
 pared them with those previously existing in any 
 former struo^sjle between the excited energies of 
 the people on one hand, and the established au- 
 thorities of the state on the other ; for against us, 
 for the first time, has been arrayed an unheard- 
 of confederation of sovereigns — a joint-stock com- 
 pany for the propagation of despotism, — who 
 reverse the benefits of modern mechanical im- 
 provements, — perverting principles which have 
 given preternatural powers to our physical exer- 
 tions, to their own purpose of paralyzing mental 
 energies. The members of this impei'ial partner- 
 ship concern are imited for the suppression of 
 the free agency of men, and for the reduction of 
 human nature into a mere engine of brute force, 
 to be governed by a touch of their pigmy fingers. 
 In furtherance of which plan, they at once crush 
 the least appearance of opening liberty, beneath 
 the overwhelming weight of their military ma- 
 chine of a milhon-man-power. 
 
 " There is much in all this to abate our con- 
 fidence, but nothing to justify despondency; 
 
JCATir/DA'; ^ ligY 
 
 fr*,r in proportion as the pliysical force opposed 
 to us is greater than any previously known, the 
 ittteilectual powers enlisted on our side are more 
 than ever developed ; and the Spirit of the ±\(re' 
 hovers over our heads, scattering, in ail comers- 
 of that soil cultivated by knowledge, the certain 
 seeds of future freedom. But the present gene- 
 ration, alas ! may pass away before the fruit is 
 ripe. Engaged as I am, in a cause hke this, of 
 Avliich the future issue is doubtful, the present 
 danger alone certain, am I in a condition to 
 form domestic ties ? No — never shall a wife of 
 mine be condemned to tread in the faltering foot- 
 sleps of La Confalonieri, who, having flown to 
 the Fountain Head for mercy, found tliere no 
 manly sj/mpathy in a woman's sorrows ; for even 
 after her husband's sentence had received that 
 partial remission, in which, if life could hardly 
 be said to be spared, death at least was not m^ 
 dieted, — Bhe was denied the consolation of 
 knowing it, and with the aggravated agony, 
 excited by the dread of arriving too late, was 
 made by the Holy Man of Vienna to retrace 
 her painful pilgrimage: a penance, doubtless, 
 for her heroicai exercise of conjugal devotion ! — 
 No — my die is cast, — my fortune has been 
 
168 MATILDA. 
 
 sacrificed — my home has been abandoned — my 
 heart and soul are devoted to the cause of 
 freedom ! And whilst I struggle, I must have 
 nought to distract me; if I fall^ I will leave 
 none to regret me/' 
 
1C9 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Matilda's happiness in the society in which 
 she was Rving at the villa was before long inter- 
 rupted, hy the increasing restlessness of Sir 
 James, who, without having any particular ob- 
 ject in vieW;, became, from feeling himself of no 
 particular consequence v/here he was, anxious 
 for change of place, without its ever occurring to 
 him that he might possibly go farther and fare 
 worse. This impatience had increased, too, since 
 the recent departure of the Hobsons, as he missed 
 his daily dose of flattery and attention, which 
 was always administered to him by all that fa- 
 mily. Tom Hobson had all along voted Geneva 
 a stupid spooney sort of a place; his sisters 
 sympathized in his feelings ; the mother longed 
 for something new to talk about ; and though 
 old Hobson had such a general ^slike to loco- 
 motion, that he would always rather remain 
 where he was, wherever that might be ; yet^ as 
 we ol?5erved on a former occasion, bis opinigu 
 I 
 
170 MATILDA. 
 
 upon family arrangements always rather shewed 
 itself in word than in deed. 
 
 Matilda's objections to moving were two-fold, 
 as she disHked leaving Lady Ormsby as much as 
 following Mrs. Hobson. But it was evident, from 
 Sir James's manner of announcing his plan, that 
 opposition would be in vain. She therefore 
 took an affectionate leave of both mother and 
 daughter, and a most friendly farewell of San- 
 teimo, in w^hom, after his account of himself, she 
 had felt a redoubled interest, though of a more 
 melancholy description, as she was compelled to 
 separate it from that she felt for her friend, with 
 wliom it had previously been her delight to think 
 he was likely to be united. 
 
 Our travellers quitted Geneva for Milan, by 
 the Valois, and the Simplon. Having always 
 felt delighted myself at getting out of La Valois, 
 I shall certainly not think myself justified in de- 
 taining my readers in it, or offending their ears 
 with its guttural German patois, or their eyes 
 with its goitres; and, as I am not composing 
 imaginary travels, but recording a true tale, — 
 not describing the character of countries, but of 
 persons, I do not think it necessary to retail over 
 again the thousand times told wonders of the 
 
MATILDA. 171 
 
 Simplon — that extraordinary effort of industry 
 and art. 
 
 The Simplon is only one of the many bonds 
 with which Napoleon has bound the rebeUious 
 and aspiring Alps down to the permanent controul 
 of dieir mother earth. It was perhaps the par- 
 tial success with which he here contended against 
 the elements, in this which had formerly been 
 one of their strongest outworks, that afterwards 
 made him fool-hardy enough to dare their utmost 
 power in the very centre of their frozen regions, — 
 a temerity which ultimately cost him his empire 
 and his life. Here, however, in spite of his sub- 
 sequent defeats, his power is still acknowledged ; 
 and long after the generation which alternately 
 flattered and reviled him shall have passed away, 
 his memory will live in gigantic monuments 
 carved in the solid Alps. 
 
 Immediately on the descent to Duomo d'Ossola, 
 Italy does not at once meet you with all her win- 
 ning smiles, but seems at the first introduction to 
 maintaiii some reserve of her charms ; nor is it 
 till you arrive at the little Borgo of Baveno, on 
 the borders of the Lago Maggiore, that she 
 breaks forth in all her unrivalled brilliancy of 
 bearaty. 
 
J72 MATILDA, 
 
 It was late when the Dorntons arrived at 
 Eaveno ; and when, leaving Sir James in the inner 
 room smoking his segar, and grumbling at the 
 heat, Matilda stepped out upon the balcony-, the 
 prospect before her was softened, not obscured, 
 by the shadows of a summer's evening ; and its 
 loveliness was enhanced, rather than hidden, by a 
 transparent veil of silvery moonlight. If that 
 brilliancy, which an hour before would Imve 
 dazzled the eyesight, was somewhat subdued, it 
 was only to give their due share to the enjoy- 
 ment of the other senses ; whilst the softest of 
 breezes, rippling the surface of the waters, j iist 
 enough to give varied animation to the beams 
 of the rising mcon, came fraugl t with all th« 
 fragrance of that sweetest of gardens, Iscla Bella ; 
 at the same time regaling the ear with the distant 
 sounds of one of the native melodies of this land 
 cf music. 
 
 As Matilda's eye wandered in admiration of 
 ail above and below, the lucciole of the earth 
 seemed to emulate the stars of the sky in the uni- 
 versality of bespangled illumination. 
 
 " 'Tis wonderful,'' thought Matilda, " that all 
 this should not strike me as new, — that I should 
 .*vitertain an indistinct idea of having sometime 
 
HAl-ILDA. 173 
 
 seen it before. Often in trifles our wayward 
 memory mocks us with a faint shadow of previous 
 recollections; but that I, whose earliest remem- 
 brances are confined within the narrow ami 
 remote bounds of Delaval Park, upon first ar- 
 riving in Italy, and expecting only the unaccus- 
 tomed charm of a nev/ and brilliant acquaintance, 
 should experience the more endearing feelings of 
 restoration to an early friend — is most strange/' 
 
 She was still endeavourincr in vain to account 
 for this inexplicable circumstance, when she wds 
 suddenly summoned to supper by her husband, 
 —who, instead of admiring any thing, was only 
 complaining of being equally hot and hungry. 
 
 The next d^^, betimes, they found themselves 
 in all the bustle of the gay and crov/ded streets cf 
 Milan. When Sir James had sought out the 
 Hobsons, he found them enoao-ed with a new 
 acquaintance, whom all the young ladies consi- 
 (5lered a great catch. This was one Walter 
 Woodhead, Esquire; who, upon coming of age 
 in a few months, would succeed to a fine estate 
 in the County Palatine of Chester ; and a most 
 unsophisticated specimen he was, from that 
 modern Bceotia :— a fine fat-headed home-brewed 
 young fellow, who, if he could stand the vulgar 
 
174 MATILDA. 
 
 test of knowing chalk from cheese, it was almost 
 the only thing he did know ; being, au reste, as 
 heavy, as strong, and as rich as one of his own 
 Cheshires. To him the Hobsons had been in- 
 troduced by his traveUing tutor, the Rev. Mr. 
 Simperton, whom they had formerly met acting 
 as a sort of spiritual master of the ceremonies at 
 the balls at Buxton and at Blackpool, in the course 
 of their different summer excursions from Man- 
 chester. Mr. Simperton was now travelling with 
 his young charge, almost a solitary instance of 
 the old bear-leader system ; guardians and pa- 
 rents having at length discovered, that to cou- 
 ple a young fellow with a man twice as old as 
 himself, but who knows not half as much of the 
 ways of the world, is not the best mode to ini- 
 tiate him into life. 
 
 But if Mr. Simperton filled the situation, he 
 did not at all, either in stiffness or austerity^ 
 recal the character of that almost obsolete class. 
 He by no means meant to be a millstone round 
 his pupil's neck, but rather a sort of bell-collar, 
 which might chime in with its own gingling 
 vivacity, at the frisks of him to whom it was 
 attached : and the heavy mass to which he was at 
 present tied, seemed rather to require sotne such 
 
MATILDA. 17J 
 
 exhilarating accompaniment. Mr. Simperton 
 was certainly turned of forty, but a studious 
 attention to appearance tended at first sight to 
 conceal that fact. 
 
 When, upon the entrance of the Domtons, he 
 made the sign to his pupil to conclude their 
 morning visit, he might have been taken for the 
 younger man of the two, but that the well-made 
 light pepper-and-salt coat, which he had substi- 
 tuted for clerical black, served, as his brother 
 parson Tynte would have said, to recal the colour 
 of a certain grey mixture on his head. His 
 partially gjizzled locks were now, however, ad- 
 mirably arranged in carefully careless curls, so 
 that the set of coat and his crop seemed of equal 
 importance. 
 
 " Only think," said Mrs. Hobson to Lady 
 Matilda, as their other visitors left the room, 
 *' how pleased the girls were to see our old friend 
 Simperton again ! I could not believe my eyes, 
 when we first found him, rowing about on Lake 
 Margery^ there, in a little linen jacket and a 
 straw hat big enough to make a bonnet." 
 
 It was evident that the acquaintance of these 
 two beaux was a great event to the Hobson girls. 
 Poor Miss Hobson, however, was for the prbgeut 
 
1T6 MATILDA. 
 
 incapacitated from partaking of her share of 
 the advantage ; for she was really seriously indis- 
 posed, though not with a malady of a very inte- 
 resting description. The fact was, that being, as 
 her fiery locks betokened, rather of a warm tem- 
 perament, and suffering more severely than the 
 others did from the heat of the weather, she had 
 overdone her desire to 
 
 " Bid the winter come, 
 
 To tlnust his icy fingers in !ier maw." 
 
 In short, sweet Betty Hobson was now suffering 
 from what Mrs. Hobson called ^'mur bettisy She 
 had, in the course of frequent visits to the Risto- 
 ratore, used no discretion in the quantities in 
 which she had inserted " Grammelate, gelate, 
 Sorhettiy Limonati ;''"' and, strange to say, cold on 
 her stomach had produced heat on her face, pre- 
 senting a singular mixture, like a volcano in 
 winter ; only that here the ice was internal, and 
 the outward head was, as usual, cro^vned with its 
 natural warm and glowing colouring. 
 
 In consequence of this calamity. Sir James 
 having determined upon inviting one of his 
 nieces. Miss Anne was the favoured person who 
 was to accompany Matilda in her first visit to 
 La Scala. 
 
MATILDA. 177 
 
 At Milan, la Scala and existence are synoni- 
 mous. It does not speak highly for the heahhfifl 
 energies of a people, when an opera is their ex- 
 clusive business, not their occasional amusement; — 
 when they always postpone realities for represen- 
 tations, and can in a theatre prefer sound to sub- 
 stance, and desert Alfieri for Rossini. But though 
 one may regret, one cannot wonder at this, when 
 even as a stranger one feels that there is some- 
 thing in the air of Italy which gives a peculiar 
 charm to music. The same singers, and even the 
 same sounds, have not the same effect when heard 
 elsewhere — 
 
 " That strain again ! it had a dying tall. 
 
 Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south/ * 
 That breatlies upon a bank of violets, "'■* ' 
 
 Stealing and giving odour." '^■^i 
 
 This speaks the same feeling in regard to the 
 mystic influence produced by the soft and sooth- 
 ing union of harmony and of climate. - 
 
 Absorbed as Matilda was in her attention 
 to one of the most perfect performances that this 
 unrivalled establishment had ever given, the opera 
 was concluded, before, in looking round the mag- 
 nificent area, she perceived that she herself was 
 i5 
 
178 MATILDA. 
 
 an object of general attention to the crowded 
 cjrcle. Her own eye, unaccustomed to the com- 
 -parative obscurity of a foreign theatre, could but 
 imperfectly distinguish any one. But to those 
 whom nightly habit had famiharized the doubt- 
 ful gloom, quite enough was discernible to 
 "circulate a general inquiry concerning the dis- 
 'tii^guished and beautiful stranger. 
 
 Any sensations of involuntary satisfaction at 
 this universal admiration in Matilda, were sud- 
 4enly checked by the sight of one object in an 
 'opposite box, the internal light in which re?i- 
 dered its inmates plainly visible. It was the 
 figure of a man, whose attention a lady was 
 endeavouring, with much animation, to engross, 
 but whose eyes (and they were the eyes of 
 Qrmsby) were intently fixed upon herself. 
 
 It was well that she had this little preparation 
 for what afterwards occurred; for, tov/ards the 
 'end of the ballet, the door of her box opened, 
 and Sir James, followed by Lord Ormsby, 
 ^entered. 
 
 An opera box is, perhaps, of all places in the 
 •world, the best fittied for the necessary operation 
 'of undergoing an awkward or embarrassing 
 interview. The doubtful light — the diviv^^ 
 
MATILDA. 179 
 
 attention — the confused noise — are all highly 
 favourable to the assumption of artificial, or the 
 concealment of real feelings. But though pos- 
 sessing, in perfection, this advantage of situa- 
 tion, and somewhat assured, by observing that 
 Ormsby himself was perfectly composed, and 
 very different from when she saw him last, yet it 
 required all her exertions to appear outwardly 
 unmoved, when Sir James began, — *' I have 
 been telling Lord Ormsby, Matilda, that you 
 regretted, as much as I did, the not having seen 
 him at all, as he passed through Geneva."* 
 
 It had been entirely out of consideration for 
 Ormsby, that she had originally omitted all men- 
 tion of that meeting; 3^et, for the world, she 
 v«'ould not he should have known that such had 
 l)een her conduct. To a man of Sir Jam^s''s 
 character, she could not have been expected to 
 volunteer unnecessary confidence, yet she could 
 not help feeling guilty when thus convicted of 
 intentional concealment. Oppressed as she was 
 with this sensation, she w^as reheved at having 
 something else to say, when Sir James, in an 
 audible whisper, prompted her — "Won't you 
 ask him to dinner.^'' She almost unconsciously 
 repeated the invitation. 
 
180 MATILDA. 
 
 The balkt being now concluded, Sir James, 
 taking his niece himself, left Lord Ormsby to 
 hand Matilda to her carriage. In descending, 
 he said, — " Do not entirely deprive me of your 
 society, and I will promise to deserve it better 
 than when last we met ; but, for God^s sake, let 
 me owe nothing to the constraint of your iaie 
 echoed invitation."" 
 
 " Oh ! pray come though,'"' said Matilda, m a 
 hurried voice ; " I have much to tell you of youf 
 mother and Emily f and thus it was their 
 renewed intimacy began. 
 
181 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " More know Tom Fool than Tom Fool 
 knows/"* is a saying whidi, in its usual modern 
 application, is much more flattering to the 
 notorious individual than it probably was in its 
 original sense. For instance, what person at all 
 repandu in the world, has ever dropped for the 
 first time into society of an inferior cast, that he 
 has not at once found his new friends perfectly 
 acquainted with all the m^ost minute particulars 
 of his conduct and connexions — that he has not 
 been immediately gratified with the most recent 
 intelligence of the welfare of some distant rela- 
 tions, of whose existence he would previously 
 have himself been doubtful — that he has not had 
 recalled to his recollection some common-place 
 unimportant incident of his own early life, which 
 he had till then forgotten ? Those who are thus 
 opening with him a fresh account of acquaintance- 
 ship, seem anxious to support the credit side of 
 it, by scraping together every sort of doubtful 
 
182 MATILDA. 
 
 claims. Having gossiped with a second-cousin, 
 — domiciliated at Bath or at Cheltenham, is con- 
 sidered an undeniable passport to intimacy ; and 
 as they admit of no statute of limitations, the 
 having seen their new victim as a child, or at 
 school, is put forward as an outstanding bond 
 for the future. 
 
 Few ever experienced more varied attacks of 
 this kind than did Lord Ormsby, when, upon 
 first arriving at Sir James Dornton's apartments, 
 he found, besides Lady Matilda, the party then 
 assembled, consisting of Mrs. Hobson, Miss Anne 
 Hobson, Mr. Tom Hobson, and ]\IessieursA'Vo«xI- 
 liead and Simperton. Miss Hobson was still 
 not presentable ; and old Hobson was completijig 
 her discomfort by sulking at home, under pre- 
 tence of keeping her company. 
 
 Sir James was still fussing himself in the 
 dining-room about the arrangement of the dinner, 
 as he was as yet too little of a finished cosmo- 
 polite to understand, that a five-franc-a-head 
 rxiramble, at an Italian hotel, can never be drille<l 
 into quite the same martinet discipline as a well- 
 organized three-week-bespoken banquet in Lon- 
 don. Nor, indeed, is it at all necessary that it 
 should, when people give the dinner for the sake 
 
MATILDA. 18S 
 
 of the party, not make the party for the sake of 
 tlie dinner. 
 
 When Lord Ormsby entered the room, Walter 
 Woodhead and Tom Hobson were looking out 
 of the window, criticizing the driving of the 
 j^Iilan coachman, whom they laughed at unmer- 
 cifully, for taking the wrong side of the street. 
 Mrs. Hobson and Lady Matilda were conversing 
 on one of the sofas ; if that could be called con- 
 versation, which consisted exclusively of active 
 infliction on one side, and patient endurance on 
 ilie other. Mr. Simperton, on another sofa, was 
 gaying soft things to Miss Anne, not on his own 
 account, but as proxy for his pupil, — between 
 whom and the young lady he was anxious, for 
 reasons which will afterwards appear, that there 
 should exist a mutual good understanding ; in 
 the advancement of which plan, he displayed a 
 perfection of tact, which might have had its effect 
 upon a more refined taste than that of Migs 
 Anne ; as, in puffing his pupil, he was eloquent 
 in the praise of the beauty, not of his person, but 
 liis place; and the cultivation, not of his mind, 
 but his estate. 
 
 Two congenial spirits, like Ormsby and Ma- 
 tilda, brought suddenly into contact with such 
 
184 MATILDA. 
 
 an unsuitable set as this, would, in ordinary cir- 
 cumstances, have found their best resource, and 
 surest defence, in exclusive attention to each other. 
 But from this they were, of course, debarred, by 
 the peculiar awkwardness of their relative situa- 
 tion : so that Lord Ormsby soon fell an easy 
 prey to Mr. Simperton ; who, rising from his 
 seat, accosted him with a sweet smile^ and, " the 
 temperature's intensely tropical to-day, my Lud^ 
 
 Perceiving, by the tone and manner of Lord 
 Ormsby 's assent to this affectedly-turned truism, 
 that he was not awL*re whom he was addressing, 
 he continued, with the same smile, " My name, 
 my Lud, is Simperton of Sydney — had the plea- 
 sure of meeting your lordship when resident at 
 Cambridge, in statu pifpillari, at the rooms of my 
 much-valued friend. Doctor Droning, — who, if 
 he had not unfortunately soon been removed 
 to a better place, would before now have been 
 happily promoted to the Bench. Poor Doctor 
 Droning! Your Iz^lship and I had both an 
 irreparable loss in the Doctor." 
 
 Lord Ormsby, smiling a little at Mr. Simper- 
 ton's seeming to think, that though the Doctor 
 was in a better place, still he would have been 
 best as a bishop, proceeded to assure him, 
 
MATILDA. 185 
 
 that to himself, personally, the Doctor's loss had 
 not been so perfectly irreparable as it otherwise 
 might have been, from the simple circumstance 
 of his never having been in his company but that 
 once, when he was vice-chancellor. 
 
 Hardly had our hero recovered from this 
 attack, when he was assailed by Mrs. Hobson, 
 with, " May I make so bold as to ask, my Lord, 
 whether you still let the jetty deux play at 
 Ormsby Castle, as we see when we went tour- 
 ing there ? I thought 'em vastly fine ; but my 
 good man can't bear to liear them named, be- 
 cause the gardener wetted him to the skin. Tom 
 said, because he only gave him a shilling™ but 
 Fm sure you wouldn't approve of such doings." 
 Without waiting for Lord Ormsby's ready dis- 
 claimer of any share in old Hobson's ducking, 
 she continued, *' Perhaps you may recollect 
 coming into the library for a book when we was 
 all looking at the picturs. I'm sure our Betty said 
 you were the best worth seeing — but I won't 
 make you vain. Yes, and we see you again as 
 we wks driving aw^ay — you was riding with a 
 fitrange lady ; and Tom, who w^as sitting on the 
 bar, had told the boy to spin along, and the 
 chaise did jingle, to be sure, and we came clat- 
 
186 MATILDA. 
 
 tering behind you, and the road was narrow, and 
 the lady's horse reared frightfuLto see, and a 
 proper rage you was in with the postboy ; and 
 the boy told us afterwards it wasn't the Honour- 
 able Miss Arlingford neither. I wonder who it 
 was ! Do you recollect who it was ?*" 
 
 To this she received no direct answer ; for she 
 had at last touched upon an incident which had 
 not escaped the memory of her new acquaint- 
 ance; and full well did both he and Matilda 
 remember who that lady was. 
 
 Tom Hobson now coming up, began his at- 
 tempt to ingratiate himself, in a manner as 
 strikingly characteristic as either of the pre- 
 ceding. 
 
 ** Uncommon nice bit of horse-flesh, I may 
 eay, my Lord, that tit of yours as won the cup at 
 Manchester last spring. I talked it all over 
 before witli your man Bill Jenkins, and he told 
 me he thought as how he could do the trick. 
 Prime fellow, Bill — I like him vastly.*" 
 
 " Really, Sir,'' said Lord Ormsby, half-laugh- 
 ing, " I don't know whether I ought to be most 
 grateful for your friendly feeling towards my 
 horse or my groom." 
 
 " Can these, then, be the connexions of Ma« 
 
MATILDA. 187 
 
 tiida,'' thought Lord Orinsby, in the only mo- 
 ment of respite that they allowed him before the 
 entrance of Sir James, — who immediately began 
 a hundred elaborate apologies for the dinner, 
 expressing fears that it would be very bad, and 
 excuses for having asked him when he had not a 
 maison monUe. In vain did Lord Ormsby assure 
 him that, at least as far as he was concerned, his 
 imeasiness was unnecessary ; for that he was pro- 
 bably more used than any other of the party to 
 the scramble of an Italian pic-nic. 
 
 Matilda, of course, fell to Lord Ormsby*s 
 share as a neighbour at dinner. Since the last 
 timev/hen at Lord Eatington's such had been 
 their relative situation, their feelings of mutual 
 interest had certainly not abated ; but the embar- 
 rassment which they then experienced, was in 
 the present instance much diminished. And as the 
 paucity of common topics among the party assem- 
 bled, caused the conversation to be only occa- 
 sionally dribbled out in no easy flow, they found 
 themselves almost imperceptibly conversing, witli 
 much of the ease, if not the confidence, of former 
 times. 
 
 Towards the end of dinner, this was inter- 
 rupted by Sir James, whoj when a httle warmed 
 
188 MATILDA. 
 
 with an incessant fire of bottomless bicchieri of 
 champagne, began to shew that most infalhble 
 mark of a vulgar mind — the knowing no medium 
 between form and familiarity. We have seen 
 him needlessly punctilious in his formal apologies 
 for the dinner ; and he was now as unceremo- 
 niously famihar — in bantering his new guest in a 
 manner which a man of the world would have 
 known that nothing but intimacy could sanction. 
 At first, indeed, he only commenced with, 
 ** When we met you in town, Lord Ormsby, I 
 had no idea that you meant so soon to return 
 upon your travels. — Pray, how did that hap- 
 
 " Vm afraid I can only plead a truant di.spo- 
 sition, good my Lord,"" said Lord Ormsby; 
 " and that we Anglo-Italians, like dram-drinkersj 
 can never resist just one, drop more. It ia a taste 
 that grows more inveterate from every indul;^ 
 gence." ..... 
 
 " Oh," said Sir James, '' I dare say that's ail 
 just so, but we can give a better guess than that. 
 We know pretty well what brings you. so often 
 across the Alps ; — we've heard that thcj-e?s^ lady 
 in the case.'' ^^^ ^^^ _, 
 
 Lord Ormsby almost started, from tti^Q. cg^r 
 
st*iousTiess that, in this last instance, Sir James had 
 stumbled upon something hke the truth, though 
 in a very different sense from vvliat he intended. 
 He only, however, repUed, *'that he was quite at 
 a loss to know to what he could allude." 
 
 *' Oh, you remember, Matilda, don\ you,""' 
 said the Baronet, " all they used to say about 
 Lord Ormsby and the Lady at Rome .?" 
 
 Matilda pretended she did not recollect. 
 *' Weil, that's very odd," said Sir James, " for 
 I'm sure when I first went down to Delaval 
 Park, in your uncle''s time, one used to hear of 
 nothing else.^ — It was in every body's mouth. 
 For my part, I could not make out why they ail 
 occupied themselves so much about it." 
 
 A -new light flashed upon Lord Ormsby 's mind 
 on hearing this, the effect of which was strength- 
 ened by his knowledge of the cliaracter of the late 
 liOrd Wakefield, and the evident embarrassment 
 that he remarked in Matilda at Sir James's allu- 
 sion to that time. He now was convinced, that 
 the whole report was concerted for the sake of 
 alienating from him Matilda's affections; and 
 though he was justly impatient at the Baronet's 
 vulgar impertinence, yet he could not but be 
 jeratefui to him for having thus involuntarily 
 
190 MATILDA. 
 
 given liim the explanation of his former mistress*^ 
 apparently unaccountable fickleness. 
 
 And fatal indeed this intelligence proved. It 
 enabled his imagination to represent Matilda, not 
 as an easy changeling, but as the victim of con- 
 summate artifice. It restored her character to all 
 its original faultless charm, and thus removed 
 the only feeble barrier which Ivis reason had ever 
 been able to oppose, to the daily increasing 
 power of that resistless passion, against which he 
 was still in vain endeavouring to contend. 
 
 Sir James would have thought that he had 
 foresworn his birthright as an Englishman, if he 
 had, under any circumstances, foregone that most 
 civilized and gallant of our customs, by which we 
 daily prove to the fair sex, when they put us to 
 the trial, that we prefer the worst of wine to 
 the best of company. But a little Italian Mar- 
 chese, M'honi Sir James had, somehow or other, 
 picked up, and to whom no one had addressed a 
 word, and wlio had not understood a syllable of 
 what was addressed to any one else, followed the 
 ladies as a matter of course ; and Lord Ormsby^ 
 profiting by his mistake, soon afterwards left the 
 room, as he did not feel particularly anxious 
 either to discuss politics with Sir James and Mr. 
 
MATILDA. 191 
 
 Simperton, or sporting with Tom and his friend 
 Woodhead. 
 
 The Baronet and the Parson, therefore, those 
 temporal and spiritual pillars of the state, re- 
 mained reciprocating church and king principles 
 in the most orthodox duet. Though it is but 
 justice to them to say, that they joined to the 
 most unbounded admiration of their own govern- 
 ment, the most undisguised dislike of that under 
 which they were then living, and to the establish- 
 ment of which their friends at home had mainly 
 contributed. But so it is, that however bigoted 
 a thorough-paced Tory may be at home, I never 
 kfiew but one EngUshman who was not a Liberal 
 abroad. 
 
 Tom in the mean time was puffing off the 
 courier, Pierre, to his friend Woodhead. — " By 
 Jove,^' he said, *'a fellow who, when I saw him 
 iii England, I should liave said was a spooney, 
 who looked as if, had you taken and turned him 
 twice round, he would not have known where he 
 was ; and now he shall ride against time witli any 
 man in Europe, I don't care who." 
 
 There were very few subjects in the world 
 tiiat would have provoked the phlegmatic Wood- 
 bead into a contradiction, much less an argu- 
 
192 MATILDA. 
 
 ment ; but this was exactly the one most hkely to 
 produce that effect. The spirit of Nimrod was 
 roused in him, when he heard a foreign chap set 
 up as a crack horseman. He therefore quietly 
 objected, that he could not be compared to young 
 Coverdale, who won the Great Steeple Chase last 
 year! 
 
 " Steeple Chase !" said Tom ; " I'll bet Pierre 
 sees more steeples in one day than Coverdale has 
 in his life. But 1 11 tell you what he shall do, 
 that will beat all your Barclay matches hollow, 
 ril back him for five hundred, to ride a hundred 
 miles a clay^ all the year around^ 
 
 *' Done !" said young Woodhead, with (for 
 him) most unusual energy of manner. 
 
 At this awful monosyllable, Tom was, as he 
 would himself have expressed it, rather taken 
 aback. The offer had been mere bully on his 
 part ; he v/as not at all sure of his man, and had 
 little expected, from any thing he had previously 
 seen of Woodhead, that he would have turned 
 so sharply upon him. But, in one respect, he 
 had underrated the young squire, whose intel- 
 lects in the more negative department, were not 
 so contemptible. Thougli they did not enable 
 him to execute much himself, they gave him a 
 
MATILDA. 19S 
 
 pretty good idea of what was impossible for any 
 one else to execute. Therefore, when Tom pre- 
 tended to laugh it off, as a joke, Woodhead 
 claimed it seriously as a bet. 
 
 The dispute growing loud, disturbed the poH- 
 ticians, who interfered to quash it at once ; and 
 for fear it should be renewed, they proposed 
 adjourning to the ladies. There they found 
 Lord Ormsby, who, after he had patiently -sub- 
 mitted to every variety of frivolous question and 
 observation from Mrs. and the Miss Hobsons, — 
 all interlarded with, — " Sir — my Lord, I mean,"' 
 was at length allowed quietly to establish himself 
 by the side of Matilda, at the piano-forte. 
 
 The words of a song are, generally speaking, 
 proverbially a matter of indifference ; so com^ 
 pietely are they a mere vehicle for music, that, 
 -like the carriage which brings our friends to 
 dinner, they seldom excite our observation. Many 
 a Miss apostrophises her music-master by the 
 hour, as, ^' Ben mio i''^ — " Unico speme delta 
 mia vita .'" — utterly unconscious that she is 
 expressing herself at all tenderly. And in the 
 majority of singers, one can no more decide, 
 from the expression, that the topic may be more 
 interesting than the Catch of — " Jolly, joUy six- 
 
194 MAtlLDA. 
 
 pence," — than from the pronunciation, that it 
 may not be Hebrew. 
 
 But the language of love, in its lyric garb, 
 though it falls perfectly powerless on the ear that 
 boasts no kindred affinity, has, when it harmo- 
 nises with existing feelings, a resistless attraction. 
 So thought Lord Ormsby, as he hung enraptured 
 on every note of Matilda's, who sang with an 
 expression peculiar to himself, and equal to her 
 musical execution. And as he joined her in an 
 impassioned duet, he felt it a relief to be allowed, 
 even in song, to give utterance to those heart- 
 felt sentiments, which, in prose or in his own 
 person, he dared not whisper. 
 
 In a word, this was a day, marked by the 
 final abandonment, on his part, of any attempts 
 to resist the indulgence of a passion, which, if 
 hopeless, could only tend to his own misery ; if 
 successful, must insure the utter ruin of its 
 object — whose welfare he Avould have vowed was 
 far dearer to him than his own. 
 
195 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Day passed^ after day, and week succeeded 
 week, and still found Lord Ormsby habitually 
 frequenting Lady Matilda's rooms in a morning, 
 and her opera-box in an evening. Nor was there 
 any thing in their easy intercourse calculated to 
 excite observation in others, or uneasiness in 
 Matilda herself. For such is the happy con- 
 struction of society abroad, that between persons 
 at all of the same set, the effort is required, not 
 to meet, but to avoid meeting. The growth of 
 intimacy is there natural, spontaneous, and unre- 
 strained, like that of the luxuriant vegetation of 
 the happy cUmate itself. Society does not there 
 require to be forced, as in the hot-houses of 
 London ; where, with various devices of pruning 
 and grafting, constant care of nailing down one, 
 and cutting another, acquaintanceship is some- 
 limes brought to an artificial perfection. 
 
 But though the style of society in which they 
 ihen lived, prevented Matilda from feeUng any 
 
196 MATILDA. 
 
 impropriety in the mere act of daily seeing Lord 
 Ormsby, yet there were some circumstances 
 which gradually opened her eyes, as to the pru- 
 dence of such habitual indulgence. Involunta- 
 rily, she found herself most frequently practising 
 those pieces of music which he had most ad- 
 mired; till, whilst she herself thought that she 
 sung nothing else so ill, every indifferent indivi- 
 dual observed how much the most perfect in 
 them appeared both her taste and execution. 
 Unintentionally too, she found herself copying 
 over and over again, in miniature, a favourite 
 picture of his; still thinking that she had never 
 3^et hit the expression, though her table was 
 covered over with accurate fac-similes of it. 
 
 I have said, that, in Matilda's education, the 
 influence of fixed principles upon conduct had 
 never been inculcated. She was the creature of 
 impulse, and of feeling, guided only by an 
 innate sense of right, and protected by the most 
 sensitive feminine delicacy. She now felt dissa- 
 tisfied with herself, though utterly unconscious 
 of any thing incorrect, even in thought. 
 
 In the mean time, the intimacy was constantly 
 encouraged by Sir James, who was flattered by 
 shewing off, as he thought in his train, so dis- 
 
MATILDA. 197 
 
 tinguished an individual as Lord Orrasby. Be- 
 sides which, he never lost sight of the solid 
 advantages he thought might be derived in his 
 own county, from maintaining the connexion. 
 
 Still Matilda became anxious to move ; and 
 as the autumnal stream of babbling English was 
 flowing South, the Baronet willingly consented 
 to proceed to Rome. 
 
 Who shall attempt to analyse the sensations 
 excited by Rome— unique and unaccountable as 
 they are — felt even by him most disposed to 
 laugh at the hyperbolical enthusiasm of the clas- 
 sical pedant ? — Rome is still Rome. Though 
 Cardinals are not Consuls, and the last dying 
 embers of spiritual despotism are smouldering on 
 those hearths where were kindled the first sparks 
 of civil liberty, — still is it the Eternal City. And 
 why ? — Why should those monuments of the 
 olden time, seen here, cause an impression felt 
 no where else ? — Local situation cannot cause it. 
 Ruins are most impressive when abstracted and 
 isolated ; whereas here they are defiled with all 
 the daily filth of incongruous inhabitancy. — It is 
 not mental association ; — for what are, or were, 
 in point of fact, the objects of our admiration ? 
 The Cohseum, that stupendous undertaking, 
 
198 MATILDA. 
 
 for the mere gratification of savage cruelty, and 
 brutal barbarism ; — Temples, those favoured 
 abodes of ignorance and idolatry ; — ^and Baths, 
 the works of men only known for mental imbe- 
 cility, or moral depravity, who have thus immor- 
 talized themselves by these monuments of their 
 physical indulgences. 
 
 But he who should argue by the hour to prove 
 absurd the feeling excited by Rome, would not 
 be able to defend himself from full participation 
 in it, if, in the middle of his argument, he 
 caught the fii*st glimpse of the dome of Saint 
 Peter's. 
 
 With so contradictory and inconsistent an 
 animal as man, the very incongruities I have 
 mentioned, do but increase the excitement, and 
 heighten the effect. There is nothing like unto 
 Rome after all. Even to those who have no che- 
 rished recollections of its former state — to whom 
 the first page of the Latin Grammar is beyond 
 their ultima Thule of classic lore — to those 
 whose only pursuit is amusement — Rome pos- 
 sesses peculiar attractions. In the morning, it 
 is pleasanter far to feast one's eyes on the 
 choicest collections of the beau ideal, left in the 
 immortal galleries of genius, than to sit in a club- 
 
MATILDA. 199 
 
 room, spelling over the dull realities of the day. 
 At nio-ht, it is sweeter far to see the silver moon, 
 with her uncertain light, partially illumining the 
 beautifully broken outlines of the CoHseum, 
 than to catch the angular glare of painted lamps, 
 through the dense and dizzying vapours of Vaux- 
 hall. — The eye can no more hesitate in its choice, 
 than can the ear between the marrow-bones and 
 cleavers of London, and the vespers of Saint 
 Peter"'s. 
 
 But, of all the delights of Rome, that which 
 afterwards leaves the most cherished recollection 
 is the genial glow which climate, or some other 
 indefinable cause, here throws over society. 
 Here cold reserve melts away, political preju- 
 dices are softened, all the kindher feelings are 
 cultivated, and intimacy spontaneously ripens. 
 
 This was delightful to Matilda, who was pecu- 
 liarly formed to be the ornament of a select 
 circle. — Since her marriage, with the exception 
 of the short sejour at IVIilan and Geneva, she 
 had only alternately exchanged the vortex of 
 London, for the cheerless languor of an unso- 
 cial domestic mtnage. Here, however, she 
 found herself surrounded by admiring compa- 
 nions, who were free alike from the two extremes 
 
200 MATILDA. 
 
 of inactive ennui, or restless care, which hold 
 divided empire over London society. Here 
 were principally found persons of cultivated 
 minds, who seemed united upon the principle of 
 avoiding every topic which could be subject of 
 annoyance to themselves, or each other ; and 
 who, skimming ever the surface of life alone, 
 found every where around them subjects of inte- 
 rest, which their refined taste enabled them fully 
 to appreciate. 
 
 In such a society, the arrival of so gifted an 
 individual as Lady Matilda Dornton, could 
 not be viewed with indifference ; and her house 
 soon became the never-failing point of attraction 
 for the evening coterie ; though this preference 
 was put to a severe test for Anglo-Romans, by Sir 
 James, whose dignity required a larger mansion 
 than could be found in the immediatevicinity of the 
 Piazza di Spagna, which is the English quarter 
 at Rome. He therefore had taken a large Palaz- 
 zo in a distant part of the town ; and hither the 
 elite of English society nightly migrated, to 
 pay their adoration at the shrine of their new 
 divinity. 
 
 Nightly was Matilda's salon filled with all 
 that was most distinguished then in Rome ; not, 
 
MATILDA. 201 
 
 as at a London rout, stuffed and choaked like 
 an overgrown American forest, but more like a 
 pleasure ground, where the most favoured pro- 
 ductions of every climate were carefully disposed 
 to the greatest advantage. 
 
 One, however, there was constantly there, as 
 a matter of course, whom Matilda could well 
 have spared. The reader may recollect a certain 
 Mrs. Mechlin, who was mentioned as a constant 
 inmate at the late Lord WakefiekFs, and who 
 had been mainly instrumental in promoting the 
 marriage between Lady Matilda and Sir James ; 
 to effect which, she had not been very scrupulous 
 in her assertions with regard to Lord Ormsby. 
 Recent circumstances having given Matilda more 
 accurate insight into the real state of the case 
 upon that subject, it is not to be supposed that 
 slie felt very grateful to Mrs. Mechlin for her 
 conduct upon that occasion. But still she had 
 known Matilda from childhood. She miglit, too, 
 have been mistaken herself, in what she had 
 positively asserted. She was also supposed to 
 be very much straitened in her circumstances. 
 All this induced the kind heart of our heroine, 
 to give her, upon her unexpected arrival at 
 k5 
 
202 matildj\» 
 
 Rome, a much warmer welcome than she de- 
 served. 
 
 Mrs. Mechlin had undertaken the journey,, 
 determined that the absence of Matilda from 
 England should not be the means of depriving 
 her, for a whole year, of all the advantages in 
 society, which she meant to appropriate to 
 herself, from the splendid marriage, of which 
 she considered herself in a great part the 
 authoress. How she had contrived to effect so 
 long and expensive a journey, remained a 
 mystery ; as it was well known that it was only 
 by extraordinary expedients, and by annual 
 dependent visits for ten months out of every 
 twelve, that she contrived to keep up appearances 
 in London for the other two. In fact, she was 
 obliged to connect the end of one June to the 
 beginning of the next May, with a long string 
 of country cousins, in order to make both ends 
 meet. She therefore rather suggested, than 
 accepted the offer, of making the Dorntons' 
 palazzo her home, during her stay in Rome. 
 
 Sir James, who was always open to flattery, 
 was easily taken with her winning ways, and 
 die soon became an immense favourite with him : 
 
MATILDA. 203 
 
 the advantages of which favour she knew full 
 well how to turn to the best account. Matilda, 
 on her part, certainly did not renew the intimacy 
 with her former friend, with exactly the feelings 
 towards her, which in early youth she had enter- 
 tained. She was, it is true, almost angry with 
 herself for distrusting her ; but though Mrs. 
 Mechlin was always particularly observant of 
 all the outward appearances of propriety, still 
 now that Matilda had acquired more knowledge 
 of the world than she had then possessed, she 
 could not help having her doubts as to the cor- 
 rectness of the conduct of her somewhat passee, 
 but still showy-looking friend. Nor, indeed, 
 upon reflecting on several circumstances which 
 had made little impression at the time, could 
 she think that her intimacy with Lord Wake- 
 field had been entirely above suspicion. 
 
 Still the fascinating manners, and easy lively con- 
 versation of Mrs. Mechlin, made her by no means 
 an unwelcome addition to any small society. 
 
 One evening, about a fortnight after the 
 Dorntons had established tliemselves in their 
 palazzo, the usual self-invited inmates had made 
 up the evening party ; for " circle" I will not 
 call it, as that implies form, all of which was 
 
204! MATILDA. 
 
 absent. It was a constellation of beauty and 
 talent, where shone many a social star, brilliant 
 in its own sphere, yet gladly revolving round 
 our heroine, when within the orb of her superior 
 attraction. Here too, were mingled, in easy, and 
 even friendly conversation, the banished Con- 
 stitutionalist from Cadiz, and the willing slave 
 from the Crimea, — all alike anxious to forg-et 
 every thing that was distant and disagreeable, in 
 the pleasure that was present. 
 
 On a fauteuil, drawn close to the sofa, where 
 were seated Matilda and Mrs. Mechlin, was 
 posted our friend Colonel Canteen, the male 
 gossip of Geneva, who had arrived the day 
 before. One of the first subjects of conversation 
 he chose, was, " I wonder, Lady Matilda, what 
 has become of Ormsby ? I have not seen any 
 thing of him since his apparition at Geneva. To 
 be sure, I have not been in the way of knowing 
 much, for I came via Genoa and Florence; and 
 Tynte chose to delay us a fortnight at Lerici, 
 ))y catching a fever in sketching the Bay. I 
 was, indeed, most properly bored there, though 
 I must say the fish in the Gulf of La Spezzia 
 is quite particular. But v;here Ormsby has 
 hid himself ail this time, I can't conceive." 
 
MATILDA. 205 
 
 " We saw Lord Ormsby frequently at Milan,*' 
 said Matilda. 
 
 " Well — I wish he would drop in upon us 
 here some of these days,'' said the Colonel, " and 
 give us the light of his countenance in not quite 
 such a Will-o'-the-Wisp style as he did at 
 Geneva." 
 
 " I can't say I think," said Mrs. Mechlin, 
 ^* that Lord Ormsby would be any improvement 
 to our party. He is no great favourite of mine. 
 His whole life has been too much in the Will-o'- 
 the-Wisp style, as you are pleased to call it. He 
 once huno; out his deceitful lio-hts on much too 
 serious an occasion," looking attentively at Ma- 
 tilda as she spoke. " I don't soon forgive those 
 who wrong my friends. I should be very sorry 
 to see him." 
 
 Hardly had Mrs. Mechlin concluded, when 
 the door opened, and the Roman Servitore di 
 Piazza having attempted something which he 
 meant for an English name, but which might as 
 well have been wild Indian, the object of the late 
 conversation himself entered. 
 
 Matilda advanced to meet him, not with in- 
 difference certainly, not perhaps without a strag- 
 gle with inward emotion, but with little apparent 
 
S06 MATILDA, 
 
 embarrassment of manner. The usual inquiries 
 produced the necessary replies, that he had 
 arrived that afternoon, had inquired her resi- 
 dence, and hastened to pay his respects; any 
 further conversation between them, which might 
 have been rendered awkward by the eyes of all 
 being inquiringly directed towards the stranger, 
 was for the moment interrupted by Mrs. MechHn, 
 with her sweetest smile ; — - 
 
 " Dear Lord Ormsby, I am delighted to see 
 you ! what a time it i& since we met ! I am so 
 glad to see 3^0 u again."" 
 
 Nor was this warmth entirely assumed, though 
 so completely at variance with the sentiments we 
 have just heard her utter. It was, as she said, 
 long since they had met, and she could not help 
 at once feeling that he was looking uncommonly 
 handsome ; and any woman who, like Mrs. 
 Mechlin, retained all her former greedy appetite 
 for admiration, mth an increasing fear that she 
 might soon be put on short commons in that par- 
 ticular, must be naturally eager to assert an early 
 claim to a share of the fresh food for conquest 
 that had just arrived. 
 
 Matilda's manner towards Ormsby during the 
 rest of the evening was in no respect sufficiently 
 
MATILDA. SOT 
 
 marked to be observable by indifferent spectators, 
 but was felt by him to be studiously colder, and 
 more constrained, than it would have been to a 
 common acquaintance, who had in the same man- 
 ner unexpectedly arrived. This forced reserve, — 
 the most truly feminine, and at the same time 
 the most unequivocal, if not the most obtrusive 
 mark of increasing interest, more especially where 
 a sense of duty is struggling with irresistible im- 
 pulse, is, it is strange to say, almost always mis- 
 construed by the man who is the object of it ; and 
 suph was the mistaken impression received by 
 Ormsby, who left Matilda that evening, with the 
 conviction that he was avoided from indifference, 
 and half muttering between his teeth something 
 about " cold unfeeling coquette," as, with a vague 
 indefinite feeling of universal jealousy, he recalled 
 the unmeaning smile of one man, the affected 
 hand-shaking of a second, the studied compli- 
 ment of a third, and the evident admiration of 
 all. 
 
CHAPTER XIX, 
 
 After passing a sleepless night, in ingeniously 
 tormenting himself with the idea that Matilda 
 had too plainly shewn by her manner that she 
 never wished to see him again, Ormsby, never- 
 theless, rose sooner than if he had slept soundly ; 
 and, earlier than even a certain -welcome would 
 have justified a morning visit, he found himself 
 tlireading the somewhat intricate streets which 
 separated his lodging in the Piazza di Spagna 
 from the palazzo, which latter, as we have before 
 s-tated, w^as in a distant part of the town. 
 
 Utterly unconscious of whom he met, or what 
 he saw, he had almost arrived at his journey's 
 end, when he was suddenly stopped by Sir James 
 Dornton, who was sallying forth thus early on 
 business. 
 
 " Delighted to see you, my dear Lord,"" he 
 l>egan ; " very good of you to do me the honour 
 of a call last night, — very sorry that I happened to 
 have gone to tlie opera with Baron Joulterdolt the 
 
MATILDA. 209 
 
 Hanoverian. I have several things I wished to talk 
 to your Lordship about. Perhaps you would have 
 no objection just to step this way. I was going 
 to the gunsmith's close by for a minute." Lord 
 Ormsby hesitated a moment. — This was not at 
 all the sort of expedition which had induced him 
 to come out so early ; and he began an excuse, 
 " Why, I was just intending,"-— when a certain 
 inward consciousness prevented his owning to 
 Sir James that he had been meditating a visit to 
 Matilda. He therefore turned to accompany the 
 Baronet. 
 
 Upon what trivial, and apparently inconse- 
 quent circumstances do the most important 
 events sometimes seem to have depended ! The 
 heedless choice between two indifferent alterna^ 
 tions, seems afterwards to have determined the 
 fate of Ormsby and Matilda. 
 
 Sir James was one of those, who, upon setting 
 out on a tour of Italy, had thought it necessary 
 to provide himself with a pair of Manton's hair- 
 trigger pistols, calculated to take the most infal- 
 lible aim at the most minute mark, as an appro- 
 priate defence against a whole population of 
 brigands, who, if they attack at all, always pop 
 at you on all sides from behind stone walls, 
 
SIO MATILDA. 
 
 without ever shewing themselves. However, Sir 
 James felt quite safe with his pocket protectors ; 
 and, one being a little out of order, he had been 
 very uneasy till it shduld be mended. He had 
 therefore himself taken them to a neighbouring 
 gunsmith and sword maker, who had the reputa- 
 tion of also furnishing arms to his enemies, the 
 brigands, upon a much more wholesale scale; 
 though this of course was unknown to the 
 Baronet. 
 
 Sir James was pretty well versed in that patois 
 of good society in England, which is called French ; 
 but of Italian he knew not one syllable, and 
 seemed perfectly satisfied with his ignorance. It is 
 not tlierefore to be wondered at that this circum- 
 stance, joined to a natural confusion in the mode 
 of expressing himself, rendered the directions with 
 which he had left his pistols perfectly unintelli- 
 gible to the Roman shopkeeper. But as there 
 is nothing to which an Italian will not assent for 
 the sake of a job, he had received all Sir James's 
 incomprehensible orders with an " Jh i capisco 
 bene, eccellenza — nonpense — si Signore — non c' I 
 duhhio^' ^c. Accordingly, the pistols had been 
 left there in perfect security that all that was 
 wanted would be done ; and to reclaim them was 
 
MATILDA. 211 
 
 the object of the present visit. At the com- 
 mencement of the scene which ensued, Lord 
 Ormsby remained at the outer door, with his 
 back to the shop, his eyes unconsciously fixed on 
 the only corner of the palazzo which was \asible 
 from thence ; his thoughts wandering still fur- 
 ther from what was passing around him. He 
 was therefore no witness to Sir James's indigna- 
 tion, when the shopkeeper, with a self-satisfied 
 '' Eccole;'' presented him with what had been 
 his pistols, now hardly to be recognised ; — the 
 unrivalled beauties of Manton's best workman- 
 ship having been contaminated by a forced mes- 
 alliance with the Roman's own clumsy handi- 
 craft. 
 
 After Sir James had vented his complaints in 
 mingled French and Enghsh execrations, all of 
 which the Italian bore with imperturbable com,- 
 placency (a calmness probably induced by the 
 certain expectation of the concluding question of 
 his customer), in despair he was at length 
 obliged to inquire, " Combienf This was pro- 
 bably the only word of French of which the 
 shopkeeper had an intuitive knowledge ; and he 
 immediately replied, with characteristic impu- 
 
S12 MATILDA. 
 
 dence, " Ah, come viiole — niente — solamente dud 
 scudi.''^ 
 
 " What the Devil !" said Sir James, in irre- 
 strainabie EngUsh. 
 
 " Dieci,''^ repeated the Italian, holding up all 
 the fingers of both hands in pantomimic expla- 
 nation. 
 
 Sir James, who, from the increasing difficulty 
 of communication, began to think " action much 
 better than speech,*" now seized hold of one of 
 the pistols, by way of having possession on his 
 Bide of the dispute. 
 
 ^^ Ah! questi no,'*'' said the Itahan, retaining 
 the butt end in his grasp. 
 
 Sir James's temper, which was none of the 
 most enduring, was completely overset by this 
 resistance, and having got undisputed hold of the 
 other pistol, he dealt a stunning blow with the 
 butt end on the skull of his antagonist. This 
 rash act attracted the attention of another party, 
 a w^ild-looking savage mountaineer, a brother of 
 the shopkeeper, who had hitherto remained in 
 the back of the hottega, occupied most inoppor- 
 tunely in polishing and sharpening a couriers 
 couteau d^ chasse, whicli had been left for that 
 
MATILDA. 21S 
 
 purpose. He was one of those " Children of the 
 Sun, with whom revenge is virtue ;'■* and here 
 was a case in which the indulgence of that pas- 
 sion was more the effect of spirit-boiling tempera- 
 ment, of veins effervescent of liquid fire, than the 
 cold-blooded and calculating instance given by 
 the dramatist, whose sentence I quoted. 
 
 The first object that caught Lord Ormsby's 
 glance, when, roused by the noise, he turned 
 suddenly round, was this infuriated being, in the 
 jict of rushiqg forward, — the deadly weapon in 
 his hand, as, newly polished, it glittered in the 
 sun, but yielded in brilliancy to the flash of his 
 fiery eye. Already had he seized his victim, and 
 a single second v/ould have closed for ever Sir 
 James's earthly career, when the arm which was 
 in the act of descending was suddenly checked 
 with a strong shock, and fell powerless beneatk 
 Ormsby's vigorous grasp. 
 
 The ruffian immediately closed with his new 
 antagonist ; and, as Ormsby was collecting his 
 strength to hurl him indignantly away, the assassia 
 changed his hand, shortened his hold of the wea- 
 pon, and twice stabbed him in the side. Our 
 hero grasped him convulsively for a moment, and 
 then as involuntarily relaxing his hold, tottered 
 
S14 MATILDA. 
 
 and fell without a groan on the floor, which was 
 soon flooded with his blood. 
 
 Whilst the first impulse of Sir James was of 
 course to rush towards Lord Ormsby, the ruffian 
 took advantage of that opportunity to escape. 
 
 Our hero's case seemed desperate. From a 
 faint struggle at respiration it was evident that 
 he still breathed ; but it seemed impossible but 
 that life must issue in the stream which continued 
 to flow in torrents from his wounds. At this 
 moment the courier, whose knife had been used 
 as the murderous instrument, happened to enter 
 the shop to reclaim it, and being recognised by 
 Sir James as our friend Pierre, he was eagerly 
 applied to for assistance by the Baronet ; whose 
 presence of mind had completely abandoned him 
 in this sudden crisis. 
 
 Pierre possessing that sort of smattering of 
 surgery which many of his profession have, suc- 
 ceeded to a certain degree in staunching for a 
 moment the wounds ; when he suggested the pro- 
 priety of removing him if possible at once, and 
 even before the arrival of the surgeon. To 
 carry him home to the Piazza di Spagna was 
 impossible, from the distance. " To my house, 
 to my house next door," said Sir James ; and 
 
MATILDA. ^1$ 
 
 leaving the courier to superintend the removal, 
 he determined at once to set off to the police to 
 give the information that might be necessary for 
 the apprehension of the culprit, without its ever 
 occurring to him, that it might be as well first 
 to prepare Lady Matilda for the unexpected 
 shock of seeing a dying man brought to her 
 house. 
 
 Matilda had risen that morning, internally 
 satisfied with her own conduct, yet in spite of 
 herself gratified at the certainty of seeing Ormsby. 
 NotAvith standing all her cause for care, her natu- 
 ral buoyancy of spirit played upon her sunshiny 
 countenance, as she lightly bounded down one 
 of two parallel flights of the marble stairs, which, 
 divided by a wall, led from her apartments to 
 the court below. At that moment the melan- 
 choly procession, headed by Pierre, was ascend- 
 ing the lower flight, with their apparently lifeless 
 burthen ; and on reaching the central landing- 
 place, such was the heart-rending revulsive shock 
 Matilda was fated to receive. 
 
 No words can describe the peculiar and pro- 
 tracted sound of her agonizing scream. Even 
 the base rabble who assisted in bearing the body, 
 groaned in sympathy as they felt it thrill through 
 
S16 MATILDA. 
 
 their veins. It had the power, too, — (far beyond 
 the utmost effort of surgical skill, or physical art,) 
 to dispel for a moment the death-like lethargy of 
 its bleeding object. His livid lips faintly qui- 
 vered, and for an instant he half unclosed hi* 
 glassy eye, as Matilda sunk senseless by his 
 side. 
 
 When the surgeon who had been sent for had 
 dressed Lord Ormsby's wounds, and went to 
 Matilda to intimate that all hope was not 
 completely lost, he found her gradually recover- 
 ing the shock she had received ; but there was 
 still such a wildness in her manner, as she reso- 
 lutely demanded to see his patient, that, as Sir 
 James was not at home, and there was nobodf 
 who had any right to controul her, the medical 
 man did not feel himself authorised to refuse. 
 
 Upon entering the apartment, taking Ormby's 
 cold and clammy hand within hers, and fixedly 
 gazing on his motionless features, she resisted all 
 attempts at removal, with an unvarying repeti- 
 tion of " No, no, not yet :"* so that upon the re- 
 vival of nature^s efforts, when he shewed signs of 
 returning animation, his eyes first opened on that 
 loved form whose beauteous grief betrayed aii. 
 intensity of interest, the inestimable knowledge 
 
MATILDA. 217 
 
 of which he felt cheaply purchased at the price he 
 was then paying for it. 
 
 Whether in virtue of this " medicine for a 
 mind diseased," or his natural strength of bodily 
 constitution, the surgeon before he left him made 
 an unexpectedly favourable report ; upon re- 
 ceiving which, all Matilda's sense of propriety 
 returned; she consigned the care of him to a more 
 appropriate nurse ; and had retired from the 
 room before her husband came home from his 
 long and unsatisfactory search after justice. 
 
sm 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 We have of late, gentle reader, rather dropped 
 tlie acquaintance of the Hobson family. But 
 though it would be hard to expect, now that you 
 a^e better acquainted with their characters, that 
 you should submit to continuing on an intimate 
 footing with them, yet they are too nearly con- 
 nected with one, in whose fate I am particularly 
 anxious that you should be interested, for me to 
 allow you altogether to cut them. 
 
 On the morning in which you were first made 
 acquainted with their arrival in Rome, by the 
 interference of their courier Pierre, in the gun- 
 smith's shop, the female m-embers of the Hob- 
 son family were, as usual, assembled in rather 
 a dark, dingy-looking salo?ie of an old-fashioned 
 palazzo, — armed with netting-needles, paper, 
 cutting scissars, tambour-frames, and sundry 
 other ancient and primitive weapons, generally^ 
 employed in all amazonian attempts to kill time. 
 But old Father Time made a very good fight of 
 
MATILDA. SI 9 
 
 it "v^ith them ; and they had already shewn, by 
 sundry yawns, how much, in spite of all their 
 efforts, they felt his power, when they were 
 relieved by the arrival of two auxiharies, who 
 had of late freciuently been very useful in ena- 
 bling them to get the better of a troublesome 
 half hour or two. — These were our Milan 
 acquaintances, the Rev. Mr. Simperton, and 
 his pupil, young Squire Woodhead. Mr. Sim- 
 perton, as has been hinted before, was very 
 anxious to cultivate the intimacy cf the Hobson 
 family ; which fact must now be explained to 
 have arisen from its having occurred to him that 
 a wife with twenty thousand pounds, would be 
 a very pretty addition to his present income, 
 arising from a small college living, the tithes of 
 which he considered as quite inadequate, even to 
 wash his surplice and buy his sermon. This 
 gilding of the matrimonial pill, reconciled him 
 to swallowing even such a bouncing bolus as 
 Miss Betty Hobson. 
 
 But could he also persuade his pupil to pay 
 due homage to the charms of the younger sister, 
 Miss Anne, what prospects might then be open 
 to him ! — In meditating on this, indistinct vi- 
 sions floated before his eyes, in which were 
 
S20 MATILDA. 
 
 traced the festive board at Woodhead Hall, at the 
 bottom of which, he was himself bending over a 
 well-filled tureen, with a bottle of iced cham^ 
 pagne at his right hand. Then he saw himself 
 on a picked hunter, in the hunt uniform, of a 
 clerical colour, and the buttons cut in horn. 
 Mere remotely, but still contingent on the con- 
 nexion, he thought he felt his buck-skin breeches 
 covered with a short black apron, and his thin 
 waving locks concealed under a snug bush wig. 
 
 With such anticipations, it is not to be won- 
 dered at, that, on their way to the Hobsons 
 that morning, he had exerted all his eloquence 
 to persuade his docile pupil, that he ought to 
 (what is called) pop the question to Miss Anne 
 Hobson. He had reason to think, too, that his 
 success had been complete; and indeed, so far 
 as a complete acquiescence on the part of his 
 docile pupil, in the propriety of his immediately 
 making his proposals, so it had. But this was 
 easier said than done ; or rather, it was easier 
 thought than said ; for Mr. Woodhead had the 
 misfortune to be a very shy man ; and though 
 there was nothing very appalling in the appear- 
 .ance of Miss Anne Hobson, yet there is a certain 
 gtrtificial awe, with which even the boldest of 
 
MATILDA. 221 
 
 men, for the time, regard her whom they are 
 about to invest with the power of refusing them. 
 
 Circumstances were, however, rather favour- 
 able to the recovery of Mr. Woodhead's self- 
 possession. Mrs. Hobson was generally the 
 most desosuvree of the party ; as, after the bustle 
 of travelhng had subsided, she found much 
 fewer congenial occupations at Rome than at Man- 
 chester, and had already begun inflicting upon her 
 family her daily dose of habitual wonderment 
 about trifles ; — " I wonder why it never snows 
 here !" " I wonder when the Pope will die !"* *' I 
 wonder where the letters are !" 
 
 This species of unimportant admiration, furnish- 
 ing very constant employment to those who have 
 little either to do or to think about, had at length 
 left Mrs. Hobson nothing else to wonder about, 
 but where Mr. Hobson could he? She had 
 accordingly quitted the room to investigate that 
 important matter, and Mr. Simperton had been 
 received by Miss Hobson, with that pretty play- 
 ful petulance, which is traditional among all 
 boarding-school Misses, as the proper purgatory 
 with which they ought to torment an anxious 
 admirer. This he had submitted to with the 
 prescri])ed patience of an humble suitor, and to 
 
U2^ MATILDA. 
 
 such unfounded attacks as — " Indeed, I don't 
 know whether I ought to speak to you at all, 
 when you cut me dead at Duchess Torionia's 
 last night. I saw you, Sir, Philandering 
 away."' 
 
 In vain, for some time, did the Reverend Phi- 
 lander protest against so unfounded an imputa- 
 tion, till the young lady, thinking that she had 
 tormented him the legitimate length of time, 
 according to the most recent marhle-covered 
 maxims of the Minerva press, he was again 
 reinstated in favour, and they retired to the 
 Avindow, where they leant out, in conversation, 
 leaving Mr. Woodhead to vent his feehngs, per- 
 fectly unrestrained by interruption. But it was 
 in vain that the latter gentleman attempted to 
 begin ; nor did Miss Anne, who was, notoriously, 
 the silent one of the family, at all assist his 
 embarrassment. He sat on the edge of the 
 sofa, looking out of the corners of his heavy, 
 lack-lustre eyes, at the monotonous movements 
 of his mistress's netting-needle; till, at length, 
 from behind a well -rolled pocket-handkerchief, 
 which he had stuffed almost into the cavity of his 
 open mouth, he mumbled, " It is very warm. 
 Miss Anne." 
 
MATILITA. ^SS 
 
 *' Very," — sharply retorted the young lady. 
 
 *' It is warmer here than in Cheshire,*" after a 
 pause, he resumed. 
 
 " Is it .?" said she. 
 
 " You never were in Cheshire, were you P'' 
 inquired the lover. 
 
 " Stockport'^s Cheshire, Sir ?"" said Miss Anne. 
 
 " Oh ! but that's not like my Cheshire," said 
 the young gentleman, with more animation. — 
 ** Now, I wish — I should be very glad — I should 
 like very much — I — if — " 
 
 This sounded a little like coming to the point, 
 though Cheshire did not seem the obvious short- 
 cut to it. But, as yet. Miss Anne was fated to 
 continue in ignorance as to " what he wished — 
 what he should be very glad of — what he should 
 like very much ;" — for, at this interesting nio- 
 ment, the squire was interrupted by the entrance 
 of Tom Hobson, evidently in great tribulation. 
 
 " Here's a rare go ! By Jingo, this is a pretty 
 country to live in V 
 
 " What's the matter?'' said the couple on the 
 sofa. — " What's the matter?" — echoed the couple 
 from the window. 
 
 " IVIatter ! — blow me tight ! — why weVe all 
 going to be murdered; and half of us are already." 
 
^M MATILDA. 
 
 At this awful announcement, the ladies gave 
 something between a squeak and a scream ; and 
 the gentlemen asking for further information, 
 Tom continued, — " Why, Lord Ormsby and 
 uncle Dornton have been attacked by banditti in 
 disguise, here in the very town; and they've 
 settled my Lord's job for him ; and uncle's very 
 bad indeed; and if Pierre had not killed two 
 with his own hand (I saw his knife all bloody,) 
 they were going to have murdered all the Eng- 
 lish they could find." 
 
 " But is any body really dead ?" said Simper- 
 ton, who thought that he could detect something 
 like exaggeration in Tom's confused account. 
 
 " Oh ! yes ; I'm sure Lord Ormsby 's dead ; 
 for I joined some gentlemen that were talking 
 about it ; and Sir George Dowercourt, that used 
 to ride about with my Lord, at Milan, was saying 
 how the barony and the estates all went to Miss 
 Arlingford ; and what a great catch she would 
 be." 
 
 This interruption of Woodhead's tete-a-tete, 
 as may be expected, put to flight the few scattered 
 ideas that it had cost him such pains to collect ; 
 and postponed, for the present, his proposals to 
 Miss Anne Hobson. 
 
MATILDA. S25 
 
 It will suffice to inform the reader, without 
 detaining him longer in their society, that, a very 
 few days afterwards, these proposals were brought 
 to a successful issue. The locale, at length 
 chosen by Woodhead, was a singular one. It 
 was in that octagon closet of the Vatican, appro- 
 priated to the Apollo Belvidere, that the Squire 
 told his tale of love, in strains which certainly 
 shewed no symptoms of having been inspired by 
 the divine influence of the presence of the god of 
 poetry ; and there, whilst averting her eyes from 
 that master-piece of manly beauty. Miss Anne 
 Hobson cast a tender assenting leer on the 
 clumsy, cart-horse carcase of her future husband. 
 A few days afterwards, the Rev. Mr. Simperton, 
 with a proper Protestant disregard of the Popish 
 mummery around him, took the opportunity of 
 the Vespers of Saint Peter's, to offer his vows at 
 the shrine of Miss Betty Hobson ; which, being 
 most graciously received, the double union was 
 arranged to his heart's content. 
 
 l5 
 
2£6 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 For many days, Lord Ormsby"'s condition 
 continued to be one of extreme danger. — The 
 struggle was long and doubtful, between an ex- 
 cellent constitution, and wounds which in most 
 cases would have been decidedly fatal. 
 
 It was also no small aggravation to Matilda's 
 misery under this protracted suspense, that she 
 was doomed every day after dinner to hear her 
 husband and Mrs. Mechlin discussing, with the 
 utmost sang f void, the chance of his ultimate 
 recovery ; — Sir James illustrating with scraps of 
 superficial medical science his ov/n opinion, that 
 nothing but a miracle could save him ; — and Mrs. 
 Mechlin carrying her speculations still farther into 
 futurity, by wondering, if he died, who would 
 marry Miss Arlingford, and regretting that Lady 
 Ormsby was not exactly the mother calculated to 
 shew her off to the best advantage. 
 
 Upon the first day after the dreadful event, 
 an express had been sent off for Lady Ormi?by 
 
MATILDA. 2^7 
 
 and Emily, who were still at Geneva, having 
 been detained there by the opinion of Lady 
 Ormsby's physicians, that the air of Italy, par- 
 ticularly in the summer, would be very injurious 
 to her health, though Httle doubt was entertained 
 that, immediately on the receipt of this intelli- 
 gence, they would hasten to watch over the fate 
 of their beloved Augustus. Distance, however, 
 interposed an unavoidable delay; and, in the 
 mean time, the patient's case had taken a favour- 
 able turn ; and though dreadfully w^eakened, and 
 presenting but the shadow of the fine manly 
 form which so lately shone conspicuous, in all 
 the pride and plenitude of 3-outh and health, yet 
 he was now able to be moved on a sofa into the 
 next apartment, which happened to be the one 
 previously used as jMatiida's morning room. 
 
 Sir James had by this time begun to be rather 
 bored by staying so much at home as he had 
 thought it right to do during the period of 
 Ormsby's extreme danger ; and he now became 
 impatient to continue the regular routine of sighi- 
 seeing, which had been interrupted ; and in this 
 desire he was warmly seconded by Mrs. Mechlin, 
 who was constantly rising in favour with him, as 
 ^e continued to administer daily increas'mg doses 
 
228 MATILDA. 
 
 of flattery, in a shape more undisguised than she 
 would at first have ventured upon, till she had 
 well ascertained how little fastidious his taste was 
 for any thing in that line. 
 
 As Sir James could not but be aware, that 
 leaving Lord Ormsby entirely alone, in his pre- 
 sent state, would be the height of inhospitahty, 
 and, under the circumstances of the case — of in- 
 gratitude, the expedient that naturally occurred 
 to him and his female friend was, that Matilda 
 should remain at home with him. — This at first 
 our heroine opposed, from a feeling that it might 
 appear odd in the eyes of the world, and that it 
 certainly was incorrect in itself ; yet, at length, 
 a little piqued by her former friend, Mrs. Mechlin, 
 in the sweetest manner, but at the same time 
 pretty plainly giving her to understand, that 
 they could do just as well without her ; and not 
 a little touched by Ormsby's helpless condition, 
 she became involuntarily engaged in the daily 
 exercise of all tlie endearing offices and tender 
 attentions of a kind-hearted female, towards one 
 whom, she discovered to her cost, sickness and 
 suffering had only invested with a stronger in- 
 terest, and rendered more than ever dangerous. 
 
 This liad continued for some days, when Lady 
 
MATILDA. 229 
 
 Ormsby and Emily arrived, long after the dreaded 
 crisis was happily past, and when our hero was 
 slowly but certainly recovering ; having travelled 
 as quickly as the distance allowed, and much 
 more expeditiously than the state of Lady 
 Ormsby's health rendered at all prudent. 
 
 When relieved from the painful suspense in 
 which she had been absorbed on the journey, she 
 felt severely for some days the effect of over- 
 exertion ; and during that time, of course, 
 Ormsby was not deprived of the attendance of 
 his former nurse. But when Lady Ormsby was 
 again restored by rest and ease of mind, she 
 became anxious that Emily should make the 
 most of the short time that she remained in 
 Rome, to see all those sights which she might 
 not for a long while have another opportunity of 
 visiting, as the physicians were unanimous in 
 opinion that she must herself leave Rome, and 
 travel northwards before the warm weather set 
 in. However attractive, therefore, Matilda's 
 daily attendance had now become to her, she 
 could no longer avoid abandoning it in a great 
 degree to Lady Ormsby's more appropriate care, 
 in order that she might herself accompany her 
 young friend Emily in her morning rambles. 
 
£30 MATILDA. 
 
 But though, on this account, much which 
 •would ctlierwise have carried conviction to Lady 
 Ormshy's mind, as to the dangerous growth of 
 improper feelings between her son and Matilda, 
 was concealed from her observation, yet there 
 was still enough, particularly in Ormsby's man- 
 ner, to alarm her anxious and affectionate mind 
 on the subject. This will be best explained by 
 mentioning the substance of a conversation, 
 which she introduced with Matilda on the eve of 
 her own departure from Rome, which departure 
 she was at length most reluctantly compelled no 
 longer to postpone, as she felt that tlie increasing 
 heat of the weather was bringing on a return of 
 her old complaint ; and she knew that her life 
 was too precious to her daughter Emily to justify 
 any hesitation in taking all proper precautions for 
 its prolongation. 
 
 It was tliat period of the afternoon, when 
 Ormsby's still protracted debility rendered a 
 short repose daily necessary. Emily had been 
 induced to accompany some friends for the last 
 time to Saint Peter's ; whilst Lady Ormsby 
 and Matilda were left alone together. Lady 
 Ormsby had dropped her work, and was looking 
 at IMatilda with an expression of intense interest » 
 
MATILDA. SSI 
 
 ^hich at length excited our heroine''s attentioi), 
 who, tenderly kissing her respected friend's 
 anxiously contracted brow, said, '* Dear Lady 
 Ormsby, why look so piteously on me ? re- 
 proachfully I had almost said, only that I feel 
 I have done nothing to deserve it ; and I am 
 sure that reproach undeserved never escapes 
 even in look from you.'' 
 
 " In those,-' said Lady Ormsby, " who feel 
 a mother's care, without a mother's privilege, 
 the eye will sometimes hint a fear, when the 
 tongue dares not express a warning." 
 
 " Now I am sure," said Matilda, " that 
 though unconsciously, I have done something 
 wrong, something, I am afraid, to prevent your 
 loving me as you once did, or you would not 
 liesitate to tell me of it ; for all the good I ever 
 learnt (little enough, alas !) came from you." 
 
 " My own Matikla, never can I love you 
 less ; nor can my only daughter ever be dearer 
 to me. The subject at which I hinted, and all 
 the difficulties and delicacies of which for your 
 sake I will brave, is one which to me more than 
 any other person in the world is most difficult — 
 most delicate. True, I was formerly your only 
 monitress; and you still retain too grateful a 
 
232 MATILDA. 
 
 recollection of my early services in that respect : 
 for though I have nothing to reproach myself 
 with in the principles I then inculcated, yet was 
 I much to blame in some of the indulgences I 
 then allowed in practice. I did it for the best ; 
 but, unconsciously, selfishness was, perhaps, at 
 the bottom of my conduct. It was the darling 
 wish of my heart, that in my declining years I 
 might see two beings, almost equally dear to 
 me, and who appeared formed for each other^ 
 happily united." 
 
 Matilda made no reply, nor even raised her 
 fixed and downcast eye; but a few scorching 
 tears, which chased each other down her burning 
 cheek, — were the silent witnesses how little these 
 feelings had been effaced from her heart." 
 
 Without pointedly remarking Matilda's emo- 
 tion, I^ady Ormsby affectionately pressed her 
 hand, and continued, " In a prudential point of 
 view, the encouragement I certainly then gave 
 to the first appearance of a partiality, which 
 might, as it afterwards has unhappily turned 
 out, be the source of misery instead of bhss, was 
 open to censure. But it may be some excuse, 
 that I had once known the perfection of domestic 
 happiness myself. True, the period allowed 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 me was brief; indeed, I had long felt that my 
 own career was closed. Every selfish feeling of 
 pleasure was buried with him, for whom alone 
 I had Uved. But when I saw in^ Augustus, his 
 father's self revived, and in you, dear Matilda, 
 tenfold more of personal charm and intellectual 
 attractions than I, even in my best days had 
 ever possessed, was it to be wondered at, that 
 I should anxiously wish to have my old age 
 cheered by the reflected happiness of those so 
 dear to me ? But why should I refer to those 
 times, which are better forgotten, as they can 
 never be recalled ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ! — for heaven's sake talk on," said 
 Matilda ; "let me, if possible, live them over 
 again in thought. They are all of happiness I 
 shall ever know." 
 
 "No, my dear child," said Lady Ormsby; 
 " it was with very different intentions than to 
 revive useless repinings, that I have ventured to 
 speak to you on this subject, which, as I said 
 before, I do with the greatest difficulty. God 
 knows how I love Augustus, and what pain it 
 has always given me to thwart him, even in 
 trifles. — With what pride, too, could I now 
 retail his just praises by the hour ! — I feelj that 
 
I!34 MATILDA. 
 
 your presence has preserved his life. I also 
 feel, that your loss might end it. And yet, I 
 am compelled to tell you, that you ought to 
 part." 
 
 " Oh ! no, dear Lady Ormsby," said Ma- 
 tilda ; " Why must we part ? I am sure, that 
 not a word has ever passed between us, that 
 you might not yourself have heard — ^not a sen- 
 timent you could have disapproved." 
 
 " Ask your heart," said Lady Ormsby, " if 
 you may venture so to vouch for its feelings. 
 As yet, you are innocent in word and deed ; but 
 are you so in thought ? Does not this excessive 
 unwillingness to part, itself prove that there is 
 one for whom you are indulging a preference 
 inconsistent with your duties as a wife." 
 
 *' A wife!" said Matilda; "Yes, I am a 
 wife; and all I have suffered, all I ever shall 
 suffer, is a just punishment upon one, who, 
 having loved Augustus Arhngford, could ever 
 marry another. Forgive me, dearest Lady 
 Ormsby," said she, checking herself; " it is 
 very wrong of me to talk thus. 1 do not mean 
 to complain of the consequences of my own 
 folly ; but you know not all I endured before I 
 could be brought to be false to Augustus — to 
 
MATILDA, ^5 
 
 myself. — The artful incidental confirmations of 
 his pretended fickleness — the offended presence 
 of my only relation — the absence of any real 
 friend — and the insidious persuasions of one who 
 then wore the semblance of friendship, and in 
 
 whom I then implicitly confided : — all these 
 
 but why/' continued she, after a pause, " why 
 should I attempt to extenuate my infatuation ? — 
 Excuse, indeed, it is worse than none, — that I 
 then knew not the real character of him to whom 
 1 have tied myself for life ; for, whatever his 
 merit might hcivc been, I now feel thai I should 
 still have lived to regret a fate, of which the 
 blame, as well as misery, must rest with myself." 
 " Not entirely," resumed Lady Ormsby ; 
 ** those who first neglected, and then perverted 
 such a charge, have much to answer for. I do 
 not underrate the difficulties in which you were 
 placed during my unlucky absence from the 
 country. I only regret that the choice you inad- 
 vertently made, should be one which has increased, 
 a hundred fold, those dlfliculties. But why 
 dwell on this part of the unhappy subject ? What 
 1 am anxious that you should be made aware 
 of, and my chief inducement for venturing to 
 talk with you on the subject at all, is, that even 
 
236 MATILDA. 
 
 in such a cheerless lot as yours, there are conso- 
 lations to be looked for, in the serene evening of 
 life, from higher sources than those of this world. 
 I never like to speak of myself ; and it is most 
 of all painful to do so on the subject which I am 
 now about to mention to you : but I, too, have 
 had my trials, though they were very different, 
 and, I will own, (which is much for me to do,) 
 very inferior to yours. Yet, through them all, 
 1 was supported by the strength of early rehgious 
 impressions. You must have heard that I was, 
 when very young, married to poor Ormsby. 
 He was then the gayest of the gay. No man 
 more recherche, but no man more libelled. He 
 was called a vaurien, — a roue, — and every thing 
 that was dissipated and unsteady. You may 
 imagine, that my marriage with him was much 
 disapproved by all the more serious part of my 
 family ; but I had confidence in his affection ; 
 was my own mistress ; and consented to become 
 his wife. To say that he never gave me unea- 
 siness, would be to conceal the truth. Had I 
 taken the line that would have been prescribed 
 by some over-rigid moralists, I should never 
 have possessed any influence over him, and his 
 preference would probably have perished with 
 
MATILDA. ^(^ 
 
 the first transport of his passion. But I entered 
 into all his tastes and pursuits, without ever 
 neglecting any of my own more serious duties ; 
 till I gradually obtained his confidence, and suc- 
 ceeded in shewing him, that it was not incom- 
 patible to be at once both gay and good. At 
 length, upon religious subjects, his mind gra- 
 dually assumed a more healthy tone ; and when, 
 in the hey-day of happiness, a cruel fever deprived 
 me suddenly of his adored presence, I had, at 
 least, the consolation of thinking, that, through 
 my means, his mind had been as much prepared 
 for his untimely end as any of us frail mortals 
 can presume to pretend for ourselves, or to hope 
 for others. This reflection, which has alone 
 supported me through the dreary pilgrimage 
 which succeeded to that short allowance of hap- 
 piness, I again repeat, I owe to the benefits of an 
 early religious education. This advantage was 
 denied to you ; and I own, that, when I con- 
 sider the peculiar hardships of your married lot, 
 Ormsby's impetuous passion, and your too 
 tender hearts, I tremble for my children."*^ 
 
 " Oh ! dear Lady Ormsby,'' said Matilda, 
 " think not that I can ever do any thing that 
 can render me unworthy of you and of Emily.'" 
 
$S3 MATILDA. 
 
 " My dear affectionate child,'* replied Lady 
 Ormsby, " warmly as I feel for you, and sensi^ 
 ble as I am that your partiality for us is sincere 
 and heartfelt, I should wish that your security 
 rested on a.Jirmer basis. It is not the approba- 
 tion of any female friend, however valued, that 
 can protect you from danger so imminent. That 
 protection must be sought from higher sources. 
 That your mind may be prepared to receive it, 
 will be my constant prayer ; and — " 
 
 The further admonitions of this excellent 
 woman were here interrupted by the still feeble 
 voice of Ormsby, summoning them to the next 
 room, as his usual repose had been shortened by 
 his anxiety to see as much as possible of hi$ 
 mother, on this her last day ; which anxiety, 
 unfortunately, prevented Lady Ormsby from 
 having any further opportunity of renewing those 
 exhortations, which might have been most useful 
 to Matilda ; and, therefore, with a hurried and 
 affectionate farewell, and a heart full of too-well- 
 founded fears, she was obliged to leave her to 
 her fate. 
 
2S9 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 Too truly had Lady Ormsby foreseen the 
 gadiering dangers of Matilda's situation. A9 
 Ormsby gradually recovered, it was doubly dif- 
 ficult to see, unmoved, the reviving lustre of those 
 speaking eyes, which seemed brightening only 
 to gaze on her, or to hear without emotion the 
 swelling tones of that melodious voice, whose 
 restored power seemed given but to add to the 
 fervour of his impassioned admiration. It was 
 hard to turn from this, to the petty peevishness 
 of him to whom alone she ought to listen with 
 delight, or to the vacant stare of that unmeaning 
 face on which alone she ought to look with iove> 
 Delightful was the dream in wliich Ormsby 
 and Matilda were now indulging, but of which 
 they neither looked back to the origin, nor 
 foresaw the end. But from this intoxicating 
 pleasure they were soon to be awakened, hy 
 that which had latterly added to their enjoy- 
 ment, but which also warned them of its end, — 
 
240 MATILDA. 
 
 namely, Ormsby's recovery ; which seemed no 
 longer to leave any excuse for his delaying to 
 quit Sir James's palazzo, and return to his own 
 lodging. It was settled, indeed, that he should 
 do so, after the first airings which he was per- 
 mitted to take. 
 
 This excursion it was arranged should com- 
 prise a ramble in the Pamphyli Doria Gardens, 
 which the temptation of real spring weather in- 
 duced all the party to be desirous of exploring. 
 
 Sir James, who was always impatient at being 
 thwarted in trifles, expressing his vexation that, 
 on so fine a day, he should have to wait for 
 Matilda, (who had made an engagement on that 
 morning to sit for her bust,) Mrs. Mechlin im- 
 mediately suggested that Sir James, Colonel 
 Canteen, and herself, should start at once on 
 their rambles, and leave Lord Ormsby (who 
 ought not to remain out so long) to call for 
 Matilda at the sculptor's, and meet them at the 
 Gardens. 
 
 To this Ormsby could not consent more 
 readily than did the Baronet; and Matilda, 
 being already from home, was not a party con« 
 suited. When Ormsby alone, therefore, attended 
 her at the sculptor's, she certainly did not think 
 
MATILDA. S41 
 
 it-necessary to volunteer any fictitious objection to 
 an arrangement in which her opinion had never 
 been asked. To the PamphyU Doria therefore 
 they went, and there they were left long to loiter 
 alone on this, the last day wliich remained to 
 tliem of that unrestrained intercourse in which 
 circumstances had recently permitted them to 
 indulge. 
 
 The time and place seemed not only pecu- 
 liarly to harmonize with the state of their mutual 
 feelings, but to be even emblematical of the 
 deceitful dangers of their relative situation. It 
 was one of those delicious days when Nature^s 
 jself seem.s new ; and here, on this favoured spot, 
 whose refined solitudes are purposely elevated 
 above the grosser cares of the lower world, its 
 sunshiny smile tempts a lingering stay, and 
 soothes into oblivion of all but the present plea- 
 sure. But, alas ! malarious deadly poison hovers 
 ill every balmy breath that whispers love, and 
 destruction lurks beneath the budding hopes of 
 each opening flower. 
 
 Matilda and Ormsby had lingered long near 
 one of those lonely fountains w^hich adorn some 
 of the varied vistas of the Gardens. Even in his 
 eyes she had never looked more lovely. The 
 
 M 
 
24® MATILDA. 
 
 simple attire to which, as best suited to a sta^ 
 tuary'^s classical taste she had confined her 
 morning's toilet, was pecuUarly calculated to in- 
 vest her perfect form with an almost aerial grace ; 
 whilst the tranquil indulgence of the softer feel- 
 ings of her nature gave a matchless expression of 
 tenderness to her angelic features. Eut as she 
 bent her eyes towards him who occupied all her 
 thoughts, and met his adoring gaze, she felt sud- 
 denly struck with the change which liis recent 
 severe illness had made in his fine manly beauty ; 
 and it recalled her mind from the calm enjoy- 
 ment of the present moment, and enforced the 
 recollection, of how much of their late re-union 
 they had owed to sickness and to suffering, — 
 how, in his sunken eye and faded cheek, the 
 traces of the melancholy origin of their transitory 
 pleasure were left to survive the advantages they 
 had derived from so unwelcome a cause. 
 
 Touched wilh these reflections, as she leant on 
 the marble balustrade, and shook, as she struggled 
 for composure, her purposely-averted head, a few 
 drops which had gathered in her full dark eye 
 fell unbidden, — mingling, in their sullen fall, 
 with the playful patter of the merry fountain 
 over which she was bending. 
 
MATILDA. g4S 
 
 Neither this agitation, nor the attempt to con- 
 ceal it, were lost upon Ormsbj ; who said, as he 
 gently pressed her hand, and leant forward so as 
 to catch a glimpse of her still averted features, 
 " Can Matilda seek for sympathy in her sorrows 
 from these babbling waters, and deny her con- 
 fidence to one in whom siljnce cannot be mis- 
 taken for insensibility ?" 
 
 As, in silent reply to this, she slowly turned 
 upon him her swimming eyes, and dropping her 
 head on his arm, wept bitterly, Ormsby could no 
 longer contain himself. 
 
 " Beloved Matilda," he said, " all further 
 restraint is impossible. Think not that I can so 
 long have beheld, unmoved, all your unmerited 
 misery. — Can one who adores you — who feels 
 alike the matchless power of all those blended 
 charms whose perfect union fancy's wildest flight 
 could not reach — can such an one bear to see your 
 beauties wasted on a being as incapable of esti- 
 mating their value as he is unworthy of retaining 
 their precious possession ? When I thought the 
 misery of separation was all my own, in silence 
 did I drag the oppressive load of anguish. But 
 when I see, that whilst you are lost to one who 
 lives but in your happiness, that happiness itself 
 
^IA'^< MATILD.^. 
 
 is ihe daily sacrifice of circumstances which ought 
 not and need not to have existed, I can no longer 
 withstand that irresistible impulse, that attractive 
 sympathy, which from earliest youth marked us 
 for each other. Mine you must be, — mine alotie 
 —mine for ever.'*'' 
 
 '• Hold, in mercy hold, Augustus," said Ma- 
 tilda ; ** it would be vain to deny that the love I 
 once vo-^v^ed to you has never been another's. — 
 J'vents have been fated to revive feelings, Vvhich 
 alas f had neyer been effaced ; — my hom.e, ever a 
 cheerless one, lias been by you rendered doubly 
 drcarv, for my peace of mind is broken — my self- 
 ( stecpi lost. — Tliat I may not be deprived of all 
 ihnt is left of consolation and innocence, 1 feel that 
 ^Ve must part; yes, this very hour. Leave me, 
 in pity leave me !" 
 
 *• Never,'" said Lord Ormsby ; " our guilt, if 
 i^nilt there be, rests on their heads who conspired 
 V)y base unwortliy arts to separate us — to separate 
 those whose mutual vows had in all but form 
 united them. Those bonds which hold you now, 
 forced in falsehood, and rivetted with wanton 
 cruelty, and for mere worldly views, can never 
 force asunder hearts which the purest passion liad 
 previously cemented.^** 
 
MATILDA. 245 
 
 *• Di) not, clear Augustus, condescend to argu- 
 ments, the shaUow sophistry of Avhich cannot 
 deceive even my warped and wilHngmind. Wiiat 
 livails it, how happy we once might have been ! 
 What is, alas ! matters more. I am now the 
 wife of anotlier. If I cannot in spirit fulfil uU 
 the various duties of that station, I must to tlie 
 letter obey the obligations I have contracted. In 
 the guilt of their utter abandonment the world 
 will not, and ought not, to admit fancied disdnc- 
 tions. Think you that 1 could ever endure (o 
 exchange approving smiles for scornful sneers ? 
 Little could I bear the conteniptucus avoidance 
 of the virtuous — still less the cold and forced 
 endurance of an unfriendly family circle. Your 
 saint-like mother, and the dear, innocent Emily, 
 — could I bear their just reproaches — not tlie 
 •less cutting because clothed in kindness ? — Oh, 
 Augustus, I shame to think that we so long have 
 parleyed on such a subject. Beheve me, okiv 
 only safety is in separation." 
 
 '• First, one moment, hear me,''' said Lord 
 Ormsby, with a violence of emotion which, Husli- 
 ing his cheek and s])arkling in liis eye, superseded 
 for the moment all traces of recent langour. 
 ** Never can I survive such a sentence — 'twould 
 
246 MATILDA. 
 
 have been but merciful to have spared me this 
 last pang, inflicted by a conviction of that insen- 
 sibility which could alone have dictated such cold 
 calculations ! Why was not the moment when.I 
 met you wounded, allowed to be my last ? 
 Why have you banished that bright vision on 
 which my eyes could have closed in peace? 
 Why efface the recollection of that impassioned 
 sympathy which then endeared death itself?'*' 
 ** Merciful heaven !'' interrupted Matilda, ** this 
 violence will kill you.'* 
 
 She had been checked in her attempt to leave 
 him, by the apprehensions excited by the sight 
 of his ungoverned passion; and her alarm in- 
 creased, as she beheld the fleeting flush of excite- 
 ment succeeded by a death-like paleness, and 
 caught his hand just as the support of the balus- 
 trade alone prevented him from faUing pros- 
 trate. 
 
 This sight revived her tenderness. 'Twas 
 now impossible to leave him ; and, avoiding the 
 agitating topics which had been so hurtful, they 
 were still seated on the grassy slope, she anxiously 
 watching his reviving colour, — when they were 
 seen from the terrace above by the rest of the 
 party. The custode who was shewing the won- 
 
MATILDA. 247 
 
 ders of the gardens was the first to observe 
 them ; and, with that poetical feeUng peculiar to 
 the lower class of his countrymen, was struck 
 with so appropriate a groupe in so beautiful a 
 scene. 
 
 " Ah, che coppia hella ! semhra degna d' un 
 tal pai-adiso /" exclaimed he. " Hum ! more 
 like the first tempter, or a snake in the grass," 
 muttered Mrs. MechUn, as, speaking half toiier- 
 self, she nevertheless directed the attention of both 
 the Baronet and Colonel Canteen to the tite-a-Utc 
 on the bank below. 
 
 " What was that .^'" said Sir James, who, as it 
 has been mentioned, did not understand one 
 word of Italian. " What did the man say ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing," said Mrs. Mechlin, *' only 
 this pastoral Pistrucci was inspired by this garden 
 of Eden to improvvisare a paraphrase of Mihon. 
 He has found, it seems, an Adam and Eve 
 there : — 
 
 " The loveliest pair 
 That ever since in love's embraces met.'* 
 
 I am at best but a bad hand at a quotation. — 
 There is something, 1 know, about sons and 
 daughters, which don't signify — ^but 
 
248 MATILDA. 
 
 " Undci a tnfi of shade, that on a giecn ,. 
 
 Stood \^hisptling soft ; by a fVesh fciDitaln side 
 'i'hey sat them down." 
 
 Tliaf s appropriate enough, you must own."" 
 
 " It's all d d nonsense,"*' said Sir James, a 
 
 little sharply, and much to tlie astonishment of 
 his female companion, who could not but be a 
 little surprised at any appearance of emotion on 
 his part, at her playful allusion to a flirtation 
 which had long been so obvious to her scandal- 
 seeking eyes, that she had given him credit for 
 fashionable indifference on the subject ; other- 
 wise, though not ever partial to Lord Ormsby, 
 nor so fond of Matilda as formerly, she would 
 have been the last to have risked anything that 
 might by possibihty tend to an escalandre, which 
 would endanger the permanence of an establish- 
 ment that was so convenient to herself 
 
 But if jealousy is sometimes " light as air,*'"* 
 it is also as unaccountable as the v»ind, as to 
 " whence it cometh."'"' From an unintelligible 
 calm upon the subject of Matilda's and Ormsby "*s 
 intimacy, Sir James seemed suddenly as cause- 
 lessly agitated by arising storm of passion, with- 
 out any apparent provocation ; and, when they 
 joined them on the green below, and he was 
 
MATILDA. 249 
 
 informed by Lady Matilda, that the invalid had 
 suffered much from over-exertion, he could myt 
 contain himself sufficiently to return a tolcmbly 
 civil answer ; but, hurrying Matilda away iindci- 
 pretence that it was late, and they had long been 
 looking for them, he insisted upon Mrs. Mechlin 
 and Colonel Canteen accompanying them Iiob)!- 
 in his carriage, and left Ormsby alone m the 
 other to find his way to his solitary lodgingSo 
 
 M 5 
 
250 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Heavily hung the hours, as Matilda, with- 
 out the accustomed charm of Ormsby's society, 
 was left a prey to Sir James's increasing peevish- 
 ness, which was doubly irritating to a mind not 
 entirely free from feelings of self-reproach as to 
 her recent conduct. On the morning immediately 
 succeeding the scene which was last described, 
 being somewhat relieved by the temporary absence 
 of Mrs. Mechlin, who was gone with a party to 
 Frascati ; she had, in the course of her solitary 
 rambles, sought in Saint Peter''s an escape from 
 the world, and from herself. 
 
 It is just at that hour when all is bustle and 
 business without, that these splendid solitudes 
 are most imposing. In the interval of the pomp 
 of fixed religious observances, nothing is heard 
 from aisle to aisle but the muttered prayer of th? , 
 lonely penitent. 
 
 I have said that jMatilda's religious education 
 had been neglected. Her family had form.criv 
 
MATILDA. S51 
 
 been Catholics. Her uncle was the first who, 
 for political purposes, had renounced the creed 
 of his fathers. Left in early infancy to his 
 exclusive management, she had been ostensibly 
 brought up in the tenets of the Church of Eng> 
 land; but, though Lord Wakefield always 
 declaimed with the redoubled zeal of a convert 
 xipon the inseparable union of Church and State, 
 Matilda observed, that he found in practice this 
 union utterly incompatible ; for not only did the 
 State entirely monopolize his attention six days 
 in every week, but even cheated the Church out 
 of its seventh, as business was a never-failing 
 excuse for neglecting the duties of that day. 
 
 With this example constantly before her eyes, 
 and no better principles instilled into her mind, it 
 is not surprising that the time Matilda had spent 
 with her governess at her parish church had not 
 been so profitable as it might otherwise have 
 been. 
 
 But though, from her defective education, 
 religious impressions were not powerful enough 
 to operate as an effective controul upon her ccn^ 
 duct, yet had they always strong hold upon her 
 imagination ; and she never entered this solemn 
 sanctuary without reverential awe, ror left it 
 
2^2 MATILDA. 
 
 without feelings purified and chastened, and a 
 mind elevated by salutary reflection. 
 
 Far be it from me to underrate the peculiar 
 purity of our reformed worship, or the simpli- 
 city of its energetic eloquence, — which, disdain- 
 ing alike unmeaning mystery or ostentatious 
 mummery, trusts alone to reason and to truth. — 
 But it may perhaps admit a doubt, whether, by 
 thus rejecting the adventitious aid of the imagi- 
 nation. Protestantism may not, in avoiding scru- 
 pulously the chance of leading astray, at the 
 same time have somewhat limited its means of 
 persuading to right. That is a most praise- 
 worthy practice, vvhich collects the Protestant 
 parish to periodical devotion and rational prayer, 
 where every religious exercise may be tried by 
 the test of reasoning ; and where, though the 
 congregation are carefully and devoutly attired all 
 in their best^ the Church itself is scrupulously 
 stripped of all extraneous ornament, lest the 
 eye should divert the mind from its abstraction. 
 But perhaps it may not be a less acceptable 
 sight, to behold the splendid temple of Saint 
 Peter's, always open to the poorest and the 
 meanest, who, without any attention to their 
 own outward appearance, may at once lose the 
 
MATILDA. 253 
 
 consciousness of their grovelling cares, in the 
 feeling that here, even in the centre of one of 
 the most magnificent works of men, they may, 
 on an equality with the highest and the proudest, 
 in their own words, and at their own time, offer 
 up their voluntary vows. And if the grand 
 monuments of art around work upon the out- 
 ward senses of the devotees, and the imagination 
 should therefore have its share in exciting the 
 feelings of religion, the want of the comparative 
 purity of the source from whence those feelings 
 are derived, may perhaps be compensated, by 
 the greater numbers over whom its power may 
 extend. 
 
 But let us return from this, perhaps unneces- 
 sary digression, and attend our heroine in her 
 solitary ramble. As, occupied in her own reflec- 
 tions, she wandered round the still deserted 
 aisles, her attention was attracted by the figure 
 of a monk, who, in an attitude of fixed devotion, 
 was kneeling before an altar, over which was 
 represented the Adoration of the Magi. She 
 hardly knew why she remarked him. There 
 was nothing peculiar in the garb of his order. 
 His bold determined features, and strongly- 
 marked countenance, might be merely charac- 
 
S54 MATILDA. 
 
 teristic of his country, which of course she sup- 
 posed to be Itahan. Yet was there an expression 
 of suffering, not unmingled with self-reproach, 
 which seemed to individuahze the peculiar inte- 
 rest his appearance excited. — Little, however, 
 was Matilda prepared for the extraordinary effect 
 that was produced on the monk, when, as she 
 repassed the spot where he was kneeling, his eye 
 for the first time met hers. The change that 
 this produced in his whole deportment, was so 
 sudden and appalling, that she could only attri- 
 bute it to insanity ; and turning hastily away, 
 she was hurrying from him, when she found, not 
 without trepidation, that he followed her with 
 increasing eagerness. Still greater was her sur- 
 prise, when, as he approached, in a tone of 
 earnest entreaty, he addressed her in English, — 
 " Lady, one moment turn ! Matilda, I implore 
 you." 
 
 Though considerably alarmed, her presence of 
 mind did not desert her, as she demanded to 
 know what one of his order could want with her, 
 and how he, a stranger, knew her name ? 
 
 He answered, *' That which I gave at yonder 
 font, I needs must know again. Nay, more — 
 though I grieve to speak it, Delaval is or wa« 
 
MATILDA. ^55 
 
 your name. — Better than yourself I know 
 you." 
 
 Matilda was perfectly bewildered at this inco- 
 herent, yet convincing manner, in which he proved 
 he was not a perfect stranger to herself and family ; 
 and she could only reply, by inquiring when he 
 had seen her before. " "'Tis long,"" answered he, 
 " that I have in vain prayed for the blessing this 
 hour has brought. At length my prayers are 
 heard. If you are still as pure and free from 
 worldly pride as when you first received the 
 name by which I but now ventured to address 
 you — if you are in mind as in person, as perfect a 
 prototype of her in whose arms I last beheld you 
 — then will the tale I have to tell enhance your 
 happiness, whilst it mitigates my misery. But 
 if, as much I fear" — 
 
 At this moment, the monk was interrupted by 
 the distant chaunt of a priestly procession, which 
 was approaching the spot where they were stand- 
 ing. He seemed to dread being seen engaged in a 
 conference which was probably contrary to the rules 
 of his order, and advancing for one moment close 
 to Matilda, he muttered, " I dare no longer 
 stay ; but by your love of justice I conjure you, 
 meet rae here to-morrow at dusk. ^Yhat your 
 
£56 MAtILt)A. 
 
 present lot is, I know not. If there is one who 
 as a right claims your confidence, suspend it but 
 a few short hours, till my singular tale is told. 
 Till to-morrow's dusk be silent, and be secret. 
 Chasten your heart from love of pomp and pride ; 
 for I can give, and I can take away— can enrich 
 your heart, and beggar your hand." 
 
 One lingering look he cast upon his astonished 
 companion, as, dfawing his cowl closer round 
 his head, he was lost to her amongst the crowd 
 which accompanied the coming procession. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Whilst Matilda slowly left the church, and 
 indeed, during the whole of her drive home- 
 wards, she in vain endeavoured to form some 
 probable conjecture, as to the character of the 
 strange being with whom she seemed so unac- 
 countably connected, or as to the nature of the 
 communication he had promised. Sometimes she 
 half persuaded herself that it was a maniac, who, 
 availing himself of some accidental acquaintan«:e 
 with the name of herself and family, owed the 
 rest to his own disordered imagination. But, on 
 the other hand, the singular reserve which it has 
 been remarked always appeared on the part of 
 her uncle, as to any inquiry respecting the inci- 
 dents of her early life, had always struck even 
 her unsuspicious mind as extraordinary, and had 
 served to keep alive a conviction, that there was 
 s'jme family secret which had been concealed 
 from her. She therefore determined to conijjly 
 with the request of the mysterious monk for 
 
S58 MATILBA. 
 
 another interview ; and she was still revolving 
 in her mind the best means of effecting it at 
 the hour he had mentioned, and without sus- 
 picion ; when, upon her return home, her thoughts 
 were diverted into another channel by the com- 
 munication, on the part of Mam'selle Felicie, of 
 another equally unexpected event. 
 
 " Oh, Miladi ! of all the world, who think you 
 shall be arrived ?" — " Who, Felicie ; Madame 
 Hilas, with my gown ? Have I kept her 
 waiting ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, Miladi !— of all the world, the guard 
 of the chase, at Delaval." 
 
 "Who, pray?" 
 
 The — Bah ! — the what's-you-call gamekeeper, 
 Monsieur Boulby." 
 
 Strange as it may seem, Felicie's intelligence 
 was literally true. Old Dick Boulby, seeing, in 
 despair, that from the progress rapidly making 
 in the new rail-road, the utter destruction of 
 Delaval Park was inevitable, unless prevented by 
 higher authority than any he had it in his power 
 to exert, and his own snug lodge, in which he 
 had been born, falling one of the first sacrifices 
 to the new improvement, had formed the resolu- 
 tion of finding out his master and mistress, where- 
 
MATILDA. 259 
 
 ever they might be ; though he had never in his 
 life been further from Delaval Park than to the 
 neighbouring quarter-sessions, to assist at the 
 prosecution of a poacher. Yet, in execution of 
 his plan, he proceeded, per coach, to London, 
 and hearing there that Sir James was at Rome, 
 he availed himself of the facilities for the fur- 
 therance of loco-motive propensities, provided in 
 Piccadilly ; where, with a single stroke of the 
 pen, a traveller is booked indifferently for Naples 
 or for Knightsbridge. 
 
 Once started, he was faithfully handed from 
 courier to courier, like a bale of goods ; and he 
 now stood before Sir James, even as he had left 
 Delaval Park, — a figure more strange to Roman 
 eyes than any the carnival had produced, — in 
 green plush jacket, red waistcoat, and corduroys : 
 the only change liis dress had undergone con- 
 sisting in his cumbrous white beaver having been 
 exchanged for a light jean travelling-cap, at the 
 instance of his companion, the courier, whose 
 nose the former had sorely incommoded during 
 his uneasy slumbers. 
 
 We may pass over the first astonishment of Sir 
 James at this unexpected arrival ; and also his 
 insinuation, that the old fool must have been 
 
260 MATILDA. 
 
 mad, to presume to trouble liini at such a distance, 
 on such a subject. At last, however, provoked 
 at the pertinacity with which Dick Boulby 
 argued upon the profaneness of destroying *' our* 
 old place, his master desired him, somewhat 
 sharply, to hold his tongue. 
 
 " Haud my tongue ! — Like enough I've corned 
 all this way to haud my tongue! — Haud my 
 tongue! — Like enough Fve sit ten days, cheek 
 by jowl with a Mounseer, mumchance, just 
 thinking about nothing but how I'd tell you a 
 bit of my mind, to haud my tongue at die end 
 oa't ! — Lord ! Lord ! I thought no good would 
 come of your taking my Lady out of old Eng- 
 hnd. But even in these here outlandish parts, 
 I\'e never seed any thing like that piece of work 
 youVc making in our park.'"* 
 
 *' Come, Sir," said Sir James, " if you are 
 t ) be allowed to remain in my service (which is 
 a favour you don't deserve) you must learn to 
 treat your master with more respect." 
 
 " licmain in your service ! How can I re- 
 main ? — when you wo'nna keep your park, how 
 C'Ui I be your park-keeper? — How can I l)e 
 your game-keeper, when all't'game you'll have 
 left will be black game, in shape of coal-carts ?— 
 
MATILDA. ^61 
 
 After opening lodge-gate, man and boy, tbese sixty 
 years to my Lord's friends, do you think as I 
 will take money at your toll-house? — Lord! 
 Lord ! to think how things have turned out I 
 Ah !" added he, with a kind of despairing head- 
 shake, " if my Lady had but married Lord 
 Ormsby (as we all hoped,) this would never have 
 happened." 
 
 '* Lord Ormsby," said Sir James, hastily ; 
 what's that you say about Lord Ormsby ?" 
 
 " Why, if 3^ou mun have the truth, when she 
 were to ha' married Lord Ormsby (then the 
 Honourable Augustus Arlingford,) there was'na 
 two opinions in all the country side ; auld and 
 young were ready to shower blessings on their 
 handsome heads. But when ?jou corned, and 
 we were all told you had plenty of pelf in your 
 pocket, tho' we never seed ony of it, we shook 
 our heads, and partly mistrusted how it would 
 be." 
 
 " Do you mean," said Sir James, " that you 
 insolent bumpkins presumed ever to suppose 
 that Lord Ormsby was ever going to marry 
 Lady Matilda?" 
 
 " Presumed to suppose ? — I Idike that. Why, 
 
263 MATILDA. 
 
 be that news to you ? Why, I thought every 
 fool knowed that." 
 
 The violence of the various emotions which 
 this unexpected communication excited in Sir 
 James, was too powerful for utterance, and he 
 turned in silence away for a moment ; when at 
 the same instant, IMatilda entered, and not ob- 
 serving the Baronet, kindly welcomed the early 
 friend of her childhood ; and the pleasure he de- 
 rived from the sight of his hereditary mistress, 
 in a moment restored the somewhat ruffled se- 
 renity of the ancient dependant. 
 
 " You must be very much fatigued with such 
 a tremendous journey," kindly inquired Lady 
 Matilda. 
 
 " Thank you, my Lady ;— why it has made 
 my old bones dance rarely. I doubt if I'se ever 
 loike to get a chair to sit still wid me again. If 
 I do but try a moment, they all go wabble- 
 wabble, noddle-noddle, like that great leather 
 case as IVebeen swinging in this week past." 
 
 Any further account of Dick Boulby's journey 
 was suspended, by Sir James, in a voice of sup- 
 pressed passion, desiring Matilda to follow him 
 into the next room. 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 " So, Madam V Sir James began ; " you have 
 so long escaped detection that you have probably 
 been flattering yourself there would be no end to 
 the perfect security with which it suits you to 
 combine the substantial advantages of my wealth 
 and station, with the less solid sentimental plea- 
 sures of your early passion." 
 
 " Sir James," said Matilda with dignity, " I 
 am at a loss to conceive your meaning, while thus 
 degrading yourself by insulting me." 
 
 " Well, Madam," said Sir James, " I am con- 
 tent to abide by your own answer to one or two 
 questions. Was Lord Ormsby once your ac- 
 cepted lover ? and if so, why was the fact, con- 
 cealed from me? and what defence can you 
 make for your late encouragement of him .?" 
 
 Matilda calmly replied, " Now that your in- 
 quiries, however the same in substance, are strip- 
 ped of their offensive coarseness, I will readily 
 answer them to the best of my power. True it 
 is that long before I knew j^ou, a gpowing parti- 
 ality between Lord Ormsby and myself was en- 
 couraged by both our families. Circumstances 
 however intervened, which put a final period to 
 all thoughts of that connexion ; and at the ear- 
 nest instance of my guardian, I was induced to 
 
§64 MATILDA. 
 
 listen to your addresses. It was then my uncle's 
 special command that no mention should be made 
 of mv previous half-formed engagement. Whe- 
 ther right or wrong, it certainly was in opposi- 
 tion to my own wish at the time that I then 
 obeyed his orders on this point. Since our mar- 
 riage I will be judged by yourself, whether you 
 have ever encouraged those terms of unlimited 
 confidence, which could alone justify me, at any 
 later period, in unnecessarily reviving a subject 
 in which not alone my own feelings were con- 
 cerned, but those also of another, towards whom 
 my conduct had not been entirely free from re- 
 proach. As to j^our last accusation, that of hav_ 
 ing latterly encouraged Lord Ormsby's attentions 
 — a moment's reflection must have called to your 
 recollection how perfectly unfounded it is — on 
 the contrary, how studious my avoidance of him 
 had for some time been ; indeed, so much so, as 
 to excite your own observation. And as to the 
 circumstance which latterly led to the renewal of 
 our intimacy, — common gratitude to him might 
 have made you remember how httle share I had 
 in its origin. "*' 
 
 There was a calm air of offended dignity about 
 Matilda, as she thus answered her husband's vio- 
 
MATILDA. 265 
 
 lence, which seemed to stagger even his suspi- 
 cions ; and at this moment they were interrupted 
 by the entrance of Sir James"*s own servant, with 
 whom curiosity was a constitutional vice, and who, 
 hearing this domestic storm, could not resist a de- 
 sire to find out the cause, and therefore took the 
 first opportunity to intrude himself — ^holding in 
 his hand, as his excuse, the very sketch-book which 
 Lady Matilda had missed at Geneva. 
 
 " Lord Ormsby''s servant, my Lady," said he, 
 " left this book with some other things of his 
 Lordship's. Angelo says, it was lost that day 
 that your Ladyship met Lord Ormsby at the 
 villa near Geneva, and he supposes his Lordship 
 took it by mistake." 
 
 " What ?" said Sir James, almost breathless 
 wdth rage, — " you met Lord Ormsby at Geneva, 
 and never mentioned it to me ? Is it so ?" 
 
 ''It is," said Matilda. 
 
 " Then are all my suspicions confirmed. Pre- 
 pare, Madam, to leave Rome before sunrise. The 
 horses at five o'clock, Clarke." 
 
 On this he left the apartment, and Matilda 
 did not again see him till the carriage was at the 
 door. 
 
 When thus left alone, that high spirit which 
 
 N 
 
266 MATILDA. 
 
 had supported her under the late trying scene, 
 did not survive the necessity for its exertion ; 
 and she abandoned herself, without further effort, 
 to all the despair which her present gloomy pros- 
 pects seemed inevitably to entail. She had 
 justly repelled the imputation of habitual and 
 practised deceit, which Sir James's utter igno- 
 rance of her character could alone have induced 
 him even in passion to insinuate ; yet she could 
 not deny to herself, that the suspicion of her 
 criminal attachment was but too well founded, — 
 feeling, as she did, that of all the circumstances 
 which rendered this sudden and disgraceful de- 
 parture from Rome odious to her, that for which 
 alone she grieved was the separation from Ormsby. 
 I am anxious to dwell as little as possible on 
 the painful details of this part of my story, — the 
 leading events of which I shall therefore record 
 as concisely as possible. At five the next morn- 
 ing, Sir James, in obstinate execution of his 
 hastily-formed determination, hurried his unhappy 
 wife away from Rome, regardless of the effect 
 which such a precipitate and unexplained departure 
 might have, in giving credit to reports injurious 
 to her character or to his own honour ; and dur- 
 ing their tedious journey to Florence, Matilda 
 
MATILDA. 867 
 
 had to submit to every species of ill-treatment, 
 short of actual violence, which a vulgar mind and 
 unfeeling nature, under the irritation of supposed 
 injury, could inflict. 
 
 As soon as Lord Ormsby discovered that the 
 Dorntons had so abruptly quitted Rome, he 
 madly followed ; and it was just one week from 
 their last eventful meeting in the Pamphyli Doria 
 Gardens, that, at the conclusion of a stolen inter- 
 view at the Villa Strozzi at Florence, Matilda, 
 unable any longer to bear the barbarity of her 
 husband, or to resist the ardour of her lover, 
 faltered out her faint consent to an immediate 
 elopement. 
 
 A few hours brought them to Leghorn ; where 
 they embarked for Naples ; and, as the vessel 
 receded from the shore, they felt that this speck 
 on the surface of the waters contained all that in 
 the wide world was left to either of them. 
 
 Thus in an unguarded moment, by this one act, 
 liad one of the most virtuous of her sex fallen 
 from the topmost heights of rank and reputation 
 down to the level of the most wretched outcasts 
 from society. Born to be the representative of 
 an ancient name and family, she was now re- 
 duced to borrow from courtesy a doubtful appel- 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 lation. She had exchanged the eager seeking of 
 would-be acquaintances, for the studied avoidance 
 of former friends; and, what alone to her sensitive 
 mind added tenfold anguish to all these humiH- 
 ations, she was doomed to feel that she deserved 
 them. 
 
269 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 TiiuTH compels me tc admit, that that self- 
 inflicted punishment, which is the usual concomi- 
 tant of guilt, did not in this instance immedi- 
 ately follow Ormsby's and Matilda's fall from 
 virtue. If this admission should be considered 
 dangerously at variance with the strict moral 
 doctrine on the subject, let the reader only sus- 
 pend his judgment till my tale is told. 
 
 During the whole of their prosperous flight, 
 light and buoyant as the bark that bore them 
 were the hearts of the fugitives, and boundless 
 as the bright expanse of sunshiny waters around 
 seemed their happiness. At the conclusion of 
 the voyage, they exchanged the comparative con- 
 finement and restraint of their vessel, for ever- 
 varied rambles through the lonely environs of 
 Sorrento ; where, in that most beautiful corner 
 of the most beautiful bay in the world, they had 
 taken a villa for the summer. Here, whilst days 
 untold swelled into weeks, and weeks that passed 
 
270 MATILDA. 
 
 unheededmade up months, — eternal as the smihng 
 skies above, and fruitful as the teeming earth on 
 which they trod, still seemed their love. But 
 not more certain was the revolution of the sea- 
 sons, than this delicious dream to have an end. 
 
 The first thing that at all awakened them, 
 even so far as to allow either recollections or an- 
 ticipations in the least to interfere with the all- 
 engrossing present, w^as the receipt of a pacquet 
 of letters, which one of their servants brought 
 across the bay from their banker at Naples. Of 
 these I shall transcribe two. The first was from 
 Lady Ormsby. 
 
 " If I have so long delayed writing, it was 
 literally that I knew not how to begin. My 
 heart is too full to allow me to write about any 
 thing which I do not feel, and how can I dwell on 
 that which alone occupies my mind ? If your 
 conduct has shewn how little influence I retained, 
 reproaches will not now restore it. If your own 
 hearts do not tell you how much you have made 
 me suffer, it would be no consolation to me to 
 detail my humiliated feehngs. I was a foolish vain 
 old woman. I loved the world but for its praises 
 of you both. If I could now, by avoiding it, escape 
 
MATILDA. S71 
 
 its sneers, the sacrifice to myself would be small 
 indeed. But a paramount duty towards a daugh- 
 ter who deserves every thing from me, prevents 
 such a step, and, at the same time, precludes me 
 from holding open or constant communication 
 with you whilst living as you now are. My 
 sole object, therefore, in writing to you now is, 
 to let you know, that in sickness or in sorrow, 
 my children will still find an affectionate mother 
 in 
 
 " Emily Okmsby."" 
 
 The other letter was of a very different cha- 
 racter. It was from Mrs. Mechhn, and dated 
 Florence. 
 
 " My dear Matilda — How could you take so 
 imprudent a step ? You completely mistook the 
 management of Sir James. You should have 
 flattered— not have brusquhd him. With proper 
 treatment, such a husband would have been as 
 bhnd as love itself ; and a husband's protection 
 is, under any circumstances, a very great conve- 
 nience. Sir James, they say here, has doubts 
 about trying for a divorce ; as, from the singular 
 manner in which your fortune was settled, the 
 
212 MATILDA. 
 
 lawyers tell him, that he would lose it by doing- 
 so, and that he may otherwise keep it. Harry 
 Wordsworth, who is here, as affected as ever, 
 and making as many bad jokes, says, the Baronet 
 is the luckiest man in the world ; for that most 
 men who marry heiresses reverse his lot — lose the 
 land, and keep the lady. You will be glad to 
 learn, that all the women here are ready to kill 
 you for carrying off Ormsby, as his was a beauty 
 che hajattojicrore, last time he was here. Don't 
 mention my writing to you, my dear, as you 
 know it might hurt me rather in the eyes of 
 some people ; and Prudence is always my motto. 
 But you may depend upon my telling you any 
 thing that I think will interest you. By-the-bye, 
 long muslin sleeves are much worn. The creptes 
 still continue. Harry Wordsworth says, what with 
 stiffened locks and starched sleeves, it is hard to- 
 tell a beauty from a bishop. 
 " Your's ever, 
 
 " Caroline Mechltk."^ 
 
 The first of these letters, which was addressed 
 to Ormsby, he was very anxious to conceal from 
 Matilda ; well knowing how much pain it would 
 give her, — peculiarly sensitive as she would b& 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 273 
 
 to any censure from one she valued so highly as 
 Lady Ormsby. Having therefore finished his 
 mother's letter before Matilda had spelt through 
 Mrs. Mechlin's more illegible scrawl, he thrust 
 it, without comment, into his pocket ; and when 
 Matilda, having at length finished her own letter, 
 questioned him about his, he w^as occupied with 
 some less interesting contents of the pacquet ; the 
 accumulated directions on whose overloaded 
 backs proved that they had followed him from 
 Rome to Florence, and again from Florence to 
 Naples. 
 
 One of these was from his lawyer, stating that 
 his interests would suffer materially, unless he 
 could, for very particular' business, return to 
 England before Trinity Term. Thisy of course, 
 was now entirely out of the question. Another 
 was from his land agent, as to renewing leases 
 on Lady-Day, and cutting dawn a wood before 
 the sap was up ; a third from a club acquaint- 
 ance, giving an account of ail the gossip of the 
 gay world, and assuring him he was much missed 
 in England ; again, another from a political 
 friend, asking his opinion as to bringing on a 
 question of the first importance, in which he liad 
 formerly taken a leading part. 
 n5 
 
274 MATILDA. 
 
 Not one of these subjects of interest could, for 
 one moment, enter into the smallest comparison 
 with the all-engrossing happiness he felt in pos- 
 sessing Matilda. But it is hard to find that 
 man who, as a matter of abstract choice, and 
 unhesitating preference, would willingly abandon 
 for ever the world and all its attractions. Woman, 
 warm-hearted, self-sacrificing woman, will often 
 view all the manifold vicissitudes of fortune, only 
 as reflected through the medium of one beloved 
 object. But with man, love rarely is, and still 
 more rarely ought to be, the sole exclusive 
 business of life. 
 
 Ormsby had, in early youth, mingled much 
 in the gayest and busiest scenes. All resources 
 lose their zest upon constant repetition ; but he 
 was not one of those who mistake a temporary 
 repletion of the pleasures of society, for a growing 
 distaste towards them, nor had it ever entered 
 into his contemplation to make positive vows 
 of giving up the world. But, accident had re- 
 newed his acquaintance with Matilda, the recol- 
 lection of whom he had never ceased to cherish. 
 His first passion had been revived with all the 
 fervour he had formerly felt in the freshness of 
 youth. The apparent impracticability of the 
 
MATILDA. 275 
 
 pursuit, had, perhaps, contributed to the exclusive 
 eagerness with which, sacrificing every other 
 consideration, we have seen him devote himself 
 to it. It is no less justice to him, than to Ma- 
 tilda, to say, that so far from possession having 
 abated his love, it had but increased its ardour ; 
 and had it been their lot to have been honourably 
 united in the eyes of the world, no matrimonial 
 couple had ever closed even their honeymoon, 
 much less completed, as they had now done, three 
 whole months, with more certain symptoms of 
 the permanence of their mutual happiness. But a 
 woman like Matilda, who has sacrificed every thing 
 for a man — who has rendered herself alike unfit 
 for society, or for solitude — avoided by others, and 
 avoiding herself, — such an unhappy female has 
 a tie upon him for whom she has done all this, 
 of a much stronger nature than those of common 
 married life. A virtuous wife adorns the most 
 brilliant lot, and is the solace of occasional re- 
 tirement ; but a fallen companion entails an 
 abandonment of all the pleasures, and many of 
 the duties, of active life. Her protector's con- 
 flicting obligations are such, that it is almost 
 impossible for him adequately to fulfil any of 
 
S76- MATILDA. 
 
 them. She must be all in all to him, or he is 
 worse than nothing to her. 
 
 And such, as yet, had Ormsby been to Ma- 
 tilda. But when this pacquet of letters at once 
 opened to him, as it were, the social budget, 
 — shewing him all the various claims the world 
 still had on him — the validity of which he had 
 formerly acknowledged, and of the incompati- 
 bility of which, with his present situation, he 
 could not but be sensible, — the serenity of his 
 recent enjoyment, which had owed its existence 
 to the oblivion of every thing but present hap- 
 piness, was not a little disturbed. 
 
 As they pursued their usual evening stroll 
 through the vineyards, whose ripe burthens 
 overhung the sloping banks, and almost touched 
 the waters, INIatilda could not but remark how 
 much absorbed he was in his own reflections ; 
 and she at length thus broke tlie unusually 
 protracted silence. 
 
 " How I do hate letters ! True, I hardly 
 ever had a pleasant one. Strange as it may 
 seem, I do not think that I ever in my life 
 received one from you, Ormsby." 
 
 ^' Po you wish me to give you a speedy 
 
MATILDA. 27T 
 
 opportunity of experiencing that pleasure ?" said 
 Ormsby, smiling. 
 
 " Oh ! do not talk so, even in jest. I cannot 
 bear to contemplate such a thing as possible. 
 Besides, positive pleasure, I think, can hardly 
 be said to be derived from the receipt of a letter. 
 It is at best, but a slight alleviation of the pains 
 of absence — a poor apology for the living pre- 
 sence. What, compared to the ever-varying 
 sympathies of uninterrupted intercourse is it, 
 when the heart only beats its formal and 
 periodical response to the postman's knock ? 
 What security can we ever feel, that the interval 
 which has elapsed before the receipt of written 
 communications, may not have reversed all of 
 good that they contain — that affections may 
 not liave cooled — that health may not be im- 
 paired, even whilst we are dwelling with delight 
 upon the assurance of their continuance .?'" 
 
 " True," said Ormsby ; " and though letters 
 may 
 
 *' Waft a sigh from Indus to the Foie,"^ 
 
 yet what is such a sigh, compared with one felt 
 by the actual senses — distilling its rich balm 
 
278 MATILDA. 
 
 upon the heart, and breathing its low, sweet 
 music upon the ear ?" 
 
 " And if, when only written," continued Ma- 
 tilda, " the most endearing terms lose half their 
 charm, how much are the reproaches of those 
 one loves aggravated, when they thus receive a 
 poignancy, which no affectionate look or manner 
 interposes to soften, and a permanence which 
 no soothing, or submission, can interfere to ob- 
 literate ? The displeasure of our friends is 
 doubly powerful on paper.'' 
 
 " It is indeed," said Ormsby, removing at 
 the same time his hand from its grasp of his 
 mother's letter, which he had still held in his 
 pocket, doubtful whether he should shew it to 
 Matilda. 
 
 " The odious Post," said Matilda, ** enables 
 all these most disagreeable intruders to annoy us 
 with their sentiments, however we may succeed 
 in excluding their persons." 
 
 " But at least," said Ormsby, " we may put 
 an end to paper persecution, without committing 
 murder. If a Neapolitan August do not furnish 
 us with a fire to which we can condemn them, 
 here, at least, are waters of oblivion for them ;" 
 
MATILDA. S79 
 
 — and taking Matilda's letter, with all his own 
 except his mother's, he scattered them in scraps 
 into the sea ; upon whose smooth unruffled sur- 
 face, mingling as they fell, the frivolous flip- 
 pancy of Mrs. Mechlin long floated, undistin- 
 guished from the stiff" business text of the lawyer, 
 the rounded periods of the politician, the equally 
 diffuse dandy, and the concise, cramped commu- 
 nication of the country agent. 
 
 The spot on which this little incident occurred, 
 was the loveliest of all the lovely scene around, 
 and, for this reason, had often been the limit of 
 their evening ramble. The beautiful banks of 
 the little inlet, on one side of which they were 
 seated, were crowned with a profusion of myrtles, 
 acacias, and other sweet plants, which irresistibly 
 tempted to linger within the precincts of the 
 double enjoyment of their fragrant shade. — The 
 vineyard path on the other side of the bay, tra- 
 versed only by the light-hearted peasants, as 
 they returned from their work, carolling some 
 of the wild and gay melodies of their native 
 dialect, gave occasional animation to the scene, 
 without at all interfering with its secluded charm. 
 On the broad extent of waters beyond, the 
 
280 MATILDAr 
 
 setting sun had marked his track of hquid fire, 
 such as no pen, and the pencil only of Claude, 
 can describe. 
 
 I know not whether it was from the peculiar still- 
 ness of the atmosphere, and the more than usually 
 glass-like surface of the sea, (which will sometimes 
 convey sound to an almost incredible distance,) 
 but it was the first time Ormsby had remarked, 
 that from hence they could catch the " busy hum 
 of men," and the rumbling of the carriages, on 
 the evening Promenade at Naples. There was 
 something in his tone and manner in making this 
 observation, which struck Matilda's sensitive 
 mind as implying a wish to be there ; — and in a 
 moment her part was taken. — " Ormsby,'' she 
 said, '-' you wish to change the scene. — For 
 myself, Heaven knows with you I could remain 
 for ever in this earthly paradise; — that is, with 
 you wholly and entirely, in mind as well as per- 
 son. But never through mistaken kindness 
 attempt to disguise from me any desire you may 
 have ; for if you are but happy, all places are 
 the same to me. I can have no wish, no hope, 
 but to please you ; and my worst fear is to be 
 felt as. a constraint on your inclinations." 
 
MATILDA. 281 
 
 Ormsby warmly protested, in reply, that he 
 had no wish for change — that no one could 
 be happier than he. And so at the moment 
 he felt. But in a Aveek they had removed to 
 Naples ! 
 
282 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " I NEVER can bear so public a promenade as 
 the Villa Reale,"' said Matilda to Ormsby, one 
 of the first evenings after their arrival at Naples. 
 
 " My dearest love," replied he, "let me 
 entreat you not to take up so absurd an idea. 
 You will distress me beyond measure, if you 
 adopt habits of utter seclusion. It only requires 
 a little resolution at first. — You will only have 
 to cherish and maintain that indifierence you 
 formerly felt, for those whose prejudices may 
 induce them to avoid you. But all whose notice 
 you would really wish to seek, will make allow- 
 ance for the peculiar circumstances in which you 
 were involved ; and in time, as my wife, I shall 
 hope to see my Matilda restored to that society 
 of which she is formed to be the brightest orna- 
 ment. But if, on the other hand, you are 
 resolutely bent on shutting yourself up, you will 
 only make me miserable as well as yourself." 
 
 " Dear Ormsby, though I am not convinced 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 by your arguments, (in which I think you mis- 
 taken,) yet am I moved by the effect you 
 threaten, and of which you alone can judge. — 
 Make you miserable indeed ! No, never will I 
 hazard any thing that can tend to that. — If it 
 must be so, to the Chiaja let us go."' 
 
 Ormsby, grateful for this concession on her 
 part, was in high spirits, and exerted himself to 
 dissipate the awkwardness which for the first time 
 she felt at the universal admiration her appear- 
 ance excited. 
 
 The latter end of the summer, or beginning of 
 Autumn, is perhaps the season when there are 
 fewest English at Naples ; so that they had 
 passed from one end to the other of the prome- 
 nade, without meeting many of their country- 
 men, or any with whose faces they were ac- 
 quainted. But, on one of the benches at the 
 further end of the walk, Ormsby discovered a 
 figure, stretching his laz}^ length along, and de- 
 vouring an English newspaper, which he recog- 
 nised to be that of his old acquaintance Harry 
 Wordsworth, whose arrival in Italy, it may be 
 recollected, was notified in Mrs. Mechlin's letter 
 to Matilda. 
 
 Harry Wordsworth was one of those, whose 
 
284 MATILDA. 
 
 universally acknowledged position in society it is 
 extremely difficult to account for. He was the 
 younger brother of a not very good family, Avith 
 a smart figure, and pleasing, though not hand- 
 some features ; in saying which, we have pretty 
 nearly summed up all the advantages which he 
 really possessed, though not one hundredth part 
 of what he had successfully assumed the ere- 
 dit of. 
 
 He was as poor as younger brothers usually 
 are, yet denied himself no luxury ; — professed 
 never to do any thing he did not like, yet was 
 reckoned the best-natured creature in the 
 world ; — superficial, almost illiterate, yet could 
 talk ad captandiim on any subject; — in short, 
 without much either of fancy or feeling, a rat- 
 tling merry manner with men made him pass for 
 an uncommonly pleasant fellow, and a soft insi- 
 nuating address w^ith women gave him the repu- 
 tation of being only troj) ahnahle. 
 
 How he came to be thus far from the scene of 
 all his glories, and at this unfashionable time of 
 year, we must allow him to explain for himself, 
 as far as may be convenient to him. 
 
 Ormsby having known him all his life, and 
 been always accustomed, as a matter of course. 
 
MATILDA. S85 
 
 to reciprocate the prescribed degree of warmth of 
 manner upon meeting him, which was perfectly 
 compatible with utter indifference as to ever 
 seeing each other again, accosted him with, 
 " Harry, how are you ? what brings you 
 here?" 
 
 At which Harry started up with, " Ormsby, 
 my dear fellow, how goes it ? " and then turning 
 towards Lady Matilda, with whom he had a 
 very shght acquaintance, changed his manner to 
 his most interesting drawl, and accompanied, 
 " delighted to see you^^^ with a protracted squeeze 
 of the hand. — Then turning again towards 
 Ormsby, and holding up the newspaper he had 
 been reading, " Well, Ormsby," said he, " so 
 you are going to win the St. Leger, after all ? '' 
 
 " Non capisco" said Ormsby, '' though I 
 suppose you say that figuratively, for I know- 
 most of your metaphors are in that line." 
 
 " Figuratively ? — quite the reverse — I Uterally 
 speak by book ; to prove which, I'll back your 
 Comus filly against any thing."" 
 
 '' Come, my dear Harry, you're the first that 
 ever brought Tattersall talk to the Villa Reale. — 
 The fact is, that I had forgotten I possessed 
 such a thing as a Comus filly ; I have not seen 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 or heard any thing of her smce she was running 
 about the paddock at Ormsby. But you've ex- 
 cited my curiosity. What have you heard about 
 her?" 
 
 " Only what will make a man of me again," 
 
 said Harry ; " that d d Derby floored me 
 
 completely. She has beat the first favourite, at 
 York, August, — holding up the newspaper, — 
 ' Lord Ormsby's bay filly by Comus, first. — 
 The Comus filly took the lead, made strong 
 running, was never headed, and won easy ; — 
 two to one on Mr. Leggings Pandemonium, who 
 was beat early in the race.^ — So Pandemonium 
 may go to the devil. The Comus filly will bring 
 me home again ; and if she brings me home she 
 shall take me home, and that presto^ as they say 
 here, you may depend upon it. — But only think 
 of your being such an unworthy favourite of 
 fortune as not to recollect that you had a Comus 
 filly ! — well, if she wins the Leger, you must 
 christen her Matilda, and then you'll no longer 
 have any excuse for forgetting her."" 
 
 There was something in this last sally of 
 Harry Wordsworth's which grated unpleasantly 
 on the feelings of both his hearers, particularly 
 on those of Matilda, to whom, in her present 
 
MATILDA. 287 
 
 delicate situation, the idea of her name being 
 made a common bye-word was most odious. The 
 fact was, that Harry Wordsworth had rattled on 
 inconsiderately, not from positive embarrass- 
 ment, for of that, at no period of his life had he 
 ever been accused, — but from more awkwardness 
 than he had often experienced ; which arose from 
 a certain degree of uncertainty he felt, as to how 
 he might be received by his old friend Ormsby, 
 owing to his having found it convenient to fix the 
 Sunday instead of the Tuesday after the Derby, 
 as the day of his departure for the Continent ; — 
 to which change in his original intention, some 
 did not scruple to say, that he was impelled by a 
 desire to avoid the intervening black Monday at 
 Tattersairs. He had tact enough to perceive, 
 that his free allusion to Matilda's name was not 
 very favourably received, and therefore turning 
 the subject, and ratthng on, he continued, — 
 
 " But upon my word, Ormsby, you are getting 
 to live so much abroad, you'll soon forget the 
 difference between White's and Boodle's; and 
 you'll be utterly unable either to discuss budding 
 beauties at the one, or growing crops at the 
 other." 
 
 " My good fellow," said Lord Ormsby, *« ab- 
 
MATILDA, 
 
 surd as that may appear to you, I have heard 
 some people talk about quite as important mat- 
 ters, which they quite as little understand. — 'Tis 
 a showy superficial age. Our ancestors' sohd 
 ingots of knowledge, too heavy for most heads to 
 carry, we have spread out into gold-leaf gossip, 
 which glitters over the whole surface of society." 
 
 Matilda wishing to return to her carriage, 
 Ormsby and Wordsworth now separated; the 
 former, upon the whole, not much pleased at the 
 meeting. The fact was, that Harry Words- 
 worth's manner was one to which habit had once 
 familiarized Ormsby ; but thus unexpectedly 
 recurring on the sudden, removed from all the 
 associations which had conspired to render him 
 agreeable, it left the general impression of an 
 unwelcome intrusion. 
 
 The next morning, when Ormsby had strolled 
 out, and Matilda was occupied with her music, 
 Harry Wordsworth popped his black, curly head, 
 round the partly open door, and said, — " At home, 
 fair lady ?^^ — in an easy, confident tone, which 
 rather conveyed — " Here am I !'' than, " are you 
 there .?" 
 
 Matilda's manner had always been one pecu- 
 liarly calculated to repress impertinence ; and 
 
MATILDA. S89 
 
 certainly its repulsive power was never more 
 exerted than during the tete-a-tete which fol- 
 lowed the arrival of this self-admitted visitor; 
 but all her coldness was wasted upon the easy- 
 intruder. He lolled, by her side, upon the sofa ; 
 and whilst conversing on indifferent subjects, 
 occasionally fixed his eyes, with an expression of 
 undisguised admiration, upon her beautiful face ; 
 then -pressed her, with hyperbolical enthusiasm, 
 to delight him by continuing her singing ; and 
 when, rather than listen to his rhapsodical en- 
 treaties, she calmly complied, he leant over her, 
 and passed his arm round the back of her chair, 
 with an air of (to her) offensive familiarity. 
 
 Much of this was habitual mannerism with 
 him ; and arose from his being, what is com- 
 monly called, a cool hand. But it struck Ma- 
 tilda, who was previously not much acquainted 
 with him, as personal to herself, and arising from 
 that want of respect which was the consequence 
 of her present situation. Bitter were the reflec- 
 tions which this conviction gave rise to, and so 
 -strong was their effect upon her nerves, that she 
 had some difficulty in keeping up that appearance 
 of composure which she was very anxious to 
 maintain ; when Ormsby's entrance relieved her 
 o 
 
S90 MATILDA. 
 
 from her unpleasant situation. Wordswortli 
 soon after departed, after having coolly invited 
 himself to dine with them the next day. 
 
 Ormsby was evidently in high spirits. " I told 
 you, Matilda, tliat there was little doubt you 
 might, if you chose, soon be restored to society ; 
 that there was discrimination enough in tlie 
 world to make allowances for your peculiar situa- 
 tion ; and that, after the divorce, you will gra- 
 dually, but generally, be received again.'* 
 
 " Dear Ormsby, I have seen nothing, certainly, 
 to alter my opinion, that it will be impossible, 
 even if I had the hardihood, to make the effort." 
 
 " Well ; only let me tell you what happened 
 to me this morning. I don't know whether I 
 ever mentioned to you a cousin of mine — Mrs. 
 Laceby. She is the wife of Admiral Laceby, 
 who is commanding our fleet off the Island of 
 
 . She is the most rigidly strict person I 
 
 almost ever heard of, and is generally supposed 
 to possess every Christian virtue but charity. 
 She once quarrelled with my poor mother ; as 
 even she, excellent as she is, offended some of her 
 prejudices. Well, judge of my surprise, when, 
 upon meeting her this morning, she accosted 
 me immediately, — ^aid that she had only landed 
 
MATILDA. iS91 
 
 yesterday from the Island of , and had 
 
 heard, by accident, that the female part of my 
 family were here. She hesitated a moment, and 
 seemed to me to avoid mentioning you by name ; 
 but ended by saying, that relations ought to 
 forget all that was past ; asked me where I lived ; 
 and parted, saying that she should call here to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " I suppose," said Matilda, " that it must 
 have been her, then, that Mr. AVords worth 
 meant, when he said, he wondered how I, and 
 my strange relation who was here, would get on 
 together. He would not tell who she was ; but 
 laughed, and said, he had no doubt she would 
 call upon me." 
 
 Though the character given of Mrs. Laceby 
 was not such as to make Matilda anticipate much 
 pleasure from her acquaintance, yet, certainly, 
 her feelings, recently wounded by what she con- 
 sidered Wordsworth''s impertinence, were soothed 
 by the attention implied in her intended visit. 
 
S92 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Okmsby had engaged himself to go on the 
 following morning to look at a house, the situation 
 of which they thought they should prefer to 
 that which they at present occupied. Matilda 
 was therefore left alone to receive the expected 
 visit of Mrs. Laceby. 
 
 From any awkward sensation of embarrass- 
 ment in society, Matilda had always been pecu- 
 liarly free; an exemption, the natural consequence 
 of intuitive good breeding, and habitual usage 
 of the world. But with her situation, her feelings 
 had altered. Confidence, however the appearance 
 of it may occasionally be brazened forth, cannot 
 really exist without self-respect. Matilda's loss 
 of caste had been too recent, and her sense of 
 shame v/as too acute, to enable her successfully 
 to assume the appearance of that ease she no 
 longer felt ; and she had literally worked herself 
 up into the most uncomfortable Btate of ner- 
 vousness, whilst awaiting Mrs. Laceby's dreaded 
 
MATILDAr. ^9S' 
 
 Visit. Listening to catch the first sound of each' 
 successive carriage wheels, as they bowled along^ 
 the smooth lava flag stones, they seemed to her 
 to advance with unnatural rapidity ; and she 
 gave a gasp of relief, when, though hardly trusting 
 her ears, she was convinced that each had actually 
 passed her door. 
 
 " How can I bear to meet," thought she, 
 " a. woman whom Ormsby described as pos- 
 sessing every virtue, but charity; when it is 
 only the active exercise of that one in particular, 
 that could render endurable her presence to a 
 poor fallen creature like me ? I shall have to 
 submit to the contemptuous condescension of 
 one who, even whilst she for some family reasons 
 stoops to notice me, will think it necessary to 
 mark, that the interview is disagreeable to hei\ 
 by making it so to- me. I think I see her before 
 me, shrinking, as from contamination, at the 
 slightest approach on my part. I can fancy, but 
 too well, her severe voice, stiff figure, and con- 
 strained conversation. Would it were over."' 
 
 Whilst conjuring up these unpleasant images, 
 a carriage actually stopped at the door ; and after 
 a delay that seemed interminable to Matilda, her 
 ItaHan servitore entered, and announced a lady, 
 
5!94 MATILDA. 
 
 whose name, he said, he could not pronounce, 
 but which resembled that of my lord. 
 
 " Now for it,'' thought she ; and she rose to 
 receive her dreaded visitor. But great was her 
 surprise when, instead of the stiff-starched figure, 
 and forbidding features, which she had attributed 
 to Mrs. Laceby, she beheld a form, if any thing, 
 too well rounded, — handsome, though rather 
 coarse features — a complexion which, if entirely 
 natural, was brilliant indeed — and a dress far 
 from unbecoming — though showy, almost amount- 
 ing to tawdriness. 
 
 Matilda had hardly time to make these obser- 
 vations on the appearance of her new acquaintance, 
 before, instead of meeting her with a cold re- 
 pulsive manner, she extended both hands, and 
 kissed her cheek rather cordially than delicately. 
 At first Matilda knew not, whether to distrust 
 her own eyes, or to discredit Ormsby's descriptive 
 powers, and was half inclined to believe that 
 there must be some mistake ; when she was re- 
 assured by her visitor, who began, " I knew that 
 you would be at home, as soon as you heard that 
 it was I. I was determined to call on you, 
 because I feel for your situation ; and connected 
 as we are, I have made up my mind to take you 
 
MATILDA. 295 
 
 in hand ; for however ill I may think that I 
 have been used by your Lord Ormsby, and 
 some of the family, forget and forgive is my 
 motto ; and if I can be of any use to you, you 
 may command me. I will introduce you to any 
 society that I know of, if you like." 
 
 " Oh, by no means," answered Matilda ; '' I 
 neither can expect nor wish that. But I can 
 assure you, that I am more grateful than I 
 can express for this attention ; which I am aware, 
 however, that I can only owe to that kindly 
 feeling towards Ormsby, which all in the remotest 
 desfree connected with him cannot but have." 
 
 " Quite the contrary, I assure you, my dear," 
 said her visitor ; " much more for your own 
 sake than his. I have an old crow to pick with 
 him, as well as with his old methodistical motliev." 
 Though Matilda had been prepared to liear 
 Mrs. Laceby speak with dislike of Lady 
 Ormsby, from the former quarrel, — of which 
 Augustus supposed, from her unforgiving nature, 
 she still retained the recollection, — yet she could 
 not help being much astonished to hear the 
 epithet methodistical applied to such a person. 
 
 She, however, rephed, " I was sorry, indeed, 
 to hear, that you liad had some differences with 
 
S96 MATILDA. 
 
 Lady Ormsby, which had induced you to quarrel 
 with her.'''' 
 
 " I quarrel with her ! She quarrelled with 
 me. It was all her nonsense. Lord bless you ! 
 I'm as easy to come on with as an old glove.'' 
 
 At least, tholight Matilda, Mrs. Laceby is 
 not an elegant woman. Satisfied with the repu- 
 tation of the higher virtues, she neglects the 
 minor graces of society. But her manner to- 
 wards me, though somewhat abrupt, is infinitely 
 more conciliatory than I had been led to expect. 
 
 Her new acquaintance now left the chair where 
 she had been sitting, and, throwing herself on 
 the sofa by her, said, '' What a love of a govm. 
 that is you have got on, my dear ! do let me 
 send my maid to take the pattern. I declare, 
 it is quite killing." 
 
 Matilda opened her eyes in mute astonishment, 
 at the idea of a notorious prude, not only choos- 
 ing to seek her society, but volunteering to copy 
 her appearance. 
 
 " Well ! don't stare so, my dear, as if I had 
 asked something very extraordinary. I don't 
 pretend to say that I shall look so well in it as 
 you do. Oh, now you are going to say that you 
 meant no such thing. But I can't stay to hear 
 
3HATILDA. 297 
 
 yo-j give the lie to your countenance. I must 
 leave you now ; but I'll introduce you to ail the 
 people I live with here. I don't know many 
 Enghsh, except a few men ; but I'll make you 
 acquainted with the Contessa Franca Vita, la 
 Marchesa Bellocchi, and some more of my Ita- 
 lian friends. I have not many beaux to lose, or 
 else I ought not to bring you into my society ; 
 for those pretty peepers, from under their long 
 dark lashes, will play the very deuce with the 
 men, I can tell you.'' 
 
 With this, and the same warm salute with 
 which she had entered, she left the room. 
 
 " How strange and unaccountable," thought 
 [Matilda. " I have often heard, that living niucl) 
 abroad is supposed to bring about extraordinary 
 changes of manner ; but to this extent I could 
 not have believed it possible. Iii no one respect 
 is she as described by Ormsby, except in her 
 rooted antipathy to Lady Ormsby. She is very 
 disagreeable, I think, though not in the way I 
 had expected. I had much rather have been 
 lectured than fondled, by such a person." 
 
 When Ormsby returned, she did not dwell 
 much upon the subject to him ; as, having taken 
 a dislike to her new acquaintance, she could not . 
 o5 
 
S9S MATILDA. 
 
 speak of her with pleasure ; and Ormsby evi- 
 dently being anxious that she should cultivate 
 the intimacy with his relation, she rather avoided 
 the only subject on which they had differed. 
 
 Harry Wordsworth having excused himself 
 from dining with them, as cavalierly as he had 
 invited himself, Ormsby and Matilda, after a 
 short repast, followed by a long evening ramble, 
 returned home about dusk, when the servant 
 gave Lord Orm.sby a note, which, upon opening, 
 he found to be, from ]Mrs. Laceby, the contents 
 of which, at first, he could not comprehend. It 
 began : — " Mrs. Laceby presents her compli- 
 ments to Lord Ormsby, and scarcely thinks it 
 necessary to inform him, that it was from mis- 
 taking the person at present residing here, and 
 caUiiig herself Lady Ormsby, for the Dowager, 
 that she was led into the error of inquiring where 
 he lived, and promising a call. Mrs. L. makes 
 the less apology for this strange mistake, as she 
 is sure that Lord O.'s good sense must have pre- 
 vented him from supposing for one moment that 
 IMrs. L.^s regard for her own character could 
 have allowed her to take any notice of the female 
 who she now understands is at present residmg 
 under his protection.'' 
 
MATILDA. S99 
 
 *' Whom, in the name of wonder, then, can 
 you have seen this morning ?" said Lord Ormsbj, 
 at once irritated and annoyed at the unexpected 
 contents of this note. 
 
 " The Lady that was here this morning,'' said 
 the servant, " is waiting for you upstairs in the 
 drawing room Avith Mr. Wordsworth." 
 
 Lord Ormsby ran up stairs before Matilda, 
 and, upon opening the door, found his brother's 
 immaculate widow, Arabella Lady Ormsby, 
 lounging familiarly on the sofa with Harry 
 Wordsworth, who had been an old acquaintance 
 of her*s before she descended quite so low as she 
 had done previously to her sudden elevation to 
 the Peerage. 
 
 " Well, my good fellow,'' said Harry, " how 
 late you are ! We have been waiting here for 
 you, to give us some tea ; and now we shall miss 
 the Opera." 
 
 For one moment Ormsby felt be^vildered at so 
 singular a situation; but in another his resolu- 
 tion was taken, and addressing the fair Arabella, 
 he said, "If your Ladyship would allow me one 
 minute's private conversation with you, it may 
 perhaps spare your feelings, as well as those of. 
 
SOO MATILDA. 
 
 this Lady," pointing to Matilda, who then en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 "Oh, don't let me interfere with family 
 secrets,'' said Harry Wordsworth, carelessly; 
 " I'm for the Opera — a rivederia, Signora,"*' said 
 he to Matilda, and left the room. 
 
 But Ormsby still motioned his sister-in-law to 
 follow him into the next apartment, and they left 
 Matilda alone; who, though from not knowing 
 who the Lady was, did not comprehend the whole 
 extent of the dilemma ; yet, upon reading Mrs. 
 Laceby's open note, which Ormsby had left upon 
 the table, perceived that there was some strange 
 mistake, which could only end in mortification 
 to her. 
 
 She was not left long in suspense; for the 
 gentle Arabella soon rushed again into the 
 room, evidently in a state of great indignation, 
 screaming out—" Should be careful with whom 
 she associates ! — Indeed, she should have thought 
 of that before she went off with you. I shouldn't 
 do her so much harm as you have, I take it. 
 I'd have you to recollect, that I am an honest 
 woman, and have a situation in society. I should 
 Hke to know who would suffer most by the old 
 
MATILDA. 301 
 
 saying of — ' Birds of a feather flock together.' 
 I was your brother's lawful wife ; and if I had 
 any children, they would have cut you out. But 
 v/hat will your brats be, if you have any ?" 
 
 Lord Ormsby interrupted this tirade, by lead- 
 ing her gently, but firmly, to the door, and call" 
 ing Lady Ormeby's carriage. 
 
 " Well," said she, as she left the room, " you 
 shall repent this — you, and your lady who stands 
 crying there. I won't bemean myself to call her 
 what she is." 
 
 Bitterly did Matilda feel this, the first of those 
 mortifications to which, even in a worldly point 
 of view, her unhappy situation constantly ex- 
 posed her. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 In vain did Ormsby endeavour to efface the 
 hmniliating impressions which were left on the 
 sensitive mind of Matilda by the interview 
 which has just been described. 
 
 " How can you allow yourself, my dearest 
 Matilda" said he, "to be so mucli moved by 
 the vulgar ebulUtions of that odious creature ? 
 That one like her should be blind to the obvious 
 distinction between a single, almost pardonable 
 error, and habitual vice, is not to be wondered 
 at ; nor is it surprising, that she should endeavour 
 to reduce you to her own degraded level. Her 
 violent temper it was to be expected would ex- 
 plode, when reminded of that difference between 
 you and her, which either her depraved feelings 
 prevented her from perceiving herself, or her 
 impudence induced her to expect would not be 
 apparent to others.'' 
 
 " Strange instruments,'"* answered IMatiida, 
 sliaking her head, " are sometimes made use cf 
 
MATILDA. bub 
 
 to open oar unwilling eyes to our real situation, 
 and to remove the veil with which passion for a 
 time has obscured our powers of self-estimation. 
 O, Ormsby," added she with emotion, " ail that, 
 that odious woman conveyed in her own disgust- 
 ing language, is but too, too true."** 
 
 " Why will you say this ? '"* said Ormsby, 
 half provoked : " when she presumed to draw a 
 comparison between her own infamous self, (who 
 was at one time as low and as base as the un- 
 happy wretches who starve in the streets,) and a 
 delicate and refined creature like you, who liave 
 only sought a refuge from intolerable oppression, 
 under the protection of him to w^iom 3^ou had 
 plighted your first faith, from whom you had 
 been separated by unworthy artifice, and to 
 whom you will soon be united by indissoluble 
 ties. 
 
 " Would that day were come,'"* said Matilda. 
 " To all the painful publicity attendant on the 
 divorce would I wiUingly submit, if by a patient 
 endurance of shame 1 might purchase an escape 
 from sin. — For though, dearest Augustus, whilst 
 those bright eyes beaming with love are before 
 me, I own my guilty pleasure is great ; yet in 
 the few moments of refiection vour devoted 
 
SG4 MATILDA; 
 
 kindness leaves- me, . bitter is the remorse with 
 which I feel, that it is a life of sin that we are 
 leading,. She said but too truly — that woman. — 
 Her present situation is more respectable than 
 mine." 
 
 " I cannot bear to. hear you countenance such 
 an absurdity,"" said Ormsby, ..a little pettishly. 
 " How can you couple respect and. her ? Ycu 
 little know how shamefully she abused my poor 
 brother's confidence ; and I dare say, if it was 
 w^crth inquiring about, that we should find her 
 present course of life as infamous." 
 
 "Maybe so," replied Matilda ; "if bhe 
 abuses the advantages with which she has been 
 unworthily invested, her reproach is the great er.f 
 But can you not,, without being offended, make 
 allowances for bitter regret on my part, at being 
 obliged to own to myself that I am reduced to a 
 situation in which her proffered acquaintance can- 
 not be considered as an insult ? " 
 
 " Offended with you . I can never be," . said, 
 Ormsby, at once softened. "If there was any 
 irritation in my manner, it was only at your ob- 
 stinately refusing to do justice to yourself. Look 
 cheerful again, and you at once restore my 
 serenity." 
 
MATILDA. 305 
 
 '^ Indeed, efforts to appear cheerful are never 
 wanting on my part,'' Matilda replied ; "for I 
 cannot but be sensible of the great sacrifices you 
 have made for me, and the claim which that 
 gives you to every exertion of mine, to repay you 
 with as much domestic comfort as a poor guilty 
 creature, on whom the canker remorse is con- 
 stantly preying, has it in her power to impart.'' 
 
 Orrasby knew not what to say. He took two 
 or three hasty turns about the room, and then 
 stood for a moment on the balcony, not knowing 
 whether he should easiest soothe and comfort her 
 by contending the point farther, or by admitting 
 the justice of her self-reproaches. 
 
 At last, taking his hand kindly, whilst she 
 struggled to repress her tears, she continued, — 
 " Forgive me if I distress you ; — but one thing 
 that woman said which sunk deep into my heart. 
 My shame will not end with my own wretched 
 existence. — Oh, Augustus — I cannot bear to 
 think that I live but to entail infamy on inno- 
 cence, — that a few short months will produce a 
 living stigma to perpetuate reproach. Let me 
 then, whilst I can, revel with all a mother's 
 fondness in those instinctive caresses which I may 
 receive in the ignorance of infancy ; for the first 
 
306 MATILDA. 
 
 dawn of intelligence must teach my child to 
 blush for her who gave it birth/"* 
 
 This was a subject which could not but make 
 much impression on Ormsby. — He was not with- 
 out family pride ; on the contrary, though it 
 was never offensive or obtrusive, he possessed 
 it in a degree almost amounting to a weakness. 
 He had often paced up and down the long gal- 
 lery at Ormsby Castle, and taken a strange plea- 
 sure in stud;)4ng all the noble daubs with which 
 it was lined, and in summing up all the illustrious 
 links by which, without a single flaw, the ancient 
 barony had been handed down through successive 
 centuries. He had been unable to keep within 
 any moderate bounds his indignation at his 
 brother's disgraceful mamage. It was impossible, 
 therefore, that any image more gaUing to his 
 feelings could have been conjured up, than that 
 of his and Matilda's first offspring stigmatized as 
 illeojitimate, and wanderino^ an unacknowledn-ed 
 outcast from the mansion of his forefathers^ 
 whilst his own name and family would be extinc^ 
 with him, and the ancient property of his house 
 pass away to collateral strangers. — Oppressed 
 with this idea, however anxious he was to miti- 
 gate Matilda's distress, he knew not liow to begin. 
 
MATILDA. SOT 
 
 or what consolation to offer, when he hmiself felt 
 as poignantly the full force of her regrets. He 
 therefore only bit his lips in silence, whilst he 
 allowed her uninterruptedly to continue. 
 
 " ^lore than any thing else in the world have 
 I often envied your mother's feelings of maternal 
 pride in you and Emily. Often have I wished 
 that, in my declining years, I might have such a 
 son and such a daughter, and have thought that 
 if one alone was allowed me, I should not know 
 w-hich to choose — whether to experience the con- 
 stant care and respectful attention of an attached 
 girl, or to feast my ears from afar on the widely- 
 spread praises of a beloved and admired boy. — 
 But now it is but a choice of evils — whether a 
 son shall suffer all the mortifications of forfeited 
 rank, doubtful situation, and disputed name ; or 
 a daughter be exposed to other as bitter humili- 
 ations, — suspicion of character, and avoidance of 
 connexion ; and that either shall know that they 
 owe all this, which renders their existence irksome, 
 to the sin and shame of their parents." 
 
 " Oh, too much of this, dear Matilda," said 
 Ormsby ; " I cannot bear to think of it. —But it 
 is yet possible that such a calamity may be averted. 
 — ^I am in daily expectation of hearing from Lon- 
 
308 MATILDA. 
 
 clon, that the proceedings prehminary to the 
 divorce have been commenced. It is nothing but 
 Sir Jameses sordid unwiUingness to part with your 
 fortune, which has so long delayed it. It is a 
 subject of much too delicate a nature, for one to 
 attempt to enter into any arrangement ; otherwise 
 how gladly would one facilitate the proceedings 
 by removing his objection. 'Twasa strange will, 
 that of your uncle." 
 
 " It was indeed," said Matilda, glad to avail 
 herself of the relief of her excited feehngs which 
 a change of subject offered; — " and strange and 
 mysterious seem to have been some of the occur- 
 rences of my early life. — I mentioned, I believe 
 casually, an extraordinary interview with a stran- 
 ger monk, which happened the day previous to 
 that in which I was hurried away from Rome. 
 His half-hinted communications with respect to 
 my family, which, when interrupted, he promised 
 to complete on the morrow, made a strong im^ 
 pression upon my mind at the time, though 
 almost immediately superseded by the more agi- 
 tating events which followed. I > cannot say how 
 much I now regret having, I fear for ever, lost a 
 clue to some disclosures of importance with re- 
 spect to my, family ; which, without being able 
 
MATILDA. S09 
 
 to assign any rational reason for it, I have never- 
 theless always unaccountably anticipated." 
 
 " Do you not think," said Ormsby, " that this 
 very predisposed excitement of the imagination, 
 which you acknowledge, laid you open to the 
 <irtifices of some impostor, who, availing himself 
 of a little superficial knowledge of your family, 
 meant to work upon your credulity for his own 
 ends r 
 
 " I admit,'" replied Matilda, " that yours is the 
 rational way of interpreting it, to which the 
 common sense of any but an eye-witness would 
 naturally lead. But there is an unimpeachable 
 truth in manner, which must be seen to be 
 believed ; and this it was which carried conviction 
 to m.y mind. — Had you heard him speak of my 
 mother, you would have felt that there was no 
 lono-er room to doubt that he had known and 
 valued her, of whose presence her unwortliy 
 daughter was deprived before she knew her irre- 
 parable loss. — ' If,"* said he, ' you still are pure as 
 her in whose arms I last beheld you.' Alas ! I was 
 so then. — I must not however think of that," con- 
 tinued she, checking herself. " He then seemed to 
 hint at some communication which he had it in 
 his power to make, which would require from nie. 
 
310 MATILDA. 
 
 if not fortitude to bear, at least disinterestedness 
 thankfully to receive." 
 
 '* Most thankfully should we receive it,"' said 
 Ormsby, " if, by discovering any flaw in the dis- 
 position of your fortune, it tended to remove the 
 delays of which that alone is the cause, in the 
 proceedings for the divorce. You have not yet 
 quite removed my incredulity as to this strange 
 adventure being any thing more than a stale trick 
 on the part of some impostor ; but at the same 
 time I must acknowledge that my early recollec- 
 tions of my mother's remarks with some of her 
 neighbours soon after the death of vour father, 
 would rather tend to confirm the suspicion that 
 there was some mystery attending your birth.— 
 It was never accurately known who your mother 
 was, any more than that it was believed she was a 
 foreigner, to whom your father had become at- 
 tached during his residence abroad, when a warm 
 climate had been recommended for the benefit of 
 his heakh. Some surprise, I have also heard, 
 was excited by your uncle's sudden and unex- 
 plained absence from England about that time ; 
 more particularly as it was ascertained that he had 
 not attended his brother during! his last illness. 
 All this gave rise to much gossip in the country 
 
MATILDA. 311 
 
 at the time, coupled with many other circum- 
 stances which I have since forgotten, though I 
 was then j ust of that age when children are allowed 
 to hear every thing, from its being erroneously 
 supposed they cannot understand it ; and when 
 they pick up any story, not only in its original 
 shape in the drawing room, but also the second 
 edition enlarged and embellished in the nursery. 
 
 This latter part of the conversation, with its 
 reference to past times, had so far tended to tran- 
 quillize Matilda's mind, as to render her more 
 fit to receive the visitors by w^hom it was now 
 interrupted, who were no other than Harry 
 Wordsworth and Colonel Canteen. 
 
312 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 . Colonel Canteen had but lately arrived at 
 Naples, where he had, in the course of his first 
 walk, accidently met with Mr. Wordsworth, 
 with whom he had that sort of standing acquaint- 
 ance, which in England had for years remained 
 stationary at the silent exchange of nods in the 
 streets, and newspapers in the clubs. — This, 
 however, was quite enough to lead to constant 
 companionship at Naples ; and the Colonel hav- 
 ing heard from Harry where Ormsby and 
 Matilda were domiciliated, proposed a call there 
 together. Colonel Canteen, as we have hinted, 
 was a great gossip as well as goui'mand — equally 
 increnious in the invention of scandal or of sauces, 
 — and always anxious to have a finger in the pie, 
 in tracasserie as well as patisserie. But he was 
 withal, a very high-bred gentleman, rather punc- 
 tilious perhaps, and somewhat of the vieille 
 cour. His manner, therefore, towards ]\Iatilda 
 upon this their first meeting since the elopement. 
 
MATILDA. 313 
 
 was scrupulously respectful, and to her sensitive 
 mind, formed a pleasing contrast with the free 
 and easy familiarity of Harry AVordsworth ; 
 which latter, after all, was natural to the indivi- 
 dual, but which she could never persuade herself 
 did not proceed from an impertinence, which 
 he might think her present doubtful situation 
 sanctioned. Colonel Canteen was very anxious 
 that she should go to San Carlos, to hear a new 
 opera of Rossini's, which was there divinely sung 
 by a constellation of talent rarely united in any 
 theatre. — This proposal was warmly seconded by 
 Harry Wordsworth, who, fixing his large lan- 
 guishing eyes upon her, drawled out a protracted 
 ^' Do — pray." In spite, however, of this addi- 
 tional inducement, she at first positively declined 
 it, from a dishke to appearing in public. — But 
 when her two visitors were supported by Ormsby, 
 who plainly shewed that he should be hurt if she 
 did not go, she could no longer resist, and gave 
 an unwilling consent. 
 
 Fond as she was of music, it so happened that 
 she had never seen an opera in any of the first- 
 rate estabhshments of Italy, since she left Milan. 
 There, it will be recollected, she was so occupied 
 with the performance, on her first visit to La 
 p 
 
314 MATILDA. 
 
 Scala, that it was long before she observed the 
 admiration which her appearance excited among 
 those better accustomed than she was to the 
 comparative darkness of an ItaUan Theatre. 
 San Carlos was equally obscure; but from the 
 moment she entered the house, she could not 
 help fancying that from every box the finger 
 of scorn was pointed at her, and every whisper 
 with which the performance was occasionally inter- 
 rupted, she fancied was telling her tale of shame. 
 
 ^' Surely those are my old friends, the Olin- 
 skis," said Ormsby ; " Madame Olinski still look- 
 ing as young as either of her daughters. — ' Les 
 Graces de la Pologne^ they are called ; for they 
 live, as well as dress, like three sisters. I must 
 just go and see them.'' 
 
 Matilda followed him vsdth an anxious eye out 
 of the box. Jealous she could not be ; — yet she 
 did not like to find him so very happy to recog- 
 nise any women ; nor was she much pleased that 
 Colonel Canteen and Mr. Wordsworth should 
 hear him, before her, express himself so warmly 
 in praise of what, by his own account, seemed 
 not exactly a reputable family. — What he had 
 said was probably spoken lightly, but it dwelt 
 heavily on her heart. 
 
MATILDA, 315 
 
 Such was the unfortunate situation of her box, 
 that this was fated to be a night of mortifications; 
 for Ormsby had hardly disappeared, and she 
 was still occupied with her own disagreeable 
 reflections upon it ; — Colonel Canteen was telling 
 her a long story, to which she was attempting 
 to appear to listen ; — Harry Wordsworth, who 
 was sitting opposite to her, was making his opera 
 glass perambulate the house ; when from the 
 next box, immediately behind Harry^s chair, a 
 preposterous pink hat, overloaded with an infinity 
 of feathers, was poked round, and Matilda 
 plainly perceived the fine dark eyes of Arabella 
 Lady Ormsby, staring full upon her; and in 
 a moment afterwards, a well-rounded arm, all 
 bedizened with bracelets by the dozen, tapped 
 the unconscious Mr. Wordsworth's averted 
 shoulder, and its owner addressed him with 
 " Ah, Harry — you seem in the wrong box there 
 with my would-be sister, but as yet not sister 
 in law^ any more than in love." 
 
 Then beckoning him closer to her, and speak- 
 ing in a pretended whisper, but loud enough for 
 Matilda to hear, (and affectedly, as if to conceal 
 her meaning, addressing him in Italian — of a 
 superficial smattering of which she was more 
 
316 MATILDA. 
 
 vain than it deserved) she added — " Che s:a il 
 tuo dovere di far geloso quello mio maladetto 
 fratdhr 
 
 " Tace '. tace!^' said Harry, whose hitherto 
 matchless assurance sunk abashed before tl^e 
 superior impudence of his female friend : — So 
 true it is, that no masculine brass is at all a 
 match for a well-bronzed woman. 
 
 Here was a striking instance of this ; for to 
 avoid still plainer hints as to what his conduct 
 should be, Harry Wordsworth was obliged to 
 leave the box. The front place which he had 
 left was immediately occupied by the colonel, 
 who, not finding that Matilda reciprocated con- 
 versation very readily, was glad to place himself 
 where he could command a view of the house ; 
 ' and peeping into the next box on the opposite 
 side to that from which the gay widow had shewn 
 herself, he suddenly exclaimed, " Why, I'm 
 sure that's the admiral. How d'ye do, Admiral ? 
 When did you arrive? How d'ye do, Mrs. 
 Laceby ?''' 
 
 These inquiries were answered by a precise- 
 sounding female voice, which asked, in return, — 
 '^ Are you alone, there. Colonel ?" and a long, 
 i^Iiin neck, which seemed unused to bending, was. 
 
MATILDA. SIT 
 
 with some difficulty, made to insert itself into the 
 box, and to display a most severely angular set 
 of features, appropriately crowned wdth a rigidly 
 mathematical sort of toque. It was but the 
 apparition of an instant ; for when ]\Irs. Laceby's 
 little prim grey eyes met those of Matilda, who 
 was studiously sitting, rather concealed, this 
 severe censor withdrew with horror, and the 
 curtain was, at the same time, offensively pulled 
 more closely round her, as if to preserve her 
 from the dangers of contact to which such a 
 neighbourhood had exposed her. 
 
 " I must just go and speak to the A-dmlral,'' 
 said Colonel Canteen ; " I have not seen him 
 for such a time. Excuse me for one moment. 
 Lady Matilda," he added, and left the box. 
 
 When our heroine was thus left alone, in vain 
 she endeavoured to keep her eyes fixed on the 
 stage, and to confine her attention to the music. 
 She could not help, occasionally, stealing a peep 
 into the Olinskis'' box opposite, where Ormsby 
 ^emed to have been most cordially received by 
 both mother and daughters, and where she could 
 see that he was endeavouring to make hmiself 
 particularly agreeable. Nor could she prevent, 
 occasionally, overhearing scraps of the conversa- 
 
318 MATILDA. 
 
 tion which was passing on each side of her. On 
 the one, there seemed nothing that concerned her 
 in particular, as the widow was only flirting 
 pretty freely with some young Italians, who 
 appeared to be in her train ; but in the intervals, 
 when the conversation on that side was rather 
 soft than loud, she could distinctly hear the shrill, 
 harsh voice of Mrs. Laceby, elevated as if in 
 indignation, and pronouncing her name with a 
 contemptuous intonation, whilst she repeated 
 her opinion of — " hardened creature" — " appears 
 in public" — " no sense of shame;" — a sentence 
 against which Colonel Canteen seemed, in vain, 
 endeavouring to protest. 
 
 Mrs. Laceby was one of those who literally 
 feasted upon the feelings of her neighbours. 
 With her the discovery of vice in another was 
 equivalent to the practice of virtue by herself. 
 Proud of her own unimpeachable correctness of 
 conduct, whilst she anathematized the weaknesses 
 of others, she considered herself quite at liberty, 
 by neglecting the amiable in manner, to render 
 virtue odious, and her home disagreeable ; and 
 as long as she relentlessly denounced those whom 
 passion had induced to desert their domestic 
 duties, she considered herself quite justified in 
 
MATILDA. 319 
 
 giving her own husband daily cause to wish, in 
 vain, that she would follow their example, and 
 leave him in peace. 
 
 From all that Matilda that night both heard 
 and saw, she felt but too sensibly the difference 
 there was in her's and Ormsby's situation. True, 
 they were at present, in every respect united ; 
 and she had never, for a moment, had the least 
 reason to doubt his affection ; on the contrary, 
 his devotion had seemed only to increase with 
 the continuance of the connexion. But should 
 any thing happen to dissolve that connexion, 
 how different upon the one and the other would 
 be the consequences of separation ! From his 
 reception that night by the Olinskis', she per- 
 suaded herself that he would not only be restored 
 to his former place in society, but that he would, 
 be perhaps more than ever recherche from his 
 temporary seclusion. But what, on the other 
 hand, would become of her ? From what had 
 that night passed on each side of her, she per- 
 ceived, that if deprived of his protection, she 
 should be exposed to every species of contumely ; 
 — that the two extremes of her own sex, differing 
 in every thing else, could unite, at least, in 
 annoyance to her; — and, that from men, she 
 
320 MATILDA. 
 
 would only have to choose between contemptuous 
 neglect and still more insulting attentions. 
 
 The pain which these reflections gave her, 
 did not make the time appear to pass more 
 quickly, whilst in her solitary box she wa? 
 impatiently awaiting Ormsby's return. She felt 
 additionally hurt, too, that he should be so slow 
 in perceiving that she was alone. Ifc was no 
 longer in the front place in the Olinskis' box, 
 which he had at first occupied, and she had 
 therefore concluded that he was on his return 
 to her ; and had been every moment expecting 
 the door to be opened by him, when she ob- 
 served that Madame Olinski was still talking 
 with considerable animation to some one in the 
 back of the box ; and this person's head being 
 for a moment advanced, she perceived it to be 
 Ormsby, who was still there. This discovery 
 was almost too much for her harrassed spirits; 
 particularly as the curtain dropped before Ormsby 
 returned, saying, " What a short ballet ! I had 
 no idea it was so near over, or I would have 
 returned sooner." 
 
 " Short, did you think it ?''"' she replied ; " to 
 me it appeared to last for ever.'' " Have you 
 been long alone ? *" added Ormsby. " I saw the 
 
MATILDA. S21 
 
 Colonel still with you when I made a move to 
 return to you some time back ; but Madame 
 Glinski insisted upon my not leaving them so 
 soon, and they are so entertaining." 
 
 ^latilda did not feel equal to making any com- 
 ment upon their encomium at the time it was 
 made, as they were at that moment descending 
 the crowded staircase ; but after they were in the 
 carriage on their return home, Ormsby again 
 resumed, " Indeed, I don^t any where know such 
 }>leasant people as the Ohnskis." 
 
 ^' Dear Onnsby,'"* IMatilda replied, in a voice 
 of stifled emotion, " Are you sure that it is not 
 the contrast to the life you have been lately 
 leading, which makes you think so ? Any one 
 would appear pleasant after your poor Matilda, 
 who can no longer boast that easy flow of spirits 
 which is derived from a mind at ease, nor has yet 
 attained the hardened feelings which habit may 
 perhaps some day or other give her." There was 
 something in the plaintive but uncomplaining 
 tone of this gentle appeal, which sensibly touched 
 Ormsby. High spirits, a natural turn for society, 
 and the first renewal of a former agreeable, 
 though not' valuable acquaintance, had led him 
 for a moment into something very like neglect of 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 Matilda; but not only was the ardour of his- 
 affection for her unabated, but he had at all times 
 a most peculiar sensibility to self-reproach at 
 having wounded the feelings of others. This 
 made him suffer severely from the conviction that 
 she had felt his conduct as neglect. 
 
 " Can you then suppose that all the frivolous 
 amusement of all the OHnskis in the world, could 
 compensate to me for causing one moment's unea- 
 siness to my own Matilda 'f"^ Thus he fervently 
 exclaimed, and thus he truly felt ; — and the warn- 
 ing he then received, made him from that time 
 more than ever scrupulous in his exclusive devo- 
 tion to her. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 It may perhaps be objected to my heroine, 
 that she seems at this time only to have been 
 rendered acutely sensible of the degradation of 
 her situation, when brought actually in contact 
 with the contempt of the world ; and that at other 
 times she appears to have enjoyed intervals of hap- 
 piness. But let it be recollected, how long she 
 had been a stranger to kindness or attention at 
 home, and that now she was engrossed by the 
 exclusive devotion of one whose whole business 
 seemed to be to endeavour to conceal from her 
 every reality but the consciousness of being be- 
 loved. But as each of these successive incidents 
 served to rouse her better feelings, her sense of 
 shame and remorse became more and more acute, 
 and the intervening gleams more broken and 
 disturbed. 
 
 In pursuance of his desire to alleviate the in- 
 evitable desagremens of Matilda's situation, and 
 prevent her attention from dweUing upon the 
 
S24 MATILDA. 
 
 mortifications which might follow every attempt 
 to mingle again in society, Ormsby proposed a 
 party to Paestum. To this Matilda willingly ac- 
 ceded, and Colonel Canteen and Mr. Wordsworth 
 also begged to be allowed to accompany them. 
 The drive from Naples to Paestum was delightful, 
 it being just the season when such an excursion 
 is most enjoyable. The first September rains 
 were just over, and the cloudless brilliancy of the 
 sky was restored, with that renewed freshness 
 w^hich the long continuance of dry weather had 
 previously destroyed. 
 
 The pre-arrangement of a party of pleasure is 
 not in Italy, as it is in England, offering a certain 
 premium for disappointment. In England, the 
 long expected morning is sure to be ushered in by 
 a faUing glass and lowering clouds; and after a 
 doubtful debate of " To be, or not to be ?"— when 
 the devoted victims at last desperately determine 
 to persevere, — parasols are exchanged for um« 
 brellas, the gay holiday garb is shrouded in the 
 thickest cloaks, and with funereal faces they start 
 in pursuit of painful pleasure ; probably on a 
 water party, — with as much of that element above 
 as below them,— and adding the certainty of 
 beins drenched to the chance of being drowned. 
 
MATILDA. 525 
 
 Bat in Italy the rain descends at stated periods, 
 does its duty? and then is no longer a matter of 
 speculation or of dread. 
 
 Upon arriving at Passtum, whilst Matilda 
 stopped to take a hasty sketch, the three gentlemen 
 strolled througli the ruins ; where their attention 
 was attracted towards the remains of a very sub- 
 stantial luncheon, which shewed that there was 
 also another party there, and- which some empty 
 porter bottles seemed to mark as English. 
 
 " One can track the haunts of one's country- 
 men, like the encampments of the Indian tribes, 
 by the bones of the victims they have devoured," 
 said Ormsby, pointing to some well-cleaned 
 drumsticks and pinions. 
 
 " We are grown a dreadfully locomotive po- 
 pulation," said Harry Wordsworth ; "all our 
 cits now desert the Thames for the Nile, shoot 
 the cataracts instead of London Bridge, and 
 instead of a chop at the Red House, pic nic 
 among the pyramids. But this has been a most 
 ravenous tribe, by the havoc they have made. 
 Look at ail these sacred shrouds, from which 
 these mangled remains have been cruelly torn,^' 
 added he, collecting, between the tips of the 
 fingers of his French gloves, almost a file of 
 
326 MATILDA. 
 
 Galignanrs Messengers, which had served as 
 covering to the profusion of food that had 
 been dispatched."' 
 
 " Do you remember,'*' said Ormsby, " Dr. 
 Johnson's indignation at ' the feehngs of that 
 man, whose patriotism would not gain force on 
 the plains of Marathon, or Avhose piety would 
 not grow warmer among the ruins of lona."* 
 What would he think then of those who could 
 pick chicken bones under the pillars of the 
 Temples of Paestum ? 
 
 " Why," said Harry, " that in all proba- 
 bility they had that sort of philosophy which 
 constitutes happiness ; according to the French- 
 man, who says, 'pour bien jouir de la vie, il 
 Juut avoir im mauvais cosur et un hon estomac.'' " 
 " This is all very fine," said Colonel Canteeil, 
 who had been a silent, but not an inattentive 
 listener to a conversation in which eating formed 
 so principal a feature ; " but," added he, '' one 
 cannot consent to stai^e upon stones. These 
 pillars would be rather hard of digestion, how- 
 ever well they may do to ruminate upon." 
 
 At this moment, distant tittering and giggling 
 announced the approach of the party, whose 
 previous proceedings had excited so much at- 
 
MATILDA. S£7 
 
 tention, and, at the opposite angle of the building 
 from that where the gentlemen had been standing, 
 and nearer to the spot where Matilda was seated 
 sketching, appeared a number of ladies and 
 gentlemen, whose gay attire, merry tones, and 
 confused chattering, seemed to shew that they 
 were enjoying that excess of excitement, which 
 English people only experience at a genuine 
 junket. A disagreeable impression, too, was 
 made upon Matilda, that amongst this confusion 
 of tongues, there were some voices that she had 
 heard before; and this was painfully confirmed^ 
 when she distinguished, elevated above the rest, 
 the shrill tones of Mrs. Hobson. 
 
 " Well, you may say w^hat you please, but 
 this temple, or house, or pest-town, or whatever 
 you call it, is only fit for the lazarettos to live 
 in, with nothing but their pillows for walls." 
 
 " Paestum, Ma'am," said Mrs. Simperton on 
 her right ; and '^ Lazaronis you mean, Ma'am," 
 said Mrs. Woodhead on her left. " And the 
 Lazaroni," added Tcun, " have only walls for 
 pillows, instead of pillows as you call them^ for 
 walls." 
 
 At these unwelcome sounds, Matilda drew 
 her veil closer on the side from which they came. 
 
SiJeS MATILDA. 
 
 and continued intent upon her sketch book. 
 But at the same time Miss Jemima Hob son, 
 who was a bit of a romp, and was still of that 
 innocent age, when a happy ignorance both of 
 the manners and the morals of the world is at 
 least supposed, cried out " Oh ! look ! here's a 
 lady drawing! I must just run and have a 
 peep ;" then, skipping close up to our heroine, 
 she exclaimed, " Law, mamma ! if it a'nt aunt 
 Matilda V At this dreaded recognition, Ma- 
 tilda's pencil dropped from her hand, whilst her 
 head sunk closer to her book. 
 
 " "What !'' cried Mrs. Hobson ; " come here, 
 child." 
 
 " Come here, Jemima," said l\Irs. Simpertoii. 
 
 *' Come away, directly," re-echoed Mrs. 
 Woodhcad ; and all the females of the family 
 imm.ediately skuttled away, followed by their 
 attendant beaux. 
 
 " And is it come to this?'' thought -Matilda, 
 as she trembled in every joint. " Must I hide 
 my head abashed, in the presence of a woman 
 whose gross vulgarity of mind, as well as of 
 manners, I used to despise and ridicule ? But it 
 is as it should be. Self-respect, once forfeited, 
 the rest follows of course. Oh, my God!" slie 
 
MATILDA. 329 
 
 exclaimed, bursting into an agony of tears, 
 " How am I fallen — how debased."*' 
 
 When the Hobson party passed Lord Ormsby 
 and his friends, there was a little awkwardness 
 of deportment as they hurried by. Mr. Sim- 
 perton stopped an instant, and his natural ser- 
 vility towards any great man, struggling with 
 his sense of propriety, he hesitatingly addressed 
 Ormsby ; — " I hope your Ludship will not at- 
 tribute any thing in our conduct to intentional 
 disrespect, or spontaneous slight ; but your Lud- 
 ship must be aware, that in persons of my cloth, 
 some attention to appearance is required." 
 
 For a moment. Lord Ormsby eyed this ob- 
 server of appearances from head to foot, as he 
 stood opposite to him, nearly two thousand miles 
 from his cure. It was hard to say, whether his 
 ' cloth' was marked by his broad-brimmed white 
 beaver, his sky blue neckcloth, or his light jean 
 jacket, tight nankeen pantaloons, and buff boots. 
 
 " You are, no doubt, quite right. Sir, to act up 
 to your own ideas of attention to appearances,'"* said 
 Lord Ormsby, and passed on towards Matilda, after 
 telling his two friends that he would return to 
 them : for he imagined that she might have been 
 discomposed by the suddenness of the meeting 
 
S30 MATILDA. 
 
 with the Hobsons, and he did not wish that they 
 should witness her distress. 
 
 The Hobson party in the meantime prepared 
 to depart. Old Hobson was not there, as he had 
 insisted upon being left behind at Naples, though 
 utterly helpless there by himself ; because, in his 
 business days at Manchester, he had always 
 refused to be included in any junketing expedi- 
 tion. Squire Woodhead had driven his lovely 
 bride in a new phaeton, which he had sported 
 upon their marriage ; and Tom, emulous of the 
 charioteering fame of his friend, had undertaken 
 to act as toolsman to Mr. and Mrs. Simperton, 
 his mother, and youngest sister, in a hired cara- 
 tella, drawn by two rather unmanageable half- 
 broken Calabrian poneys. 
 
 Tom was a little out of humour at this preci- 
 pitate departure ; and his notions of decorum not 
 being very distinct, he would willingly have com- 
 promised all the female propriety of the family 
 (which had induced them to avoid Lady Ma- 
 tilda) for the chance of being noticed himself 
 by any of the gentlemen of her party ; a dis- 
 tinction he much desired, from what he consi- 
 dered such " tiptop first-rates." 
 
 " What an escape we have had," said Mrs. 
 
MATILDA. S31 
 
 Simperton. " What would they have said in 
 the archdeaconry, if they had known that Je- 
 mima had been just going to speak to her ?" I 
 don't think that Mrs. Philpotts would have 
 spoken to me if she had spoken to her — would 
 she, Mr. S. ?'' 
 
 " Fudge !'' muttered Tom, as, mounting the 
 box to follow his friend, who was already under 
 weigh, he vented the rest of his spleen in a cut 
 at one of the Calabrians ; who replied at once 
 with a grunt, a squeak, a caper, and a kick. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, take care, Tom,'' said 
 Mrs. Simperton; " you would not surely frighten 
 me in my situation." But Tom, whose iron 
 nerves left him very httle regard for the fanciful 
 apprehensions of any one, however interesting 
 the situation by which they were caused, perse- 
 vered, without heeding this pathetic appeal, in 
 an intemperate conflict with his refractory steeds ; 
 which soon gave the rest of the party cause to 
 share in Mrs. Simperton's (no longer affected) 
 alarm. 
 
 Matilda's spirits having been completely upset 
 by this unexpected meeting with the Hobsons^ 
 and the pleasure of the party consequently de- 
 stroyed, Ormsby became anxious to return, and 
 
332 MATILDA. 
 
 Harry Wordsworth and the Colonel having suc- 
 ceeded in getting the carriage ready nearly as 
 soon as the other party had effected their depar- 
 ture, they followed on the same route. After 
 they had proceeded a little distance from P^stum, 
 Harry Wordsworth remarked, that the tracks of 
 the carriage before them, instead of keeping 
 straight in the middle of the road, had gone waver- 
 ing and serpentining backwards and forwards like 
 a fanciful scroll on a paper border. Hardly had 
 he made the observation, when the postilions gave 
 a yell of delight at something that seemed to 
 amuse them just as they came to a place where 
 the road was narrow, and the ditch was wide, 
 — and, deposited in the latter, they descried the 
 whole Hobson family. Their postilions, who 
 enjoyed the joke uncommonly, pvissed them at 
 full gallop, when Matilda exclaimed, " Oh, stop ! 
 stop, for Heaven's sake ! they may be hurt — may. 
 be killed." 
 
 To persuade their drivers to stop was not the 
 work of a moment ; but when it was effected, 
 Matilda begged Colonel Canteen to return and 
 see if any of the other party were hurt, and if so, to 
 offer them the use of her carriage to convey them 
 to the nearest house. The Colonel gladly under- 
 
MATILDA. S3S 
 
 look the comiTiission, aiid upon arriving there 
 addressed Mr. Simperton, Avho, though much 
 discomposed, seemed to have been uppermost in 
 the scramble : " The lady I am with begged I 
 would express her 'regret at the accident, and 
 her hope, that should any be much injured by 
 it, they would accept the loan of her carriage 
 to convey them where they w^ould have assistance. 
 You will perfectly understand, that the deli- 
 cacy- of her situation prevents her appearing 
 herself, to oifer any personal assistance, which 
 she would otherwise liave been most happy to do." 
 *' What i'"^ said Mrs. Hobson, as she rose with 
 dignity from the ditch, — " What, indeed ! no, 
 tell her that / am not ashamed so shew my face — 
 / don t want to be white-washed — my hands are 
 clean:' The Colonel could hardly help smiling 
 at observing how far her present appearance 
 practically confirmed these assertions ; which will 
 be best imagined by recollecting that the ditch 
 was deep, and the rains had been recent and 
 abundant. The well-bred messenger w-as, how- 
 ever, disgusted at the rude manner in which his 
 well-meant embassy had been received ; and 
 finding that none of the party seemed seriously 
 the worse, he retired, and communicated to 
 
334 MATILDA. 
 
 Matilda only so much of the substance of the 
 answer, as a man of the world could reduce into 
 civil terms. And this was the last Matilda ever 
 saw of the Hobson Family. 
 
SS5 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 It was not many days after the expedition to 
 Paestum, that Matilda had one evening sought, 
 in the neighbourhood of the Camaldole Convent, 
 a spot where, un soothed by the consolations of 
 Ormsby, she might for a time abandon herself 
 uninterruptedly to her own bitter reflections ; — a 
 melancholy indulgence, in which she had latterly 
 often taken a strange pleasure. As she leant 
 over a low wall, from which is seen one of the 
 finest and most varied prospects in the world, 
 all nature's brilliant loveliness was wasted on 
 her, whose eyes, intently fixed on vacancy, con- 
 veyed no other impression but that all was dark 
 and dreary within. 
 
 She at length turned to depart, — when the 
 first outward object that succeeded in attracting 
 her attention was the figure of the monk of Saint 
 Peter's, who stood before her. — He seemed in no 
 haste to break that protracted silence which 
 followed this recognition. At last he began: 
 
^6 MATILDA. 
 
 " Something of this I had heard, and much I 
 feared. Hadst thou been thus when last I saw 
 thee, thou mightest have passed unheeded by. — 
 Happy even then thou didst not seem, or thou 
 hadst not looked so like thy suffering, saint-like 
 mother. But she never looked as thou lookest 
 now." 
 
 " Oh no, I trust in Heaven she never had the 
 cause !" Matilda said. 
 
 " She never had,"'"* the monk replied ; " for I 
 know too well from whence such desolation of 
 appearance, such utter wretchedness must come. 
 Those who have reaped the bitter harvest of 
 remorse, know too well the disfiguring furrows 
 that it leaves. But fallen as I see thou art, how 
 can I hope that the tale I have to tell, which 
 requires high-minded self-sacrifice to bear, will 
 not be rejected by thy unworthy ears .^" 
 - *' Nay," replied Matilda — " though I am little 
 prone to palliate my offences, yet do not think 
 that any worldly sacrifice would be difficult to 
 me. Did you but know my unhappy story" 
 ''Hold," interrupted the monk, "I ask not 
 thy confidence : my duty is to force my own on 
 thee. Why should I listen to the sad recital of 
 your guilt .^— I am too old to indulge idle curi~ 
 
MATILDA. 337 
 
 osity — too forlorn to offer comfort — too abject to 
 give advice. But to be brief, and to the point : 
 I coiise to teil thee that Delaval and its ample 
 domains are not thine by right." 
 
 *' Most welcome news!" cried Matilda, whose 
 thoughts immediately turned towards the eiFect 
 which this discovery might have in facihtating 
 tlie divorce. 
 
 '- I am glad to hear that exclamation," conti- 
 nued the monk ; " for then I need only hint the 
 outlines of my tale, and give at once the ample 
 proofs of its truth into the hands of one by whom 
 it appears that they will be thankfully received. 
 Of myself it is not necessary to say much, except 
 that mj name is Mortimer, — that I am descended 
 from one of the younger branches of an ancient 
 English Cathohc family, whose reduced means 
 obliged them to have me educated in a foreign 
 university ; from whence, merely from the absence 
 of any other mode of providing for me, I was de- 
 signed for the priesthood. It was impossible 
 that any destination more at variance with my 
 natural disposition could have been devised. 
 But my rehgion excluding me from any of the 
 active and honourable professions in my own 
 country, my patriotic feelings prevendng me from 
 a 
 
338 MATILDA. 
 
 serving against her, and my family pride making 
 me despise the drudgery of a counting-housey 
 there seemed no alternative ; and having taken 
 the necessary vows, I became, in due time, but 
 whilst still very young, an inmate in the house of 
 your grandfather, in the character of family priest 
 and confessor. It is no vanity now to say that I 
 soon grew to be a great favourite with all the 
 family ; but it is some shame to add, that in the 
 situation I then filled I found the dissipated cha- 
 racter of the last Lord Wakefield most congenial 
 to my own. I was his constant companion, and 
 in the course of a career of profligacy I con- 
 tracted large pecuniary obligations to him. Even 
 in his early days of apparently heedless dissipa- 
 tion I had reason to know that he cherished 
 deeper designs, and that ambition even then had 
 charms for him. The ill health of your amiable 
 and excellent father seemed to hold out prospects 
 of his being able to indulge these extended views ; 
 and whilst I was the chosen companion of that 
 father in his last toin- abroad, I blush to say that 
 I was a secret spy upon his actions, devoted to the 
 interests of the younger brother. 
 
 " When Lord AN'akefield, who mixed little in 
 the world, became enamoured of the beautiful 
 
MATILDA. 339 
 
 daughter of a noble Milanese, all my artifices 
 were exerted in vain to prevent that union; 
 which was stolen and secret, from the insuperable 
 objections entertained by her family against him 
 as an Englishman ; though in this instance those 
 objections were not strengthened by any differ- 
 ence of religion. This marriage seemed a death- 
 blow to the hopes of my patron ; who wrote, ac- 
 cusing me strongly of neglect of his interest, and 
 threatening me with that ruin which the extent of 
 my pecuniary obligations to him made it at any 
 time in his power to effect. But during the preg- 
 nancy of your mother. Lord Wakefield, v/hose 
 health had appeared perfectly re-established, 
 suddenly sickened of a fever. Almost from the 
 first, his life was despaired of; and then it was 
 that he made that disposition of his property 
 which left every thing that was in his own power 
 absolutely to his posthumous offspring, male and 
 female : much however, in case of the child 
 proving a girl, necessarily accompanied the title. 
 The guardianship was left to the mother if she 
 survived, and in case of her death, to the uncle. 
 " This uncle, upon hearing of his brother^s 
 death, hastened to the neighbourhood, where he 
 remained concealed, but in constant communica- 
 
340 MATItBA. 
 
 tion with me ; whilst the unhappy widow, an 
 exile from her own home, awaited the event of 
 her confinement. 
 
 <^ When in due time the unfortunate Rosalia 
 was delivered of twins, I was the wretched instru- 
 ment used by Lord Wakefield to conceal the fact 
 that the boy was born alive ; and I presented you 
 alone to your moth^'s longing arms. It was 
 not long that she enjoyed even this consolation ; 
 for not many months afterwards she sunk broken- 
 hearted into an untimely grave, and you were 
 committed to the exclusive care of your uncle. 
 
 «' From this moment Lord Wakefield's con- 
 duct towards me changed. He hated me, I be- 
 lieve, for the services I had rendered him ; and 
 when, after lingering abroad two or thi^e years, 
 he returned to England, he would not hear of my 
 accompanying him, but made me an allowance 
 conditional upon my remaining in Italy, and su- 
 perintending the concealment of the rightful hew, 
 who was consigned to the care of a peasant. 
 
 " Upon the breaking out of the war, this allow- 
 ance became irregular; and when at length it 
 completely stopped, nothing but the dread of the 
 infamy which would attend my share in the busi- 
 ness prevented my starting for England, in order 
 
MATILDA. 841 
 
 to upbraid Lord Wakefield and disclose the 
 whole. ^1'* bstiBv/jp, 3aK'd nwo i^d ,moi1 'i ^' 
 
 " But though this I dared not do, I could not 
 bear to see the noble child, who was born to a 
 far different fate, degraded by menial toil. And 
 that discovery which I had not the courage to 
 make complete, I communicated in part to his 
 maternal grandfather. Count Santelmo, — by whom 
 he was gladly acknowledged." ^t\^Jmifxlti(fi : tj 
 
 " By whom did you say .?" cried Matilda, with 
 breathless eagerness. 
 
 " By Count Santelmo," repeated the monk. 
 V*? Merciful powers ! he is then my brother V 
 she exclaimed ; " and there is one in the world 
 whom I can love without sin."" 
 
 " Thou knowest him, then ?'''' cried the monk. 
 " Tlien, let me conjure thee, hasten to do jus- 
 tice and make restitution, in order that those 
 empty repinings, and that barren repentance, 
 which for years have embittered my cloistered 
 privacy, may at length take the substantial form 
 of real atonement. Then may I hope to close 
 my eyes in peace ; and, by disinterestedly offering 
 to resign that which, backed by the proofs I 
 have to give, the law might in time force frgm 
 
S42 MATIL»ii, 
 
 thee, thy errors may be obliterated too, and tfiy 
 faults forgiven.'^ 
 
 " I trust," said Matilda, *' that under no 
 circumstances should I desire to retain by arti- 
 fice, that which was not mine by right. But in 
 this instance I will not pretend to take the merit 
 of a sacrifice. Situated as I am, it will be more 
 than a relief to be rid of the burthen of my inhe- 
 ritance ; and that which to a stranger I would 
 gladly resign, I shall even rejoice in transfer- 
 ing to one, whose happiness, if I am not mis- 
 taken, it will contribute to ensure." 
 
 " Something," replied the monk, " I had 
 imperfectly learnt of the difficulties of his latter 
 life ; and this had made me more than ever 
 anxious to unburthen myself of those painful 
 disclosures ; for whilst I heard that he continued 
 in the tranquil enjoyment of his maternal inheri- 
 tance, I was the less eager to cause the confusion 
 which must arise from reversing the present set- 
 tlement of the property. But I can never bear 
 to think of his wandering about an unacknov/- 
 ledged exile, when it is in my power to restore 
 to him country and fortune, of which I unjustly 
 deprived him. Here, therefore, without hesitation. 
 
MATH.DA. 343 
 
 I resign into your hands those proofs of the truth 
 of my tale, which you will find in this pacquet 
 of written communications, between me and 
 your uncle, whose hand-writing you will recog- 
 nise. — I give them to you, I repeat, in the most 
 perfect confidence, from the little I have seen 
 of you, that you will make that use of them 
 which justice requires ; as my monastic vows and 
 habits of seclusion would render it inconvenient 
 for me to take an active part in the business. — 
 Should any further information be required, I 
 shall be found here at the same hour to-morrow.^' 
 Saying this he slowly departed, and Matilda 
 hastened to communicate to Ormsby the strange 
 disclosures of this eventful morning. 
 
;^" 2M 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. *^'** 
 
 Upon heaiing from Matilda these strange and 
 unexpected discoveries, Ormsby became most 
 eager to lose no time in probing them to the 
 bottom, and obtaining, if possible, further proofs 
 from the monk, in confirmation of the story he 
 told. In pursuance of this object, he himseif 
 kept the appointment which Mortimer had made 
 for the morrow, on the same spot, and at the 
 same hour, and he then succeeded in obtaining 
 a skht of some other documents in the hand- 
 writing of the last Lord Wakefield, which, for 
 liis own satisfaction, the monk still retained in 
 his possession. He also learnt the name rjid 
 residence of the " Fattore," in the neighbour- 
 hood of Genoa, on whose farm the yo\mg 
 Santelmo had, in concealment, passed the first 
 years of his infancy, till restored to his grand- 
 father's family ; also the direction of the priest 
 who solemnized the private marriage betAveen his 
 parents, and who was now the piincipal of a 
 
MAXILDA. 345 
 
 ynonastery on the Piedmontese side of the Alps. 
 There were also the names of several distin- 
 guished families whom Mortimer had formerly 
 known, as resident upon the borders of Pied- 
 mont and the Milanese, in which neighbourhood 
 the Santelmo property was situated, and who, 
 if still living, must recollect many circumstances 
 connected with the supposed marriage and sub- 
 sequent death of the unfortunate Countess Rosa- 
 lia. All these, and more than these confirma- 
 tions, Ormsby's experience told him would be 
 necessary, in order to convert the moral convic- 
 tion he himself felt of the truth of the story told 
 by [Mortimer, into that legal proof which could 
 alone be serviceable to Santelmo. 
 
 Our hero's abstract love of justice would have 
 induced him to think lightly of any trouble or 
 difficulties which might attend his endeavours 
 to restore to an injured individual his birthright, 
 when chance seemed to have confided to him 
 the means requisite for attaining that object. 
 But other motives were certainly not without 
 their share, in causing him to make that sacrifice 
 of his feelings and his inclinations, which he was 
 afterwards induced to do, by his eagerness to 
 
 ' a 'JtJJi.: . . ^ O - , ; 
 
346 M'ATILDA, 
 
 effect the reinstalmeRt of Santelmo in the property 
 of his fathers. 
 
 However Sir James Dornton might delay his 
 proceedings for the divorce, from a sordid desire 
 to make his profit from some speculations he had 
 undertaken on the Delaval property, before he 
 should be obliged to relinquish it, yet there 
 seemed no doubt, from the publicity of the 
 elopement, that the divorce would follow sooner 
 or later. But that it should be sooner, and not 
 later, was of the utmost importance to Ormsby ; 
 who could not bear the idea that it might be 
 delayed till after the birth of that child whom 
 Matilda must now, before many months elapsed, 
 bring into the world. He looked forward w^ith 
 horror to the idea of perpetuating reproachful 
 distinctions even in the bosom of his family, and 
 seeing his first, perhaps his favourite child, ille- 
 gitimatized, and supplanted by ail those who 
 might come after him — his younger brothers by 
 blood, but superiors in rank 
 
 Distracted with this idea, which his kind nature 
 and his family pride united to render painful, he 
 knew^ that the establishment of another rightful 
 claimant to the Delaval property would mainly 
 
MATILDA. 347 
 
 contribute to accelerate his object ; and that for 
 the timely acknowledgment of that claimant's 
 right, it was necessary his own personal exer- 
 tions should be used without delay, in accumu- 
 lating the proofs of which he had received the 
 clue. 
 
 Feeling all this, yet could he not resolve to 
 make the effort to leave Matilda in her present 
 situation. To prevail upon him to do so, all her 
 influence was used, and in a manner which her 
 disinterested nature led her to believe would be 
 most effective. 
 
 " Till now I could never have believed that 
 any combination of circumstances could have 
 reconciled me to your absence, much less induced 
 me to urge it. But it is time to reject all selfish 
 considerations. There are those to whom we 
 have done much wrong, to whom we may now 
 jnake a tardy reparation. 
 
 " Let hone imagine, that, by the criminal indul- 
 gence of their passions, they injure themselves 
 alone. Your excellent mother, and the innocent 
 Emily, — to them we have brought shame and 
 sorrow, instead of the comfort their kindness 
 merited ; but we still have it in our power to 
 ensure their happiness. I have often regretted 
 
S48 MATILDA. 
 
 to you the attachment between Emily and San- 
 telmo, which his condition rendered hopeless. 
 Let us then not lose a moment in removing 
 the only objection that could exist to the 
 union of two beings every way farmed for each 
 other/"" 
 
 " You cannot be more anxious than I am for 
 such an event," returned Ormsby ; " but here, 
 at least, there is no cause for such breathless 
 haste, as to force me from you even now. Sure of 
 each other, wliat can prevent the timely accom- 
 plishment of their wishes ?" 
 
 '* Oh, Ormsby," answered Matilda, " we, at 
 least, cannot blind ourselves to the dangers cf 
 delay. Had worldly objections never interposed 
 to part us, how different had been our j:iresent 
 situation ! And if Emily will not be exposed to 
 those fatal artifices which were used to separate 
 us, yet think how much more hopeless than your's 
 could ever be, is Santelmo's condition ; — a 
 banished wanderer upon the face of the earth, 
 with no ties of country or of family— his ardent 
 Tiatiire burning with a sense of wrong, which it is 
 too probable will, ere long, hurry him headlong 
 into some desperate design. Should we, then, 
 lose one moment in caving liim from impending 
 
MATILDA. S49 
 
 ruin, and restoring him to that happy position in 
 society which is his by right — where his love of 
 liberty may find an ample, though peaceful field 
 for the exertion of its energies, and his kindlier 
 affections meet their just reward ?''"' 
 
 Mov^d by arguments such as these, seconded 
 as they were by his own anxiety to omit no ]X)s- 
 sible means of accelerating the divorce, Ormsby 
 admitted that he ought, at all hazards, to exert 
 liimself to procure the necessary proofs, in confir- 
 mation of the birth of iVIatilda's brother. And 
 as it was evident to both, that she was not at 
 present in a state to accompany him in a long 
 and harrassing journey, their temporai-y separa- 
 tion was inevitable. She had, however, a par- 
 ticular dislike to being left alone at Naples, — the 
 ceaseless bustle and exuberant gaiety of which, 
 was most distasteful to her in her present state of 
 mind. Nice occurred to them both as a tranquil 
 retreat, in which she might await his return ; and 
 an opportunity of a conveyance thither, by sea, 
 occurring at that time, they gladly availed them- 
 selves of it ; and Matilda left matchless Naples, 
 not only without regret, but with a sense of dis- 
 gust at the recollection of many of the miseries 
 
350 MATILDA. 
 
 to which so uncongeniai a residence had exposed 
 her. 
 
 Striking was the contrast which the place of 
 their destination furnished upon their first arrival. 
 Instead of an ever-varying chaos of sounds, the 
 eiFervescence of the reckless mirth of the most 
 mercurial population in the world, all around them 
 seemed now hushed into a preternatural stillness. 
 The very climate was soft rather than brilliant, — 
 as if partaking of the subdued tone most con- 
 genial to its sad office, of soothing the suiFerings 
 of invahds, and delaying where it cannot even- 
 tually prevent the progress of lingering— often 
 hopeless disease. 
 
 In a small and secluded villa, within a short 
 distance from the town, Matilda was established, 
 previously to Ormsby's departure; which, knowing 
 to be inevitable, they neither of them wished 
 should be delayed. Ormsby had already written 
 to his man of business, in England, enclosing 
 copies of the late Lord Wakefield's letters, and 
 explaining the extraordinary disclosures to which 
 they referred ; also mentioning the other confir- 
 matory testimony which he was about to obtain. 
 He was not without hopes, that these circum- 
 
MATItDA. Ml 
 
 .stances, when hinted in a circuitous manner to 
 .Sir James'*s advisers, might make them anxious 
 for the sake of his character, that the proceedings 
 .for the divorce sliould have the precedence of 
 these other discoveries, and should not appear 
 contingent upon the loss of Lady Matilda's 
 fortune. 
 
 It was settled that Ormsby should, in the first 
 instance, embark in a felucca for Genoa, and from 
 thence should proceed to the Santelmo pro- 
 perty? and endeavour to collect the best evidence 
 of the marriage of the mother, and birth of 
 twins, which the clue, furnished him by Mor- 
 timer, might enable him to procure. He 
 intended also, if possible, to see Santelmo him- 
 self, before his return to Nice. 
 
 If it would have been difficult to decide whose 
 anguish was most acute at the moment of sepa- 
 ration, there was little room for doubt with 
 whom the exclusive influence of that feeling; 
 would be most lasting. In all separations, doubly 
 hard is the lot of that one who is left behind ; 
 as change of scene does not more irresistibly tend 
 on the one hand to weaken and obliterate at each 
 repetition one constantly recurring regret, than, 
 on the other hand, the identity and continuance 
 
35^ MATILDA. 
 
 of all inanimate objects -around serve to sustain 
 and cherish the recollection of that which is gone, 
 and from which alone they derived their charm. 
 
 But besides this, there were particular cir- 
 cumstances in Matilda's situation which ren- 
 dered constantly increasing the uneasy restless- 
 ness caused by Ormsby's absence. In vain she 
 attempted to distract her attention by the 
 enjoyment of the beauties of nature, to which 
 her mind had been always }3eculiarly alive, and 
 which here abounded in every variety, even 
 within the limits of her solitary rambles. Still 
 tlie idea of Ormsby''s absence absorbed her whole 
 soul.-—" He has then left me, and I am alone,**"* 
 triumphed over every attempt to stifle it with 
 other thoughts : — " Far, far different is my situa- 
 tion from that of a virtuous wife, who, however 
 with affectionate fondness she may regret the 
 temporary absence of her husband, yet consoling 
 herself witli the consciousness of the performance 
 of her own domestic duties, looks forward with 
 certainty to his stated return. But what right 
 have I to indulge any such prospective security ? 
 True, he left me with the protracted embrace of 
 ardent affection, but 'with what confidence can I 
 anticipate the undiminished v/armth of his feel- 
 
MATILDA. S5S 
 
 iiigs on his return ? That he should desert me, 
 I do not fear; his goodness of heart and liis 
 honour will aUke prevent that ; yet, have I not 
 cause to dread that absence? May not reflection 
 conspire to remove the delusions of passion, and 
 ms.y he not then see me such as 1 am, — a poor 
 fallen guilty creature ? In vain would his kind- 
 ness attempt to conceal suoh a consequence of our 
 ill-starred separation ; quick as lightning could I 
 detect the least diminution in his love, the con- 
 sciousness of which would kill me ; and if my 
 fears are well founded, all I hope is, that I may 
 be spared the last pang of knowing that they 
 
 .-^i-w mil ^n' 
 
 oiatiife«' 
 
a54 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 There is something peculiarly melancholy in 
 the reflections excited by an Enghsh burial 
 ground in a foreign land. The sight of so many 
 whose career has been abruptly closed, even in 
 the midst of a transitory tour of pleasure, fur- 
 jiishes the aptest illustration of the uncertainty of 
 pur worldly pilgrimage ; and the long list of those 
 who, buoyed up by youth and hope, had vainly 
 sought here a secure asylum from the attacks of 
 a treacherous disease, shows the nullity of all 
 human efforts to avoid the decrees of a Superior 
 Power. Reason rejects the idea, that when the 
 nobler part of man is relieved from " this flesh 
 which walls about our life," the freed spirit should 
 condescend to waste a thought on what part of 
 the world dust to dust returns ; yet is it a weak- 
 ness inseparable from our frail natures in their 
 present imperfect state, that some of the noblest 
 and best have been known to feel, even in their 
 last moments, the keenest anxiety as to the fate 
 
MATILDA. S55 
 
 of their remains; and the desire that we may 
 repose with our fathers is so universal, that we 
 cannot contemplate our countrymen's foreign 
 cemetery without something of the compassion 
 excited by a sentence of eternal exile. 
 
 Matilda's state of mind inducing her rather to 
 court than avoid sorrowful impression, she had 
 often wandered in the English burial ground; 
 and feeling as lost to society as any of those 
 who reposed around, had occupied herself in 
 deciphering the sculptured expressions of the 
 world's esteem, which she had already forfeited, 
 and the praises for the performance of those 
 duties which she had abandoned. 
 
 In one of these sad rambles, she somewhat 
 abruptly met an English lady in deep moumingj 
 who, as she passed, made a sort of doubtful 
 attempt at recognition. At the moment, though 
 iMatilda had some recollection of her face, she 
 could not recall her name. The lady was 
 not young, nor regularly handsome, but with 
 a pleasing, though sorrowful expression of 
 countenance, and a complexion of . unnatural 
 fairness. After she had passed, Matilda sud- 
 denly recovered the remembrance of who she 
 was, and where she had seen her. " It is the 
 
$56 MATILDA. 
 
 Mrs. Sydney, whom I met the year before my 
 marriage, and with whom I was then particularly 
 pleased. In spite of her melancholy manners, 
 which, my uncle said, were intolerable in society, 
 she was always reckoned such a pattern of every 
 virtue, that even then, I felt awed in her com- 
 pany ; and must I now be exposed daily to her 
 reproving gaze ? I had but one comfort left-— 
 that here, at least, I was perfecdy unknown, 
 and unmolested in my solitude." 
 
 These, and other reflections of the same de- 
 scription, had, in the course of her next day's 
 ramble, more than usually oppressed her ; and 
 her harrassed spirit was relieving itself in tears, 
 when her arm was gently touched, and turning 
 round, she perceived Mrs. Sydney, who in a 
 soothing tone addressed her, 
 
 " We are here, Lady Matilda, the only living 
 creatures who are known to each other. It 
 were hard if we did not endeavour to mitigate 
 our griefs by sharing them." 
 
 Matilda was at first so overcome with the 
 unexpected and unwonted kindness of this 
 salutation, that she could not at once enter into 
 that explanation, which she considered due to 
 cne, whose notice of her she thought could only 
 
KATItDA. 0X* 
 
 arise from an ignorance of her present situation. 
 At last she faltered out :— -.vi mm .o^^tin'it'iy 
 
 "I was, even when last we met, unw^orthy 
 the notice of one so good as you ; but how in- 
 finitely more so I have since become, if you have 
 not heard, your goodness cannot conceive." 
 
 '' Whatever I may have heard — what I see 
 is — tliat you are unhappy ; — which is all that I 
 will recollect: — for there can be no stronger 
 bond of union than misery, to one who has led 
 tiie life that I have done." 
 
 ' " Nay ; but still," said Matilda, " you can- 
 not know all. Let me entreat you to guess the 
 worst, and spare me the pain of explaining my 
 present condition; for it is impossible that one 
 whose notions (forgive me whilst I say it) were 
 considered only too strict and rigid for the 
 present forms of society, should knowingly stoop 
 to associate with an outcast hke me. Even 
 your spotless reputation might suffer from my 
 contaminating touch." 
 
 " I have no such fear," returned Mrs. Sydney; 
 *' to successful vice — fashion never made me 
 bov/ my head ; nor shall the world and its in- 
 consistent censure now induce me to avoid one 
 to whom I may be of service ; — a sinner, perhaps. 
 
S58 MATILDA. 
 
 but I am sure not a hardened one," she added, 
 pressing Matilda's hand, and looking kindly in 
 her face, as she led her through a little gate into 
 the garden which surrounded her villa. 
 
 " Am I then, at last, to find a friend, and 
 such a friend .?" said Matilda, much affected, as 
 she returned the pressure of Mrs. Sydney's 
 offered arm. 
 
 " Think not," continued Mrs. Sydney, " in 
 the contempt I expressed for the justice of the 
 opinion of the world, that, however, in the per- 
 formance of a duty, I might consent to endure 
 it, I should ever have the idle Quixotism 
 w^antonly to brave it. But I feel that I have 
 stood its test in the most trying situation to 
 which a woman can be exposed ; and I believe, 
 many-tongued scandal never accused me even 
 of levity.'' 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Matilda, " I have always 
 heard your correctness of conduct cited as 
 unquestioned ; and that too, by those with whom 
 such praise was not entirely unmixed with an 
 attempt at ridicule." 
 
 « Well, then," said Mrs. Sydney, " it is 
 not now that I am to be deterred, by any over- 
 anxiety about my own reputation, from en- 
 
MATILDA. 359 
 
 deavouring to soothe and serve one in whom I 
 am sure the sense of right is not destroyed: 
 it is not now that I can hesitate in making the 
 attempt to awaken a timely repentance ; when, 
 having lost all that rendered life valuable, I 
 have a consciousness, unmingled with regret, 
 that I myself do but linger a moment longer on 
 the verge of the grave." 
 
 Matilda started at these mournful words. " 'Tis 
 very true," quietly replied Mrs. Sydney ; " I 
 feel it here," she added, touching her breast; 
 " and you may trace it here," pointing to her 
 cheek, in the brilliant hue of which, the hectic 
 flush could not upon inspection be mistaken for 
 the bloom of health. 
 
 Matilda sighed ; for she could not deny the 
 indications of her new friend's danger. 
 
 " 'Tis no less true, that I have no cause to 
 regi-et it. The only connexion which death has 
 not already dissolved, is that which unkindness 
 has interrupted and broken." 
 
 " Were you then unhappy in your married 
 life ?'' interrupted Matilda ; " was your's a con- 
 strained union with one utterly un suited to 
 you.?" 
 
S60 MATILDA. 
 
 ''• On the contrary," said her friend, " as much 
 misery may sometimes be produced by yielding 
 to the illusions of passion, as by attending ex- 
 clusively to worldly views. — Mine >vas a love 
 match. Mr. Sydney had all that could captivate 
 a young and inexperienced girl ; but as a husband 
 —he never was a kind one. — His temper was not 
 proof against the constantly increasing difficulties 
 of a straitened income, and his vanity could not 
 withstand the artifices of one of the most de- 
 signing of our sex. He left me for a wealthier 
 and handsomer woman. Since then, cruel losses 
 in my own family have made me an heiress ; and 
 I liave placed at his disposal the principal part 
 of that fortune I have acquired ; but, I have 
 ceased even to wish for his society. Fondly 
 attached to my family, I for some time enjoyed 
 the calm consolation of their reciprocal affection ; 
 but one by one, all that rendered life valuable, 
 have been removed ; and I have been left alone 
 in the world. — Oh, Lady Matilda, of the mani- 
 fold afflictions to which human nature is exposed, 
 there are few greater than being bcrn to see all 
 those nearest and dearest to you fall successive 
 victims to that cruel disease which, lurking in 
 
MATILDA. 361 
 
 our frames, frequently under the outward show 
 of health and beauty, delights most to prey on 
 those whose youth and yet unblighted hopes made 
 existence precious. I was born of a consumptive 
 family ; from our excellent mother we inherited 
 this fatal bane. We early lost her, — soon after 
 my father (who was in the army,) was killed in 
 the beginning of the French war. To my 
 brother we v/ere all accustomed to look with 
 mingled love and admiration, as our natural pro- 
 tector. — He ^as a fine, ardent, high-spirited 
 creature, with that sanguine temperament which 
 is not an unusual concomitant of this disease. 
 In the midst of the confident indulgence of pro- 
 spective plans for us and for himself, he fell its 
 first almost unconscious victim. Why should I 
 pursue this subject farther ? My last and favorite 
 sister, the one nearest my o"vvn age, but two 
 months since was standing where you do now, 
 eagerly anticipating our return to England. — 
 When I m.et }^ou yesterday, I had been weeping 
 over her grave.*" 
 
 Mrs. Sydney paused to recover herself, and 
 having made a strong effort to do so, continued : 
 " You will perhaps think that selfishness was the 
 actuating motive which induced me to obtrude 
 
862 MATILDA. 
 
 myself upon you ; for in my lonely and djring 
 state, what are the world and its prejudices to 
 me, in comparison with the acquisition of a 
 friend ? but if I hope to receive comfort, so do 
 I also trust that it may be in my power likewise 
 to impart some. — Forgive me, dear Lady Ma- 
 tilda, when I say, that gladly welcoming as I do 
 in you the evident symptoms of regret for past 
 errors, I trust I may be enabled to lead your 
 thoughts to that source which has been my true, 
 constant, and only consolation in all my miseries ; 
 and from whence comfort ma}^ be poured upon 
 your sorrows, and blessings upon your repent- 
 ance."" 
 
 From this day Matilda and Mrs. Sydney be- 
 came inseparable companions. Our heroine, so 
 far from being distressed by the association with 
 one who seemed to have so much reason for 
 melancholy, gradually succeeded in attaining that 
 calm composure which was the characteristic of 
 her friend. — Her mind again became ahve to the 
 beauties of nature, and she was induced again to 
 avail herself of her pencil and sketch-book, in 
 those pauses in their rambles which her own 
 situation and the weakness of her friend rendered 
 alike necessary to both. 
 
MATILDA. 363 
 
 In the mean time her mind was reheved by 
 hearing constantly from Ormsby of the successful 
 progress of his inquiries relative to Santelmo ; 
 and also by learning that the proceedings for the 
 divorce had been commenced, and were going on 
 without any fear of further delay. 
 
364 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Ormsby's absence had been unexpectedly pro- 
 tracted, by the difficulty he had found in accumu- 
 lating from so many different quarters, and in a 
 foreign land, the conclusive proofs of Santelmo's 
 birth, and in tracing his identity through the dif- 
 ferent situations of his early hfe. But at length 
 Matilda received from him the glad tidings that his 
 disinterested labours had been brought to a suc- 
 cessful termination, and that the evidence he had 
 obtained was such as could not be resisted in any 
 court of justice. He added, that, as the speediest 
 mode of returning to her, he should embark in a 
 felucca at Genoa, and again should have the 
 inexpressible dehght of beholding her on the day 
 immediately succeeding that in which she re- 
 ceived the letter. In conclusion, he congratulated 
 himself on the intelligence he had received from 
 England, that Sir James Dornton's divorce bill 
 had already passed one branch of the Legislature, 
 and that, therefore, almost immediately upon his 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 365 
 
 return he should have it in his power to make her 
 irrevocably his. 
 
 "I am aware," said her friend, Mrs. Sydney, 
 upon this intelligence being communicated to her, 
 "I am aware that, in the minds of many excel- 
 lent persons, very considerable doubts are en- 
 tertained as to the propriety of these marriages ; 
 but, in my humble opinion, it is contrary to the 
 benevolent principles of our religion to place any 
 one in a state of irreclaimable sin. Many I know 
 of those who have been thus redeemed, have 
 afterwards been irreproachable as wives and mo- 
 thers ; and, in your particular case, I trust that 
 the salutary interval of solitary repentance may 
 have so chastened your mind, as that you will be 
 properly prepared solemnly to undertake these 
 new duties." Matilda bowed her head in humble 
 acquiescence. 
 
 The morning of the day on which Ormsby 
 was expected was serene and brilliant ; it was one 
 of those extraordinary efforts of nature, which, in 
 that delicious climate, defying the calculations of 
 the calendar, charm one with a feeling of sum- 
 mer security even in the midst of winter. Ma- 
 tilda had persuaded her friend to accompany her 
 to the farther extremity of the terrace which 
 
S66 MATILDA. 
 
 faces the sea ; and on the smooth and sunny 
 horizon her eye had long been fixed, endeavouring 
 to catch the first ghmpse of the expected vessel. 
 But there was not, on all this wide expanse of 
 waters, even one white wave to be seen which for 
 a moment she could mistake for a shining sail. 
 Still it was early, and the kind efforts of Mrs. 
 Sydney to calm her impatience were for some 
 time not entirely without success. Yet hour 
 passed after hour, and still he came not. At 
 length the sun, which had played on the rippled 
 surface before them, had now retired in its daily 
 course to glitter on the still snowy summit of the 
 Alps behind them ; and the short hectic cough 
 of Mrs. Sydney, which this cliilly change aggra- 
 vated, reminded Matilda of the danger of indul- 
 ging in the selfish pleasure of longer detaining her 
 there. She insisted, therefore, on her imme- 
 diately leaving her, and returning home. 
 
 When deprived of her companion, Matilda's 
 impatience, of course, increased. " With so fair 
 a wind," she thought, " he might have been here 
 before now." As she uttered these words, she 
 started at a sudden gust which, rustling in the 
 fallen leaves, carried them before her in a sort 
 of whirlwind, to a considerable distance. In her 
 
MATILDA. 
 
 367 
 
 present state of nervous excitement, even so 
 triflins: an incident for a moment checked that 
 bounding sense of happiness which she had pre- 
 viously in vain endeavoured to repress, though 
 her reproving conscience told her, that the plea- 
 sure she anticipated was a forbidden and guilty 
 one. But this transitory uneasiness again sub- 
 sided with the momentary agitation of the passing 
 breeze which caused it; and yet a little while 
 she indulged the unbroken hope of the expected 
 meeting. 
 
 Left alone to revel uninterruptedly in the en- 
 joyment of her excited feelings, she now eagerly 
 sought a remote promontory, from which she 
 thought she might command a more distant 
 prospect of the course he must come. But when 
 at length she did reach that point, wide and wild 
 enough was the scene that met her view, yet far dif- 
 ferent from that which she had fondly anticipated. 
 
 Those alone who have actually experienced the 
 awful manner in which, without the least warn- 
 ing of impending danger, tremendous squalls sud- 
 denly burst upon the Mediterranean, can form 
 any adequate idea of the almost miraculous change 
 which now took place in the appearance of all 
 
368 MATILDA. 
 
 things around, and of the accumulating horrori!^ 
 which abruptly presented themselves to the anxi- 
 ous eyes of our heroine. Heavy rolling clouds 
 were collecting on all sides — their darkness and 
 gloom aggravated by the struggling rays of the 
 setting sun, which were making a last effort to 
 pierce through their increasing density. 
 
 As she reached the rock she had so anxiously 
 sought, the extensive waste of waters were still 
 discernible, yet not, as an hour since, just rippling 
 their otherwise unbroken surface, but " curling 
 their monstrous heads'" to meet the lowering 
 vapours from above. For a moment she stood 
 rooted to the spot, unmoved even by the violence 
 of the gale, which blew with peculiar force around 
 the point. A cold chill ran through her veins. 
 Even as suddenly as the outward appearance of 
 all around had been sadly changed, the fond 
 hopes she had so lately cherished yielded to an 
 overwhelming sense of impending evil. The low 
 hollow murmur of distant thunder lingered like 
 the knoll of death upon her ear. She pressed 
 her hands upon her breast, and rushed wildly 
 down upon the beach. Utterly unconscious was 
 she how long, with feelings of mental agony far 
 
MATILDA. 369 
 
 superior to any sense of personal suffering, she 
 wandered in the neighbourhood of that dreary 
 point. 
 
 It was only in the aggravation of her fears for 
 him in whom self was utterly absorbed, that she 
 felt the pelting rain which drenched her light gar- 
 ments; it was only as it impeded her clearer 
 view of the boundless ocean, that she regarded 
 the heavy spray which dashed unceasingly against 
 her delicate frame. But it was no fleeting form 
 assumed by the ever-varying spray, — it was no 
 fancied creation of her troubled spirit, when, 
 almost within reach of the shore, rising upon the 
 darkness before her, a light sail met her eye. One 
 moment she caught it, as waving wildly in the 
 wind, it flapped heavily over the heads of those 
 from whose controul it had broken. It was but 
 a moment, and the last appalUng scream of 
 human misery struck upon her ear, as it swept 
 sadly by— mingled A\ith the howhng of the tem- 
 pest. 
 
 Those whose career had been thus abruptly 
 closed, were not more unconscious of all that fol- 
 lowed the harrowing sound of their expiring 
 agonies, than was the poor sufferer who had been 
 fated to witness them ; for almost lifeless, drenched 
 r5 
 
370 MATILDA, 
 
 with the rain, and her arms outstretched towards 
 the sea, extended upon the beach, the unfortu- 
 nate lady was found by her anxious friend, — who 
 had till now in vain sought her from the begin- 
 ning of the storm, which she knew was so calcu- 
 lated to excite her well-grounded fears for the 
 safety of one on whom her whole happiness 
 depended. 
 
 It was with the greatest difficulty that when 
 assistance had been procured, Matilda could be 
 prevailed upon to quit the spot on which she 
 had been found. Her senses had suffered from 
 the shock she had experienced ; and they were 
 only partially restored, to endure the pangs of a 
 premature labour. Long and doubtful was the 
 struggle ; and it was late in the following day, 
 when the almost unconscious mother strained to 
 her broken heart a female child, whose untimely 
 birth and delicate appearance did not promise a 
 longer continuance of life, than could be hoped 
 for its evidently dying mother. 
 
371 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 On the morning on which, as Ormsby had 
 announced to Matilda, he intended to embark at 
 Genoa, he received a letter from his mother; 
 with whom, during his inquiries concerning Sant- 
 elmo, he had been in constant communication. 
 She wrote to inform him that she had arrived 
 with her daughter and Santelmo at Turin, — that 
 she felt unequal to a longer journey at present, 
 but that she was very anxious to see him. This 
 had determined him to alter his plans, and to 
 proceed at first to Turin, and thence by the Col 
 de Tende to Nice ; determining that no unneces- 
 sary delay should interpose to prevent his imme- 
 diate return to Matilda, and hoping that by 
 using extraordinary dispatch in travelling, and 
 only allowing one day for the arrangement of 
 every thing with his family at Turin, he mi^ht, 
 from the greater certainty of land conveyance, 
 still arrive at Nice as soon as he could have done 
 in the manner he had intended. 
 
37^ MATILDA. 
 
 Though in this he had been disappointed, and 
 had been obliged to submit to a day's delay, yet 
 his kindness of heart had in part reconciled him 
 to it, by the happiness it had enabled him to 
 confer on others. 
 
 He had succeeded in arranging every thing for 
 the immediate marriage of Santelmo and Emily ; 
 and it had been settled that when that event 
 should have removed the only obstacle to it. 
 Lady Ormsby should follow him, to be present 
 at the time of Lady Matilda's confinement. At 
 Turin he had also received the account of the 
 divorce bill having finally passed the Legislature ; 
 so that the pleasure he anticipated from again 
 beholding Matilda was enhanced by all the agree- 
 able intelligence with which he should have it in 
 his power to cheer her. 
 
 After he had descended the last hill into the 
 valley of the Var, he could not help looking out 
 in expectation that she might have come thus far 
 to meet him, — forgetting that he had led her to 
 expect his arrival from quite a different quarter. 
 
 Before the carriage had reached the villa, his 
 eager eye had sought her well-remembered win- 
 dows. — " Good God ! they are closed ! What 
 can it mean ? " he cried, as, rushing to the door, 
 
MATILDA. 373 
 
 he there was met by Mrs. Sydney, with whom 
 he was previously unacquainted, but whose face 
 of anxiety seemed to confirm his worst fears. 
 His heart sickened with vague apprehensions; 
 and faltering out the name of Matilda, he at- 
 tempted to pass at once to her room. Mrs. 
 Sydney gently detained him ; — saying, " Thank 
 God, you are come ; but welcome as it is, it must 
 be broken gently, and by degrees to her ; every 
 thing depends upon your not appearing too sud- 
 denly." 
 
 " For heaven's sake," cried Ormsby, " torture 
 me no longer. What has happened to my Ma- 
 tilda ?" And overpowered by the sudden revul- 
 sion of feeling, he sank into a chair, and covering 
 his face with his hands, sobbed like an infant. 
 
 " Let me entreat you to calm yourself," said 
 Mrs. Sidney. *' Lady Matilda is better now — 
 rather better. If you are already so overcome, 
 how will you ever bear to see her ?^'* 
 
 " See her !" exclaimed Ormsby, starting up, 
 " this moment will I see her ! Fool that I was, 
 to linger here and lose another instant of her loved 
 presence ! Nay, in pity tell me then the worst 
 at once. What has happened?" added he, as 
 Mrs. Sydney again laid her hand upon his arm 
 
374 MATILDA. 
 
 to draw him back. Many were the interrup- 
 tions Mrs: Sydney experienced, and agonizing 
 were the sufferings of Lord Ormsby, as the sad 
 tale of the night before was gradually disclosed 
 to him. Yet even in these moments of intense 
 suffering, his generous mind was susceptible of a 
 grateful feeling for the genuine kindness displayed 
 by Mrs. Sydney. How does sorrow at once 
 excite affection for those who share it with us ! 
 
 " Generous, excellent friend that you have 
 been," said Ormsby. '' Leave me— return to my 
 Matilda — tell her that her poor Ormsby lives, 
 and is restored to her. — Oh that, indeed, the 
 bottomless ocean had engulphed me — ^'twould 
 
 have been merciful if but it cannot be — she 
 
 is young and healthy — she will recover — say that 
 you think she will." 
 
 Mrs. Sydney pressed his hand mournfully, 
 and anxious to give a new direction to a mind 
 that seemed almost maddened with the bewil- 
 dering emotions of the morning, she pointed to 
 the bed at the further end of the room, where 
 the little infant lay sleeping. 
 
 " My poor child," he cried, " what a wel- 
 come have I given thee on thy first arrival in this 
 world of sorrows ! Heaven preserve thee from 
 
MAtiLIJA. 3^75 
 
 that misery, which, much I fear, must be thy too 
 sure inheritance !" 
 
 When Mrs. Sydney entered Lady Matilda's 
 room, she found her supported by pillows in her 
 bed — the windows opened wide — ^her beautiful 
 hands clasped as in prayer — and the big tears 
 chasing each other down her colourless cheek. 
 
 " Dearest friend," she said, " I have been 
 very — very faint — but soon I shall meet my love 
 again. I feel it here," pressing her breast, — 
 " and most grateful to my heart is the sensa- 
 tion of death. Nay, look not so — for I shall see 
 him — God is merciful — a broken and a contrite 
 spirit will he not reject." 
 
 " Dearest Lady Matilda," interrupted her 
 friend, " do not give way to these agitating anti- 
 cipations of death. I know there is no cause 
 for alarm. But Lord Ormsby you will see, and 
 that soon." 
 
 " He's here — he's alive — he is not lost — I read 
 it in your eyes. — Ormsby, my love — Oh my God, 
 let me live to see him again !" cried Matilda, 
 as, exhausted by the effort, she sunk fainting on 
 the pillow. 
 
 It was in Ormsby's arms that she was restored 
 to consciousness ; it was from his trembling 
 
876 MATILDA. 
 
 hands that she received the restoratives her 
 weakened frame required ; and even the stern, 
 relentless hand of death was for a moment stayed 
 by the renewed energies that strongest of human 
 passions inspired; and for a time nothing was 
 felt save the all-engrossing happiness of their 
 re-union. 
 
 " My child — our child — -Ormsby, have you 
 seen it ?" said Matilda, as Mrs. Sydney placed 
 the infant by its mother's side. 
 
 " Dearest child !" said Ormsby, kissing it, — 
 " Oh my Matilda, what a treasure it will be to 
 us ! how will our happiness grow with its 
 growth." 
 
 " Our happiness ! — Oh Ormsby — give me air 
 — I am very faint — ^but do not leave me." 
 
 " Leave you ! — Oh that I had never left you 
 for one moment ! — ^liow could any thing persuade 
 me to tear myself one instant away from my only 
 treasure ?" 
 
 " Say not so — Do not now repine, my love — 
 I trust that good has come out of this evil — 
 Ormsby, I feel that I am more fit to die, — nay, start 
 not. — Had I basked ever in the sunshine of thy 
 presence, many sad and salutary reflections had 
 been withered and lost. Then think of the dear 
 
% 
 
 MATILDA. STt 
 
 Emily — her well-merited happiness is cheaply 
 purchased even by death." 
 
 " Is there no advice?" said Ormsby; "pray 
 compose yourself — you wear your gentle frame — 
 these emotions are too much for you." Ormsby 
 said true. — She was now utterly exhausted ; but 
 it was not with the pleasurable emotions she had 
 experienced only too late. If any thing could 
 have prolonged her fleeting existence^, it would 
 have been the happiness she now enjoyed. But 
 her spirit was fluttering on the verge of eternity, 
 and a few hours must see it wing its inevitable 
 flight. 
 
 " And is there then no perfect love in this 
 world ?"" sighed Mrs. Sydney; "must these dear 
 ones part, just when they might in innocence 
 have together lived to repent their past trans- 
 gressions ? But thy will be done ! — Oh that 
 instead — a being so sad and lonely as myself had 
 been fated to leave them behind me !" 
 
 There were moments during the remainder of 
 the evening when Matilda''s eye shone so bril- 
 liantly, and her voice sounded so sweetly, that 
 Ormsby and Mrs. Sydney almost indulged a hope 
 that she might be spared to them ; but the 
 medical man conceived it his duty at once to 
 
378 MATILDA. 
 
 check such vain and fruitless expectation. He 
 solemnly assured them that she could hardly live 
 through the night, and that he much feared 
 the child too could not survive. 
 
 Matilda overheard, in part, this opinion ; and 
 pressing the unconscious infant to her breast, 
 she exclaimed, " Oh ! 'tis too much to hope, 
 even from infinite mercy, that my sins may so 
 far be pardoned that I may be rendered even as 
 this innocent."" 
 
 " Nay," said Mrs. Sydney, " remember with 
 confidence, that the same Divine authority from 
 which we learn, that of such is the kingdom of 
 Heaven, tells us that there is even more joy over 
 one sinner that repenteth." 
 
 Through all that wretched night, Matilda's 
 life was only prolonged by the constant circula- 
 tion of air through the apartment, and as the 
 darkness and damp gradually dispersed, the 
 shades of death seemed to gather and thicken 
 around her devoted head. The refreshing fra- 
 grance of earliest morning played in vain about 
 her livid lips, just struggling to emit the last 
 mortal breath that would ever mingle with the 
 rival sweetness of the air. The first rays of the 
 rising sun shone unseen upon her glassy eye, 
 
MATILDA. 3T9 
 
 about to close for ever against the reviving light 
 of day, — it closed — and the sufferer and her 
 sufferings were no more. 
 
 When Ormsby awoke from the stupor of 
 despair to the full sense of his utter desolation, 
 he found that his helpless infant had also closed 
 its ephemeral existence, and that he was thus 
 utterly bereaved at once of every outward trace, 
 of every living record of his late guilty con- 
 nexion. 
 
 After a time, he sought some relief to his 
 feelings in active service in the cause of the 
 Greeks ; but even in the most eventful moments 
 of his after-life, that would sometimes obtrude 
 itself, which was never absent from his solitary 
 pillow, — the image of his poor Matilda, as, 
 heart-broken and repentant, he had seen her 
 on the evening preceding the fatal catastrophe 
 which had left him alone in the world. 
 
 TINIS. 
 
Printed by J. Brettell, 
 Rupert Street, Haymarket, London, 
 
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