pp 
 
 I
 
 WANDERINGS OF A BEAUTY. 
 
 oral* 
 
 THE KEAL AND THE IDEAL. 
 
 BT 
 
 MBS. EDWIN JAMES. 
 
 " tu, cui feo la sorte 
 Dono infelice di belezza, ond'hai 
 
 Funesta dote, d'infiniti guai." 
 
 FILICAJA. 
 
 Carleton, Publisher, 413 Broadway. 
 
 (LATE BUDD * CJ.RLKTOX.) 
 MDCCCLXIII.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, 
 BY GEO. W. CARLETON, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New 
 York.
 
 J/ 
 
 TO 
 
 SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER LYTTON, BABT., 
 
 IN TOKEN Or 
 
 PROFOUND ADMIRATION FOE HIS GENIUS, 
 
 AID 
 
 SYMPATHY WITH HIS OPINIONS, 
 THIS WORK 
 
 3 2 3njscriit&, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 2043830
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 L Introductory 9 
 
 II. Courtship ', 18 
 
 III. The Stepfather 28 
 
 IV. The Bridal 36 
 
 V. A Railway Journey , 43 
 
 VI. Home Scenes 60 
 
 VII. Presentation to the Queen 59 
 
 VIII. Foreign Travel 68 
 
 IX. Florence 76 
 
 X. Coquetry 85 
 
 XL First Love 95 
 
 XII. -Death 105 
 
 XIIL Naples and the Neapolitans 112 
 
 XIV. I Promessi Sposi 120 
 
 XV. The Grotto of Egeria 127 
 
 XVI. Rossini 136 
 
 XVIL The Star of Destiny 145 
 
 XVIIL A Serious Chapter 153
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XIX. Leaves from a Lady's Diary 161 
 
 XX. The Sister of Mercy 170 
 
 XXI. Ella 177 
 
 XXII. The Proposal 184 
 
 XXIII.-Loved in Vain 193 
 
 XXIV. Correspondence 200 
 
 XXV. The Baronet 207 
 
 XXVI. Three Months of Married Life 215 
 
 XXVII. Fifth Avenue Hotel 225 
 
 XXVIII. Shadows 280 
 
 XXIX. Foregleams 236 
 
 XXX. Conclusion . . 242
 
 EVELYN TRAVERS; 
 
 OK, 
 
 WANDERINGS OF A BEAUTY. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 ALTHOUGH linked by no ties of kindred to the 
 fair subject of this biographical sketch, the author 
 may at least claim to have loved her with a love 
 passing that of a sister to have fully appreciated 
 her rare endowments of mind and person, and, 
 alas! to have had too frequent occasion to chide 
 her girlish follies, and, in after life, to weep over 
 her more womanly failings. Beauty has ever, and 
 justly, been styled " a fatal gift." From the classic 
 Helen to the lovely and unhappy Mary Stuart, and 
 in more modern times the matchless and queenly 
 Antoinette of France all these, and others of lesser
 
 10 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 note, have furnished us with abundant examples of 
 the cruel destiny of those who possess this much 
 coveted distinction. For my part, I can only be 
 too thankful for having been endowed by nature 
 with a face which the most indulgent of my friends 
 could but term pleasing, and which a casual ac- 
 quaintance might call plain. Enemies I never 
 had ; I was not sufficiently handsome. 
 
 When I first met Evelyn Travers we were both 
 inmates of a Parisian " Pension de demoiselles." 
 Although four years my junior, her precocious 
 intellect and superior talents led her to prefer the 
 society of the elder girls to that of those of her 
 own age. Our mutual passion for music threw us 
 constantly together, and another circumstance con- 
 tributed still further to cement a friendship which 
 has never since diminished. We were both alone 
 in the world. My own beloved parents I had lost. 
 My father fell in India, in the field, and my broken- 
 hearted mother only survived her voyage home- 
 ward to expire in the arms of her only child. It 
 was at that time of bitter trial, that the loving de- 
 votion of Evelyn to her friend earned for her a debt 
 of gratitude which can never be repaid. For days 
 and nights did my sweet young nurse watch by my 
 bed-side. I would take neither medicine nor suste-
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 11 
 
 nance, except from her hands. It is enough to say 
 that I recovered, and have since centered all the 
 affection of my heart on the gentle and tender being 
 to whom I owe my life. She, poor child, was 
 equally alone with myself. A father's love she had 
 never known, for Mr. Travers died when his only 
 child was an infant ; and his*young widow, in a too 
 hasty second union forgot her duty towards her 
 first-born, and placed her exclusive affection on 
 the young progeny with which she was annually 
 blessing her second husband. The mother of Eve- 
 lyn, being a woman of a very inferior order of 
 mind to her daughter, with the best intentions in 
 the world could never have duly appreciated her. 
 One very sore subject with the Dale family was the 
 knowledge that Evelyn must eventually inherit the 
 whole of her mother's jointure, in addition to her 
 own fortune, while the sole heritage of her half- 
 brothers and sisters would be the paternal debts, 
 which were considerable. All these circumstances 
 combined to induce the unloved girl to centre her 
 heart anywhere rather than on her nearest kindred ; 
 she felt that even school was more to her like home 
 than the house of her stepfather, and dreaded 
 the hour when she would be forced to leave the 
 shelter of its walls for so uncongenial a spot as 
 "Warenne Yicarage. How often in the quiet noon,
 
 12 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 or in the fragrant August evenings of our brief 
 autumn vacation, have we together paced the 
 gravelled path of the school garden, as I with 
 friendly counsels enforced by my four years' seni- 
 ority, endeavored to reconcile the weeping child to 
 her lot, to impress upon her mind the duty of seek- 
 ing the flowers that grow by the pathway of life 
 rather than the thorns, with which they are ever in- 
 termingled. I must not, however, omit to describe 
 my heroine, whom I confess to have regarded with 
 eyes somewhat partial for to rne she was the type 
 of all that is most lovely in woman. Imagine, 
 then, features of such faultless regularity that except 
 in a statue, rarely, if ever, have I looked upon their 
 like a complexion slightly tinged with brown, but 
 so transparent that the color deepened at every 
 movement, and varied with each passing word. 
 Pencilled brows, overarching long almond-shaped 
 eyes, whose predominant expression in repose was 
 one of pensive thoughtfulnees, but which in mo- 
 ments of mirth, actually sparkled and danced with 
 fun, as the dimples of laughter broke over her 
 cheek, and the lips parted to show the pearls within. 
 Imagine, too, hair of the softest texture, and of that 
 peculiar shade of brown which looks bright in the 
 sunbeam, but dark in the shade, "and a fairy figure 
 which if as yet somewhat too thin, gave full prom-
 
 nn-BODUCTOEY. 13 
 
 ise in after life, of ripening into the rounded perfec- 
 tion of maturity. Such is the portrait of Evelyn 
 Travers, when in her sixteenth year she left school, 
 and, accompanied by her faithful mentor, (as she 
 would playfully term me) returned to the residence 
 of her mother. 
 
 Warenne Yicarage was a fine old house, full of 
 queer old gables, built in what is termed the Eliza- 
 bethian style. It stood far back in its own grounds, 
 which were parcelled out into flower garden, orch- 
 ard, and vegetable garden also there was a charm- 
 ing walk called " the glebe," a series of meadows 
 sloping upward, bounded by a pleasant green path 
 and a hedge fragrant with the sweetbrier - rose and 
 eglantine. In this lover's walk, did we two friends 
 pass many a long hour, weaving sweet fancies, as 
 hope, that lovely but deceitful syren, lifted for us, 
 with fairy wand, the curtain of futurity. Happy is 
 it for us, that in youth, the far-off horizon ever 
 appears to be bathed in sunshine ! In the dawn of 
 life we are like a rose, our illusions the leaves ; 
 these drop, one by one, as we bear the burden and 
 heat of the day and in the evening who would 
 recognize that flower which looked so lovely, and 
 yielded so sweet a perfume, when sprinkled with 
 the dew of earliest morning? In truth, a little 
 poesy was needed, to enable us to support our sur-
 
 14: INTRODTJCTOET. 
 
 roundings with becoming philosophy. The Rev. 
 Mr. Dale, the Yicar, had in his younger days been 
 a military man, and even in the army had the repu- 
 tation of being fast. Indeed, so fast had he been, 
 that it was as a ruined spendthrift that he addressed 
 the handsome, but imprudent young widow, who 
 later became his wife. We fear that in the eyes of 
 the admiring lover the lady's jointure was by no 
 means the least of her attractions. " Veni, Vidi, 
 Vici" was his watchword, and in less than six 
 weeks from the commencement of their acquaint- 
 ance the happy pair entered into the bliss of the 
 honey-moon. Matrimony somewhat sobers a man. 
 The reckless spendthrift remembering the old adage, 
 " The greater the sinner the greater the saint," com- 
 menced studying divinity, with a view to entering 
 the church ; for, as his newly-made wife very justly 
 observed to her lord, "A nice parsonage would 
 save house-rent." In less than two years, there- 
 fore, Mr. and Mrs. Dale were installed in a small 
 house attached to a curacy. 
 
 As time passed onward the reverend gentleman 
 began to evince decided Low Church tendencies ; the 
 reason of this became shortly apparent on his receiv- 
 ing from an evangelical elderly maiden lady in the 
 parish, the presentation to a very fat living, which 
 was intended as a provision for her Puseyite nephew,
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 15 
 
 who was by reason of his disappointment driven in- 
 to the arms of the Church of Rome. From this 
 moment the Yicar became quite a saint in his own 
 estimation at least and to prove his " title to the 
 skies" he condemned every one who did not share 
 his theological opinions to the infernal regions. 
 Here let me make one observation, which is that al- 
 though I have met many of all creeds, who devout- 
 ly believe in eternal punishment -for their neigh- 
 J)ors and who are quite annoyed if any presume to 
 throw a doubt on this dogma of their several church- 
 es, I have never as yet met one who expected him- 
 self to be eternally lost, or who did not profess the 
 hope of salvation he denied to others. Accordingly 
 the Yicar asserted about seven times a day on an av- 
 erage, that he was sure of Heaven whatever he had 
 done, or might yet do, because Christ died for him. 
 This pernicious doctrine is, sad to say, frequently 
 held by what in England is termed the Low Church 
 or evangelical party, in contradistinction to the High 
 Church and Puseyites, who are considered, especial- 
 ly the latter, to favor too much the Romish doctrine 
 of the necessity of good works. All our neighbors, 
 no matter how amiable or charitable, were pitiless- 
 ly black-balled by Mr. Dale as children of the Evil 
 One. Alas, that a minister of our Divine Master 
 should so far forget that great precept, " Judge not
 
 16 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 that ye be not judged." Alas ! that he should thus ig- 
 nore the apostolic teachings and forget that " charity 
 thinketh no evil" Our society was naturally much 
 restricted ; two or three half-starved curates and a 
 few long-visaged ladies of " undoubted piety " were 
 alone permitted occasionally to taste of the hospital- 
 ity of the Yicar. Hence too we were condemned to 
 be present at long family prayers, with scripture ex- 
 poundings, and nasal hymn-singing twice a day. A 
 lecture in church, a couple of prayer-meetings, and 
 another to consider prophecy, we were also expected 
 to attend every week in the cottage of some elect 
 brother or sister. 
 
 Evelyn, ever impetuous, almost took a disgust to 
 Religion held up to her example in so distasteful a 
 form. She was young and ardent, and her judg- 
 ment was that of a child. " Oh, Mary !" she would 
 exclaim, " CAN Heaven be made up of such people? 
 if so, surely, surely it will not be a very pleasant 
 place." In after years my readers will perceive 
 that the sentiments of my by no means faultless he- 
 roine were greatly modified on many subjects. 
 
 Thus passed the summer and autumn. I had ar- 
 ranged (by the payment of a small annual sum) to 
 make my friend's home my own. I confess to en- 
 tertaining the hope, that Evelyn, surrounded by 
 guch uncongenial spirits, would remain unmarried
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 17 
 
 at least four or five years, when, in my girlish 
 ideas, I considered we should, or certainly I should, 
 be very old, and sufficiently steady, having joined 
 our incomes, to fly away together to sunny Italy. 
 It was, however, otherwise ordained.
 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 COURTSHIP. 
 
 ONE morning at breakfast, on opening the letter- 
 bag, Mrs. Dale announced to her husband that her 
 nephew, Captain Travers, of the *** Lancers, had 
 just returned from India, and proposed paying them 
 a visit at Christmas. Had the Vicar been a devout 
 Catholic, he would doubtless have crossed himself, 
 as it was he gave a kind of holy groan, and rolled 
 up his forehead, as he was wont to do when any 
 very obstinate sinner was mentioned. The lady, 
 however, pressed her point, and at length a reluct- 
 ant consent was given, together with the expression 
 of a despairing hope that the visit of this probable 
 child of Satan might eventually " be blessed " to the 
 saving of his soul. Mrs. Dale, whose piety was by 
 no means so lively as that of her husband, was only 
 too happy to have an occasion for arraying herself 
 in some of the elegant new dresses she had surrep- 
 titiously procured at the nearest town. She there-
 
 COURTSHIP. 19 
 
 fore lost no time in answering the gallant captain by 
 letter that they would be delighted to welcome him 
 to Warenne Yicarage. I perceived that Evelyn was 
 much preoccupied by her cousin's projected visit; 
 our life was so monotonous that any change was wel- 
 come, and a young and dashing officer of cavalry 
 could not fail to be an acquisition to our very limit- 
 ed and somewhat dull clerical circle. Frequently I 
 interrupted her day dreams, begging her not to 
 imagine she was about to meet her " beau ideal " 
 the hero of her young imaginings or she would 
 surely be disappointed. With a bright blush she 
 would reply, " You know, dear Mary, how high is 
 my standard of perfection, and that I hope never to 
 marry unless I meet one I can not only love, but 
 respect and revere above all created beings. Yet," 
 she added with a sigh, " how in this isolated spot 
 may I ever hope to meet with such a man? unless 
 indeed," smiling archly, " my gallant cousin prove 
 to be my own true knight," and springing lightly 
 across the room to her harp, she would commence 
 singing, in a rich contralto voice, Mrs. Norton's ex- 
 quisite ballad, " Love not, ye hapless sons of clay," 
 or perhaps one of Moores' delicious national airs. 
 She was one of the few gifted individuals who have 
 "tears in the voice," so deep was the pathos, so 
 intense the feeling, she threw into both words and
 
 20 COURTSHIP. 
 
 melody ; like Orpheus, she might have charmed even 
 the rocks. Thus passed the days till Christmas time 
 drew nigh, with its promise of turkeys, roast beef, 
 mince pies and plum puddings. Mrs. Dale " on 
 household thoughts intent," spent many an hour in 
 superintending the preparation of mince meat, sau- 
 sages, and other delicacies, for country folks make 
 all these luxuries at home. Of course your humble 
 servant was pressed into the service, but our hero- 
 ine, who detested the details of the " menage," (for 
 which she was always and with reason scolded by 
 her mother), continued to practice her harp and her 
 singing, and to write her foolish, romantic thoughts 
 in her journal, utterly heedless of all sublunary mat- 
 ters, and alike inattentive to the maternal reproofs 
 and to the more gentle remonstrances of her Men- 
 tor. At length the long-expected and anxiously de- 
 sired day dawned bleak and cheerless in appearance, 
 but fraught with sunshine to the now cheerful party 
 at the Vicarage. Our usual two o'clock dinner was 
 postponed to the hour of half-past five to suit tho 
 more aristocratic habits of the young officer. Even 
 Mr. Dale fetched from the cellar a bottle of his old- 
 est port, and the whole house wore an air of unacus- 
 torned festivity. Precisely at half-past four, the 
 roll of a carriage and a loud ring at the door-bell, 
 announced the much desired arrival. The usual
 
 COURTSHIP. 21 
 
 kindly greetings over, the visitor was ushered to the 
 guest-chamber. I had just completed my toilet, 
 and wishing to ascertain if Evelyn had done the 
 same, entered her apartment. I was quite struck 
 by her extreme beauty. She was robed in an ex- 
 quisitely-fitting dinner costume of blue silk, which 
 suited well with her delicate features and bright 
 but soft complexion. A scarf of white tulle was 
 gracefully flung around her shoulders, I may add, 
 in the words of Byron, 
 
 " Her gloesy hair was braided o'er a brow 
 Bright with intelligence" 
 
 And one camelia from the green-house, of the soft- 
 est pink, reposed on her rich and wavy tresses. I do 
 not think that Evelyn was then aware how very 
 lovely she was, and this unconsciousness of effect 
 greatly enhanced her charms. "How nice you 
 look, dear Mary," were her words, as she placed her 
 arm within mine and we descended to the drawing- 
 room. Mrs. Dale was already there, looking very 
 handsome in a dress of black satin, her dark hair in 
 short curls under a pretty cap of blond and flowers. 
 She was still a remarkably fine woman, and had 
 she been less stout, would by no means have looked 
 her age. A few moments and our newly arrived 
 guest entered, ushered in by the Vicar. Captain
 
 22 COURTSHIP. 
 
 Edward Travers was a young man of gentleman- 
 like manners and prepossessing appearance. He 
 was dressed in the height of fashion, which in 
 England means a well-cut coat, white waist- 
 coat, an irreproachable neck-tie, and well-fitting 
 polished boots. As the captain shook hands with 
 us, his smile displayed a fine set of teeth his eyes 
 likewise were good, and altogether, my first im- 
 pressions respecting him were agreeable. An evan- 
 gelical curate completed the party, and to Eve- 
 lyn's horror took her in to dinner the principal 
 guest, of course, being seated at the right hand 
 of the lady of the house. Dinner passed off; and 
 shortly after the removal of the cloth the ladies 
 retired, and the gentlemen remained to finish their 
 wine a remnant to my mind of the barbarous 
 ages. 
 
 In the evening, Evelyn and myself played duetts 
 on the harp and piano. She also sang to my ac- 
 companiment various pretty ballads, both English 
 and German. Meanwhile Captain Travers talked 
 much too much, I thought, during the music to 
 Mrs. Dale ; and at ten precisely the entrance of 
 the servants for family prayers put an end for 
 that day to our occupations. 
 
 On retiring, Evelyn sought my room. "Well, 
 Mary," said she, " what think you of my cousin ?"
 
 OOTJKT8HIP. 23 
 
 "He appears pleasant and good natured," said I. 
 "And you?" 
 
 " Oh ! all I know is, that you need not imagine I 
 have found my ideal knight." 
 
 " He is, however, good looking ?" 
 
 " Yes has fine eyes." 
 
 "Yes and above all," I added, laughing, "a 
 most becoming moustache." 
 
 " Oh ! decidedly I confess to a weakness for 
 moustache ; one may then be quite sure the man is 
 no curate eh! Mary? But he talks too much, 
 and evidently cares not for music." 
 - Like a couple of school-girls, we continued to 
 chatter till near midnight, when, declaring I was 
 half asleep, I playfully ejected the young lady by 
 main force from my room, and was soon in the land 
 of dreams. 
 
 A week passed, and our guest was to leave on 
 the morrow. I had ceased to think about him, ex- 
 cept as one of those common-place individuals, of 
 whom the best description is, that " there is nothing 
 in him/' He appeared much pleased with the 
 society of his aunt, seeming greatly to prefer it 
 to that of his cousin. I was therefore surprised, 
 the last evening, to see him bending over Evelyn's 
 harp, and addressing her for some time in a low 
 voice. I soon concluded he was explaining to her
 
 24 COURTSHIP. 
 
 some of the delights of the hunting-field, or, per- 
 haps, expatiating on the scarcity of game this sea- 
 sm, and paid no further attention to them. 
 Judge, then, how utterly amazed I was, to learn 
 from Evelyn, that her cousin had proposed, and 
 that she had not positively rejected him. 
 
 " Good heavens I" I exclaimed, " you have not 
 been half so foolish ! No I will not believe it ; 
 there must be some mistake. Eepeat me the con- 
 versation, dear Evelyn." 
 
 " Perhaps, Mary, you will smile at the originality 
 of the affair. After many words about nothing, and 
 * a propos' to less, he. suddenly said, ' I think I 
 shall sell out, and go abroad. Will you consent to 
 come with me, and make me happy V Imagine my 
 surprise. What could I say, except that I did not 
 know him sufficiently well, and that I would speak 
 to my mother always having understood that is 
 the manner in which young ladies reply to pro- 
 posals, unless they are really in love which; of 
 course, Mary, I am not. Now you know all that 
 has passed. I shall, after consulting mama, make 
 my definite decision ; to-morrow, probably, will 
 decide my fate." 
 
 She left me, and I passed a sleepless night ; for I 
 perceived no promise of happiness for her, in so 
 hasty an engagement. I sincerely trusted her mo-
 
 COURTSHIP. 25 
 
 ther would dissuade her from committing BO sad a 
 folly, and anxiously awaited the events of the com- 
 ing day. 
 
 After breakfast, I saw poor Evelyn led into the 
 drawing-room, like a lamb to the slaughter, by her 
 mother, and left alone with the young man. Sus- 
 pense was becoming unbearable, when, after about 
 an hour had elapsed, Evelyn flew to my room, and 
 flung herself into my arms : 
 
 " Oh, dearest," she said, sobbing, " my only true 
 friend, let me confide in you. Last night I went, 
 as you know, to mama's room, and told her all, 
 adding that I did not love him, and felt no in- 
 clination to marry. She chid me, saying I ought 
 to consider myself fortunate that she could not 
 imagine why I did not love so charming a young 
 fellow, and adding, that 'love before marriage 
 was quite unnecessary, as every well brought up 
 girl was sure to love her husband when once she 
 had become a wife.' My mother concluded by say- 
 ing that if I were so silly as not to accept my cousin, 
 she would take no further trouble to introduce me 
 into society, and that I must make up my mind to 
 live here all my life. So you see, Mary, I was in a 
 measure forced to say, that if on further acquaint- 
 ance, I could like him, I would be his wife." 
 
 " My poor darling," said I, smoothing her soft
 
 26 COURTSHIP. 
 
 hair, " better bear your present troubles than blind- 
 ly rush into, perhaps, far greater sorrow." 
 
 " Mary," replied Evelyn, " do not think me child- 
 ish, but I cannot endure this methodistical house. 
 Besides, I long to see the world to go to balls, 
 the opera, theatres. Better to be really unhappy 
 than die of ennui. The stormiest sea is surely su- 
 perior to a stagnant pool. Besides, he is really 
 fond of me. You should have seen how his hand 
 trembled." 
 
 I ventured to interrupt her here, and to suggest 
 that the hand occasionally shook at breakfast, also, 
 when there was no apparent cause. 
 
 " For shame, Mary," she said, (though I do not 
 think she then understood my fears,) " indeed I feel 
 certain he adores me. I shall be petted, and spoiled ; 
 I will do my duty, and try to make him happy. 
 Oh 1 I will be a model wife." 
 
 Tears had already given place to smiles and dim- 
 ples, on the face of my sweet friend, and the hope 
 of a happier future had brought light to her eyes, 
 and renewed bloom to her cheek. I could not find 
 it in my heart to dash her joy, so I twined my arms 
 around her, reiterating my fervent wishes for her 
 happiness, and adding, that whether for weal or woe, 
 she would ever find a firm friend, and a loving sister, 
 in Mary Mildmay.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE STEPFATHER. 
 
 IN order that our readers may comprehend the 
 motives by which some of the actors in this our 
 drama of real life were actuated, we must cast a 
 retrospective glance at the past and view our heroine 
 in her infancy, as the only and beloved child of a 
 doting father. Mr. Travers married late in life a 
 pretty, penniless girl, and found himself in failing 
 health with a young wife and infant daughter to 
 provide for. Had this child been a son, he would 
 have been heir to landed estates entailed in the male 
 line, but to a girl Mr. Travers could only leave a 
 sum of money he possessed in the funds, and of this, 
 he settled the half on his widow for life with rever- 
 sion to Evelyn at her mother's death ; the re- 
 mainder was left as a marriage portion to the for- 
 mer, or, if unmarried, she was to come into the full 
 control of her property on attaining the aire of eight- 
 een, Mrs. Travers acting as sole guardian of her
 
 28 THE STEPFATHER. 
 
 daughter. A codicil to the will, with pardonable 
 family pride, expressed the wish that Evelyn might 
 marry the son of the testator's half brother, Edward, 
 who must eventually become the possessor of the 
 whole entailed family property. Thus having, as 
 he thought, secured the welfare and happiness of 
 his unconscious babe, the noble father and loyal hus- 
 band was called to a better and a happier world, 
 where we trust he may hereafter hold sweet com- 
 munion with his child when the trials and trou- 
 bles of her mortal life shall be at an end. 
 
 Let us now return to our present hero and the lady 
 of his dreams. In consequence of the state of af- 
 fairs Captain Edward Travers prolonged his stay at 
 the Yicarage another ten days, during which time 
 the youthful pair took daily walks about the grounds 
 we have already described. In the evening they 
 sat indefatigably together, and to judge by the ab- 
 sence of conversation when in the house, I should 
 say they must have exhausted all topics of interest 
 during their morning strolls, for they literally ap- 
 peared to have nothing to say to each other. I con- 
 fess to quite a feeling of relief, as I watched the 
 phaeton drive through the large front gates of the 
 Vicarage, en route for the railway station, bearing 
 the young officer away. I hoped that absence would 
 not in this case, " make the heart grow fonder," but
 
 THE STEPFATHEE. 29 
 
 that Evelyn would permit her better judgment 
 to influence her, and perceive she was on the 
 eve of committing an irretrievable folly. I 
 was confirmed in this opinion, on observing the 
 blank look of surprise, even mortification, on 
 her mobile countenance, as she perused her first 
 love letter, an event usually so delightful to a young 
 girl, and then, without a word, placed the interest- 
 ing missive in the hands of her mother. That lady, 
 it appeared, was- decidedly a friend to the absent. 
 She glanced over the letter, exclaiming, as she read 
 it : 
 
 " Dear fellow ; how he loves you, Evelyn. See 
 how his hand trembled from excitement ; the writ- 
 ing is almost illegible." 
 
 And so, in very truth, was it, and horribly ill- 
 spelled, if that too, be a symptom of the tender pas- 
 sion. The letter, however, commenced, " My dar- 
 ling Evelyn," and ended, " Yours for life." 
 
 Now, let me ask you young ladies of sweet six- 
 teen, would not your pretty little heads have been 
 slightly turned, if you had for the first time in your 
 lives, been thus addressed by a good-looking, rich 
 young officer, with real moustaches ? And this too, 
 even though the orthography of the epistle might 
 have been somewhat defective. My heroine, though 
 full of intelligence, somewhat lacked that invaluable
 
 30 THE STEPFATHER. 
 
 quality plain, common sense. Nor was she in any 
 way above the faults and weaknesses of her age and 
 sex. Let not my readers then be surprised if she 
 permitted her own charity, and the writer's evident 
 attachment, to " cover a multitude of (grammatical) 
 sins." One thing was self-evident from the tone 
 of the gallant captain's correspondence, namely : 
 that he considered Evelyn as his fiancee, and wrote 
 as an accepted suitor. 
 
 The letter was duly answered, and shortly after 
 another made its appearance, which, to judge by its 
 defective style, argued no diminution of the tender 
 passion, for the lover's head and hand evidently par- 
 took of the agitated state of his heart, always inter- 
 preting these signs as favorably as did our lovely 
 heroine and her amiable mother. On handing the 
 second of these interesting documents to his step- 
 daughter, the Rev. Mr. Dale expressed the wish for 
 a few moments' conversation with her in his study. 
 So, immediately, after breakfast we bent our steps 
 thither, for Evelyn, who dreaded above all things a 
 tete-d-tete with the Vicar, had insisted on my ac- 
 companying her. 
 
 I was with some difficulty admitted into the sanc- 
 tum. We seated ourselves and prepared for a ser- 
 mon. Meanwhile I was secretly rejoicing in the 
 idea that the captain's attentions would surely be
 
 THE STEPFATHEB. 31 
 
 put an end to, on the plea of his being one of the 
 " children of this world." 
 
 " My dear Evelyn," solemnly began the reverend 
 gentleman, "I wish to know your exact position as 
 regards your cousin." 
 
 "I thought, sir, mama had informed you." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, your mother mentioned to me 
 very properly, that Travers had asked your hand, 
 but she also added that no definite reply had been 
 given to the young man. Has anything since oc- 
 curred to alter your sentiments?" 
 
 " No sir ; they are the same as before, or, rather, 
 perhaps I ought to say" turning very red and trem- 
 bling visibly" I I " 
 
 " Well, child," said the Yicar, smiling, "you like 
 him rather better, eh 2" 
 
 " Oh, no sir," said poor Evelyn, almost in tears. 
 " Since I have read his letters I fear indeed I " 
 
 " Evelyn," said Mr. Dale, severely, " I am sur- 
 prised at your conduct ; } T CU have gone farther than 
 a modest girl ought, with any man who is not to be 
 her husband. Your reputation if you do not now 
 marry is lost. You will acquire the name of flirt 
 and jilt, and no honorable man will ever again look 
 at you." 
 
 " But, sir, how could I know whether I should 
 like him ?"
 
 32 THE STEPFATHER. 
 
 " I tell you, young lady," said her stepfather, " as 
 one who knows the world, and can speak with au- 
 thority, "you have been seen too much together, 
 and I will add, that as in your unconverted state, 
 you could never hope to marry a Christian, you 
 should consider yourself most fortunate in having 
 attached to you so amiable a worldling. Now, say 
 no more, foolish child," (kissing her brow with 
 some show of affection. " Go to your mother, talk 
 all this over with her. and may God bless you." 
 
 We were leaving the room, when Mr. Dale called 
 Evelyn back, and I heard him tell her, that she 
 must, now that she was going to be married, pre- 
 pare also to become a woman of business; add- 
 ing, " but your mother will explain all " then, 
 in a louder voice, "Mind, child, /have nothing to 
 do with it." 
 
 Evelyn joined Mrs. Dale, who usually sat work- 
 ing in her morning room. The result of their con- 
 ference (to which I was not admitted,) was, that a 
 letter was dispatched from his future belle tnere^ 
 to Captain Travers, giving her-formal consent to his 
 projected union with her daughter ; and, two days 
 later, I was sent to Paris, on a visit to the dear old 
 school, with full and ample instructions as to the 
 Corbeille de mariage, which the fair fiancee was 
 to provide for herself. Nor was the little busi-
 
 THE 8TEPFATHEB. 33 
 
 ness affair alluded to by the Kev. Mr. Dale forgot- 
 ten. A letter of instructions was written by Eve- 
 lyn, under her mother's dictation, to her solicitors,' 
 Messrs. Takeall & Co., the result of which was 
 highly advantageous to the reverend gentleman. 
 
 Let us charitably hope, that in thus sacrificing a 
 young, beautiful, and talented daughter, to a man 
 she did not love, Mrs. Dale was in a measure actu- 
 ated by her desire to fulfil the dying wish of Eve- 
 lyn's father. We fear, however, that another less 
 praiseworthy motive had some influence on her de- 
 cision. 
 
 By no means so saint-like as her spouse, this lady 
 had a great hankering after forbidden pleasure, and 
 she doubtless thought in her inmost heart, that a 
 yearly visit to a gay and worldly house, she might, 
 in fact, term her second home, would be a most 
 agreeable change from the rather monotonous soci- 
 ety of the elect. If such were her idea, she was 
 doomed to disappointment. 
 
 Early in the morning of the eventful day, Evelyn 
 was summoned to the sitting room of her mother. 
 She was there introduced to the very respectable 
 legal adviser of the family, Mr. Takeall, a gentle- 
 man of some fifty summers, with a pair of uncom- 
 fortable, restless eyes, whose expression was some- 
 what concealed by a pair of spectacles.
 
 34: THE STEPFATHER. 
 
 " Well, well, young lady," said the man of law, 
 very blandly ; " so we are going to be married, are 
 we ? and we wish to be quite a woman of business, 
 do we? That's right that's right. Now, here's 
 just a little paper, to which we must put our name 
 of course, with mama's sanction quite so ?" look- 
 ing at Mrs. Dale, who made a signal in the affirma- 
 tive. 
 
 The worthy attorney then proceeded to business. 
 He emptied his large blue bag of various parch- 
 ments, sealed with large red seals, and tied with red 
 tape. Among these, (as I afterwards learned,) was 
 a deed by which Evelyn signed away in favor of 
 her stepfather and his children, her interest in the 
 reversion of her mother's fortune. This small sum 
 of 15,000 had long been coveted by the Vicar. The 
 manner of obtaining it, worldlings would be apt to 
 call swindling ; the reverend gentleman, probably, 
 termed it, " ministering to the necessities of the 
 saints." Be this as it may, it was none the less an 
 illegal transaction, and caused, eventually, a com- 
 plete break between the Travers and Dale families. 
 
 The signatures duly affixed, the wily attorney 
 took hold of both the young girl's hands. " And 
 now, my fair client," said he, " you have been gen- 
 erous very generous a good daughter, very. Al- 
 low me, my good young lady, to wish you every
 
 THE STEPFATHER. 35 
 
 happiness ; and pray remember, Messrs. Takeall & 
 Co. will be only too happy to serve you in any way 
 in their power." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," replied the poor victim, strug- 
 gling to free her hands, which the bland lawyer 
 kept shaking ; " but you forget that a bride must 
 
 " Quite so quite so," said Mr. Takeall, releasing 
 her. And as she left the room, he continued, in his 
 most caressing tones, " That's a good girl, my dear 
 Mrs. Dale "a very good girl You have reason to 
 be proud of your daughter, madam quite so, quite 
 so," as he rolled up parchments and papers, and 
 stowed them away in his capacious bag.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE BKIDAL. 
 
 THOUGH the morning of the wedding had dawned 
 serene and cloudless, the glare of the treacherous 
 sun of May, was accompanied by the cutting east 
 wind, so prevalent in England in that month fit 
 emblem of the chequered course of married life, the 
 transient joys of which are but too apt to wither 
 beneath the chill breezes of disappointment. My 
 young lady readers, never marry in May that re- 
 puted most unlucky month for hymeneal ceremonies. 
 As far as my experience goes, I have invariably 
 seen this popular superstition verified by the result. 
 
 The wedding of the two cousins was quiet and pri- 
 vate, the guests invited being restricted to the imme- 
 diate relatives and connexions of the young couple. 
 The bride, who was in high beauty, wore over a 
 petticoat of white glace silk a richly-embroidered 
 robe of India muslin, the gift of her husband, who 
 had brought it from India. Her wreath and bou-
 
 THE BEIDAL. 37 
 
 quet were of real orange flowers and myrtle, and a 
 veil of the most delicate lace enveloped her youth- 
 ful form, as in a cloud. Her two young sisters, a 
 friend and myself, in white tarletan, trimmed with 
 pink, and looking like rose-buds around a queenly 
 white moss-rose, formed the bridal train ; and six 
 little girls from the Sunday school, dressed in white, 
 strewed flowers in their beloved teacher's path. 
 Evelyn, " the observed of all observers," did not, I 
 think, appear fully to realize the solemnity of the 
 occasion, though I fancied I perceived a slight shud- 
 der pass through her frame, as the irrevocable words 
 were uttered, which fixed her destiny forever. I, 
 for my part, could not shake oft' a certain gloom, by 
 no means appropriate to so festive an occasion ; but 
 I tried hard to be cheerful : and it was not until 
 the last farewells were spoken, and Evelyn smiling, 
 but tearful, was seated in her britschka, by the side 
 of her good-looking young husband, that I sought 
 the solitude of my chamber, and gave full and un- 
 restrained vent to my feelings. 
 
 Evelyn's first letters, though short, were happy 
 and hopeful. She made a tour of about six weeks 
 in the northern counties of England, visiting also a 
 part of Scotland. 
 
 Soon after her return to the house of her hus- 
 band, which, my readers will remember, was also
 
 38 THE BBIDAL. 
 
 that of her beloved, though unknown father, I re- 
 ceived from my friend a long letter, which I shall 
 proceed to transcribe, that she may speak for her- 
 self: 
 
 EVELYN TBAVKBS TO MAEY MILDMAY. 
 
 The Abbey, Woodlands, Derbyshire,) 
 July , 18 . J 
 
 You upbraid me for my long silence and short 
 letters, my own Mary, forgetting that I have been, 
 for the last few weeks, incessantly on the move, be- 
 sides having suffered, with becoming patience, that 
 infliction miscalled " the honey-moon," which, with 
 the exception of courtship, is certainly the dullest 
 and most unprofitable period of one's life. Now 
 that I am settled in my new home, or rather, shall I 
 not say, in my beloved old home, (for was it not 
 that of my father ?) I can sit down and endeavor to 
 fulfil your wishes, by giving you a detailed account 
 of all you may desire to know. 
 
 First, then, this is the dearest old place in the 
 world inexpressibly so to me, for the sake of that 
 dear father, whom, though unknown, I love better 
 than any living thing. Even as I write, I have his 
 full-length portrait before me of life-size, and so 
 like my impression of him, that I should have 
 recognized it anywhere. Yes, there are the mild
 
 THE BRIDAL. 39 
 
 blue eyes, the noble features, the intellectual brow, 
 I have frequently seen bending over my couch in 
 my dreams, when I felt happy so happy in the 
 thought that, though absent in body, he might, per- 
 haps, still be permitted, by a mysterious Provi- 
 dence, to guide and guard his daughter. My hus- 
 band and myself have an apartment in the left wing 
 of the old Abbey, which is completely overgrown 
 with ivy. We have a bed-chamber, with two dress- 
 ing-rooms attached a smoking cabinet for Kdward, 
 full of guns, and ugly-looking hooks to torment the 
 poor fishes ; and worse than all I regret to say 
 the chimney is ornamented with hideous old pipes, 
 of all shapes and sizes. There is, of course, a 
 drawing room, and the sweetest boudoir for me. 
 This completes our suite of apartments. Stay I 
 am wrong. There is yet another room, with hang- 
 ings of blue and white, (your favorite colors) which 
 I Have already named, Mary's " Canserie," in the 
 fond hope it will shortly be occupied by her. Am 
 I wrong? My boudoir is quite a " ladye's bower," 
 its latticed windows, overlooking the flower-garden, 
 include also a more distant view of the park, with a 
 glimpse of the blue hills of Derbyshire, the lordly 
 Peak towering far above his companions in the dim 
 and distant horizon. Our beautiful Woodlands well 
 deserves its name ; the Park is rich in its old ances-
 
 40 THE BEIDAL. 
 
 tral trees, and abounds in grassy knolls ; and a riv- 
 er, sparkling and clear as crystal, filled with trout, 
 meanders through the grounds, preserving the 
 freshness and enhancing the beauty of the scene. 
 
 Fortunate creature, I think I hear you exclaim, 
 and truly, I can imagine no happier lot than to 
 have called such a place by the sweet name of 
 home in my girlhood. 
 
 But, alas ! as it is, I envy the deer, the birds, the 
 flowers, their freedom. Oh, Mary ! when start- 
 ing on my first journey as a wife, you placed in 
 my hands a volume of Byron, your parting remem- 
 brance, you little thought what a fatal gift it would 
 prove to me. It has opened a new field of romance, 
 and from a child your poor Evelyn has sprung into 
 womanhood. I now know the kind feeling I bear 
 towards my husband is not worthy the name of 
 love. How then could I continue to deceive him 
 by permitting him to believe the contrary ? No-; I 
 thought it my duty to confess to him that I never 
 did, and never could love him. And he loves me 
 better than his dog, and a little less than his horse. 
 
 What a prospect, when one is not yet seventeen 1 
 You will tell me no one is to blame but myself. 
 I deny this. I am the creature of circumstance, 
 and could not have done otherwise than I have done. 
 But to return to our family circle. You saw my
 
 THE BRIDAL. 4:1 
 
 father-in-law at the wedding ; a good-hearted, frank, 
 generous, but somewhat rough, country squire, who 
 makes a great pet of his new daughter. His wife, 
 a tall, lanky, uninteresting lady, with stony eyes, 
 who studies nothing but her own health, fancying 
 herself a confirmed invalid. She lives almost entirely 
 in her own apartments, only occasionally appear- 
 ing at dinner, to which she does, however, most am- 
 ple justice. This is the only time she ever sees the 
 good squire, her husband, and even then she is bare- 
 ly civil to him. Not a very good example for us 
 young people. Both parents dote on their only son, 
 and each appears jealous of the other's influence 
 over him. My father-in-law, with Edward, some- 
 times sit too long over their wine, usually, indeed, 
 not making their appearance in the drawing-room 
 till it is almost time to think of retiring for the 
 night, and then they throw themselves into an arm 
 chair or on a sofa and fall asleep. It is not, as you 
 may suppose, very amusing for me, and only makes 
 me pine the more for your society. Do you re- 
 member, Mary, how you used to tease me and tell 
 me I waa not going to marry a man, " but a pair of 
 moustaches?" Well, I confess, they may have had 
 a trifle to do with it, but only just imagine my hor- 
 ror : Edward appeared yesterday morning at break- 
 fast shorn of his honors, and on my my exclamation
 
 4:2 THE BRIDAL.. 
 
 of natural disgust, he informed me that his name 
 having appeared in the gazette as having sold out 
 of the army, he was no longer entitled as a civilian, 
 to wear moustaches. I never thought my husband 
 clever, I knew he did not care for music, nor under- 
 stand poetry, but I did fancy him good-looking, and 
 now, Mary, the worst is to come I actually think 
 him ugly his long upper-lip, robbed of its greatest 
 ornament, has such a sullen, almost sulky expres- 
 sion, when he is serious or asleep, that I actually 
 shudder when I look at him. You who are so sen- 
 sible, and so posee excuse a most expressive French 
 word will perhaps not understand this, and will 
 certainly blame me, and yet all tliese feelings are in- 
 voluntary. And now, dear Mary, hasten here to 
 your foolish, unhappy, childish, but certainly loving, 
 friend, who will count the weary hours till she can 
 welcome you to her new home. 
 
 Your attached 
 
 EVELYN.
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 A RAILWAY JOURNEY. 
 
 THE country homes of old England, standing amid 
 their ancestral trees, what visions of quiet happiness 
 do they recall to my mind ! Memory loves to lin- 
 ger before thy hospitable portal, oh, Rookwood ! 
 and hear once more the kindly greeting of the ami- 
 able and affectionate family, some of whose mem- 
 bers, alas! now sleep their last sleep the others 
 are dead, at least to me ; for 
 
 " The absent are the dead, for they are cold, 
 And ne'er can we what once we did behold ; 
 And they are changed " 
 
 Far more so, than the departed, who ever watch us 
 with their loving eyes, changeless, immortal. 
 
 A verdant spot in life's desert was that dear 
 home to me, whose halls ever resounded with the 
 cheerful laughter of its happy and beloved in-
 
 44 A RAILWAY JOUftNEY. 
 
 mates the sisters all that women ought to 
 be the brothers, noble, manly, and gallant 
 as the knights of old the venerable father, in- 
 dulgent, yet firm as a rock the mother, whom 
 I never knew, excepting by her portrait, a love- 
 ly countenance, gentle and tender as a Madonna 
 of Raphael. 
 
 Each nook and dell of that fair Park is engraven 
 on my heart of hearts. On this grassy slope, I 
 walked with Mary, as she bent her steps toward 
 the village, where the poor awaited her with bless- 
 ings. In yonder pleasant path, Anne, the wit of the 
 family, almost killed me with laughter. On that 
 gently-rising eminence, the hounds threw off and 
 there, after a hard day's run, William, the eldest son, 
 who was ever in at the death, presented my de- 
 lighted self with the brush. Under the shade of 
 those wavy beeches, which every moment strewed 
 their leaves in our path, did the graceful and chiv- 
 alrous George teach the tirnid school girl to ride, or 
 rather, to manage her rein ; he was a very Bayard 
 on horseback, and a kind horse-master to boot. He 
 loved to see the noble animals well and judiciously 
 treated, whether on the road or in the stable. I re- 
 member a saying he had, which amused us all 
 immensely it was this :
 
 A KAILWAY JOURNEY. 45 
 
 "Never 'ammer your 'unter along a 'ard road 
 if you wish to 'ammer along a 'ard road, 'ire a 'ack 
 and 'ammer 'im." 
 
 George was handsome, accomplished, and good 
 to my girlish fancy, a very " preux chevalier, sans 
 peur et sans reproche" but he was a decided 
 lady's man, and, of course, a passionate and rather 
 general admirer of beauty. I knew I was not hand- 
 some, eo I never again accepted an invitation to 
 join that dear and happy circle ; and thus ended the 
 one romance of my life. 
 
 But this is a digression. My readers will remem- 
 ber the very pressing invitation I had received from 
 Mrs. Edward Travers, to join her at Woodlands; 
 nevertheless, I judged it unadvisable, for the pre- 
 sent, to accede to her wishes, trusting that, thrown 
 entirely on her husband for society, the young wife 
 might, in time, learn to consider him as her first and 
 best friend. It was, therefore, not until the first 
 week in October, that I started from Warenne 
 Vicarage, at about 7 A. M., for the railway station, 
 in order to take the train, which met the express 
 from London, as this was the only one which would 
 enable me to reach Woodlands the same evening. 
 
 It was one of those lovely and soft, yet fresh 
 mornings peculiar to our climate, at this season of 
 the year, when the sky, though serene, is not cloud
 
 46 A BAILWAY JOUKNET. 
 
 less, and the air is at the same time balmy and 
 exhilarating, and, as it were, charged with vitality. 
 The white hoar frost clung like gems to the blades 
 of grass, and caused the varied tints of the Autumn 
 leaves to appear still more fresh and glowing. 
 
 I, for my part, confess to feeling great delight in 
 "railway travelling the commencement of a jour- 
 ney, especially if the end of it promises pleasure, 
 always raises my spirits in fine weather. 
 
 In England, this mode of locomotion is more than 
 comfortable it is luxurious. The termini and the 
 stations are so well ordered, that you may obtain 
 your ticket at your ease, without that rushing and 
 pushing incident to all other European countries. 
 If you have to wait the train, you do so in a clean 
 and comfortable room in winter with a large tire ; 
 or, if a lady, you can remain in an inner room, with 
 dressing-room attached, where you may command 
 the services of a female attendant. The first class 
 waiting rooms are, of course, much better than 
 those of the second and third classes, though these 
 also have every reasonable convenience. Should 
 the carriages be in waiting at the terminus, (which 
 is usually the case) the traveller, after securing his 
 ticket, may instantly take his place, and, arrang- 
 ing his dressing-case, wraps, &c., comfortably 
 ensconce himself in his seat, before the arrival of
 
 A RAILWAY JOURNEY. 47 
 
 the less punctual passengers. If our traveller have 
 taken a first-class ticket, he will find, even it' he has 
 filled a second place with, his necessary en- 
 cumbrances, he will rarely be disturbed; for those 
 who in England can afford to pay for the best 
 accommodations, are usually of a class to whom 
 good manners are habitual they will, therefore, 
 rather seek another seat than put a fellow-passenger 
 to inconvenience. The railway companies being 
 most liberal with their carriages, the chances are, 
 if you arrive early and manage well, you will 
 always secure room for your legs. Six places are 
 the usual complement of each first-class compart- 
 ment ; these have elastic cushions, and are parti- 
 tioned off with arms, like an easy-chair, so as to 
 allow the occupant of each seat to lean back. The 
 French arrangements are still more commodious 
 while the German second class, " Wagen,' 3 is equal 
 in comfort to the English and French first class 
 carriages. These latter, in Germany, are literally 
 small " salons," containing a sofa, arm-cliairs, cen- 
 tre-table, and even large and handsome mirrors on 
 the walls. 
 
 What a contrast to the American cars ! Surely, 
 Madame de Stael must have had prophetJc vision of 
 these odious vehicles, when she declared travelling 
 to be " Le plus triste plaisir de la vie" for I can
 
 48 A RAILWAY JOURNEY. 
 
 testify, that the old diligence^ with its numerous 
 inconveniences, is as the gates of Paradise, com- 
 pared to the straight-backed benches of cotton vel- 
 vet, the stuffy atmosphere, and the miscellaneous 
 and unsavory company in a Yankee car ! The 
 coupe of a diligence, at least, permits of cleanliness 
 and privacy ; but where, Oh ! ye Goths and Van- 
 dals, may we take refuge, in this land of " liberty 
 and equality" but not "fraternity" from squall- 
 ing babies, tobacco-juice, spittoons, and the great 
 unwashed ? 
 
 My readers, even though Americans, must pardon 
 these observations. There are very many fine insti- 
 tutions in this splendid country ; but there is also 
 much room for improvement. 
 
 The American steamboats can " whip all others 
 out of creation ;" but land travelling leaves much to 
 be desired. All these thoughts might posssibly have 
 passed through the writer's mind, had she been an 
 American, as she flew, with the speed of the wind, 
 through the green and highly-cultivated meadows 
 of Merry England, seated in the luxurious fau- 
 teuil of a first-class carriage. 
 
 The journey was without incident or accident. 
 On reaching the Derby-junction station, the train 
 for that Shire, was, in railway phrase, " shunted" on 
 to the midland-counties line. A sandwich and a
 
 A BAILWAY JOTJENET. 49 
 
 cup of coffee, hastily swallowed, and away flew the 
 train, at the speed of sixty miles an hour, through a 
 rich country, diversified by hill, wood, and water 
 all glowing in the beams of the now setting sun. 
 One hour more, and we stop. I catch a glimpse of 
 the most coquettish little hat in the world, shading 
 a radiant and lovely young face. Springing out, I 
 am caught and kissed, and hurried into a carriage 
 in waiting. One moment, and John, the footman, 
 touching his hat, says : " Please, ma'am, the lug- 
 gage is all right." A pretty, silvery voice at my 
 side, replies: " Yery well home." John mounts 
 the box, and Evelyn and myself are once more 
 together and alone.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HOME SCENES. 
 
 EVELYN'S home was comfortable without being 
 luxurious, and well suited to a family of moderate 
 fortune. Charmingly situate, in the loveliest of 
 England's midland counties, the house, originally 
 an old monastery, stood in the midst of a richly 
 wooded though not very extensive park. The 
 amusements at Woodlands, as is the case more or 
 less all over England, were more suitable to gentle- 
 men than to the fairer sex. They consisted, princi- 
 pally, of hunting, shooting, and fishing in some of 
 the trout streams hard by. The Squire, as he was 
 usually termed, with his son, Captain Travers, con- 
 stantly availed themselves of these facilities for 
 sport ; consequently we ladies were left almost en- 
 tirely on our own resources. An occasional dinner 
 party, to which we were expected to drive out some 
 ten or twelve miles, in full evening costume, 
 perhaps on a snowy night, formed the only variety
 
 HOME SCENES. 51 
 
 to our rather monotonous life. These dinner parties 
 were altogether " flat, stale and unprofitable." The 
 usual codfish, with oyster sauce, saddle of mutton, 
 and boiled chicken or turkey, were served up, and 
 flavored by such conversation as the following : 
 "A fine day for scent, eh, Squire?" 
 " Glorious ; were you in at the death ?" 
 " I should say so. By Jove ! my mare's a clip- 
 per, I can tell you." 
 
 " Smith, your grey rather swerved at that fence." 
 " Why, yes ; my fool of a groom physicked him 
 only a week since, and the fence was a stiff-un, but 
 he's a very devil to go." 
 Or thus : 
 
 " I say, gov'n'r," (the s.ang term for father,) " how 
 many birds d'ye say we bagged to-day ?" 
 "Well, fifteen brace." 
 " No, twenty, I tell ye, all fine uns." 
 " That dog of yours, Travers, is a capital setter, 
 and no mistake. What's his pedigree?" 
 
 " Oh, he was got by Tommy out of Fairstar." 
 " I should like a pup of his, by Jove !" 
 After dinner, on the adjournment of the ladies to 
 the drawing-room, the sporting talk commences in 
 right earnest, the wine circulating even more brisk- 
 ly than before. The married ladies meanwhile stand 
 around a roaring fire warming their satin-clad feetj
 
 52 HOME SCENES. 
 
 they complain to each other of the delinquencies of 
 their servants, or boast of the beauty and precocity 
 of their children. The entrance, presently, of coffee, 
 puts an end to general conversation, as the ladies col- 
 lect into smaller groups to wait for tea and the gen- 
 tlemen. The matrons and elderly maidens perhaps 
 indulge in a little scandal as they sip the fragrant 
 beverage. The more juvenile damsels talk of balls, 
 past and future, and of the delightful partners who 
 may have fallen to their lot. Some would be Grisi, 
 " inglorious," though not, alas ! " mute," possibly at- 
 tacks the open piano with a violence that makes you 
 almost imagine she is venting her spite upon the 
 innocent instrument, and then in a cracked but sten- 
 torian voice, she commences to shout, " Sing me the 
 songs that to me were so dear, long, LONG ago, long, 
 LONG ago," accentuating the dashed expletives by a 
 shriller scream even than before. At about half- 
 past ten enter the lords of the creation, with highly 
 flushed faces, and vociferating loudly, the words, 
 "my good fellow," "horse," "dog," " my mare," 
 " that pointer," still forming the burden of their 
 song. Yery slight attention falls to the share of 
 the ladies. A young curate, perhaps, stands beside 
 the piano, turning the leaves of the music-book for 
 the squalling songstress. A whist table is frequent- 
 ly formed, but at eleven a move is made, and by
 
 HOME SCENES. 53 
 
 half-past, the carriage of the last guest has usually 
 rolled from the door. 
 
 The cause of Captain Travers' shaking hand was 
 now but too apparrent. The captain, I regret to 
 say, seldom, if ever, returned home from these din- 
 ners perfectly sober, and the old squire, though re- 
 joicing in a stronger head than his son, was but too 
 often more than " a little elevated." Latterly the 
 propensity of young Edward Travers became so un- 
 controllable that no invitations ever came from the 
 best houses in the neighborhood to Woodlands, a 
 very great slight to one of the oldest families in the 
 county. 
 
 Our readers may readily imagine that though 
 blessed with every outward advantage of person 
 and position, our heroine felt more alone even than 
 when cloistered within the walls of Warrenne Yic- 
 arage. Then at least she might hope for a brighter 
 future ; now to hope were a crime, for would it not 
 involve the death of another, and that other a hus- 
 band. The marriage tie, in its spiritual and inner 
 sense, is, indeed, as we are taught to believe, an in- 
 heritance from Paradise ; it supposes the perfect 
 union of the sexes, so that two separate existences 
 become virtually one individual. Neither would 
 be complete without the other. Force blends with 
 weakness ; firmness with gentleness ; and mutual
 
 54 HOME SCENES. 
 
 love and confidence is the crowning bliss of all. 
 But observe the reverse of the picture, alas ! far 
 more common than the other side. The hourly clash 
 of angry tempers and selfish desires, brutality and 
 neglect on the part of the husband, met by reproach- 
 es from the wife, and yet with all this, and perhaps 
 the vice of intoxication in addition, the wretched 
 pair must drag out a miserable existence till " death 
 do them part." Happy those countries where di- 
 vorce is permitted for other, though not slighter 
 causes than infidelity ! 
 
 I mentioned that Evelyn, as a girl, was scarcely 
 aware either of her beauty or of her extreme power 
 of fascination. Xow that she had become a married 
 child, older women spoiled her, telling her she had 
 thrown herself away, and that with advantages of. 
 person and fortune such as hers, she might have as- 
 pired to become a duchess, or, as Evelyn added 
 with a sigh, " I might, had I waited, have met with 
 one worthy of my love, and have become a happy, 
 instead of an unloving and therefore wretched wife." 
 Often have I contrasted Rookwood beloved home 
 of the intelligent, the refined, the sympathetic 
 with the scarcely less beautiful Woodlands, the 
 abode of uncongenial spirits. 
 
 " Trifles," says a modern female writer,* " make 
 * Mrs. Hannah. More.
 
 HOME SCENES. 56 
 
 the sum of human things ;" and she was right. Hap- 
 piness depends more on the hourly nothings of ex- 
 istence than we are fain- to believe, and a continual 
 dripping of water will wear away the hardest rock. 
 The great sorrows of life are rare ; its intense joys 
 rarer still; we have it in our power to embit- 
 ter our own lot and that of others, or to be to them 
 as a ministering angel and thus bring a blessing on 
 ourselves. Did the young wife prepare to buy a 
 a new dress, her husband would term it useless ex- 
 travagance, and refuse to furnish her with the means 
 for procuring it, even though these were actually 
 of her own money. When she wished for a drive, 
 the horses were required to go to cover, or they 
 had a cough, or were in physic. Did Evelyn in 
 the evening place herself at her harp, and sing in 
 her sweetest and most thrilling tones, some of 
 Moore's plaintive melodies, or of Mrs. Hemans' 
 beautiful songs, the " thank you, my dear," of the 
 kind but unappreciative Squire, would be echoed 
 by a loud snore from his sleeping son, just in the 
 most effective part of the performance. Later, when 
 her health became delicate, as the prospect of ma- 
 ternity dawned upon her, even the visits of a phy- 
 sician in an " illness common to all women," as the 
 Captain amiably remarked, were an unnecessary 
 expense. Let not my readers imagine this was
 
 56 HOME SCENES. 
 
 "malice prepense" it was only selfishness that 
 bane of married life. 
 
 Edward Travers was the only son of foolish pa- 
 rents. His mother, selfish herself, and inconsider- 
 ate as to consequences, fostered his youthful vices ; 
 and even on the rare occasions when the father 
 thought it necessary to correct his boy, the silly 
 and ill-tempered wife ever took the son's part 
 against the husband she so much disliked, and en- 
 deavored to compensate, by a larger slice of cake 
 or an extra glass of wine, that which she did not 
 scruple to impress on the lad's mind as unjustifiable 
 harshness on the part of the governor. Thus 
 trained up " in the way he should" not " go," can 
 it be wondered at, if he was innately though unin- 
 tentionally selfish, and utterly regardless of the 
 feelings of the wife, whose sympathies he never 
 had ? Mrs. Travers, Sen'r. also did all she could 
 to foment the dissensions which constantly arose be- 
 tween the two who should have been as one. Even 
 the birth of a daughter failed to cement a breach, 
 which widened every day. A son would have 
 been welcomed with joy by the family, as heir to 
 estates entailed in the male line, but a girl was 
 considered as a useless and expensive incumbrance, 
 by all but the young mother herself. 
 
 After the birth of my little god-daughter, cold-
 
 HOME SCENES. 57 
 
 ness and indifference became actual dislike. Eve- 
 lyn and her husband scarcely ever spoke, and a vir- 
 tual separation took place between them. I remained 
 some time at the Abbey, being loth to leave my 
 friend under such trying circumstances. Evelyn 
 endeavored to beguile the time by cultivating her 
 taste for music; we also studied together various 
 volumes, both of ancient and modern history, and 
 even sounded the depths of natural philosophy and 
 astronomy. Poetry and light literature, she said, 
 made her melancholy, as they portrayed untrue 
 pictures of life especially with regard to love and 
 marriage. She never would be persuaded to peruse 
 any tale which finished happily ; but stories of mis- 
 fortune, ending in separation or death, she read 
 with avidity. 
 
 This was a most unhealthy state of mind. Eve- 
 lyn's feelings were exceedingly embittered towards 
 her mother and stepfather, whom she considered to 
 have occasioned the terrible mistake of her life. 
 Her husband she pitied with a feeling akin to con- 
 tempt, knowing that, with a common-place wife, he 
 might have become a better and a happier man, 
 but confessing herself totallv unsuited to him. She 
 would not, however, attempt in any way to brighten 
 his path ; neither would she endeavor to wean him 
 from his intemperate habits, which, unhappily, be-
 
 58 
 
 HOME SCENES. 
 
 came daily more confirmed. I could not but blame, 
 though my heart bled for poor Evelyn ; for I felt 
 that, sooner or later, she would learn how that for 
 each and all of our wrong doings, and even for our 
 sins of omission, a just retribution awaits us, either 
 here or hereafter. 

 
 CHAPTER YIL 
 
 PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. 
 
 THE drama of real life, like that represented 
 nightly on the mimic stages of our theatres, 
 naturally divides itself into acts and scenes. Will 
 our kind and gracious readers be pleased to imagine 
 themselves now sitting before the drop-curtain, 
 which has just closed over the first act of our piece? 
 In order to put them into an indulgent humor, 
 let fancy place them in the best and most commo- 
 dious of private boxes, where, ensconced in the 
 most luxurious of lounges, and (if a lady) looking 
 most charming in an opposite mirror, they may 
 placidly and patiently await the rising of the cur- 
 tain. Then let my fair and friendly reader turn, in 
 imagination, to the play book, and find that a period 
 of some ten years is supposed to have elapsed be- 
 tween the first and second acts of our drama ; let 
 her point this out to her companion, whom we will 
 suppose to be the gentleman without whom even
 
 60 PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. 
 
 the most interesting plot would prove insipid. 
 Then let the fair lady and her admirer turn to our 
 little stage, and give us their undivided attention. 
 
 The curtain slowly rises, disclosing a gay and 
 brilliant scene, the presence chamber at the Court 
 of Victoria that lady, even more royal by her vir- 
 tues, than through her exalted position, though that 
 were of the highest ever filled by woman. Graceful 
 and gracious stands the Queen, to receive the hom- 
 age of the fairest and the noblest of the land. Her 
 royal husband is beside her, in the prime of manly 
 beauty. In a semi-circle, glittering with diamonds, 
 and gold, and scarlet, stand the illustrious princes 
 and princesses of the blood ; and still farther in the 
 background, appears a scarcely less dazzling group 
 of court beauties and gallant cavaliers in attendance 
 upon the royal party. The beauteous Duchess of 
 "Wellington, whose long dark lashes veil eyes whose 
 lustre sorrow and disappointment have somewhat 
 dimmed ; the brilliant Lady Jocelyn, the queenly 
 Duchess of Southerland, all are there in attendance 
 on their beloved Sovereign. The cou/p d'ceuil is 
 splendid ; but few who pass before that august cir- 
 cle dare raise their eyes to admire it. A moment, 
 and the Lord Chamberlain receives a card, and 
 announces the name of a lady to be presented to 
 her Majesty. The lady, robed in white, steps grace-
 
 PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. 61 
 
 fully forward, and makes a deep and respectful 
 obeisance to the Queen ; another, equally graceful, 
 but somewhat less humble to the royal circle, and 
 then backing slowly out of the presence chamber, 
 receives the train on her arm from a page in wait- 
 ing when, no longer under the immediate eye of 
 majesty, she is permitted to walk in the manner 
 which nature intended. A whisper of admiration is 
 heard from many a young scion of nobility and 
 officer present. 
 
 " How beautiful !" 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 " She must be a married woman." 
 
 " Ah ! it is the new Russian Princess they talk 
 so much about.'" 
 
 " No it is Baroness What's-her-name you know 
 who I mean they say the Duke of Devonshire is 
 smitten with her." 
 
 " I say, Melville, who is that pretty creature ?" 
 
 The young guardsman either did not, or would 
 not reply, though he soon set the matter at rest by 
 advancing toward the fair object of all this cross- 
 fire. 
 
 " How are you, Mrs. Travers?" said he. " Allow 
 me to pilot you through the crowd." 
 
 " Thank you, Col. Melville I shall most gladly 
 avail myself of your escort to my carriage."
 
 62 PEESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. 
 
 " How did you get through the presentation ?" 
 
 "Very well. Her Majesty appeared in a most 
 gracious mood, and the Prince looked splendidly- 
 handsome." 
 
 " As you do to-day you are the true Queen of 
 the drawing-room." Then, in a lower voice " Oh, 
 Evelyn, let us hasten from this place. I cannot 
 bear that another than myself should even see you, 
 now that our time together is so short." 
 
 " We shall meet again ere long I trust," she re- 
 plied. 
 
 " With what coolness and indifference you speak 
 of our parting. Ah, it was not so when at Wood- 
 lands you " 
 
 Evelyn's cheek flushed, and her eyes took a dis- 
 pleased expression. 
 
 " How selfish you men are ! You well know that 
 I am not going abroad for my own pleasure, but 
 that I am ordered to Italy to recruit my health. 
 Why, then, blame me for that which is inevitable ?" 
 
 " Blame you, Evelyn ?" and the young heart 
 throbbed, and the earnest eyes tilled with a sorrow- 
 ful indignation. 
 
 The two walked on in silence and never did 
 mortal pair, since the days of our first parents, ap- 
 pear outwardly more suited to each otlier. 
 
 Evelyn is still all that we have painted her in
 
 PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. 63 
 
 early life though the varying blush of girlhood 
 has given place to the fresh bloom of matured wo- 
 manhood, and the figure once slight to a fault has 
 acquired that voluptuous roundness, united with 
 grace peculiar to the women of Andalusia for Eve- 
 lyn's mother was of Spanish extraction. Col. Mel- 
 ville is the perfect type of an aristocratic English- 
 man tall and muscular, yet slight ; of a noble mil- 
 itary bearing, and a face whose faultless regularity 
 of feature might rival even with that of his fair 
 companion; hair of a light brown, curling natural- 
 ly like the locks of " the god of the etherial bow ;" 
 whiskers of the same shade ; deep-set eyes, where 
 sincerity sat enthroned and a countenance ex- 
 pressive of goodness and feeling, still flushed with 
 the glow of youth. 
 
 Such is the description of the cavalier, leaning 
 on whose manly arm, our heroine threaded her 
 way through the crowded reception rooms of the 
 Palace of St. James. 
 
 " Mrs. Travere' carriage stops the way," cries a 
 voice outside. 
 
 The name is taken up, and re-echoed again and 
 again, till it is given as " Travers' carriage," " Tra- 
 vers' Brougham," " Towers' coming out." 
 
 Evelyn, hastily cloaking, has sprung into her Cla- 
 rence, but not before a tender glance and a be-
 
 64: PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. 
 
 witching smile, accompanied by a hurried " yon 
 will dine with me to-morrow, my last evening," has 
 quite restored the young guardsman to equanimity. 
 
 Let us leave our heroine to the society of her 
 own thoughts, and look once more through memo- 
 ry's glass into the long vista of the past. Many 
 characters who have once figured in these pages, 
 are now no longer living. Mrs. Dale has died, a 
 heart-broken woman, most ungratefully treated by 
 the husband for whom she had sacrificed her child, 
 and her own, and much of her daughter's fortune. 
 The by no means disconsolate widower shortly after 
 married one of the most devoted of his many female 
 worshippers and his present wife rivals, it is said, 
 even that great saint in sanctity. The good old 
 Squire has gone to his final account . Peace be 
 with his ashes ! for his vices were born of circum- 
 stance, his virtues were his own. 
 
 Evelyn is now a widow. Let us drop a veil over 
 the closing scenes of the life of one whose deathbed 
 was invaded by the baleful spectres of delirium tre- 
 mens. Let us hope that, though disliking her hus- 
 band, the wife shrank not from her duty when the 
 poor sufferer's moans resounded through the cham- 
 ber of sickness. I have reason to know Evelyn was 
 dissatisfied with herself, when the end came at 
 last unexpectedly, almost suddenly : but I will fain
 
 PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. 65 
 
 hope she judged too harshly her involuntary short- 
 comings. I know, also, that if she in aiiy way failed 
 in her duty, her sin has not remained unpunished. 
 
 Old Mrs. Travers still lives, or rather vegetates, 
 like some elderly animal of the feline species, who 
 passes her time in spitting at any more juvenile 
 pussy who ventures across her august path. She 
 has gone to live I know not where, and care still 
 less. Sweet Woodlands, no longer the abode of a 
 Travers, has passed to a very distant connexion of 
 the family. Evelyn consequently is still condemned 
 to be without kith and kin in the world. When, 
 therefore, under the advice of the family physician, 
 she decided on a prolonged sojourn in Italy, a let- 
 ter was at once despatched to secure myself as a 
 travelling companion. I was then, and am still 
 shall I confess it? AN OLD MAID for I was past 
 thirty, and unmarried. 
 
 I gladly accepted Evelyn's proposal to accom- 
 pany her, but made it a condition that little Ella, 
 her only child, should be my especial charge, thus 
 relieving her mother of some little care and respon- 
 sibility. 
 
 The evening preceding our departure, we dined 
 at our hotel, in company with Colonel Reginald 
 Melville ; and, as he had politely brought us a box 
 for Covent Garden, we left instantly after dinner,
 
 66 PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. 
 
 in order not to lose the commencement of the 
 opera. 
 
 "Whilst my ears were drinking in the magnificent 
 harmonies of the " Benediction des Poignards? in 
 the Huguenots, and my breath was suspended as the 
 delicious tones of the matchless Mario rang through 
 the house, in the exquisite final duo, I naturally 
 turned to Evelyn, whom I knew to be passionately 
 fond of music as myself, and to be even a better 
 judge of it scientifically than I am, I met her 
 entranced look : but I saw that Colonel Melville 
 had eyes and ears only for her. 
 
 " She was his sight ; 
 
 For his eye saw with hers, and followed hers ; 
 Which colored all his objects she was his life, 
 The ocean to the river of his thoughts, 
 Which terminated all." 
 
 There was a subdued sorrow in his look, which 
 touched me deeply. Does she love him ? I thought, 
 as I watched her bright and beaming glance, all 
 untroubled by the thought of the morrow's parting ; 
 or, can it be that she is heartless, the friend of rny 
 youth, whom I have loved, and still love so dearly ? 
 JSlethinks, if she have a heart, she cnnnot but be 
 touched by a devoticn so deep. Oh, true woman
 
 PRESENTATION TO THE QUEEN. 67 
 
 " In our hours of ease, 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please," 
 
 Who can fathom the depths of thy soul ? My sym- 
 pathies from that night were with Melville, and I 
 determined any influence I might have over Eve- 
 lyn, should be exerted in favor of this, her true 
 knight.
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 FOREIGN TRAVEL. 
 
 ON the very loveliest of summer mornings, in the 
 leafy month of June, Evelyn and myself, with the 
 little fair-haired Ella, a maid, and a courier, started 
 by the mail train for Dover. We were in the 
 highest spirits, and anticipated much enjoyment in 
 our projected journey. 
 
 If a shade of tender melancholy lingered on the 
 cheek of my fair companion, at the thought of her 
 recent parting with a handsome and devoted admi- 
 rer, it was soon dissipated as she called to mind his 
 promise to join us, either at Venice or Florence, as 
 soon as his military duties would permit him to 
 take advantage of the usual autumn regimental 
 leave. 
 
 Our journey through " la belle France " was a 
 hurried one. Our first halt was at Vevay, on the 
 Lake of Geneva. Here we remained a few days, 
 enjoying the view of the snow-capped mountains
 
 FOEEIGN TRAVEL. 69 
 
 Mont Blanc, like a hoary giant, faintly discerned in 
 the distance. We made a pilgrimage to " Sweet 
 Clarens," rendered far more interesting through the 
 graphic pen of our own immortal Byron, than as the 
 abode of that disgusting sensualist Rousseau, 
 whose writings, (such of them, at least, as I have 
 seen), I utterly abhor. 
 
 I may be permitted here to remark, that, apart 
 from its exquisite poetic beauties, we found Childe 
 Harolde the best and truest of descriptive guide 
 books, for a work of true genius in poetry as in 
 music, though capable of satisfying the highest 
 intellectual requirements, is also adapted to interest 
 and please the million. 
 
 At Yevay we engaged a vetturino to take us over 
 the magnificent Simplon pass to the head of the 
 Lake of Como, whence we intended crossing in the 
 steamer to the town, which takes its name from the 
 lake, and is situated at its lower extremity. 
 
 The pass of the Simplou presents to the traveller 
 every variety of scenery, from the verdant and 
 flowery valfey, with its murmuring brook and rich 
 pasturage, to the rugged and barren heights, where 
 eternal snow usurps the place of vegetation, and 
 the ear is constantly assailed by the crash of the 
 avalanche, as it leaps from crag to crag and is
 
 70 FOEEIGN TBAVEL. 
 
 finally lost in some unfathomable abyss, into whose 
 depths the sun never penetrates. 
 
 Our journey usually commenced at sunrise. 
 Having taken a cup of coffee, or a glass of deli- 
 cious new milk, we entered the carriage, enjoying 
 the exquisite freshness and fragrance of the morn- 
 ing air. At about eleven, a two-hours' rest for the 
 horses brought us to some shady road-side inn, 
 where a breakfast of mountain trout, fresh 
 caught from the stream, and perhaps a chamois cut. 
 let awaited us. Much less tempting fare would, 
 as my readers may imagine, have had ample jus- 
 tice done to it, under such favorable circumstances 
 for exciting an appetite. 
 
 Between one and two our second start was made. 
 Our route, perhaps, then led through a forest of 
 pines, rendered doubly aromatic by the magnetism 
 of the sun's beams ; or, it might be, the bed of a 
 torrent skirted our path, which we had more than 
 once to cross, on the most picturesque of bridges. 
 The road over this grandly terrible pass is suffi- 
 ciently wide to admit of two diligences passing 
 abreast, without any danger of falling down the 
 awful precipice, which ever yawns on one side of 
 the road, and sometimes on either. To construct 
 such a route over such a mountain, it required the 
 genius of a Napoleon to conceive and to execute ;
 
 FOREIGN TKAVEL. 71 
 
 and each step taken by the Alpine traveller, whe 
 ther his way lie over the Splugen, the Cenis, or the 
 still finer and more easy Simplon pass, must raise 
 his admiration for the herculean labors of this won- 
 der-working architect. 
 
 Between five and six, we halted for the night, 
 probably in the vicinity of some cataract, the rush- 
 ing of whose waters lulled us to that sweet sleep 
 which was ever ready to come to our pillow. As 
 fur as my experience goes, these little way-side inns, 
 frequented by vetturini are by far the cleanest, 
 best, and cheapest I ever entered ; and from our 
 large city hotels, I have frequently looked back to 
 their homely comforts with regret. 
 
 Our prolonged journey permitted my turning the 
 conversation, occasionally, on Colonel Melville. I 
 learned from Evelyn, that her acquaintance with 
 him commenced in rather a romantic manner. He 
 was hunting in their neighborhood, and in taking a 
 leap, his horse fell with him, and he had the misfor- 
 tune to break his leg. Captain Travers, who wit- 
 nessed the accident, ordered Melville to be carried 
 to Woodlands, where, unable to be moved without 
 risk, he remained for six weeks confined to his bed. 
 Evelyn tended him through his illness, and a strong 
 sympathy springing up between them, he became a 
 constant and welcome guest at the Abbey, until old
 
 72 FOREIGN TRAVEL. 
 
 Mrs. Travers, lynx-eyed as are most dowagers, per- 
 ceiving a growing attachment between the parties, 
 persuaded her son to be rude to Melville, and to 
 suspect the prudence of his wife. Provoked at her 
 mother-in-law's ill-nature, and angry at the unjust 
 aspersions of her husband, Evelyn confessed that she 
 had kept up a clandestine correspondence with the 
 young man, by letter, and also had occasionally 
 met him alone in the park. She added, that, aware 
 of her unhappiness, Melville had presumed even to 
 speak to her of marriage, should she ever regain her 
 freedom. Since her widowhood, however, she told 
 me she had forbidden him ever to allude to the sub- 
 ject of their future union till a decent time should 
 have elapsed since the death of her husband. 
 
 I was glad to receive her confidence, but thought 
 it my duty to chide her imprudence, in permitting 
 herself, as a married woman, clandestine meetings 
 with an avowed lover. I showed her, that however 
 innocent her feelings and intentions, her husband 
 would have had a right to suspect the worst, add- 
 ing that even to Col. Melville she had given but too 
 much occasion to think lightly of her discretion, but 
 that I trusted having proved that she loved him to 
 the very verge of imprudence, she would later be- 
 come to him the most faithful and modest of wives.
 
 FOREIGN TRAVEL. 73 
 
 Whatever reply Evelyn might have made, was cut 
 short by Ella's exclamation 
 
 u See, mama ! how lovely !" 
 We looked and there lay the beauteous Como, 
 with her waters of sapphire, sparkling as if 
 gemmed with a thousand diamonds, in the beams 
 of the mid-day sun, her banks studded with innu- 
 merable villas, white as Parian marble. We reach- 
 ed Colico in time to take the steamer to the foot of 
 the lake. At the small town of Como we found the 
 train waiting to convey us to Milan. 
 
 I will not here detain my readers to describe the 
 fine Cathedral, with its lofty dome, filled with that 
 " dim religious light," which insensibly recalls us 
 from the multiform distractions of daily life, and 
 disposes the mind to devotion. I pity the man 
 who could enter such an edifice without breathing a 
 prayer, however short, to the Author of all good. I 
 do not envy him, if he could leave that sacred 
 building, and not feel, at least momentarily, the 
 desire to become " a wiser and a better man." 
 
 We remained but one day in Milan just glanced 
 at Padua, Mantua, Yerona all interesting cities in 
 themselves, but still more so from the association 
 of their names in the divine comedies of the "sweet 
 swan of Avon," our own immortal Shakespeare. 
 These feir cities were powerless to arrest our steps. 
 
 4
 
 74: FOREIGN TRAVEL. 
 
 A fever was upon our spirits, which brooked not 
 delay and wherefore? Beautiful city of my 
 dreams! thou "seaCybele," rising from the blue 
 waters of the Adriatic, with thy numerous palaces 
 and thy countless spires, gleaming so white in the 
 pure Italian moonlight was it not to look upon 
 thy loveliness as in a vision, that we pressed on- 
 ward, and still onward, as the young lover to greet 
 his beloved. The stormy ocean kisses thy marble 
 feet in homage wert thou not his bride of old ? 
 Thou most silent Queen, dost thou mourn in voice- 
 less grief the decay of thy sculptured halls, once so 
 brilliant in the festive scene, ere yet untrodden by 
 the armed heel of the ruthless Saxon? Or dost 
 thou weep in thy desolation for thy dark-eyed sons, 
 whose godlike brows are bowed down, and whose 
 cheeks pale beneath the yoke of the stranger ? Oh, 
 Garibaldi ! hero of the lion heart, how long 
 wilt thou leave her in her anguish, a slave amid 
 slaves ! 
 
 Fairy-like and unreal appeared that city to us, and 
 yet so like my young imaginings, that I sometimes 
 doubted whether I actually beheld fair Venice with 
 my waking eyes. Those hearse-like gondolas, how 
 silently do they thread the streets ; only the cease- 
 less plash of the water is heard on the steps of the 
 palaces now, alas ! crumbling into ruins. Look-
 
 FOREIGN TRAVEL. 76 
 
 ing on the Piazza di San Marco, I could not divest 
 myself of the idea that I beheld a scene at the ope- 
 ra there was the Basilico, the costumes, the moon- 
 light all that I had seen so frequently portrayed at 
 Co vent Garden, and her Majesty's theatre. Nor 
 was music wanting to complete the illusion. Airs 
 from Marino Faliero, Othello, and other ^familiar 
 strains, were played by the Austrian band; and as 
 we sipped our coffee, or ate our ices, seated under 
 the trees in this beautiful piazza, Evelyn would de- 
 clare that it was not possible to live at Venice with- 
 out an Amoroso, and even my old maidhood 
 confessed that the softly voluptuous breezes, the 
 dream-like beauty of the city, the seclusion of the 
 gondolas all spake to the fancy, of love, mystery, 
 and romance.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 SUMMER had now given place to Autumn, with its 
 treasures of corn and wine ; not that pallid season, 
 half-summer, half-winter, of our more northern 
 climes but the glowing Autumn of Italy, when 
 the purple clusters of grapes hang pendent from the 
 trellised arbor of vine-leaves over-head ; when the 
 orange groves are fragrant with their golden fruit, 
 and the luscious fig and dark olive grove invite the 
 traveller to refreshment and repose. 
 
 On quitting Yenice, we had decided on retracing 
 our steps, in order to visit the cities we had not yet 
 seen. From Genoa we followed the beautiful coast 
 road to Pisa, whence we took rail to Florence, 
 arriving there towards the latter part of Septem- 
 ber. We thus had time to visit the various galle- 
 ries and artistic curiosities of the city of the Medici, 
 previously to the commencement of the fashionable 
 season, when Florence is usually thronged with
 
 FLORENCE. 77 
 
 strangers. We engaged a fine apartment " primo 
 piano" (first floor) on the Lungo L'Arno, consid- 
 ered the best situation by strangers, though not by 
 the Florentines themselves, who call it unhealthy. 
 Nor are they wrong for the Arno, like the Tiber, 
 is a yellow, dirty stream, unpoetic to the eye, and 
 frequently most unsavory to another sense. Florence 
 nevertheless well deserves her name of " La bella." 
 The town is built on either side of the river, which 
 is spanned by five exquisitely light and well pro- 
 portioned bridges, each of which differs in the style 
 of its architecture from the others. These bridges 
 unite the two cities as it were into one. As is usual, 
 one side of the river monopolizes the rank and fash- 
 ion of Florence, although the grand ducal palace of 
 Pitti is situate on its opposite and quieter border. 
 Our first visit was of course to the "Palazzo d'egli 
 Uffigiis," to view the celebrated Venus de Medi- 
 cis. We expected much, and were therefore of 
 course disappointed. The figure is artistically 
 perfect ; perhaps this very perfection causes the 
 effect to be cold and unsympathetic. The face, too, 
 is entirely without expression. She resembles ra- 
 ther a young nymph of Diana than the goddess of 
 love and beauty, whose voluptuous charms are far 
 better portrayed in the statue called the Yenus of
 
 T8 FLOEENCE. 
 
 the Capitol in Eome infinitely superior, in my 
 opinion, to her Florentine sister. 
 
 At the Pitti Palace, we spent hours wrapped in 
 silent contemplation before that superhuman paint- 
 ing, the divine Madonna della Seggiola of Raphael 
 Sanzio. Most of my readers will be familiar with 
 the copies of this picture, but these, one and all 
 will give them but a very imperfect idea of the ori- 
 ginal, which cannot be reproduced. The features 
 and complexion may, it is true, be copied but 
 who but the immortal Raphael could represent 
 the infinitely tender and happy, yet half wondering 
 look of the young mother, as she clasps that myste- 
 rious Babe to her virgin breast ! Who but he might 
 portray those dove-like eyes, welling over with ma- 
 ternal love? Yerily it was given to that wondrous 
 poet-painter alone to reveal to mortal sight the 
 spotless Mary, who " kept all these tilings, and 
 pondered them in her heart." And even he must 
 have used as his brush a plume fresh plucked from, 
 an angel's wing, all bright and glowing with the 
 hues of Paradise. Observe, too, the look of 
 thought, far beyond his years, which almost casts 
 the shadow of coming sorrow over the baby brow 
 of that divine Infant. Genius, highest gift of hea- 
 ven I how glorious are thy works ! how godlike 
 thy mission upon earth !
 
 FLOBENOE. 79 
 
 Strangers were now fast pouring into Florence, 
 and the winter was expected to be unusually bril- 
 liant. Col. Melville arrived, and became the con- 
 stant companion of our walks and drives, and a 
 welcome guest at our dinner table. Evelyn treated 
 him kindly at times almost as an accepted lover, 
 whilst at others she appeared to weary of his socie- 
 ty, and to long for change and excitement. High- 
 ly fitted to shine in the salon, and passionately fond 
 of amusement, our heroine had never, as yet, been 
 able fully to gratify her taste for the world, which, 
 from the very novelty of its pleasures to her, now 
 became her idol. An all-engrossing affection, it 
 may be imagined, like that of Melville, rather net- 
 tled and annoyed her ; she hated restraint, desired 
 to be uncontrolled mistress of iier actions, to dance 
 when and with whom she pleased, and to accept the 
 homage of the favored few. I will do her the jus- 
 tice to say she never cared to attract the notice of 
 the million, and had a perfect horror of the street 
 admiration so usual on the Continent. 
 
 Melville was jealous. He could not view with 
 calmness the smiles of the lady of his love lavished 
 on another. He would leave the room perhaps 
 the house and not return, till a small, rose-colored 
 missive would once again recall him to the side of 
 his fair tormentor.
 
 80 FLORENCE. 
 
 With all this, Evelyn was not a deliberate co- 
 quette. She admired and esteemed Melville, and 
 appreciated his devotion with her whole heart but 
 unhappily she fell into that fatal mistake common to 
 beauties, that affection such as his, is of every 
 day occurrence, and to be considered merely as the 
 meed due to her charms. How frequently do the 
 lovely of our sex thus make shipwreck of their hap- 
 piness, not knowing how very few are capable of 
 feeling the true sentiment of love, and how priceless 
 therefore is the heart of an honorable man. Alas ! 
 in bitter suffering, and with tears of blood, do they 
 expiate their supreme folly ! they then, when too 
 late, perceive how they have flung away the purest 
 gold for mere tinsel, and now they must starve for 
 the want of that bread of life which can alone sat- 
 isfy the famished heart, and which that once despis- 
 ed gold would have purchased. 
 
 The plain woman is wiser. She does not trample 
 on the heart that loves her ; and thus her lot is fre- 
 quently a brighter one than that of her fairer, 
 though less fortunate sister, doomed to mourn in 
 silence and loneliness the neglected happiness of 
 the past. 
 
 What would that weary one now give for one 
 glance, in which soul answers to soul for one word 
 uttered even in reproach, by lips which, in the past,
 
 FLORENCE. 81 
 
 breathed but tenderness and love? Alas, alas! it 
 is too late too late and the haughty and once- 
 petted beauty is forever alone with the spectre of 
 by-gone days ! 
 
 Like all women who have been accustomed to much 
 attention from the opposite sex, Evelyn looked for 
 impossibilities. The future husband her fancy 
 painted, was to unite high station and wealth, and 
 every advantage of mind and person, with, of 
 course, a heart entirely devoted to her. "That 
 love," says the Hon. Mrs. Norton, in her beau- 
 tiful and romantic novel, "Stuart of Dunleith," 
 " which at once satisfies the soul, the intellect, the 
 heart and the senses, is met with once, and once 
 only in life." I quote from memory, and conse- 
 quently express the sentiments of the gifted author 
 in my own words. But, is it so ? I think not. 
 Perfect happiness is not to be found on earth; 
 therefore, let my lady readers be content, if they 
 meet one who unites three aye, even two of these 
 requisites, combined with sincere attachment 
 let her not then despise her lover, but rather wear 
 him in her heart of hearts. 
 
 The grand ducal court of Florence was, at the 
 time we were there, one of the pleasantest and most 
 aristocratic reunions of aristocratic Europe. Any 
 stranger, once presented there by his minister, was
 
 82 FLOKENCE. 
 
 invited to all the balls, concerts, and receptions 
 which were given weekly through the entire winter 
 season. 
 
 The Grand Duke Leopold, a most excellent old 
 man, and greatly beloved by a large circle of the 
 nobility, was adored by the poor, whose sick-beds 
 he frequently visited in person. The Grand Duch- 
 ess, his consort, a Princess of Naples, though much 
 younger than her husband, had ever borne a per- 
 fectly unblemished reputation. Her imperial high- 
 ness was a remarkably tine woman, with the most 
 beautifully-formed shoulders I ever beheld. She 
 was most gracious, and at the same time dignified 
 in her manners, and always had a kind and affable 
 word for the ladies whom she recognized as fre- 
 quent attendants at her receptions. 
 
 The youthful imperial family were worthy of 
 their royal parents. The two elder Arch-Dukes, 
 although mere boys, were distinguished in the ball- 
 room for their graceful and amiable manners, and 
 for their skill in the dance, of which they were pas. 
 sionately fond, as is usual with youths of their age. 
 The heir-apparent had lately brought home his 
 young and beautiful bride, a Princess of Saxony. 
 Alas ! who could have imagined, in a few short 
 years, that lovely girl would be laid in an early 
 grave 1 this august family would be forever exiled
 
 FLORFJTCE. 83 
 
 from their native soil ! Even now, I see the poor 
 old man ; his white hairs, powerless to protect him 
 from insult, bowed down with sorrow yet strug-' 
 gling manfully with his grief, in order to console 
 his weeping consort, Grand Duchess now in name 
 only. I see the faithful guardia nobile press around 
 the carriages, to spare the beloved and venerated 
 family the gibes and sneers of the ladies (women 
 are ever the most cruel) who had so frequently par- 
 taken of their sovereign's hospitality, but who 
 now were congregated at the gate of the city, to 
 smile at a misfortune which, however possible 
 its ultimate benefits to Italy, had fallen on inno- 
 cent heads. 
 
 The government of Leopold of Tuscany was 
 almost of too paternal a character. There were 
 literally no police. I never heard of any spies ; 
 and the obnoxious Austrian soldiers had long been 
 sent back to their own country. Why the Floren- 
 tines preferred their country being turned into a 
 province of Piedmont, and governed by a Viceroy, 
 instead of remaining an independent State, I am at 
 a loss to imagine ; nor can I make out wherefore 
 they disliked their excellent Sovereign and his 
 amiable family. No good has, for the present, re- 
 sulted from their bloodless revolution. Let us, 
 however, hope the day may dawn, which will see
 
 FLOBENCE. 
 
 fair Italy once more a nation, united under one 
 head. Then, perhaps, Florence herself may derive 
 the benefit she has not yet reaped from her change 
 of rulers.
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 COQTTETBY. 
 
 ALL Florence was talking of the Bed Costume to 
 be given at the Casino de' Nobili to H. B. H. the 
 Count of Syracuse, a Neapolitan Prince, brother to 
 the Grand Duchess, and at present on a visit to his 
 Imperial sister at the Palazzo Pitti. The ladies were 
 endeavoring each to outvie the other in the nov- 
 elty and richness of their costumes. The Grand Ducal 
 family were to represent their ancient predecessors on 
 the throne of Florence, the rich and princely family 
 of Medici. The notorious and once lovely Lady 
 C F , it was known would appear as Pomo- 
 na, her dress to be looped up with bunches of fruit 
 interspersed with diamonds, to represent the dew. 
 A beautiful Florentine duchess, it was whispered, 
 would personify the " Queen of Hearts ;" but so 
 well did her modiste keep the secret that none could 
 guess either the fashion or color of her robe, which 
 proves that women can be trusted, at least in so iin-
 
 86 COQUETRY. 
 
 portant an affair as that of the toilette. Counting 
 on her fresh beauty, and conscious that she could 
 not hope to oat-blaze her fair rivals in jewelry, 
 Evelyn wisely preferred to be unique in the sim- 
 plicity of her costume. She therefore chose the be- 
 coming dress of a peasant girl of Frascati, in the 
 environs of Rome. Her corset of cherry-colored 
 velvet, laced over a chemisette of plaited muslin, 
 displayed to advantage the rounded waist and per- 
 fectly modelled shoulders. The full petticoat of blue 
 silk trimmed with rows of ribbon to match the cor- 
 eage, just cleared the well-turned ancle, and fully 
 discovered the little Spanish foot with its arched 
 instep. The hair, wrapped around the head, was 
 fastened in a rich knot by two pins of diamond, and 
 one large brilliant clasped the narrow band of red 
 velvet which encircled her throat. The peasant's 
 apron, and bows of ribbon of blue and silver com- 
 pleted a costume in which the wearer looked scarce- 
 ly more than eighteen. I accompanied my friend 
 en Marquise, as this required but little exercise 
 of the fancy, in which (as regards dress) I am lament- 
 ably deficient. Colonel Melville (whose leave ex- 
 pired very shortly), was to wear the uniform of his 
 corps, and to meet us at the ball. 
 
 Evelyn's toilette was a decided success ; a mur- 
 mur of admiration accompanied us as we threaded
 
 COQUETRY. 87 
 
 our way through the brilliant crowd of officers and 
 gaily attired young nobles who thronged the vesti- 
 bule and ante-rooms of the building.. After some 
 difficulty we succeeded in reaching the upper end 
 of the ball room, where on a slightly elevated dais 
 were seated the Imperial family. The Grand Duch- 
 ess, as the celebrated Catharine de Medicis in a 
 magnificent costume of the middle ages, was liter- 
 ally one blaze of jewels. On perceiving Evelyn 
 who was rather a favorite she beckoned her to ap- 
 proach, and graciously complimented her on the 
 good taste and simplicity of her attire. The Count 
 Syracuse, who was a great admirer of beauty, then 
 stepped forward and engaged the pretty Frascatana 
 for a quadrille. The Prince, who, though somewhat 
 stout, was a remarkably fine looking man, appeared 
 to the utmost advantage as Lorenzo de Medicis.-^ 
 His extremely fascinating manners, together with 
 his exalted rank, rendered him (if report speak 
 true) almost irresistible with the female sex. But 
 he was by no means a constant lover ; he might 
 with truth say, with a celebrated French roue : 
 " Moi je suisfidele a tout le monrfe." 
 
 The count devoted himself to his "Cynthia of the 
 minute," and scarcely left her side, much to the dis- 
 gust and envy of many a noble signora, who longed 
 in vain for even one glance of passing admiration
 
 COQUETRY. 
 
 from the illustrious Don Giovanni, who had no eye8 
 but for his simple Zerlina. Evelyn gave herself up 
 to the intoxication of gratified vanity, and appeared 
 to be as much charmed with her royal cavalier as 
 he was taken with her. Had not the prince been a 
 married man, I believe she would have aspired even 
 to an alliance with royalty, for the recent choice 
 of the French Emperor had contributed to turn the 
 head of many a beauty. As it was, to permit such 
 marked attention from a Prince, whose suc- 
 cess with ladies was proverbial, could not but be 
 detrimental to a virtuous woman's reputation. Thus 
 reflecting, I turned to seek Melville. Poor fellow ! 
 he was leaning against a fluted column the very 
 statue of despair. In his expressive countenance 
 you might see depicted all the tortures of jealousy 
 ahd mortified pride. I advanced towards him and 
 touched his elbow. He started as from a dream, 
 made a few polite and common-place observations, 
 and before I could speak a word, had vanished from 
 the room. I still thought he would return, as was 
 his wont, to escort us to the refreshment table, for 
 Evelyn's Italian adorers were usually too intently 
 occupied in discussing the excellent supper and 
 wines provided by their royal host, to have time to 
 attend to the wants of any fair lady. 
 
 The Count Syracuse was forced to accompany
 
 COQUETRY. 89 
 
 the Imperial party to supper. He therefore brought 
 his lovely partner all glowing with the triumphs 
 and excitement of the dance to my side. Ev- 
 elyn passed her arm within mine. 
 
 " Let us seek Reginald Melville," said she, " you 
 will doubtless be glad of some refreshment." 
 
 "Ah ! dear Evelyn," I replied, " I fear your im- 
 prudent coquetry has caused much suffering to- 
 night." 
 
 "He is foolish to be BO jealous," replied she; 
 " does he wish me to speak to no one, and to make 
 myself disagreeable in society ?" 
 
 " But to remain so long with one man," I remon- 
 strated. 
 
 " Oh ! a Prince, you know ; how could 1 refuse ? 
 Indeed, Melville is most unreasonably exacting, and 
 you encourage him. I should detest so jealous a 
 husband. No ; if he cannot bear to see a woman 
 admired, let him choose a plain wife." 
 
 Her levity vexed me, for I could not imagine a 
 pleasure that necessarily entailed pain upon others. 
 But then, remember, I am not a beauty. 
 
 We sought Melville in every room ; he was no- 
 where to be found. Evelyn was evidently piqued ; 
 she became distraite, and answered at random the 
 various compliments and observations addressed to 
 her. She refused all invitations to dance, and had
 
 90 COQUETRY. 
 
 Melville now seen her, the destiny of two lives might 
 have been changed. How often do we of the weak- 
 er sex wrap ourselves in our woman's pride and 
 carefully conceal our true feelings from the being 
 we respect and esteem most upon earth. How fre- 
 quently even in our moments of apparent cruelty 
 and caprice do we in the depth of our soul resolve 
 one day by the devotion of a life to make full and 
 ample amends for the momentary pangs we may 
 have caused ! Thrice happy they who may be per- 
 mitted to put these good resolves into practice ere 
 it be too late. 
 
 We remained but a short time at the now distaste- 
 ful ball. On the morrow Evelyn had a nervous 
 headache and kept her room. Although she had 
 given orders that no one was to be admitted, I per- 
 ceived her look of disappointment when the name 
 of Colonel Melville was missing from the pile of 
 cards and notes brought by her maid in the evening 
 to her bedside. 
 
 The following day, being quite restored, she 
 arose and dressed with more than usual care 
 and good taste. I saw that she expected Melville 
 would call, that being his last day in Florence, and 
 I doubted not that when he came all would go well 
 and I might have to congratulate two happy 
 affianced lovers. Evelyn was restless and abstract-
 
 COQUETRY. 91 
 
 ed. She tried to sing, but was out of voice ; she 
 took up a book, but did not get farther than the 
 title-page ; her eyes wandered perpetually towards 
 the French pendule on the mantel-piece ; at last 
 she rose impatiently, and stated her intention of 
 driving to the Cascines, that loveliest of promen- 
 ades, unsurpassed even by the far-famed " Bois de 
 Boulogne." 
 
 At that moment there was a loud ring at the 
 entrance door of the apartment. My heart beat in 
 sympathy with that of Evelyn, who turned pale as 
 death. The servant did not at once answer the 
 door five long minutes of suspense, and the ring 
 was again repeated. At length the door was open- 
 ed. A manly step was heard, and H. R. H. the 
 Count of Syracuse entered. 
 
 Evelyn trembled visibly, but mastered her emo- 
 tion, and received her royal visitor with graceful 
 dignity. Though I perceived the Prince greatly 
 desired my absence, I thought it wiser to remain 
 with my friend, whose agitation I feared might be 
 interpreted too favorably. 
 
 About ten minutes after the Prince's arrival, ano- 
 ther ring at the bell was heard. This time a well- 
 known voice en quired 
 
 " Is Mrs. Travers at home ?" 
 
 A short colloquy with the servant followed, and
 
 a COQUETKY. 
 
 we heard the door of the apartment closed. I look- 
 ed towards Evelyn. Her vexation was so evident 
 that the Prince asked if she were ill. I was obliged 
 to come to the rescue and declared, with truth, 
 that she had kept her room the preceding day, and 
 was scarcely sufficiently recovered to do the honors 
 to His Koyal Highness. 
 
 The Count took the hint, and paid us that time 
 but a short visit. The moment he had quitted, the 
 servant brought in on a small waiter, Col. Mel- 
 ville's card, with P. P. C. in the corner. We ques- 
 tioned the man 
 
 " Did the Colonel say he would call again ?" 
 
 "No, signora." 
 
 " Did he state when he was leaving ?" 
 
 "No, signora." 
 
 "Well then, what did he say?" I exclaimed, 
 wishing to spare Evelyn the pain of asking. . 
 
 "The Colonel asked if the signora was alone. I 
 told him Sna. Altezza Reale was with the signora. 
 The signore then said, Give this card to the signora. 
 That is all, ladies." 
 
 It was then near five, the hour of departure 
 of the train. The servant was sent to inquire if 
 the Colonel left that evening. He returned with 
 the message "11 ColoneUoe partito gid" "the Co- 
 lonel is already gone."
 
 COQUETRY. 93 
 
 Evelyn's disappointment turned to anger. Her 
 pride was offended, and she determined to punish 
 Melville by encouraging the visits of her Royal ad- 
 mirer a very dangerous game ! 
 
 " For slander's mark was ever yet the fair, 
 The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
 A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air." 
 
 Her charms and success had made our heroine 
 many enemies, especially among her own sex, and 
 envious tongues were busy with her fair fame. She 
 was termed a heartless jilt, and her conduct to- 
 wards Melville was commented on in the severest 
 terms. 
 
 In Italy no woman ought to permit any marked 
 attention from one of the opposite sex, if she would 
 preserve an unblemished reputation. The innocent 
 frankness of my countrywomen, and of the Ameri- 
 can ladies, is liable to be sadly misconstrued by 
 the idle and languid Italian " lions," who lounge 
 away their time at the doors of the different cafes, 
 and discuss the appearance and character of the la- 
 dies, as they pass in their carriages toward the 
 Lungo L'Arno and Cascines. 
 
 Evelyn, whose conduct had been, and still was, 
 most indiscreet, being, moreover, without a pro- 
 tector, was especially the mark for scandal. Wo- 
 men who would have given the world to have
 
 94: COQUETRY. 
 
 been able to do as she did, were the first to blame 
 her imprudence ; and the young Florentine exquis- 
 ites, who had never yet succeeded in winning a smile 
 from " la bella Inglese" now invented all kinds of 
 cruel and false reports concerning her. The fre- 
 quent visits of the Count Syracuse were reported 
 to the Grand Duchess, who henceforth looked cold- 
 ly upon Evelyn, and the ladies of society were only 
 too happy to have it in their power to mortify one 
 who had excited their jealousy. And Melville, too 
 the good, the kind, the loving had he also de- 
 serted the woman he once held so dear ? The next 
 chapter may perhaps throw some light on this sub- 
 ject.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 COLONEL REGINALD MELVILLE TO EVELYN TKAVER8. 
 London, February 28th. 
 
 BEFORE you receive this, Evelyn, I shall be far 
 away ; it may, perhaps, cost you one pang in the 
 midst of your triumphs, to know that we are at last 
 parted ; it may be for years it may be forever. 
 
 My regiment is under immediate orders for India, 
 and we sail in a week. We are required to quell 
 the Sepoy rebellion, and to avenge the horrible bru- 
 talities perpetrated by those savages on our inno- 
 cent countrywomen and their helpless babes. I 
 will not, at this supreme moment, reproach you 
 your naturally good heart will teach you how far 
 you have erred but I will simply mention how 
 deeply I felt your inconsiderate conduct at the last 
 ball, when you knew that, in two days, one who 
 loved you as his own soul must leave ; and how 
 still more bitterly was I disappointed at having been
 
 96 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 prevented by the prince's presence from bidding ^m 
 a last adieu. 
 
 You are very beautiful and talented. It is natu- 
 ral you should command attention wherever you 
 go. But, oh ! Evelyn, does this satisfy your heart ? 
 Ask yourself, are you not sometimes unhappy, even 
 amid the most brilliant scenes ? Do not imagine 
 that every fop who approaches you, is capable of 
 sincere attachment, even to a creature as fasci- 
 nating as yourself. You are, to the majority of 
 men, but as the pastime of an idle hour or worse, 
 the coquette whose smiles flatter their selfish vanity, 
 and of whose favors they boast at the public prom- 
 enades or the cafes. But of this I cannot bear to 
 speak even the thought is madness. 
 
 It is true, alas ! that I dare not hope that one so 
 gifted and so adored, will await the uncertainties 
 of war, and mourn, in some retired corner of the 
 earth, the absence of a future husband. No, Eve- 
 lyn I deeply feel the vanity of entertaining such a 
 hope, even for a moment. I know, too well, you 
 will meet those who will hang on each word, and 
 watch every look, as I have done. You will never 
 forget me ; but I shall share your heart with others. 
 It is for this, therefore, that I am resolved, 'cost what 
 it will, and at the risk of breaking my heart, 
 to utter this fatal word Farewell, then, beloved of
 
 LOVE. 97 
 
 my soul my first, my only love you are free. 
 Think of me, henceforth, as a tender brother. I 
 will ever cherish you as a sister. For your own 
 sake, and that of your dear Ella, be prudent; 
 remember that a woman's name should never even 
 be breathed upon. 
 
 One more effort one more bitter pang, and my 
 self-imposed duty is done. If ever my sweet sister 
 should find one who loves her as I do but who, 
 unlike poor Melville, approaches near to the stand- 
 ard of perfection she has erected in her own imagi- 
 nation then, dearest, do not hesitate to become his 
 wife. My prayers shall ever be offered up for your 
 happiness ; and you, my ever-beloved Evelyn, will 
 not, even in the midst of that bliss, refuse if I 
 fall to drop a tear for one who would die to save 
 you even one moment's uneasiness. Farewell 
 farewell! B. M. 
 
 EVELYN TEAVERS TO REGINALD MELVILLE. 
 
 Castellamare, Villa des Alberi, 6th May. 
 
 I have been seriously ill, dear Reginald, or you 
 would have heard from me ere this. I left Florence 
 a week after I received your letter ; and the 
 fatigues of the journey, added to the violent shock 
 consequent on the receipt of such sad news, quite
 
 98 FIEST LOVE. 
 
 overcame me. I was taken with a nervous trem- 
 bling, which ended in fever. For two mouths 
 I have been confined to my room, and strictly for- 
 bidden to write, read, or even to think. I have, 
 however, succeeded in persuading my doctor, that 
 to remain alone with my regrets for the past is 
 retarding indefinitely my recovery. He has, there- 
 fore, permitted me to write these few lines to 
 you. 
 
 And are we, then, really to be parted forever f 
 Oh ! my once kind Reginald, why condemn me to 
 live without your love ! I see at last the fully and 
 madness of sacrificing a true attachment for the 
 heartless and aimless admiration of the passing 
 hour. Oh ! how lonely do I feel now in the world 
 how its hollowness wearies me ! Sweet Ella even 
 seems to reproach my frivolity with her calm angel 
 eyes ; nor can I endure Mary's face of grave and sad 
 reproof. 
 
 Reginald, if you ever loved me, write and say 
 that I am forgiven tell me that I have not ruined 
 your happiness. Do not speak of my poor attrac- 
 tions. Would that I were plain, since my beauty 
 1ms caused our separation. 
 
 You say you are not my " beau ideal.''' If it be 
 true, that my foolish romantic fancy has portrayed 
 an impossible hero at least, your rare devotion to
 
 FIRST LOVE. 99 
 
 one worthless as myself is the very " be au ideal " 
 of all that mortals term love. For this, accept my 
 undying gratitude. 
 
 One last request for your Evelyn's sake, be pru- 
 dent. Do not expose yourself to danger unnecessa- 
 rily ; and she will nightly kneel before the throne 
 of grace, and pray that her numerous faults and 
 follies may rather be visited on her own head, and 
 that every blessing, temporal and eternal, may fall 
 to the lot of him who, though absent, is forever pre- 
 sent with his repentant 
 
 EVELYN. 
 
 P. S. Remember, I shall count the days, the 
 hours, the moments, until I hear from you. Do not 
 keep me in suspense. Mary desires kindest regards, 
 and little Ella her best love. 
 
 After the preceding letter was dispatched to Col- 
 onel Melville's agents for transmission to India, I 
 endeavored as much as possible to divert Evelyn's 
 mind from dwelling on painful subjects. The 
 state of her health was far from satisfactory. I 
 therefore used all my influence to persuade her to 
 enter a little into society, as we calculated no 
 reply could possibly come under three months from 
 the seat of war, and till that time had elapsed anx- 
 iety would be but needless self-torment. We
 
 100 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 were acquainted with an English family, whose 
 pretty schooner the "Turquoise" was lying in 
 the bay of Sorento. Captain and Mrs. Blake had 
 frequently invited us to make excursions with them 
 to the various objects of interest which abound on 
 the classic shores of the ancient Parthenope. "We 
 had hitherto refused myself because I detested the 
 sea ; Evelyn, because she was utterly out of spirits. 
 One evening, however, our kind friends came and 
 would take no denial. They were accompanied by 
 a young Sicilian nobleman, a great friend of Ella's, 
 for he never called without a box of bonbons, a bas- 
 ket of fruit, or a bouquet for the young lady, whom 
 he had named Sorcietto, or " little Mousey." The 
 Due di Balzano was a fine-looking man of from 
 twenty-eight to thirty years of age. Dark as the very 
 darkest of his race, he possessed an open coun- 
 tenance, and an expression beaming with goodness. 
 Unlike the generality of his rather effeminate coun- 
 trymen, Balzano was cast in the mould of a Her- 
 cules, and even in England, (that land of splendidly 
 formed men), he would have been remarked for the 
 perfection of his figure and the grace of his move- 
 ments. I remember later seeing him execute the 
 Tarentella, or national dance of Kaples, in a man- 
 ner that might have shamed many a Terpsichorean 
 star of the opera.
 
 FIRST LOVE. 101 
 
 Yielding to Ella's entreaties, Evelyn consented to 
 make one of the party, and arranged on the follow- 
 ing morning to drive to Sorento and there embark 
 in our friend's yacht. I was excused, as all were 
 aware that a marine excursion was anything but 
 a pleasure to me. It was proposed first to visit the 
 purple cave of Capri, which can only be entered in 
 calm weather and at low tide. Even then the vis- 
 itor must almost recline in the boat, so low is the 
 entrance to the cave. When this difficulty is passed 
 you are amply repaid by the sight of a lofty dome 
 of rock, spanning a body of water actually of the 
 color of indigo. Great care is necessary in making 
 the visit that no storm is in prospect, for when the 
 waves are high, the imprudent traveler has been 
 unable to return, sometimes for days, in consequence 
 of the exit to the cave having been entirely sub- 
 merged by the raging element which surrounds it. 
 
 Our party entered under favorable auspices, for 
 the sea was calm, though there was at the same 
 time a ground swell, which had made poor Ella very 
 sea-sick, and obliged her to be left on a sofa in the 
 yacht. Ella's indisposition gave rise to a rather 
 amusing adventure which I shall now relate : 
 
 On her return on board, Evelyn found the child 
 very ill, so much so as to alarm her mother who
 
 102 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 went to Captain Blake and begged him to put them 
 instantly ashore. 
 
 " My dear lady," replied he, " it is all very well 
 for you to talk, but I know no landing place with- 
 in some hours' sail." 
 
 "Then," besought Evelyn, "let us put back to 
 Sorento." 
 
 " Impossible," exclaimed the captain, " the little 
 wind there is, is contrary. It would take us twelve 
 hours to get there." 
 
 Just then di Balzano made his appearance, and 
 the poor mother, in despair, began in Italian to ex- 
 plain the circumstances to him. The duke in the 
 kindest manner reassured Captain Blake as to the 
 nature of the coast, and informed Evelyn that al- 
 though he knew of no good landing place near, he 
 would gladly escort her and little Ella in safety 
 home to Castellamare. " But," he added, looking 
 at Evelyn, "the signorina must have a little pa- 
 tience, for we cannot make even the nearest land- 
 ing place till nightfall." 
 
 Gratefully thanking him, Evetyn returned to her 
 daughter, who soon became pacified under the hope 
 of once more being on terra firma. 
 
 At eight o'clock, true to his promise, the Captain 
 stopped the schooner, a boat was lowered, and the 
 party entered. Balzano held the sick child in his
 
 FIRST LOVE. 103 
 
 arms like a tender nurse. The landing was indeed 
 far rougher than even he had expected it was a 
 regular mountain scramble in the dark. Arrived 
 at the summit, Ella and her mother were glad to 
 repose on the floor of the miserable hut appropriat- 
 ed to the coast guard. On inquiry, they learned 
 they were eight miles from Sorento, the road thith- 
 er lying over a mountain ridge, which must be 
 passed on donkeys, ft one of these animals, they 
 were told, were to be had under a two hours' ride 
 from thence. Balzano at once started in search of 
 asses, pressing a boy into the service. For nearly 
 three hours did the poor tired travellers wait in the 
 smoky atmosphere of the guard-house, the return 
 of their kind escort. At last the welcome patter of 
 donkeys' feet was heard, and three sorry beasts 
 made their appearance. No time was lost in mount- 
 ing. Balzano, who was dressed in summer costume, 
 wrapped his plaid around Evelyn, who had placed 
 her own shawl about the little girl. 
 
 The cold on the mountains was excessive, the 
 path difficult, and there was no moon. At about 
 two A. M. the party arrived at Sorento ; but though 
 they knocked loudly at the doors of the principal 
 hotels, no one would rise to admit them. A testy 
 Englishman only, in a red night-cap, looked out 
 from a third floor window, and abused them in very
 
 104 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 bad Italian for disturbing his slumbers. Evelyn 
 getting angry herself, replied in the same lan- 
 guage, which her excitement rendered less melo 
 diously correct than usual. The colloquy greatly 
 amused her cavalier, who laughed heartily at the 
 expense of the dui Inglese disputing in bad Italian. 
 
 To make a long story short, our friends dismoun- 
 ted, and passed the night in an empty carriage, for 
 the poor donkeys could not, or would not go a step 
 further and soon after sunrise they persuaded its 
 owner to put horses to the vehicle, thus arriving 
 at our Yilla, to my infinite surprise, at about six in 
 the morning. 
 
 The suite of this otherwise laughable adventure 
 had well nigh proved fatal to poor Balzano. His 
 kindness and politeness in giving up his plaid when 
 so thinly clothed, caused a severe chill, which end- 
 ed in a most dangerous attack of fever, in which 
 he nearly lost his life. A strong constitution, and 
 a calm, well-regulated mind, to our infinite re- 
 lief, enabled our excellent friend eventually and per- 
 fectly to recover his health.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WE had calculated to a nicety the possible time 
 in which we could receive a letter from Reginald 
 Melville, taking into consideration the accidents of 
 wind and water at sea, and the delays and uncer- 
 tainties on land ; but, at length, the time had 
 arrived when each day was a continued torture. 
 Ah ! which of us do not remember, at some time of 
 our lives, the dreadful alternations of sickly hope 
 and bitter disappointment we have experienced in 
 waiting for that letter so long delayed ? Each 
 morning, as we arose, we have said to ourselves 
 " To-day it will surely come." How we watch the 
 clock ! We are quite relieved to hear it is ten min- 
 utes too fast: the ten minutes pass another five 
 also, and we send down to know if the postman is 
 late to-day. We are somewhat consoled to hear 
 that he is occasionally even later. How our heart 
 beats as we see him turn the corner : how dread-
 
 106 DEATH. 
 
 fully slow he walks. He stops to speak to some 
 one. Oh I will he never cease talking ? We feel 
 tempted to fly down and relieve our insupportable 
 anxiety ; but a horrible fear we will not confess to 
 ourselves freezes us into stone. No, better wait it 
 can be but a few moments. The postman goes to 
 the house near by. Happy inmates ! One, two- 
 yes, three letters for them. At length he ap- 
 proacheswill he pass by? No, he stops. Two 
 letters. "We feel that we shall faint, if they are not 
 brought up at once ; yet we dare not go to meet 
 them. Five minutes, which seem an eternity, and 
 the servant enters with the letters. How sick we 
 turn IT is not there ! And this torment we must 
 undergo daily, till a kind Providence guides that 
 long-desired letter to our hands too often, when 
 it comes, the bearer of ill-tidings, of change, of sick- 
 ness, of death. Poor mortals 1 Cruel, indeed, were 
 our destiny, did not the glimpse of a happier mor- 
 row brighten for us the deep shadows which en- 
 velope the tomb ! 
 
 Ella, though a mere child in years, shared the 
 anxiety of her mother with almost womanly tender- 
 ness. My little god-daughter was a most interest- 
 ing girl, bhe was now about eleven years of age, 
 and bore the promise of remarkable loveliness. Like 
 her mother in regularity of feature, she was still of
 
 DEATH. 107 
 
 quite a different style of beauty. Her complexion 
 was of that transparent fairness which an artist in or- 
 der to copy would tinge with a bine shade. Her hair, 
 of the color called in France blond cendre, fell in 
 rich wavy masses to her waist. To a casual observ- 
 er Ella might appear calm almost cold ; but we 
 knew her to possess intense feeling beyond her years. 
 The child had been suffering from slight fever, 
 and was but just convalescent. We had removed 
 to Naples, to procure better medical advice. It 
 was now the month of November; yet the air was 
 balmy as in the first days of Spring. Ella reclined on 
 a couch near the window ; her mother, seated near, 
 passed l^pr hand fondly over the splendid hair which 
 quite inundated the pillow and swept the ground. In 
 a f t w moments the young girl was in a deep sleep. 
 Evelyn still continued to caress her. Turning 
 to me, after a pause, she said :. " If I could only 
 know whether Reginald is alive or dead, I think I 
 should be less wretched." 
 
 As her mother spoke, I beheld Ella raise herself 
 to a sitting posture. Her eyes were dilated, as if 
 she saw something in the distance. Evelyn, alarm- 
 ed, would have awaked her ; but I motioned her to 
 silence. 
 
 The child slowly raised her arm, and pointed 
 with her delicate finger to something she appeared
 
 108 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 to see ; then, in a clear, ringing voice, like and yet 
 unlike her own : " I see a large army move across 
 a plain, like an ocean of verdure. Oh ! it is so 
 wide so wide the groves of trees are like islands, 
 here and there ; and oh, mama, how beautiful ! See 
 the palaces, the domes all gold and azure. See the 
 white columns and terraces. What a lovely place !" 
 She paused a moment ; and then, suddenly, almost 
 screamed, catching her mother's arm : " Oh ! look 
 look at that brave officer, on a grey horse see his 
 white plumes dance. He draws his sword ; he fears 
 nothing. Oh ! it is it is Reginald. Reginald, do 
 not go there there is blood blood ! Mama, take 
 me away ! They fight they are wicked. I will 
 not see this horrible blood !" 
 
 Ella covered her eyes, and fell back on the sofa. 
 Her limbs were convulsed, her chest heaved for a 
 few moments, and then happily she sank into a 
 deep and peaceful sleep, in which she remained for 
 some hours. When she awoke, she appeared more 
 cheerful than usual, and seemed to have utterly for- 
 gotten her dream if dream it could be called. 
 
 The occurrence was so remarkable, that I wrote 
 it down in my journal, with the date; and later, 
 when I had become familiar with the phenomena of 
 clairvovance, and the mesmeric trance, I considered
 
 DEATH. 109 
 
 this as one of the most remarkable instances of the 
 kind on record. 
 
 Another month, and we had almost ceased to 
 hope for the letter. When it came, it was thus : 
 
 Before Lucknow, November , '67. 
 
 Your letter, my beloved Evelyn, I have only just 
 received : through some mistake, it has been lying 
 at my agent's, in Calcutta ; and I have only now 
 been able to press it to my heart and lips. Thanks, 
 a thousand thanks, for the sweet hope that letter 
 contains. If God spare this poor life, it shall be de- 
 voted to render my Evelyn forever happy. Do not 
 speak of forgiveness ; it is I that ought to ask par- 
 don, for having mistrusted the woman I respect and 
 revere most upon earth. Can she forget a foolish 
 jealousy, occasioned by her beauty and fascination ? 
 I am making a writing-table out of the stump of 
 a tree. To-morrow, we expect to storm Lucknow. 
 Our chief, Sir Colin, has kindly placed me on his 
 staff. 
 
 The thought of you, sweetest, will stimulate me 
 to dare everything. I fervently trust in God that 
 my life may be spared, now that it is of value to 
 you; but if, in the divine decrees of an all- wise 
 Providence, I am fated to fall then, Evelyn, my
 
 110 DEATH. 
 
 wife, before Heaven farewell ! Do not monrn for 
 one who will have died the death of a hero. Shed 
 a few gentle, pitying tears, and then be happy, and 
 forget me. No do not forget. Remember me 
 as one to whom you were dearer than all but his 
 honor one who will ever watch and guard you, 
 even from that world beyond the tomb, to which 
 we are all hastening. One curl of your soft brown 
 hair and your miniature have never left my heart. 
 If these are returned, you will know that a spirit 
 has passed away, whose last thought in dying was 
 of you. Again, and again Farewell? God for- 
 ever bless you, my own my bride ! 
 
 Your loving 
 
 REGINALD. 
 
 Short happiness did this letter bring to our hearts. 
 It also had been long delayed on the road. Three 
 days after its receipt Evelyn entered my room ere 
 it was day, pale her hair dishevelled, her eyes red 
 and swelled with weeping. 
 
 " Reginald is dead," said she, " I have seen him. 
 Nay, speak not," she added, seeing I would have 
 chided her folly, " I have murdered him. Had I con- 
 sented to a marriage he would have left the army, 
 and would never have been sent to India. As I lay 
 awake last night, I tell you I saw him as plain as I
 
 DEATH. Ill 
 
 do you. He approached the bed, looked lovingly 
 upon me, and I saw a wound in his breast. Sud- 
 denly the form melted into air. I had no fear. I 
 wished he would again appear. I should have 
 spoken to him. But nothing more occurred." 
 
 Evelyn returned to her bed, not to leave it for 
 some time. 
 
 The first day she arose from it, weak, but calm 
 and collected, she said to me, " Now, Mary, you 
 may give me the lock of hair and the miniature, and 
 read me the account of my young hero's death. I 
 can bear all the worst is past." 
 
 Seeing that I still wept, and hesitated -to do her 
 bidding, she arose, gently took the keys from my 
 hands, and unlocked the bureau, where unknown to 
 her I had secreted these touching memorials of a 
 happiness now past forever. With a calmness more 
 piteous to behold than any violent grief, she opened 
 all and read all. Then gently clasping her hands, 
 she sank upon her knees, saying, " I was not worthy 
 of him. Thy will be done, oh God ! Thy will be 
 done."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 NAPLES AND THE NEAPOLITANS. 
 
 MUCH has been said and written bj poets and 
 philosophers on the evanescent nature of all earthly 
 joys, and the precarious tenure on which we hold 
 our happiness here below ; but while this is indu- 
 bitally true, let us be thankful that in the divine 
 decrees of a wise Providence, sorrow is of a nature 
 equally transient. The human heart shrinks from 
 suffering and yearns to be blessed. Such is the un- 
 erring law of our being, and He who " tempers the 
 wind to the shorn lamb," mercifully permits Time, 
 that great physician, to pour balm into our deepest 
 wounds, though ever and anon a word, a flower, a 
 perfume, a breath, will cause them to bleed afresh, 
 and throb with exquisite agony. 
 
 The night shadow which since the death of Reginald 
 Melville had enveloped our little party, had gradu- 
 ally given place to the aurora of renewed hope.
 
 NAPLES AND THE NEAPOLITANS. 113 
 
 Evelyn by degrees regained her health and cheer- 
 ful spirits, though she ceased not to reproach her- 
 self as the involuntary cause of Reginald's death. 
 Ella had become very thoughtful, and appeared to 
 us at times to wander in her mind. She frequently 
 said, " Mama, I saw him last night ; he bid me pray 
 for him." 
 
 Or she would chide us for being sad, " He is hap- 
 py, dearest mama he told me so." 
 
 Once she said with much solemnity, raising her 
 hand as if to impress her words upon our hearts : 
 
 " Mother, Reginald bids me tell you he loves you 
 and still watches over you, and you will meet 
 again." 
 
 The child frequently spoke of this suddenly, with- 
 out premeditation, looking up from her book, or her 
 work, or even while nursing her doll. We thought 
 this death had made too deep an impression on her 
 youthful mind, and endeavored as much as possible 
 to divert her thoughts from so melancholy a subject, 
 but we only partially succeeded. She would refer 
 to it again and again, not in sadness, but as if she 
 realized a presence unperceived by others, and was 
 a medium of communication betVeen the land of 
 spirits and the world of sense. 
 
 We lived in strict seclusion, our sole distraction 
 being to visit occasionally, in company with a few
 
 114 NAPLES AND THE NEAPOLITANS. 
 
 friends, the storied and romantic environs of Naples. 
 The gulf of Salerno, the village of Amalfi, with 
 its panorama of mountains, the ruins of Paestum, 
 where the balmy and fragrant breeze is laden with 
 the baleful breath of fever ; and, lastlv, Pompeii, 
 with her numerous villas, where of old the enervated 
 patricians of ancient Rome enjoyed the dolce far 
 niente of a voluptuous climate, heedless of the fiery 
 destruction which, at any moment, might over- 
 whelm their fair town, and hurry those unthinking 
 votaries of pleasure into eternity. Bulwer's "Last 
 Days of Pompeii " contains a description so graphic, 
 and so true of this ill-fated city, that we cannot do 
 better than refer our readers to that classic work. 
 We may, however, be permitted to add, that never 
 before or since has so beautiful a site been chosen 
 for town or village as was that summer resort of the 
 Romans. The vistas which opened upon us through 
 each fluted column, and beneath each sculptured 
 archway of the blue Mediterranean of Vesuvius 
 and his attendant mountains, their vine-clad val- 
 leys all colored by the heavenly hues of South- 
 ern Italy Oh ! this was a sight which will forever 
 remain impressed on my senses and on my heart. 
 
 The Due di Balzano of whom mention has pre- 
 viously been made was frequently our escort in 
 these delightful excursions. During Evelyn's illness
 
 NAPLES AND THE NEAPOLITANS. 115 
 
 and time of trial, he had been untiring in those 
 attentions which spring from the natural goodness 
 of the heart. We now considered him quite as a 
 friend ; and never has it been my lot to meet 
 a more unselfish character. lie was a man of much 
 influence in his native land, and this he always 
 exerted for the good of others. Nearly connected 
 by the marriage of a cousin, with the king, his sym- 
 pathies were royalist and anti-revolutionary ; yet he 
 was kindness itself to the poor and oppressed of his 
 nation, and had frequently run the risk of compro- 
 mising himself politically, in order to save those 
 who had 'mplored his protection, which no one ever 
 solicited in vain. 
 
 About this time, a circumstance occurred which 
 greatly increased our esteem for one whose nature 
 was even more noble than his birth, though that 
 were of the highest in the land. The Due di Bal- 
 zano lounged away much of his time at the fashion- 
 able cq/es,. which, like our clubs, are with the young 
 Italians a much-frequented place of rendezvous. 
 As he was standing in the doorway, Evelyn passed 
 in her carriage through the Toledo. 
 
 I have stated, in a former page, that our heroine 
 had not altogether escaped the tongue of calumny 
 that pale daughter of Envy, engendered by coward- 
 ice, aud nurtured by hatred and deceit. Evil report
 
 116 NAPLES AND THE NEAPOLITANS. 
 
 had even pursued her in her solitude ; and now, as 
 she passed, and gracefully acknowledged the re- 
 spectful salutation of di Balzano, a knot of young 
 exquisites, who only knew her by sight, commenced 
 a conversation, of which the English signora was 
 the subject : 
 
 " E una betta donna" said the Prince Cassero, 
 " but they say she is the cast off mistress of the 
 Count Syracuse." 
 
 "Ah, yes," said another, "and her lover killed 
 himself in despair." 
 
 " She is evidently," said a third, " a donna leg- 
 giera" 
 
 ""Well," lisped a youth of about seventeen, " she 
 is a fine creature, and sympathetic. I think I shall 
 make her acquaintance." 
 
 De Balzano could bear no more ; he sprang into 
 the midst of this dastardly coterie like a tiger. He 
 was superb in his disdainful anger. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, " you are all cowards. 
 That English lady is my friend, and you shall all 
 answer to me for what you have said, or make a 
 most humble apology in writing, confessing that 
 your statements are false. I expect to hear from 
 you at the Palazzo Balzano." 
 
 Thus saying, he left the cafe and returned home. 
 He was a crack shot, fenced beautifully, and was
 
 NAPLES AND THE NEAPOLITANS. 117 
 
 an adept at the sword exercise. It is, after this, use- 
 less to say that a full and ample apology was made 
 in writing by all the offenders, and from that mo- 
 ment not a whisper was ever breathed against the 
 fair fame of the English signora. 
 
 Too delicate to inform us of this circumstance 
 himself, we heard of it by chance some days after- 
 wards, through one who had been a spectator of the 
 scene. Our grateful acknowledgments to our kind 
 protector may be easily imagined ; and from that time 
 di Balzano became a constant visitor at our home. 
 
 "We presented our credentials to our kind and 
 respected minister, Sir W. Temple, who received 
 us with true English hospitality. Once more we 
 entered the glittering halls of pleasure once 
 more my heroine became apparently the gayest 
 of the gay; but she had learned a lesson. No 
 longer a coquette, she sought the society of la- 
 dies, rather than that of the opposite sex. Di 
 Balzano had no reason for jealousy ; poor fellow 
 I saw that his heart was irretrievably hers. He 
 paid her the most respectful attention, and she ap- 
 peared to feel for him sincere friendship and esteem 
 nothing more. 
 
 Yet such a marriage might have satisfied even 
 one as fastidious as was Evelyn. Balzano was 
 handsome, noble, good, independent in fortune,
 
 118 NAPLES AND THE NEAPOLITANS. 
 
 and deeply in love ; he was manly, (a rare quality 
 in an Italian,) honorable, brave, and unselfish al- 
 most to a fault. 
 
 But our heroine chose to imagine him uneduca- 
 ted, and not sufficiently spiritud. She observed 
 that after dinner he felt inclined to take a siesta. 
 Her old failing of despising a devoted heart, came 
 back in full force. "Was she not beautiful? had 
 she not been adored by Melville and others ? She 
 might look higher if not as to birth, at least as re- 
 gards intellect. She was not content with plain 
 common sense in a Husband, united with the artistic 
 taste innate in most of the children of beautiful 
 Italy. She did not at that time appreciate the in- 
 estimable bliss of tranquil domestic life. She would 
 shine, she would be somebody in the world the 
 wife of a Cabinet Minister, of a great general, an 
 orator, a poet. She desired to queen it, in society ; 
 she was in truth a worldling at heart, a very slave 
 to the pomps and vanities of life not perhaps for 
 their own intrinsic merit, but as a means of gratify- 
 ing those ambitious desires, which as a vulture de- 
 voured every good feeling of her nature. But God, 
 as a tender Father, who chastises but to bless, was 
 leading her in His own way, and preparing for her 
 unwilling feet, a path so steep and thorny, that 
 could the future have been at that time disclosed
 
 NAPLES AND THE NEAPOLITANS. 
 
 119 
 
 to her, she would have shrunk back appalled from 
 its dreariness, and have clung with the tenacious 
 grasp of despair to this her last hope of happiness 
 on earth.
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 I PBOMESSI 8P08I. 
 
 " AND so, lella mia, I may at last be permitted 
 to congratulate you on your engagement to the Due 
 di Balzano. If I understand aright, he will very 
 shortly place a coronet on the fair brow he so much 
 admires is it not so ?" 
 
 "Not exactly, Mary," said Evelyn, looking up 
 from a sketch she was making. " You know, dear, 
 that Balzano has himself placed a serious impedi- 
 ment in the way of our marriage. He insists on my 
 becoming a Catholic." 
 
 " I am perfectly aware of that, Evelyn," I an- 
 swered, " but I thought you were well disposed to- 
 ward the faith of Rome, and that your present so- 
 journ in this city was with a view to studying the 
 dogmas of the Catholic Church." 
 
 " Precisely so, Mary and for that reason also, 
 Balzano has presented to us the chaplain of His
 
 I PKOME88I 8P08I. 121 
 
 Holiness, Monsignore Dormer, for whose spiritual 
 counsel I am sincerely thankful. Yet I cannot 
 force my conscience, nor be converted against my 
 convictions." 
 
 " Pardon me," I rejoined, " but have you not 
 done wrong in raising hopes which may never be 
 realized ?" 
 
 " Keally," replied she, " if the gentleman himself 
 makes these conditions, I do not see how any blame 
 can possibly attach to me." 
 
 " You are aware, Evelyn, that the conditions you 
 speak of are rather those of the laws of his country, 
 than his own. As a Protestant, your marriage with 
 a Catholic would in Naples be considered illegal, 
 and your children illegitimate. A dispensation 
 from the Pope would, on the other hand, be too 
 costly. You have therefore no alternative either 
 you must give up the marriage, or change your 
 religion." 
 
 " Oh, you sensible creature !" exclaimed Evelyn, 
 with some petulance. " Miss Edgeworth must have 
 had you as her model when she portrayed her pru- 
 dent and proper heroines. Why, my dear soul, 
 Catholics never marry in Lent so I have two 
 months before me ' Sufficient for the day is the 
 evil thereof.'"
 
 122 I PROMESSI SP08I. 
 
 "Ah ! Evelyn, Evelyn, incorrigible at thirty as at 
 thirteen, when will you come to years of discretion !" 
 
 The entrance of di Balzano put an end to our 
 conversation, which took place one evening in our 
 apartment in the Piazza di Spagna, in Rome, where 
 we had ostensibly come with the view of assisting 
 at the ceremonies of the Holy Week. The duke 
 came to propose for that evening a party to view 
 the Coliseum by moonlight. Ever love-loyal to his 
 lady's lightest wish, her lover's one thought was to 
 give her pleasure ; and as his friends and acquaint- 
 ances were all highly placed, we had facilities for 
 sight-seeing rarely granted to strangers. 
 
 Our mornings were usually employed in lionizing 
 the various galleries and churches of the Eternal 
 City. To one small chamber in the Vatican we re- 
 turned again and again. Need I say, it was to pass 
 hours before the most perfect statue ever fashioned 
 by mortal chisel the glorious, the divine Apollo ! 
 Oh ! I can well imagine how a young maiden pined 
 away and died for love of that majestic form those 
 delicate features, so beautiful in their proud con- 
 sciousness of power. I can well believe how her 
 tender bosom thrilled with a hope that was almost 
 an agony, as she in fancy beheld the magnetic flame 
 of life animate the marble and reveal the present 
 god. Ah, me ! poor child and is she the only one
 
 I PROMES8T 8PO8I. 123 
 
 of her sex who has lived, and loved aye, and died 
 for a shadow a phantasy ? Are we not all doomed 
 to make idols, and, sooner or later, to " find them 
 clay?" 
 
 Evelyn and myself agreed that, on leaving these 
 galleries, as it were, "drunk with beauty," every 
 one we met appeared to us plain and homely. 
 Rome is rather unfavorable to the development of 
 the tender passion. Nor did it surprise me that here 
 Numa Pompilius preferred a visionary nymph to a 
 daughter of earth. 
 
 Our time passed pleasantly enough ; yet Evelyn 
 appeared to suffer from low spirits, and occasionally 
 I surprised her shedding tears. As the chaplain of 
 the Pope came constantly to give her religious in- 
 struction, I imagined her mind was influenced by 
 his pious conversation, and deeply desired it might 
 be BO, for her future good and that of her daughter. 
 I do not now allude so much to her becoming what 
 it is the fashion in England to call " a Pervert," but 
 to her being seriously and practically convinced, 
 that trust in God, combined with a desire to please 
 Him and to obey His commandments, is the only 
 foundation for true happiness, either here or here- 
 after. Evelyn being a highly imaginative person, 
 passionately fond of music in short, an idealist I 
 considered the Catholic form of worship would be
 
 124 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 highly attractive to her, and trusted any impression 
 she might now receive would prove lasting. 
 
 Nevertheless, I sometimes feared that even the 
 devotion of di Balzano had not met with the return 
 it merited. It appeared to me as if my friend were 
 more influenced by the rank and position of her 
 fiance than by her heart, in the choice she had 
 made. Her own standing in society she had some- 
 what damaged by past imprudence, and so unex- 
 ceptionable a marriage was too wise a step to admit 
 of hesitation in a mere worldly point of view. But 
 the evidently deep attachment of Balzano deserved 
 a more worthy return. He was not, it is true, 
 romantic or sentimental ; but his heart was noble 
 and affectionate, and he had placed it wholly in the 
 keeping of her he hoped ere long to call his bride. 
 He had no brilliant talent, certes ; but he possessed 
 sound common sense and great tact. Young, hand- 
 some, aristocratic, a " lion," and unmistakably in 
 love. What could any reasonable woman require 
 more? So thought I, at least; and as I watched 
 the couple, to outward appearance so well matched, 
 I augured for Evelyn a future almost devoid of the 
 clouds which so frequently darken the matrimonial 
 horizon. 
 
 Many of the noble ladies of Rome, friends of the 
 duke, took great interest in the probable conversion
 
 I PEOMESSI 8P08I. 125 
 
 of his English betrothed ; and books and pamphlets 
 were sent her in abundance by these fair zealots 
 and kindly well-wishers to what they considered 
 a most holy cause 
 
 "We had, at length, reached that period of the 
 year when the Church of Rome celebrates, with 
 every adjunct of pomp and circumstance, the great 
 mysteries of our redemption. The ladies admitted 
 to view the ceremonies within the railings of the 
 Church of St. Peter must be costumed in black, and 
 wear a black lace mantilla, or veil on their heads, 
 m lieu of a bonnet. The Holy Week commences 
 by the blessing of the Palms, which are afterwards 
 distributed among the people. Each succeeding 
 day has its appropriate services ; and on Holy 
 Thursday, two very grand ceremonies take place 
 that of washing the feet of twelve old men by His 
 Holinness, in imitation of Jesus washing his apos- 
 tles' feet; and next, the great function of the 
 " Cena," or Supper, when these same twelve are 
 served at table by Bishops and Cardinals. 
 
 On Easter Sunday, after a magnificent service in 
 the Cathedral, the Pope is carried in a chair to a 
 balcony situated near the roof of the building, and 
 from this fearful elevation he blesses the kneeling 
 multitude congregated in the immense piazza of St. 
 Peters. Pio Nono has a remarkably fine sonorous
 
 126 I PEOMESSI BPOSI. 
 
 voice ; and, as he spoke the Latin address from that 
 dizzy height, not one syllable was lost. 
 
 It was a most imposing and touching sight, that 
 crowd of all nations and all creeds, without distinc- 
 tion of age or sex, all bending in humility to re- 
 ceive the apostolic benediction. Many around had 
 tears in their eyes ; nor were my own hereti- 
 cal orbs altogether free from such weakness. A 
 moment, and the clank of arms, the roll of the 
 drums, and the boom of artillery announce the close 
 of the ceremony. We pick ourselves up, stealthily 
 wipe our eyes, enter the carriage, drive to our hotel, 
 and proceed to luncheon. 
 
 " Sic transit gloria mundi."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE GBOTTO OF EGEKIA. 
 
 IMMEDIATELY subsequent to the conclusion of the 
 ceremonies of the Easter week, Rome is suddenly 
 deserted by the crowd of strangers who have 
 thronged her churches, and elbowed each other in 
 her galleries and palaces. They fly to Naples, Flo- 
 rence, Paris, London, as may be. And yet the en- 
 virons of the Eternal City are well worth a more 
 than casual visit. 
 
 It was now the month of May, and the glowing sun 
 of Italy had already clothed the trees with their spring 
 foliage, and scattered flowers into the lap of Earth. 
 An excursion to the beautiful and romantic grotto 
 of Egeria was planned and our little party, ac- 
 companied by di Balzano, started in the early 
 morning on our expedition. "What an apparently 
 happy society ! two lovers, on the eve o'f a mar- 
 riage of inclination, a beloved child, a sincere 
 friend, all united for the express purpose of enjoy-
 
 128 THE GROTTO OF EGERIA. 
 
 ment. Above us, the purple canopy of an Italian 
 heaven around, the varied beauties of scenery 
 whilst the tepid and perfumed breeze of the South 
 fanned our cheeks, and breathed new life into our 
 frames. Surely no element of enjoyment was want- 
 ing ; and yet, strange to relate, of all that party El- 
 la alone appeared free from care. Evelyn's attic 
 brow was clouded, and her eyelids " drooped with 
 unshed tears." The usually cheerful and light- 
 hearted Balzano was serious and silent myself 
 nervous and restless for I had a task before me, 
 which, however unpleasant, I had resolved on per- 
 forming : it was a duty, and I would not shrink 
 from it. Thus was our drive any thing but social. 
 
 On arriving at the spot where travellers quit their 
 carriages to walk to the grotto, we alighted and 
 after patiently undergoing the usual amount of vic- 
 timization from those harpies the guides, who re- 
 morselessly rob you of your illusions while they 
 empty your pockets, we succeeded in debarrassing 
 ourselves of their services on the promise of a sec- 
 ond lottiglia* on our return to the carriage. "We 
 were thus enabled to wander unmolested through 
 the cool and secluded paths in the vicinity of the 
 fountain and grotto of the nymph. Ella at once 
 
 * The Italian term for drink-money,
 
 THE GROTTO OF EGERIA. 129 
 
 seized upon her friend Balzano, and insisted that he 
 should take her on an exploring expedition ! Eve- 
 lyn and myself, soon weary with onr wanderings,' 
 seated ourselves near the moss-clad basin, from 
 which for ever flows the crystal spring, sacred to 
 the mysterious loves of the immortal maiden and 
 her Roman lover. 
 
 u I have often wondered," she observed, " whe- 
 ther this legend of ancient Rome is founded on 
 truth, or whether Egeria was but the symbol of the 
 inspired teachings received by Numa in his solitary 
 cornmunings with nature.'' 
 
 " I have always considered this as a myth," I re- 
 plied. " All the fables of ancient Greece and 
 Rome had some hidden meaning other than a mere- 
 ly sensuous one and this was probably as you have 
 stated, an allegory." 
 
 " And yet," said Evelyn, " it suits my fancy at 
 least while here to believe, that all-potent love 
 drew the heaven born maiden from her solitudes, 
 and that as she pillowed her fair head upon the 
 manly bosom of her human lover, her throbbing 
 heart timidly confessed that even Paradise had for 
 her no higher joy. I believe with Byron, that love 
 is ' no habitant of earth.' " 
 
 " Ah ! Evelyn," I exclaimed, " you at least have 
 no right to say so for never was mortal woman
 
 130 THE GROTTO OF EOERIA. 
 
 more truly, more devotedly loved, than you have 
 been, and still are." 
 
 " Why not add," said she, smiling sadly, " that 
 never has mortal woman made a more ungrateful 
 return ? Granted, dear Mentor and what then ?" 
 
 " What then ? What a question ! when you are 
 on the eve of marriage with- one who possesses al- 
 most every quality you can desire. I say almost, for 
 perfection is not to be found here below." 
 
 Evelyn was silent for a few moments ; then ris- 
 ing, she said, as one inspired, her cheek glowing 
 her eyes flashing, while her voice trembled with 
 an emotion to which she rarely gave way 
 
 " Hear me, Mary. Do not think me insensible. 
 The passion so frequently misnamed love on earth 
 is but its counterfeit. Love, as I understand it, is a 
 spiritual passion a union of souls that magnetic 
 or electric affinity which is as irresistible as it is in- 
 dissoluble ; for it makes of two imperfect creatures 
 one perfect being it replaces the original self with 
 another and dearer self; so that where once all 
 thoughts and feelings culminated in the ego, they 
 are now centered in Tu. This love knows neither 
 change nor death nor jealous}', strong as death ; 
 for it places implicit trust in the beloved one and 
 if, by chance, that trust is misplaced ah ! then," 
 shuddering, and placing her hand on her bosom
 
 THE GROTTO OF EGEEIA. 131 
 
 " then the fountain of life is quenched, and the 
 world say, ' Ah ! she died of a broken heart.' But 
 this love," she continued, pointing to heaven, " is 
 there, and there only. While here, 
 
 " ' If there be a sympathy in choice, 
 War, death, or sickness doth lay siege to it, 
 Making it momentary as a sound, 
 Swift as a shadow, brief as any dream. 
 
 " Such our sad destiny !" 
 
 Evelyn paused, and, coming close to me, seated 
 herself; and taking my hand, she said, as her eyes 
 slowly filled with tears : " Poor Balzano ! would 
 that he had loved YOU, Mary. You have more 
 heart to bestow than I have. Mine has depths, 
 few none may ever sound. And now, tell me, 
 candidly, ought I to marry him?" 
 
 She looked anxiously into my face. I scarcely 
 knew what to reply. The strength of her what 
 shall I say ? imagination surprised me ; or rather, 
 are not the mind's ideal shapes more real than that 
 which we term reality ? 
 
 Evelyn withdrew her hand, and turned away dis- 
 appointed. " I feared you would not understand 
 me," she sighed. 
 
 " Yes, dear," I replied. Though your character 
 is a rare one, I can comprehend, and even sympa- 
 thize with you. Still, it seems to me that you are
 
 132 THE GEOTTO OF EGEEIA. 
 
 wilfully throwing away another chance of happiness 
 for a chimera a visionary bliss you can never hope 
 to realize. You will learn to love Balzano devotedly 
 when you are once his wife the angel of the sanc- 
 tuary of his home." 
 
 " Alas ! Mary, I shall never never love him as 
 I could love, as I ought to love a husband. Still, 
 I have a sincere affection for him, am deeply grate- 
 ful for his devotion, and value all his noble quali- 
 ties ; but our souls would forever remain apart. He 
 could never dwell enshrined within the temple of 
 my heart. I would give him all in my power to 
 give. More than that I could not do. Pity me ! 
 for the pain it will cost me to break this off. Indeed, 
 I dread, above all, not being able to make him 
 happy. Could I do so, if wretched myself?" 
 
 "Well, dearest," I said, " if this be so, you must 
 let him know, without further delay. My intention 
 was to say this to you to-day ; but you have fore- 
 stalled me. Let me, however, entreat you to con- 
 sider well the time may come when you will, per- 
 haps, deeply regret having rejected so honorable 
 and noble a heart, for a caprice, a fancy. 
 
 "Alas!" she rejoined, bitterly "I feel that, 
 whether I unite my fate with the noble Balzano, or 
 whether 1 decide to remain alone and unloved, re-
 
 THE GBOTTO OF BOKBIA. 133 
 
 gret will equally be mine. Such is my cruel 
 destiny !" 
 
 Just then we heard Ella's ringing laugh, and 
 rose to meet them. 
 
 On leaving the grotto, we perceived Balzano ; his 
 hat, his pockets, his hands, all crammed with wild 
 flowers and mosses for his pet's herbarium. As I 
 looked on his fine open countenance, beaming 
 with good nature, and now animated with the 
 pleasure of amusing a child, I almost wondered at 
 Evelyn's insensibility, even admitting he was no type 
 of that spiritual beauty she had taken as her beau 
 ideal. 
 
 During our drive homeward, it struck me that 
 Evelyn's manner was softer and kinder towards her 
 lover than it had been for some time. Did she re- 
 lent ? or was it the tender pity a woman ever feels 
 toward a suitor she is determined to reject, know- 
 ing at the same time she is fondly loved ? 
 
 We retired early to rest ; but, before we parted 
 for the night, I received Evelyn's promise that she 
 would, on the following morning, enter into a full 
 explanation with her betrothed. Of the particulars 
 of that conversation I was made aware later. 
 
 Punctually at twelve, to the minute, as per 
 agreement, the duke entered our salon. Evelyn was 
 alone. She was very pale, but calm and collected.
 
 134 THE GROTTO OF EGEKIA. 
 
 " Mon ami" she began, " I wish to speak to you 
 very seriously." 
 
 "Why so, anima mia?" (my soul) taking her 
 hand, and dropping on one knee, as he gallantly 
 raised the jeweled fingers to his lips " why should 
 we be serious, when everything smiles on our pro- 
 jected union ?" 
 
 " Hush, Balzano !" she replied, gently withdraw 
 ing her hand, and motioning him to a chair. " Lis- 
 ten to me for one moment. It is important to our 
 happiness indeed it is." 
 
 Her solemn manner alarmed him ; for the ready 
 tear stood in his dark eyes, and he said sadly : 
 
 " I see it all you do not love me !" 
 
 " Yes, dear friend indeed indeed I do. I think 
 no one so good, so noble, so devoted as you." 
 
 " Then what is it, cuore mio f" (my heart) 
 
 " I cannot !" said Evelyn, blushing, and not daring 
 to look her lover in the face for she knew that she 
 was deceiving him " the fact is, I cannot be a 
 Catholic just yet ; I should not like to confess." 
 
 " If that is all, lady mine," said Balzano, again 
 smiling, " it can soon be arranged. Indeed, what 
 sins shall you have to confess, unless, perhaps," and 
 he laughed his old gay laugh " you intend to 
 like some one better than your husband ? "
 
 THE GROTTO OF EQERIA. 135 
 
 " Dear Balzano, forgive me, and let me have my 
 own way this once return to Naples, and let me 
 go to Paris. I can profess Catholicism there ; and 
 besides, that is the only place where your bride 
 could get the elegant toilette she will require to do 
 you honor. Remember, Signor Duca, I shall be a 
 Duchess." 
 
 " Take your own way, my only beloved ; I will 
 do as you bid me. But, ah ! I dread leaving you 
 1 have a presentiment of evil." 
 
 He flung himself on his knees before her ; and 
 they mingled sobs and tears. How long they re- 
 mained thus, Evelyn never knew. She only felt 
 him strain her for a moment to his breast, imprint 
 a kiss on her brow, and then he was gone ; the door 
 closed on the manly form, and the light of the kind 
 and loving face no longer beamed upon her. 
 They never met on earth again.
 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 B O 8 8 I N I . 
 
 THEY never met on earth again. In this world 
 where all is uncertain, how terrible are partings I 
 Which of us can utter that fatal word, farewell, and 
 not feel a thrill through the heart of indistinct ter- 
 ror a vague perhaps, which will whisper, who 
 knows but that mine eyes have mirrored for the 
 last time that familiar face, that loved form ! that 
 mine ears have drank in for the last time the music 
 of that gentle voice ! It is fearful on what "trifles 
 light as air," hang the destiny of a life. A glance, 
 a word misconstrued, may forever separate those 
 who till then, were fast friends ; forever banish them 
 from out of our life. To those who have not the 
 consoling hope of immortality in a brighter sphere, 
 what a tangled, hopeless wilderness, must this world 
 appear. And yet we live on ; we dress, and smile, 
 and mix with the crowd ; we hide the never satis- 
 fied yearnings of our hearts beneath the rich tissues
 
 BOSSINI. 137 
 
 of lace and satin, and compress the sighs of the 
 weary bosom with bands of diamonds and pearls. 
 Such is life. 
 
 We had now been some time in Paris that city 
 of fashion where not to be Uen hdbille is a mortal 
 sin. There neither beauty nor talent avail with a 
 woman unless her chapeau be from Laure or Baud- 
 reant, and her robe modelled in the atelier of 
 Roger or Delphine. If in addition, ehe be hand- 
 some and agreeable, so much the better ; but even 
 then, the first salutation would certainly be from 
 ladies, and very probably from the sterner sex, " Ok, 
 Madame, quc vous etes elegante vous avez vraiment 
 une toilette delicieuse." 
 
 Evelyn and myself, with Ella, who was now grow- 
 ing up, used occasionally to spend our evenings in 
 the salon of Rossini, to whom we had been presented 
 in Florence, and who was now settled in a magnifi- 
 cent apartment in the Chaussee" d'Antin. Here we 
 met, from time to time, all the celebrities of the 
 artistic world, whether of music, painting or the 
 dance ; also the leading journalists and musical crit- 
 ics of the day, with an occasional sprinkling of the 
 oeau monde. 
 
 Rossini, at first sight, does not impose upon the 
 mind as the greatest musical genius of his age, and 
 one of the first of any era. You behold a simple
 
 138 ROSSINI. 
 
 t)ld man, somewhat portly, with a face remarkable 
 for its bonhomie. The features fine, forehead high 
 and intellectual, surmounted by, I regret to say, a 
 very ugly wig of reddish brown ; withal 1, a fresh, 
 but not red co'mplexion, of which any much younger 
 man might be proud. He looks a dear, benevolent 
 old man, who would greatly enjoy a good dinner, 
 and this, in fact, is the case. Such would be a first 
 sight judgment, but a better acquaintance would 
 show that the benign countenance could light up 
 with the sourire Jin and the malice we should ex- 
 pect to find in the author of the first and best of 
 musical comedies the ever fresh, the peerless, the 
 immortal " Barbiere di Seviglia." Rossini has ac- 
 quired the reputation of being very satirical ill- 
 naturedly so. Yet it is not the case, for true mod- 
 esty, combined with real talent, could never meet 
 with a kinder, more generous, or more indulgent 
 critic than in him. Unhappily, however, the salon 
 of Rossini is besieged by a crowd of know-nothings 
 who imagine that to display their mediocre acquire- 
 ments before this great man, is to partake in some 
 measure of his genius. Poor fools ! if they had only 
 seen, as I have, the persecuted composer rub- 
 bing his head, (a habit with him when annoyed), till 
 his very wig was actually turned hind before, from 
 sheer nervous excitement, I think, I say, had they
 
 ROSSINI. 139 
 
 beheld this, even shrill sopranos and roaring bari- 
 tones, would have ceased in pity from the remorse- 
 less murders they were perpetrating upon the dear 
 children of his brain. Once I remember, when a 
 cruel lady had worried him past bearing, and add- 
 ing insult to injury, had changed almost every note 
 in his aria, and worse than all. expected a compli- 
 ment from her victim, the maestro advanced to 
 the piano, and said in his mild, soft voice, " Pray, 
 madame, who is the composer of that music ?" 
 
 On another occasion he observed to a prima don- 
 na, whose singing was more remarkable for execu- 
 tion than expression, " Madame, you sing with won- 
 derful agilite ; you are rapid as a railway train, but 
 you know I am afraid of railways." 
 
 Here let me remark that Kossini's cowardice is 
 great as his genius. He fears everything railways, 
 the sea, illness; more than all, death. The idea of 
 the latter appears to embitter all his life ; it is the 
 
 " One shadow that throws. 
 Its bleak shade alike o'er his joys and his woes." 
 
 He has no religious belief no hope which divests 
 the grave of its terrors. Rossini confesses to being 
 a coward, and often turns the laugh against himself. 
 I remember with what humor he once recounted to
 
 140 BOSSINI. 
 
 us an incident of his early youth. He was at Na- 
 ples during one of its many political convulsions, 
 and was, much to his disgust, made a " garde Na- 
 tionale," and, of course, expected to take turns of 
 duty with the others. The young musician excused 
 himself on the plea of his well-known want of cour- 
 age. His excuse, however, was not accepted. Poor 
 Gioacchino was equipped en militaire, furnished 
 with a musket, and ordered into the sentry-box to 
 keep guard. 
 
 " I entered," said Rossini, " and remained there 
 ahout an hour, trembling in every limb. At last I 
 heard, or thought I heard, footsteps. I laid down 
 my musket gently, and slipped out of my guerite, 
 and then I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, 
 and never stopped till I reached home and was safe 
 under the blankets in my bed. In the morning they 
 put me under arrest, and would have shot me. 
 But," added Rossini, with evident pride, " I escaped 
 because Twos the author of l ll Barbiere? " 
 
 The father of the young genius was by no means 
 remarkable for musical talent. He used to play the 
 horn in the orchestra conducted by his son. One 
 day Papa played too outrageously false to escape 
 censure. 
 
 " Who is that bad horn ?" said young Rossini, pre- 
 tending ignorance.
 
 EOS8INI. 141 
 
 "It is I, my son," said Rossini pere. 
 
 " Then, papa, I am sorry, but you must leave the 
 orchestra." 
 
 One more bon mot I must mention. One 
 evening, on our return from the performance 
 of " La Gazza Ladra," at the Italian Opera, we went 
 to pay a visit to the Maestro. Kossini manifested 
 the most perfect indifference as regarded the vocal- 
 ists, but made anxious enquiries as to the way in 
 which the magpie had performed her part. Many 
 other anecdotes might be recounted, but here we 
 can give but a passing notice of this wonderful man 
 wonderful in his greatness, and scarcely less so in 
 his weaknesses. Usually silent in general society, 
 it is in a ttte-d-tete with a sympathetic companion, 
 that Rossini betrays the versatility of his genius 
 and the extent of his information. He appears con- 
 versant with all subjects. Notwithstanding the rich 
 vein of humor which sparkles in his music and in 
 his conversation, Rossini, like Byron, is a melan- 
 choly man. Nor is this singular, for I have invari- 
 ably found that the wittiest and most spirituel are 
 ever the saddest ; and those who press to their lips 
 with the keenest relish the cup of pleasure, when 
 the moments of excitement and intoxication are over, 
 too frequently drain to the very dregs the chalice of 
 misery.
 
 142 BOSSINT. 
 
 Kossini was much attached to Evelyn, her re- 
 markable musical talents and profound worship of 
 his genius, made them a most happy, pair of friends. 
 On her acquainting him with her possible marriage 
 with the Due di Balzano, " My child," replied the 
 old man, " Never marry except for one of three 
 things : a great name, a great talent, or a large for- 
 tune." 
 
 'Tis true for him matrimony had offered but few 
 attractions. From his first wife Madame Colbran 
 a singer of undoubted talent, the maestro was 
 soon separated. As to the second, let us respect 
 her name, she is yet living, but I fear she conduces 
 little to the domestic comfort of her lord. It is 
 remarkable how few celebrities of either sex have 
 been happy in their affections. Commencing with So- 
 crates and his Xantippe, we may cite Milton, Shake- 
 speare, Byron, Dante, Tasso, Goethe, Mrs. Hemans, 
 Mrs. Norton, and a crowd of others, all mis matched 
 or crossed in love, while Mr. and Mrs. Jones, and 
 Tom Smith and wife, with A and B, and numerous 
 other worthies, whose thoughts are centred in 
 pounds or dollars, as may be, and their multiplied 
 progeny, are perfectly content. Is it that they have 
 bodies but no souls to satisfy ? or doth God when 
 he confers on his children the divine gift of creative 
 power, ever twine with thorns the laurel wreath
 
 143 
 
 which encircles their noble brow, baptizing them for 
 His own with the drops of agony wrung from their 
 hearts ? So thought and so feared our heroine, and 
 Rossini confirmed her in her resolve to preserve her 
 liberty for the present. 
 
 Evelyn had continued to correspond with Balza- 
 no, but still repudiated the idea of marriage on the 
 plea that she could not at present conscientiously 
 change her belief. The latter, after some months, 
 became, very naturally, anxious that his ladye-love 
 should come to some decision, and to enable her 
 to do so, he consented, he said, to her remaining a 
 Protestant, and would, on receiving her reply, at 
 once exert his interest to get a dispensation from tha 
 Pope. Thus was my fair friend obliged at last 
 either to accept the love of one to whom she felt 
 unable to give her whole heart, or to lose the friend- 
 ship, perhaps forever, of the man she esteemed most 
 on earth a common but not the less an unpleasant 
 dilemma. Well, what did she do ? Why, she put 
 off answering the letter as long as she could ; asked 
 the advice of all her friends on a point on which she 
 alone could judge ; and after having consulted 
 every one was as far from a decision as ever. 
 
 Evelyn, like all very impressionable people, was 
 apt to be greatly influenced by her surroundings ; yet 
 was she not inconstant. She would forget, for the
 
 144 Rossnsn. 
 
 moment, and appear to be utterly free from all 
 thought of the absent; but the excitement past, 
 she would return with deeper passion to the memo- 
 ries of by-gone days. As yet, no one had approached 
 Balzano in her heart. He still reigned alone 
 manly, noble, tender, the kind protector, the devo- 
 ted friend; and yet she hesitated to make him 
 happy, and, I must add, to be happy herself for 
 what woman could be otherwise with such a man ? 
 
 Another letter, still more pressing, came from the 
 now anxious lover. Was his friend sick ? in trou- 
 ble ? She was but to say one word. He would fly 
 to her to her he must love till the pulses of life 
 ceased to beat his bride, his soul, his delight. 
 
 I found Evelyn in tears, with the open letter in 
 her hand. " I will certainly write to-morrow," she 
 said.
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 THE 8TAK OF DESTINY. 
 
 THE to-morrow of our good intentions, sometimes, 
 it may be frequently, never dawns. On this par- 
 ticular to-morrow, according to Parisian custom, we 
 were to be at home to our friends. 
 
 Our morning was devoted to the duties of the 
 toilet and those of the menage. There was a duett 
 to be practiced for piano and harp by myself and 
 Ella, who now played that graceful instrument with 
 exquisite taste. She was also to accompany her 
 mother on the harp, in the lovely romance and 
 prayer from Rossini's Otello, by particular request 
 of the Maestro himself. Evelyn received well. 
 Her salon was much frequented by artistes and 
 men of letters ; and a few charming female friends 
 added greatly to the brilliancy of these reunions. 
 
 A thorough musician herself, she had a perfect hor- 
 ror of the usual style of amateur singing ; and no 
 one was permitted, at her house, to display their
 
 146 THE STAR OF DESTINY. 
 
 mediocrity at the expense of the nerves of the com- 
 pany. 
 
 Our apartment was situate in the Avenue Gabriel 
 to my taste, the most delightful location in Paris. 
 Near, yet not actually in, the Champs Elysees, it 
 combines cheerfulness and gaiety with privacy and 
 retirement. Our apartment was au rez de chaussee 
 (on the ground floor), all the rooms, as is usual in 
 Paris, en suite. It had been furnished with remark- 
 able taste by a Russian Princess, who, being sud- 
 denly recalled by the Czar, was glad to let her 
 apartment to English ladies on, to us, most advan- 
 tageous terms. We were, therefore, lodged as few 
 strangers may hope to be. The suite of rooms were 
 now thrown open, and brilliantly lighted all ex- 
 cept Evelyn's boudoir, which led into the conserva- 
 tory, and in which reigned a subdued light, inviting 
 to lovers or to those who prefer to muse in soli- 
 tude and watch the crowd from afar. At present, 
 all were congregated in the salon, around the fair 
 hostess, who herself looked like a queen surrounded 
 by her court. 
 
 " Ah ! ma chere" exclaimed a pretty vivacious lit- 
 tle marquise, perfumed like a rose, as only a French 
 woman can be " your soiree is really charming 
 delicious but pardon me, there are two things, or
 
 THE 8TAK OF DESTINY. 147 
 
 rather persons, wanting to make your reunion per- 
 fect." 
 
 "Indeed," replied Evelyn, smiling; "and pray, 
 who may these be ?" 
 
 "Nay, you must guess," rejoined another fair 
 lady of the party ; " for, at present, those two per- 
 sons are indispensible in the beau monde." 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested Evelyn, " you mean my 
 dear friend Rossini ?" 
 
 " Oh ! no ; we are all aware he is quite a her- 
 mit." 
 
 * ' The Emperor, perhaps, and the peerless Castig- 
 lione?" 
 
 "Neither, I assure you," persisted the pretty 
 marquise. 
 
 " Well, Wagner, the * musician of the future.' " 
 
 "Madame, you surprise me," said a beautiful 
 Spanish countess, advancing into the circle "you 
 a dam-e du grand monde, and not to have heard of 
 the great magician par exemple /" 
 
 " And who, pray, may that be, countess ?" 
 
 "Oh!" drawled an Englishman, "the man who calls 
 up the devil, and made Napoleon come out of his 
 tomb and sign his name, or something of that sort." 
 
 " And," added another, " frightened poor Euge- 
 nie out of her wits." 
 
 " No very difficult matter, either," growled an old
 
 148 THE STAR OF DESTINY. 
 
 legitimist with a brown wig, " considering how few 
 wits she has, if report speak true." 
 
 " Fi done, monsieur" or " not so bad," chimed in 
 the audience at this rather obvious witticism in 
 every sense. 
 
 "I suppose," said Evelyn "you mean Home, the 
 Medium. We are, I believe, to meet him next 
 week. So your swan, Madame la Marquise, has 
 turned out to be a goose, after all. And now for 
 that other, without whom no party is complete." 
 
 " That, madame," said a young Frenchman, full 
 of conceit and affectation, " is a long-bony American, 
 about whom, it appears, all the ladies are raving 
 though, ma foi, I cannot imagine what for, except 
 that they say he is enormously rich." 
 
 " Precisely so," said the perfumed little marquise, 
 "but monsieur is jealous, for my Yankee is very 
 handsome, but disdainful, a briser le coeur Mon- 
 sieur D'Arcy." 
 
 " D'Arcy," exclaimed Evelyn, " I expect him here 
 to-night. Madame de Villiers has requested per- 
 mission to present him, and " 
 
 At this moment the folding doors were thrown 
 open, and a charming and aristocratic looking elder- 
 ly lady, richly but simply attired, entered leaning 
 on the arm of a gentleman, whom she presented 
 with much empressetnent to the lady of the house.
 
 THE STAR OF DESTINY. 149 
 
 "Talk of his Satanic Majesty," whispered the 
 Englishman, while a smile might be perceived on 
 more than one pair of rosy lips, as the unconscious 
 object of all this persiflage advanced into the 
 charmed circle and gracefully paid his devoirs to its 
 presiding genius. 
 
 Philip D'Arcy was one of those rarely endowed 
 beings who, at first sight, impress you with a sense 
 of power you feel you are in the presence of one 
 born to command. Where this moral force is com- 
 bined with magnetic influence, or odic affinity, if you 
 please so to term that irresistible attraction we all 
 have felt, more or less at times, then the fascination 
 of such a being is irresistible. He can draw you 
 according to the degree of your sensitive nature, in- 
 to his sphere, as into a vortex. Nor can you escape. 
 Fatal gift, if dissevered from heart and principle ! 
 
 Mr. D'Arcy may have been about thirty ; slight- 
 ly above the medium stature, his erect and lofty 
 bearing gave the idea of greater height than he ac- 
 tually possessed. But for this too the extreme 
 delicacy of his form, (a defect common to the trans- 
 atlantic race of the Northern States), might perhaps, 
 have been considered as somewhat detracting from 
 the manliness of his appearance. To say that the 
 features were chiselled, were little. Intellect sat 
 enthroned on the regal brow, and the deep set eyes
 
 150 THE STAR OF DESTINY. 
 
 calm, blue, and unfathomable as the ocean 
 seemed the fitting mirror of " the human soul di- 
 vine." The lips firmly closed, pale, and somewhat 
 severe in their habitual expression, could, neverthe- 
 less, occasionally wear a smile of rare beauty. The 
 complexion, white as Parian marble, harmonized 
 well with the crisply curling locks, and the full 
 beard, of that cold, brown tint, which almost uni- 
 versally accompanies the refined style of male beau- 
 ty. Mr. D'Arcy engaged Evelyn in that light con- 
 versation which, well talked, has so much charm, 
 and beneath which occasionally runs a vein of the 
 deepest sentiment or the richest humor. But the 
 tete-a-tete was not of long duration. 
 
 Most pressing entreaties drew our heroine to the 
 harp, before which Ella was seated, having already 
 commenced the exquisite accompaniment which 
 preludes the " willow song" of the gentle Desdemo- 
 na. Ella was now in her fifteenth year. The warm 
 sun of Italy had almost visibly ripened the child of 
 a year since into premature womanhood. Though 
 of a form so slight as to appear almost etherial, she 
 was already taller than her mother, and so pure was 
 her girlish beauty, so infantine her air of candid in- 
 nocence, you might have fancied her the youngest 
 and loveliest of the nymphs of Diana. Her small, 
 Grecian head seemed actually bending under the
 
 THE STAR OF DESTINY. 151 
 
 weight of the rich masses of soft, blond hair, which 
 formed a triple crown above the classic brow, and 
 fastened in a knot behind, fell in a luxuriance of 
 clustering curls to the slender throat. 
 
 Though like in feature, Ella formed a striking 
 contrast to her mother ; and for the first time I con- 
 fessed that it were difficult to decide which might 
 bear the palm, the dazzling beauty and ever-varying 
 expression of the still young matron, or the timid, 
 retiring loveliness of the girl. The one appeared 
 as a royal rose, in all her splendor ; the other, a ten- 
 der bud, shrinking even from the kiss of the sun- 
 beam the former, a gorgeous tropical plant, whose 
 rare beauty can only be equalled by its fragrance ; 
 the latter, a sweet and modest lily, hiding amid 
 its leaves in the greenest and most sequestered 
 dell, haunted alone by fairy footsteps. 
 
 Evelyn had never sung so well. The rich tones 
 of her voice vibrated with sentiment, as she por- 
 trayed the sorrows of the loving but forsaken wife. 
 The audience forgot to applaud, (the greatest com- 
 pliment that can be paid to a singer.) The lovely 
 minstrel's own eyea were humid with emotion. 
 Ella looked a coldness she perhaps did not feel. 
 Mr. D'Arcy advanced to the harp. 
 
 "Madame," he said, " compliment to you would 
 be misplaced. The genius of Rossini has found in
 
 152 THE STAB OF DESTINY. 
 
 your own a worthy interpreter. You have sang as 
 he must have desired in his moments of deepest in- 
 spiration when the ideal descending embraced the 
 real. Nay," as she prepared to disclaim the praise 
 so delicious to a true artiste, from one whose taste 
 and judgment is felt to be unimpeachable " nay, 
 fairest songstress," and he smiled that smile of 
 rare fascination which thrilled to the very inmost of 
 her being " if I have praised, it is because I have 
 felt the pathos of those sympathetic tones, the poe- 
 try breathing through each phrase of melody, and 
 I," he added, as if to himself, " so rarely indulge in 
 the luxury of emotion. But pray, Mrs. Travers, 
 present me to the young lady who has so ably sec- 
 onded you." 
 
 "To my daughter? Certainly she is but a child. 
 Ella, dearest, Mr. D'Arcy would make your ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 The young girl bent to the salutation of the 
 stranger, and a blush of the softest pink overspread 
 features, throat and arms, reaching even to the 
 ends of the taper fingers, as she timidly replied in 
 monosyllables to the few words of common- place 
 civility he addressed to her.
 
 CHAPTEE 
 
 A. SERIOUS CHAPTER. 
 
 ONE morning about a fortnight after Evelyn's last 
 evening reception, Mr. D'Arcy was announced. 
 
 " I take the liberty," said he, " of intruding on a 
 day that I know you are not at home to all 
 the world, in the hope of escaping the usual toilette 
 talk at ladies' receptions." 
 
 " We are happy to see you, on your own terms, 
 Mr. D'Arcy the more so, as the part of the hostess 
 is rather an ungrateful one. She is forced to con- 
 verse chiffons, and other frivolities, when she 
 would perhaps prefer to philosophize, if ladies ever 
 dare appear so blue." 
 
 " It is for this," replied he, " that I dislike lady's 
 ' days? One can never approach the mistress of 
 the house herself, except to make some common- 
 place observation about the weather, the opera, the 
 * premiere representation ' at the Varietes gui 
 fait f n with a French shrug of the shoulders.
 
 154 A SERIOUS CHAPTER. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. D'Arcy, in pity do not imitate the 
 French at my house," exclaimed Evelyn. " If you 
 only knew how their manners half-monkey, half- 
 hairdresser annoy me." 
 
 " Madame, I stand rebuked," with a mock respect- 
 ful bow ; " but seriously, though it is treason to 
 say it in so fairy-like a bower, my visit to-day is 
 rather on business than pleasure. I come as ambas- 
 sador from Mme. de Yilliers to endeavor to per- 
 suade you, ladies, to come to her this evening, and 
 meet Home, the wonder-working medium, about 
 whom all Paris is talking." 
 
 "Forestalled," exclaimed Evelyn, gaily; "we 
 were initiated yesterday into some of those weird 
 doings, at the house of an English lady." 
 
 " Indeed," said D'Arcy, with evident interest 
 " and what, may I ask, did you witness ?" 
 
 " Well, we placed ourselves in a circle of about 
 nine persons, and in a few minutes we heard raps ; 
 by the alphabet, we were requested to remove the 
 lights, and after we had done so, an accordeon, 
 which was lying on the table, ' discoursed most 
 excellent music,' no one touching it. Then, by the 
 dim light, we perceived a hand, white and beauti- 
 fully formed and this hand presented me with a 
 real geranium, and others of the circle with differ- 
 ent flowers."
 
 A SERIOUS CHAPTER. 155 
 
 " You are, then, favorably disposed toward the 
 subject of spiritualism ?" enquired D'Arcy. 
 
 "All I saw has deeply impressed me," replied 
 Evelyn ; u and I cannot think it altogether a delu- 
 sion, for I distinctly felt in my fingers the vibration 
 of the table before each rap, and frequently knew 
 the answer about to be made by the (so-called) 
 spirits, to questions asked by members of the cir- 
 cle." 
 
 " Ah ! then you must yourself be a medium?" 
 
 " Delightful ! There is nothing I should like 
 better. You must explain to us these mys- 
 teries, and convert my friend there also, for she 
 is a sad infidel." 
 
 " I suppose," I rejoined, " I am too niatter-of-fact, 
 and have too little imagination to be caught by 
 what I cannot but consider as a mere trick to amuse 
 children, and utterly unworthy rational beings, 
 whether in or out of the body." 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Mildrnay," said D'Arcy, "but 
 if these knockings, which appear to you so puerile, 
 have been tested and proved not to be tricks, and 
 that such and similar manifestations have been the 
 means of convincing the confirmed sceptic that 
 there is an actual hereafter, it appears to me that the 
 spirits of the departed are rather occupied in a good
 
 156 A BEBIOUS CHAPTER. 
 
 work, and that we have at least * method in our 
 madness.' " 
 
 " But," I answered, " surely the Bible is all-suffi- 
 cient for the salvation of the world." 
 
 " No one, my dear Miss Mildmay," replied 
 D'Arcy, " reveres the Bible more than myself yet 
 I am bound to confess it never convinced me. Till 
 my eyes were opened to the perception that spirit 
 really does exist, palpably, apart from matter, the 
 Bible was to me as a sealed book. In earlier 
 youth, I worshipped as my deity the intellect of 
 man, smiling in contempt at the idea of a blind faith 
 in the mysteries of Religion, which I looked upon 
 as the foolish inventions of a venal and ignorant 
 priesthood. It was through the much despised 
 manifestations of the spirit circle, that I first real- 
 ized the ' certain hope of a blessed immortality,' 
 and learned to bow my reason before the Divine in- 
 spirations in fine, 1 believed." 
 
 D'Arcy spoke with the deepest feeling, but calm- 
 ly, and as a man whose doubts were for ever at 
 rest. You recognized in each word the power of a 
 great mind, and instead of wishing to cavil, you felt 
 your place was rather to sit at his feet and learn. 
 
 " One question I would ask," said Evelyn. 
 " Might not these phenomena be produced by mag-
 
 A 8EKIOU8 CHAPTER. 157 
 
 netic influence, and so be accounted for in a merely 
 natural way ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly, Mrs. Travers. Human magnet- 
 ism and the will-power are almost omnipotent as 
 physical forces, and also as influencing the mental 
 faculties ; but the communications being not only 
 intelligent, but actually and frequently even con- 
 trary to the desires and expectations of the circle, 
 precludes the idea of entirely accounting for them, 
 in the way you have very plausibly suggested. Be- 
 sides, the phenomena of direct writing and drawing 
 could be explained by no other theory than that of 
 supernatural intervention. Electric shocks, too, 
 have been sensibly felt, and exquisite odours have 
 filled the room and this in the presence of wit- 
 nesses, many of them men of superior learning, in- 
 telligence, and undoubted piety, who would not for 
 worlds have been made the instruments of propa- 
 gating fraudulent or erroneous doctrines." 
 
 " If you have personally witnessed all you speak 
 of," I said, " I confess that even my incredulity 
 must at last give way before such evidence." 
 
 " Gently, Miss Mildmay," interposed D'Arcy. " I 
 desire that each and every one may see and judge 
 for themselves,, feel ing convinced that no person of 
 average mental powers, having investigated the 
 subject fairly and with candor, could continue a
 
 158 A SERIOUS CHAPTER. 
 
 sceptic. To assist you, however, in your research, 
 let me recommend to your notice ' Owen's Footfalls 
 on the Boundaries of Another World.' Likewise the 
 works of Andrew Jackson Davis. Also, the 'Arca- 
 na of Christianity,' by the Rev. T. L. Harris, and 
 the eloquent and spiritual discourses of the latter 
 author; lastly, a gem of beauty, a perfect string 
 of pearls, the ' Foreglearns of Immortality,' by Sears. 
 This latter work, with those of Mr. Harris, are writ- 
 ten in the very spirit of true Biblical and catholic 
 Christianity, untrammelled by the narrow-minded- 
 ness of sectarianism. Read these books, not for- 
 getting to breathe a prayer for light, attend some 
 circles, and I think in six months from this time 
 you will tell me that you are really ' born again, 
 and a new creature,' so different will be your 
 views of the infinite destinies of the divine human 
 spirit so shadowy will appear the present, so real, 
 so near the future." 
 
 I looked at him, struck with the in tenseness of 
 his manner his large, blue, serious eyes, filled 
 with the far-off look, of those whose spirits live in 
 perpetual communion with the inner world. Like 
 Ananias, it appeared to me that scales fell from the 
 eyes of my soul, and I began to see things for the 
 first time in their true light. Evelyn also was
 
 A SERIOUS CHAPTER. 159 
 
 deeply impressed ; after a pause of emotion, she 
 was the first to break silence. 
 
 " May I ask," she said, " what first induced you, 
 with your manly intellect and infidel sympathies, 
 to take sufficient interest in this subject to attend a 
 circle? for if I judge you aright, curiosity alone 
 would scarcely have drawn you there." 
 
 "You have justly divined, Mrs. Travers, and I 
 will tell you all." 
 
 He paused, and then resumed with deep and 
 touching emotion 
 
 " A young girl, whom I loved, God knows how 
 fondly, was taken from me in the bloom of youth, 
 and on the eve of marriage, by a fearful accident, 
 which left her not a vestige of beauty burned to 
 death," he said, with a shudder. " A confirmed in- 
 fidel, with no hope crushed, tortured, maddened 
 by the idea that she was lost to me forever, I cursed 
 my cruel fate, and should have put an end to a 
 hateful existence, had not pride whispered, * Do not 
 be mastered by your destiny ; conquer it live/ 
 And I lived. At this time, I heard much of the 
 Miss Foxes, and of the wonderful things occurring 
 in their presence. An impression I could not shake 
 off led me to their house. In bitter mockery, I 
 asked myself, Am I insane ? I went to scoff be it 
 said but returned to pray. A communication
 
 160 A SERIOUS CHAPTER. 
 
 came thus by raps' Do not mourn for me, Philip. 
 I am happy now. I was taken from you, because 
 you enveloped your soul in pride as in a mantle. 
 Dear Philip ! you must become as a little child. 
 
 " ' LILIAN.' 
 
 " Imagine my surprise ; for I was in a strange 
 city, where none knew me. I am not ashamed to con- 
 fess, that tears, foreign to my nature, came unbidden 
 to my eyes, and the prayer arose to my lips 
 1 Teach me the truth, Oh ! God.' That prayer, dear 
 friends, has been answered. Since that time I have 
 been happy ; for I now look at this life in the light 
 of the other." 
 
 " 'Tis a beautiful faith," said Evelyn, " that our 
 loved ones are still about our path our guardian 
 angels, perhaps." 
 
 "It is a faith I would not lose," said D'Arcy, 
 " for worlds of untold wealth." 
 
 He drew from his neck a delicate hair chain, 
 with a locket attached. Touching a spring, we 
 peceived the miniature of a beautiful young girl. 
 " That portrait," said D'Arcy, " was painted by a 
 spirit medium, after my Lilian had passed away it 
 is her very self but spiritualized." 
 
 " How exquisitely lovely !" I exclaimed. 
 
 " Heavens ! how like Ella !" cried Evelyn.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 . LEAVES FROM A LADY'S DIAKT. 
 
 March 13A. I have, of late, greatly neglected 
 my journal, not from want of time, neither for lack 
 of incident nor material for thought and feeling 
 rather the reverse. 
 
 Since my last musical reception, I have not pen- 
 ned one line. Oh ! that night is a kind of era in 
 my life. I then made the acquaintance of a remark- 
 able man perhaps the most uncommon person I 
 ever met. It is not only that he is very, very hand- 
 some, nor highly intellectual, nor most refined in 
 manners it is that, over and above all these quali- 
 fications, he possesses, in a wonderful degree, the 
 power of attraction magnetism, if you will the 
 je ne sais quoi of the French. You forget self in 
 his presence, and think of him only. I cannot 
 analyze my feelings. I only know, that, as the soft 
 and musical tones of that voice fell on my ear, as I 
 felt the magic of that glance in my inmost soul, the
 
 162 LEAVES FROM A LADY's DIAET. 
 
 words uttered bj Lady Caroline Lamb, when first 
 she beheld Byron, came unbidden to my memory, 
 and seemed to me as a foreboding of sorrow 
 
 "That pale face is my fate !" 
 
 I murmured, as a vague terror crept over me. 
 
 On the morning we received Mr. D'Arcy's first 
 visit Mary and myself our conversation turned 
 upon spiritual manifestations. I sat and listened 
 for my own experience and the clairvoyant powers 
 of Ella had long since set me wondering. D'Arcy, 
 it appears, is a firm believer. He recounted to us 
 the circumstances which led to his conversion. 
 Lilian what a sweet name ! Ah ! instead of pity- 
 ing, I almost envied her. Did he not say that he 
 had loved her fondly that he still wore her minia- 
 ture next his heart ? Happy Lilian ! Would I 
 could change with thee to have drained the cup 
 of intoxicating bliss to the dregs, and then to die, 
 to pass away in the freshness of youth hopes un- 
 deceived trust unshaken loving, beloved, regret- 
 ted, happy Lilian ! See the reverse, fair spirit, and 
 pity poor Evelyn's far sadder fate ! Behold her as 
 the wretched wife of one totally unsuited to her 
 then, as the murderess of the noble, the lovrng Regi- 
 nald lastly, as the faithless betrothed of the gener- 
 ous-hearted Balzano ; and wherefore ? Because she
 
 163 
 
 is not of the happy "few, who find what they love 
 or could have loved," and who, therefore, are influ- 
 enced through life by " accident, blind contact, and 
 the strong necessity of loving" that touchstone of 
 woman's weakness and folly. 
 
 . My Ella's birthday. She is now fifteen, 
 and in the eyes of a partial mother, the loveliest of 
 God's feminine creation. Mr. D'Arcy brought her 
 a bouquet of the most priceless hot-house flowers of 
 the purest white emblematic, he said, of her ethe- 
 rial nature. How good of him to think of her. 
 Though but a child, she doubtless reminds him of 
 his Lilian. I have observed those limpid and un- 
 fathomable eyes of his fixed upon her more than 
 once in silent contemplation. He is now a frequent 
 visitor perhaps too frequent. There are flowers so 
 fair, fruits so tempting, that we forget the danger 
 which lurks within. We inhale their perfume ; wo 
 press to our lips their luscious juice, and we perish. 
 
 31st. The first mild day of spring. The air from 
 the conservatory enters laden with the breath of 
 flowers. I feel the blood pulsating in my veins 
 with unusual ardor. There is a bouquet of Parma 
 violets by my side, sent by him. Their perfume 
 inebriates my senses; an indefinable charm pene-
 
 164: LEAVES FROM A LADy's DIAEY. 
 
 trates my whole being. If, after all, he loves me ! 
 Oh ! hush ! foolish heart be still. Such happiness 
 is not for earth. And yet, I think he is not indif- 
 ferent. Friendship from him is preferable to love 
 from another yes, it would content me. But then, 
 friends part, to meet again God alone knows when. 
 This is terrible; and what is friendship when love 
 intervenes, for another. Oh ! that thought is tor- 
 ture. Why, what an ingenious self-tormentor am I. 
 Why search the possible future to embitter the hap- 
 py reality of the present. If the worst comes I can 
 die no, WE CANNOT DIB, we live ; live forever with 
 an eternal passion in the heart, when we make of a 
 mere mortal the " god of our idolatry." 
 
 April 15th. This evening, it being my reception 
 day, and a few intimates having collected in our 
 salon, the conversation turned upon love and jeal- 
 ousy. 
 
 " I cannot," observed D'Arcy, " understand the 
 simultaneous existence of these two passions in one 
 bosom." 
 
 " How," cried one of the party, " has not jealousy 
 been termed the ' child of insatiate love ?' " 
 
 w Nay, rather," rejoined D'Arcy, " has not Ten- 
 nyson more aptly described this passion as ' dead
 
 LEAVES FROM A LADY'S DIARY. 165 
 
 love's harsh heir jealous pride.' Where true love 
 exists, believe me, there can be no jealousy." 
 
 "Ah !" I exclaimed, and I felt the warm blood 
 mount to my temples, " Mr. D'Arcy is right. True 
 love must be based on esteem, and cannot, there- 
 fore, live without perfect confidence." 
 
 " Yon have divined me," said D'Arcy, with that 
 smile of rare sweetness peculiar to him ; "jealousy 
 originates in mistrust, and is, therefore, an insult 
 when unfounded." 
 
 " But supposing you had cause," said another of 
 the circle. 
 
 " Then," replied he, with an almost stern severity, 
 " I should no longer love." 
 
 "Ah ! ah ! monsieur," said a pretty little French- 
 woman, " I differ, quite. As for me, I am jealous ; 
 as a wolf a tiger." 
 
 A general laugh followed this innocent and truly 
 French sally, from all but D'Arcy, who bowing pro- 
 foundly, and with an air of inimitable mock humil- 
 ity, said : 
 
 " Then, madame, I am most unhappy, for I can 
 never make love to you." 
 
 " This is growing too serious," I said ; " let me 
 introduce to you, Mr. D'Arcy, as a poet, and my 
 friend, Miss Mildmay, as a musician second only to
 
 166 LEAVES FROM A LADY'S DIARY. 
 
 Rossini. Ella will sing you a song of their joint 
 composition. It is really charming." 
 
 I here transcribe the words, which, with the mu- 
 sic, met with great success : 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF LOVE. 
 
 My spirit dwelleth in myrtle bowers, 
 
 Where the breezes wax faint with the perfume of flowers, 
 
 And the queen rose blushes a brighter hue, 
 
 As I shed o'er her leaves, the early dew. 
 
 On a sunbeam I sit enthron'd in light, 
 
 And chase with my wand the shades of night, 
 
 And oft beneath the moon's pale beam 
 
 I weave with sweet fancies the maiden's dream. 
 
 Deep in the woods, the nightingale 
 
 Telleth to me her love-lorn tale ; 
 
 With the glorious lark, I soar on high 
 
 As her thrilling notes ring thro' earth and sky. 
 
 I love to skim o'er the pathless seas, 
 
 Syren-like, singing sweet melodies, 
 
 And the home-sick mariner feels my power 
 
 In the loneliness of that star-lit hour. 
 
 But, oh ! far more do I love to sip 
 
 The fragrant dew on beauty's lip, 
 
 To braid each tress of her wavy hair, 
 
 And tuige with bright blushes her cheek so fair : 
 
 O'er the poet's couch my spirit bendeth, 
 
 And my form with his visions softly blendeth, 
 
 While he whose soul sweet music fires 
 
 I glad with the strains of the seraph choirs.
 
 LEAVES FROM A LADY's DIARY. 167 
 
 April Wth. The old adage, " Love is blind," is 
 by no means true, at least in my case. Cupid for 
 me never fails to put on a pair of magnifying 
 glasses, which have the power of exaggerating 
 alike the virtues and defects of those who have 
 with me entered the lists of the tournament of love. 
 I have detested many an admirer for "trifles light 
 as air," cruelly criticising his dress, voice, manner, 
 or tastes ; and I once took a fancy to a person, 
 mainly because his gloves fitted exquisitely and 
 had the other qualities corresponded, my fancy 
 would, doubtless, have taken other shape. But, to 
 return. To what a severe scrutiny have I not sub- 
 jected Philip D'Arcy ; but, " alas ! and well-a-day," 
 I find no fault in him. Men frequently term him 
 effeminate-looking ; and it is true, that he is formed 
 in a delicate, rather than a robust mould ; but this 
 suits well with that spiritual style of beauty so pre- 
 eminent in him : and who could fail to read in the 
 pose of that noble head, in the expression of the 
 compressed and chiselled lips, moral grandeur, in- 
 domitable will. Women, too, frequently call him 
 cold. Ah ! they have not marked, as I have, that 
 glance of flame which (rarely, it is true) flashes 
 from the depth of those orbs, usually so serene, so 
 untroubled. The volcano may be smouldering, but
 
 168 LEAVES FBOM A LADY'S DIARY. 
 
 it is not extinct. Long years of self-control may 
 have schooled the heart ; but its pulses, neverthe- 
 less, throb warmly, passionately, humanly, still. 
 
 May 8th. Mr. D'Arcy possesses, in a remarka- 
 ble degree, the power of affecting the heart and 
 imagination with what remains unspoken. He 
 sets you thinking. In his presence, you brush 
 the rust from your mind, and new ideas flow in 
 upon you. To-day, he spoke to us of Swedenborg, 
 and of the charming and consoling doctrine of that 
 great Christian seer ; that however lonely our earthly 
 lot, however mistaken we may have been in our 
 choice of a mate, those who by perseverance in 
 well doing eventually become angels, will, sooner 
 or later, meet with their true conjugal partner 
 their other self in a higher sphere. A beautiful 
 philosophy, and not unreasonable, when we con- 
 sider that love, in its true sense, is the strongest and 
 purest, as well as the most exquisitely delightful 
 sentiment of our nature : nor would the Creator have 
 implanted this passion in our souls, but that He in- 
 tended to satisfy it to the full ; if, therefore, sad 
 experience shows how rarely on earth we are truly 
 mated, it follows, logically, that this sweetest and 
 tenderest of the spirit's yearnings looks for realiza- 
 tion in a higher sphere of being. Such, at least, is
 
 LEAVES FROM A LADY'S DIAKY. 
 
 169 
 
 D'Arcy's firm belief; such also, he tells me, is that 
 of many of the most eminently intellectual and 
 spiritual of his countrymen and countrywomen. 
 Mary is, of course, charmed : she says there is, at 
 last, some chance for her.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE SISTER OF MEBOY. 
 
 IT was now the middle of summer, and remarka- 
 bly hot for the season. All our friends had left, or 
 were leaving Paris, and yet we still lingered on in 
 our pretty apartment of the Avenue Gabriel. 
 
 One morning, suddenly looking up from my em- 
 broidery, I was struck with the pallor of Evelyn's 
 countenance, and the look of weariness she wore. 
 A book was lying open on a table near ; but she did 
 not read. Silently she dreamed, her head resting 
 on her hand. 
 
 " Dear Evelyn," I said, while she started as one 
 aroused from sleep ; " shall we not soon go to the 
 country ? You look far from well and Ella would 
 cull fresh roses at the sea, or at Baden." 
 
 " Ella is very well," she answered listlessly, " and 
 attends her classes daily. I, too, am well enough," 
 and she heaved a sigh so heartsore it was almost a 
 sob.
 
 THE SISTEE OF MERCY. 171 
 
 " Indeed, dearest, you have been suffering for 
 three weeks ever since the last ball at the Tuiller- 
 ies, when you looked like a sunset cloud, as Mr. 
 D'Arcy said." She gave a short, quick start, " all 
 in golden colored tulle and hazy bloude. I never 
 saw you look more lovely." 
 
 " Not enough," returned Evelyn gloomily, " would 
 I were a thousand times more beautiful. Even then," 
 she whispered, as if to herself, " I should not match 
 with the matchless." 
 
 "Is it possible? and are you serious?" I said, 
 painfully alive to her emotion ; " is your happiness 
 so entirely involved in " 
 
 "In him. Yes, my kind my too forbearing 
 friend. Evelyn, the once idolized, petted, spoiled 
 the capricious, the heartless coquette the once proud 
 beaut} 7 loves for the first time, with that love which 
 is her doom. His presence is rny light and life ; his 
 absence my soul's despair. And yet, Mary, not one 
 word of love has he ever spoken ; and since that 
 ball he has never been here never written he so 
 exact, so chivalrous in his politeness. Oh, Mary, 
 why why this so sudden change ?" 
 
 She fixed her sad eyes, round which were two dark 
 circles sign of many a sleepless night imploringly 
 on my face.
 
 172 THE SISTER OF MERCY. 
 
 " I will find out for you," I said ; "you shall at 
 least be spared the pangs of suspense." 
 
 "Ah, me !" she murmured, " men little know the 
 hours of patient watching and waiting we poor wo- 
 men suffer. 'Tis not to be wondered at we make 
 the best Christians ' the patience of hope. 1 I un- 
 derstand it now." 
 
 I took a coupe, and in less than an hour I had re- 
 turned, for D'Arcy resided in the Rue Castiglione. 
 
 Evelyn, still seated where I had left her, sprang 
 to her feet, almost shrieking as she saw my solemn 
 countenance, " Bad news ! Oh, tell me the worst !" 
 
 "Mr. D'Arcy," I said, "is ill." 
 
 " Not dead ! not dead ! Oh, speak !" 
 
 " No ; but seriously ill," 
 
 " I will go to him, instantly." 
 
 " Stay, Evelyn," I said, with authority, "he is un- 
 worthy of your love." 
 
 She looked at me in blank astonishment. 
 
 " The fever he has, he caught in the low neigh- 
 borhoods, and among the disreputable company- 
 he frequents." 
 
 She laughed hysterically. 
 
 " What !" she said, " the noble D'Arcy the re- 
 fined, the spiritual. Never, by my hopes of Heaven. 
 Go, Mary, would you have me hate you ? Look
 
 THE SISTER OF MERCY. 173 
 
 you, he is true and pure as the blessed sunlight. 
 Unhand me, I say ; let me fly to him." 
 
 " Oh ! Evelyn, pause, I implore you. "What will 
 the world say ?" 
 
 " What it likes. Ah ! is it my Mary who would 
 dissuade me from tending a fellow-creature in sick- 
 ness a stranger in a strange land ? No ; she will 
 rather assist me, and when exhausted nature re- 
 quires that the ' sister of mercy ' should take food 
 and rest, my Mary will then relieve her at her post." 
 
 Evelyn passed her arm caressingly around me. 
 How could I find it in my heart to refuse her? and 
 so our compact was sealed with a kiss. 
 
 It was time the sick man should have a tender 
 and loving nurse ; he was suffering from a low, ner- 
 vous fever, with typhoid symptoms superadded. 
 Three physicians were in constant attendance. All 
 light in the chamber was strictly forbidden, and the 
 least noise caused the patient to start as at the fir- 
 ing of a park of artillery. Evelyn's first act was to 
 dismiss the coarse, fat nurse, who sat dozing and oc- 
 casionally snoring in a comfortable easy-chair. 
 Taking the authority of a sister upon her, she paid 
 the woman, and stated her firm intention of remain- 
 ing the sole attendant at the bedside of her brother. 
 Then gently and softly she moved about, robed in a 
 peignoir of delicate white muslin, putting all in or-
 
 174 THE SISTER OF MERCY. 
 
 der. The sick man half delirious seemed to feel 
 there was some change, for he murmured tenderly, 
 " what angel is here ?" Evelyn gently laid her cool 
 hand on the fevered brow, but spoke not, for to do 
 BO was forbidden. The touch soothed and quieted 
 the sufferer, and the physicians, when they came, 
 found a slight change for the better. For six days 
 and nights did Evelyn and myself watch alternate- 
 ly by the bedside of poor D'Arcy, wb.o in his mo- 
 ments of wandering, seemed earnestly engaged in 
 conversation with a spirit he named as Lilian, his 
 affianced bride. As if in reply, he would say : 
 
 "I will obey you implicitly. Lilian, my sweet 
 sister, bride no longer, since you so will it. I have 
 now another guardian angel near. Say you so? and 
 you warn me not to pass by my destiny. You cau- 
 tion rue against such blindness, and you leave me." 
 
 Much more was said, but so incoherent we could 
 not gather the sense and then, fatigued, the pa- 
 tient would dose off into the restless, unrefreshing 
 sleep of fever. At length we could no longer de- 
 ceive ourselves ; the poor sufferer grew weaker and 
 weaker, till at last the doctors unanimously shook 
 their learned heads, and augured the worst. The 
 principal physician, taking me apart, said, 
 
 "My dear lady, bre.tk it ^untly to the poor sis-
 
 THE BISTER OF MERCY. 175 
 
 ter for in twelve hours her brother will be no 
 more." 
 
 Evelyn, pale as marble, and almost as cold and 
 motionless, waved me off. She had heard too well 
 the ominous whisper. For twelve long hours, her 
 arm tenderly sustained the head of the dying man, 
 the other hand ceaselessly engaged in the last pain- 
 ful offices of affection. Utterly forgetful of self 
 even of her overwhelming sorrow her one thought 
 was how she could best soften the parting agony. Ev- 
 ery moment she listened for the almost imperceptible 
 breathing, each instant feeling for the beating of 
 the heart. But the pulse waxed fainter and fainter, 
 the death rattle came to the throat a long, long 
 sigh another, and another then the heart ceased 
 to beat, and all was over. 
 
 The doctors ascertained the fact of the decease, and 
 were too glad to leave the house of mourning. Eve- 
 lyn, tearless, desolate, despairing, sank on her knees 
 beside the couch she believed in prayers for the 
 dead. I knelt beside her, and our united supplica- 
 tions ascended to the throne of the Most High . At 
 length I arose, and would have led the afflicted one 
 away. She resisted. u I will not leave him," she said. 
 Finding it useless endeavoring to change her re- 
 solve, I went home, and returned later, determined 
 not to give up the point. Reluctantly the mourner
 
 176 THE SISTER OF MERCY. 
 
 consented to take some repose. She arose from her 
 knees ; then suddenly, and as one frantic, she flung 
 herself upon the lifeless corpse. 
 
 " I will not leave thee, Philip mine in death, if 
 not in life." 
 
 She clung to the helpless clay, her warm, fresh 
 mouth pressing the ice-cold lips, her pure breath 
 entering the paralyzed lungs. The passionate heart, 
 full of the magnetism of life, beating against that 
 stone-cold breast now, alas ! still for ever. 
 
 " Philip," she cried again and again, straining 
 the dear form closer and yet closer in her fond em- 
 brace, " come back to your Evelyn," when, O won- 
 drous to relate ! the spirit just about to take wing, 
 and emerge from the dark terrors of the " valley of 
 the shadow of death," or intermediate state, into 
 life and immortality, paused, wavered looked 
 back lovingly, and returned to the body. A Di- 
 vine influx descending through that tender woman's 
 bosom, established a human sympathy once more 
 with the apparently lifeless frame, and D'Arcy 
 again breathed the breath of life.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ELLA. 
 
 EVELYN had saved Philip D'Arcy's life, but al- 
 most at the cost of her own. The reaction from 
 intense despair to the excess of joy, was too much 
 for her, and to a deathlike swoon succeeded the 
 frantic ravings of delirium. The fever of her be- 
 loved had fastened its cruel fangs in her very vitals. 
 During weeks and weeks of suffering, I scarcely 
 left the bedside of my poor friend for ever and for 
 ever did she utter the name of Philip, her true 
 mate, her celestial bridegroom, her first, last, her 
 only love. Unwilling that other ears should disco- 
 ver the secret of her heart, I permitted none to ap- 
 proach, cautiously concealing from Ella the dan- 
 gerous nature of the malady, lest the dear girl 
 should insist on sharing my anxious watch, and 
 thus be made aware of her mother's weakness a 
 weakness which, while pitying, I deeply deplored. 
 Poor D'Arcy too, I remembered, must not be left
 
 178 ELLA. 
 
 alone with strangers. At ray desire, therefore, 
 Ella, accompanied by an elderly female attendant, 
 supplied her mother's place in the sick room of 
 him who still required the utmost attention and so- 
 licitude. 
 
 Many days elapsed ere the patient was pro- 
 nounced out of danger, and permitted to speak. 
 
 " Sir, I am both surprised and happy to be able 
 to announce your convalescence ; and it is to the 
 devoted attention of this young girl," designating 
 Ella, " that, under divine Providence, you owe your 
 life." So spake the man of science, not aware of the 
 whole truth, as we know it, and he spake as he 
 thought. The sick man turned a grateful look on 
 his young nurse, gently raising the hand she had 
 placed in his to his pallid lips. 
 
 Many a time, as he daily grew stronger, would 
 D'Arcy desire to ask after Evelyn ; and yet, simple 
 as was the question, it appeared as if his tongue 
 refused to frame it. " Strange that she never in- 
 quires never comes," he mused. " Were not Ella 
 so calm, I should say her mother, too, must be ill." 
 At length, he determined to solve his doubts 
 " Your dear mother, my child, and Miss Mildmay 
 tell me of them ' 
 
 " Poor mama," replied the young girl, " is not 
 very well."
 
 ELLA. 179 
 
 "Nothing serious, I trust." 
 
 " Oh ! no. She caught cold, I believe, the last 
 time she was out." 
 
 D'Arcy sighed in his heart he maligned poor 
 Evelyn as a true woman of the world, a fashionable 
 coquette, heartless as she was beautiful ; and think- 
 ing thus, he unconsciously watched the graceful, 
 half-childish form of Ella, as she noiselessly stole 
 about the room, or bent over her tapestry frame, till 
 at length he grew to listen eagerly for her coming 
 and regret her parting step. Sweetly would the 
 tones of her silvery voice fall on his ear, as, reclining 
 on a conch propped up by cushions, he listened 
 while she read to him extracts from Byron, Words- 
 worth, Tennyson, or some noble bard of tyis own 
 fair land. A.t such times he would name her, half 
 in jest, " Elaine, the lily maid," who died of love 
 for the brave Sir Launcelot. 
 
 One afternoon, as the invalid drew fresh life from 
 the warm beams of the mid-day sun, his young com- 
 panion,, seated on a low stool at his feet, her fairy 
 fingers busily engaged with her tapestry, D'Arcy 
 said ''Sweet Elaine! shall we read, or shall we 
 have a little quiet talk together ?" 
 
 With a sweet smile, she answered, still diligently 
 plying her needle : " We will converse to-day for
 
 180 ELLA. 
 
 I must finish this cushion for mania by the time she 
 is quite well." 
 
 But D'Arcy appeared embarrassed ; and, after a 
 pause of some minutes' duration, he probably said 
 just the thing he had never intended to utter : 
 
 " My child, could you love ?" 
 
 Wonderingly, Ella raised her soft blue eyes, and 
 fixed them on the face of the speaker " Why, cer- 
 tainly," she said; "I dearly, dearly love my 
 mother." 
 
 " And none other ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, indeed Mary our kind, good Mary, 
 for example. You, too, of course," blushing 
 slightly " you are now another dear friend." 
 
 " But, Ella, listen. Could you, for instance, love 
 as as Elaine loved Launcelot ?" 
 
 She paused. " I have never thought of that at 
 any rate, if he had not loved me, I should never 
 have been so silly as to care for him." 
 
 " No but supposing he had loved you ?" 
 
 " "Well, in that case, perhaps I might ; but, oh ! 
 Mr. D'Arcy, never, even then, nearly so much as I 
 love my own dear mother. Ah ! you do not know 
 how I love her," and the tears started to the dear 
 child's clear eyes ; " but," she hesitated, "I do 
 wish to say something to you you must never, 
 never mention it, though. Perhaps it is foolish to
 
 181 
 
 tell you but, I should so like my mother to 
 marry." 
 
 It now was D'Arcy 's turn to feel his cheek all 
 flame. " It is, doubtless," he forced himself to re- 
 ply, " by your mother's own desire that she remains 
 single." 
 
 " I do not know," mused Ella " she was very 
 nearly married once ; but it (I mean the marriage) 
 was postponed, in consequence of her not being 
 willing to change her religion. I, however, know 
 she loved the , but I will not name him." 
 
 D'Arcy was now pale as death. " Perhaps," said 
 he, " all may at present be at an end." 
 
 " Oh ! no, indeed," exclaimed Ella, eagerly ; 
 " they still correspond, I know and he is so hand- 
 some, so good, so fond of her she would be very, 
 very happy do, Mr. D'Arcy, persuade mama to 
 become a Catholic !" 
 
 He seemed lost in thought. " Sweet Elaine," at 
 length he said, " rest assured, that, to further your 
 mother's welfare and your own, I would gladly 
 sacrifice my life. I will take an early occasion of 
 conversing with her on this subject." 
 
 Meanwhile, my poor invalid lay turning and 
 tossing on her fevered couch, and ever and forever 
 would she thus make moan: "Philip, my own true 
 mate Philip, bridegroom of my soul why so
 
 182 ELLA. 
 
 cruel?" Then, in her wild delirium, would she 
 sing snatches of melody, and her voice was strong, 
 clear, and of unearthly sweetness. Often would she 
 repeat those exquisite lines of Shelly : 
 
 " The nightingale's complaint, it dies upon her heart, 
 As I must on thine, beloved as thou art 
 A spirit Lath led me to thee, love." 
 
 " Yes, Lilian thy loved Lilian, hath given thee 
 to Evelyn Keginald, too, looks upon me with ten- 
 der and forgiving eyes. See ! they descend toge- 
 ther to bless our union they bear a wreath of 
 orange blossoms and myrtle they place it on my 
 burning brow it is cool cool delicious! Oh! 
 what fragrance! It soothes my brain it recalls 
 my senses the dews of Paradise fall like a shower 
 of pearls over my tangled hair. Ah ! see they 
 place a white moss rose on my bosom it stills the 
 throbbings of my heart it deadens the pain ! 
 Thanks, blessed, loving angels ! Pray for poor 
 Evelyn. She is saved !" 
 
 As she uttered these words an exquisite perfume 
 filled the sick chamber, and I saw, as it were, a 
 halo of white light around the head of the poor suf- 
 ferer, and fancied I beheld a hand, white as alabas- 
 ter, holding a rose to her breast. A moment, and 
 the light faded, or rather, gave place to the sickly
 
 ELLA. 183 
 
 rays of the early dawn, as they penetrated the 
 closed blinds and shone on the pale form of the pa- 
 tient. Was this a vision or a mere disorder of the 
 fancy ? I know not ; but I do know that from that 
 moment the fever left her ; that she slept profoundly 
 for twelve consecutive hours ; and on awakening 
 was declared convalescent.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE PKOP08AL. 
 
 IT was the sixteenth of August; the heat had 
 been intense, but toward evening a cool air stirred 
 the leaves of the trees, and entered the open win- 
 dow of the pretty boudoir in the Avenue Gabriel. 
 That day our beloved in valid quitted her room for 
 the first time. Languidly reclining on an elegant 
 couch of pale green silk, her sweet face half 
 buried in the rich lace which ornamented the downy 
 cushions, she enjoyed the voluptuous sensations in- 
 cident to the convalescent state. Ella had decked 
 the apartment with flowers, to fete the recovery of 
 her dear mother, and a silver tea-service, standing 
 on a small table near, plentifully supplied with 
 cakes and fruit, added greatly to the home comfort 
 of the scene. 
 
 Evelyn's illness, if it had somewhat detracted
 
 THE PROPOSAL. 185 
 
 from the brilliancy of her beauty, had replaced it 
 with an air of delicacy and refinement, which, per- 
 haps, suited still better the classic outline of her 
 features. Her complexion, transparent as porce- 
 lain, was now colorless, if we except a bright spot 
 on either cheek the result of emotion rather than 
 of returning health. Her soft, hazel eyes seemed 
 humid with a tender languor which gave to them a 
 remarkable charm. The warm pulses of renewed 
 life and hope seemed to pervade each nerve and 
 fibre of her being. I could scarcely keep my eyes 
 from looking at her, while Ella, echoing my thoughts, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Dearest mama, how very beautiful you look this 
 evening !" 
 
 The mother pensively smiled, passed her hand 
 through her daughter's hair, and then was again 
 lost in thought. 
 
 But let us now permit her to speak for herself. 
 
 MORE LEAVES. 
 
 August 16th. It is nearly three whole months 
 since 1 have seen him, and oh ! what events since 
 then. Both have been sick nigh unto death ; both 
 have received revelations from the angel world, and 
 I shall see him this day, and he said to Ella he would
 
 186 THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 speak with me alone. Ah ! the cruel moments 
 lengthen themselves into hours to retard his coming. 
 And if, after all, he should fail. But that is not 
 possible, has he not given his word ! 
 
 . I have made a violent effort to collect my 
 scattered senses, for I would fain write the occur- 
 rences of that night. Though the day appeared as 
 if it would never end, yet, as evening approached, 
 I almost dreaded to meet him. The thought that I 
 had dared to clasp him, living, in my arms that 
 unasked, unsought, my lips had been pressed to his, 
 made me timid as a young girl. This remembrance, 
 even now, dyes my cheek with crimson. Oh ! were 
 he then conscious of all, how could I ever, ever, 
 again lift my eves to his; how could I ever support 
 his glance of withering scorn. As these reflections 
 passed through my brain, 1 half arose. " I will re- 
 tire to my room," I thought, " and leave Mary and 
 Ella to receive him." Just then there was a ring, 
 and a well-known step was heard in the antecham- 
 ber. Philip D'Arcy entered, and in the delirious 
 joy of his presence, I forgot all but that he was 
 here once more restored to life, to health, to hope, 
 to love. He appeared surprised to find me still an 
 invalid, for as he took my hand and pressed it with 
 that soft, thrilling pressure which may mean friend-
 
 THE PROPOSAL. 187 
 
 ship, or so much more, he murmured words of 
 sorrow and sympathy, thougli I scarcely caught 
 their meaning. Then seating himself, as Mary 
 served the tea, he addressed some polite and com- 
 monplace observations to her and Ella. I could 
 now satisfy the hunger of my soul by dwelling on 
 that noble countenance, the light of which had so 
 long been hidden from my weary eyes. 
 
 After long silence, I said suddenly, 
 
 "Pray, Mr. D'Arcy, tell me how did you man- 
 age to catch that fever ?" 
 
 The formality of this address sounded strangely 
 even to my own ears, and almost as if another had 
 spoken. 
 
 Philip smiled his old smile, and replied that he 
 would prefer this should remain a secret. Perceiv- 
 ing a somewhat mocking expression on Mary's lips, 
 I exclaimed with petulance, 
 
 " But I insist on your telling me I will know." 
 
 Turning upon me a calm and penetrating, though 
 rather surprised look, he said quietly, 
 
 " I have the gift of healing by mesmeric passes ; 
 over fatigued by too close attendance on a patient 
 suffering from a virulent attack of morbid typhus, 
 I saved him, but succumbed to the malady myself." 
 
 I cast a triumphant glance at Mary. It was with 
 difficulty I could resist the impulse I felt to throw
 
 188 THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 myself at his feet, almost in adoration. Mary then 
 happily observed, in her usual calm and philosophic 
 style, that " magnetism appeared to be the grand 
 motive power of organic nature." 
 
 " Say rather," replied D'Arcy, " of the entire 
 visible universe. Do we not know that the poles 
 of the earth are magnetic ? Is there not electro- 
 magnetism in the sun's beams ? And in fact I have 
 very little doubt that the power named gravita- 
 tion by Newton, is neither more nor less than mag- 
 netic attraction." 
 
 " That," replied Mary, " is both a philosophic 
 and a beautiful idea." 
 
 " I think," rejoined he, " it at least bears the 
 impress of truth, and as science progresses, who 
 knows whether it will not be ascertained that sim- 
 ilar internal laws govern these apparently distinct 
 forces ? All true science tends towards unity, as 
 all religious point to the ONE TEUE GOD." 
 
 So passed the time, till tea being over, Mary with 
 Ella proposed taking a stroll the latter laughingly 
 saying that the two invalids might amuse each other 
 by expatiating on the delights of panada, tisane, 
 and chicken broth. 
 
 In the sweet hour of twilight, alone once 
 more with him, aud awaiting, as it were, the 
 fiat of my destiny, is it wonderful that pale with 
 emotion I lay almost as one inanimate?
 
 THE PROPOSAL. 189 
 
 " I fear" and the tones of his voice were low 
 and tender as he bent over me " I fear me much 
 you still suffer." 
 
 " I have been ill, very ill," I murmured, scarcely 
 daring to trust my voice. 
 
 " Can you listen," he almost whispered, " if I speak 
 to you on a subject important to me, interesting to 
 you to both " 
 
 I signed assent, for I was powerless now to artic- 
 ulate one word. 
 
 "During my illness," he proceeded, "I was in 
 constant communication with the spirit of my Lilian. 
 Much advice she gave, and much she cautioned as 
 to my future ; finally, she informed me that it was 
 not her destiny to become my bride through eter- 
 nity, but that there was one then near who would 
 save my life one whose tender bosom would ever 
 pulsate in unison with my own, whose character of 
 mind and heart was, from contrast, fitted alone to 
 complete mine 'but,' she added, solemnly, 'make 
 not shipwreck of your happiness. Pass not by 
 your fate? " 
 
 He paused. I could make no reply. My blood 
 was coursing rapidly and tumultuously through ev- 
 ery vein and artery. My voice, passion-choked, could 
 only express itself in sighs. My soul seemed bathed 
 in an ocean of hitherto unknown delights. I
 
 190 THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 scarcely dared breathe, lest I should lose a word, 
 a tone. A few moments more of suspense would 
 have killed me. Would that it had been so ! 
 
 Soft as the murmur of a summer brook, thrilling 
 as the song of birds, tender as the cooing of the 
 wood-pigeon, did that loved voice again steal upon 
 my ear. "At one time," it said, " methought I was 
 dying. I lost all physical sensation. My heartfelt 
 like a stone in the midst of my body. My breath- 
 ing seemed to be carried on through the spiritual 
 lungs alone when, suddenly, as if from afar, I 
 heard, as it were, a faint cry a cry of distress : 
 ' Philip, mine own, do not die,' it said, ' Return 
 oh ! return.' (I covered my burning face with my 
 hands, as he continued.) 
 
 " At this time I felt on my lips a warm breath a 
 human heart appeared to touch my own then all 
 was dark, dark. On opening my eyes, I beheld, as 
 an angel of light, standing at my bedside, your 
 sweet child Ella." 
 
 As if one had taken a sledge-hammer, and struck 
 with violence a blow on the very centre of my 
 heart such was the shock I experienced. Stunned, 
 unconscious, I heard no more. Hud it not been 
 thus mercifully arranged, I had not stifled a burst 
 of passionate anguish. When I in some measure re- 
 covered my senses a mortal despair seized upon me.
 
 THE PROPOSAL. 191 
 
 The shades of evening had now closed in, my 
 soul too was all gloom. Still those soft accents fell 
 on my ear, till at length I distinguished the words, 
 " Have I then your consent?" In vain would I have 
 replied, but my throat was parched my tongue par- 
 alyzed. I could only bend my head in token of as- 
 sent. " On one other subject would I also for a mo- 
 ment speak," and then the beloved voice trembled 
 and faltered, " Pardon me, but your happiness is 
 dear dearer to me than my own. I understand," 
 he hesitated, and then spoke rapidly, as though 
 he would be rid of an ungrateful task, " I hear, there 
 is one who adores you one who has haply not 
 loved in vain one, in fine, who even now stands 
 toward you in the light of an affianced husband. 
 May I express the hope that this union will no lon- 
 ger be delayed, and that bliss such as rarely falls to 
 mortal lot may be yours, and his for your sweet 
 sake ?" Philip raised my hand to his lips. " Good 
 God ?" he cried, " you are ill your hand is cold 
 and clammy as in death." 
 
 I tried to smile. Happily the darkness covered 
 the ghastly and futile attempt. By a supreme ef- 
 fort I rose to my feet. 
 
 " I am well. I thank you," I gasped, " for for 
 your good wishes. I shall" and I pressed both 
 hands on my heart to still its wild beatings, now
 
 192 THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 and forever, if I could " I shall marry soon very 
 soon." 
 
 Staggering to the door, I met Mary and Ella. 
 Motioning the latter toward the boudoir, and cling- 
 ing almost fainting to Mary, who caught me in her 
 arms, I was half-led, half-carried to my bed-chamber 
 where, left alone with my grief, my despair, my 
 lost love, my wounded woman's pride worn out 
 by that " hope deceived which maketh the heart 
 sick," exhausted nature could no more, and sleep at 
 length in pity steeped my weary soul in forgetful-
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 LOVED IN VAIN. 
 
 Is there one among us who has not, at some pe- 
 riod of his life, experienced the dull pain which, on 
 tfce morrow of a great grief, ever returns to us with 
 the first dawn of consciousness ? . Have we not 
 hated the very light of another day ? Have not all 
 familiar objects lost their charm for us ? How sens- 
 itively, too, have we shrunk from contact with 
 the domestics aye, even from the loved faces of 
 the home circle ! Alone would we entertain our sor- 
 row. We are in love with her, and from her we will 
 not be parted. This is the very luxury of grief. Joy 
 may be a social passion ; but surely the converse is 
 true of profound misery. 
 
 Our unhappy heroine dared not thus indulge her 
 sorrow she must up and be doing. The poisoned ar- 
 row which had pierced her bosom must there remain, 
 an agonized but concealed torture. Ah ! me those 
 pangs for which the world would have no pity, and 
 
 9
 
 194: LOVED IN VAIN. 
 
 which, therefore, we must hide under the semblance 
 of smiles, are ever the most poignant. 
 
 Like lawful love, legitimate grief may be deep ; 
 but neither are of that stormy nature which shakes 
 the soul to its foundation, and blights the whole 
 existence. So Evelyn arose, mechanically, and suf- 
 fered her maid to attire her ; then, causing the 
 blinds to be closed, the better to conceal her hag- 
 gard countenance, she bade the attendant leave the 
 room. 
 
 To the question "Will madame take breakfast 
 now?" her mistress replied, that she merely re*- 
 quired a cup of tea ; and added, that, having impor- 
 tant letters to write, she must not for the present be 
 disturbed. Then flinging herself into a chair, and 
 covering her aching eyes with her hand, she endea- 
 vored to collect her thoughts. Just then, she felt a 
 soft warm touch when, starting, she turned and per- 
 ceived her faithful dog, the gift of di Balzano. He 
 had placed his paw in her hand, and he looked into 
 her face with a fond, wistful glance, which seemed 
 to say, " Dear mistress, you are sick or sad ; but 
 your poor dog loves you, and will never forsake 
 you." And Evelyn comprehended, and she flung 
 her arm about the shaggy neck of her favorite, and 
 the large scalding drops fell on his honest head. " Poor 
 Dashey," she said " poor fellow !" and tears,
 
 LOVED IN VAIN. 195 
 
 too, almost human, stood in the eyes of the loving* 
 animal. Nay, mock not, gentle reader for, as the 
 author has observed, so she writes. She once had a 
 dog whom she has seen weep more than once ; and 
 when the poor fond creature died, she mourned for 
 her (for she was of the softer sex) as for a friend. 
 
 And Evelyn went to her writing-table her re- 
 solve was taken. " Good, kind Balzano," she said ; 
 " how he loved me unworthy as I am ! I will no 
 longer delay writing to him ;" and she penned the 
 letter we here transcribe : 
 
 A Sua Excellenza, il Duca di Balzano, 
 
 Palazzo Balzano, Naples, August , 18 . 
 
 DEAR FRIEND, Pardon my prolonged silence, 
 and apparent neglect. I have been ill danger- 
 ously ill for many weeks. Before that, I had 
 come to no decision on the subject of your last let- 
 ter. I cannot be a Catholic; but, if you can pro- 
 cure a dispense from the Pope, I will now be your 
 wife. Can you forgive my caprice ! At last, I 
 understand how cruelly you must have suffered 
 through me. Henceforth, it will be the sole aim of 
 my life to compensate for past folly, by future devo- 
 tion to your happiness. Write soon, and say when 
 we may expect you here. Ella you will find grown 
 out of all knowledge. You were ever a favorite
 
 196 LOVED IN VAIN. 
 
 *with her. I cannot write more. 1 am still very 
 weak but, as ever, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 EVELYN. 
 
 The letter was just concluded, when a gentle tap 
 at the door caused the writer's heart to give one 
 bound, and then almost to cease beating. Evelyn 
 withdrew the bolt for she must speak with Ella. 
 The young girl threw herself on her mother's neck ; 
 but that mother's kiss was cold, for the first time 
 and, as she felt the soft contact of her child's pure 
 lips, almost a shudder passed through her frame. 
 Ah ! wherefore did the shadow of that man come 
 between those two ! And Ella knelt at her mother's 
 feet, an unconscious rival ; and as the latter, faint 
 and sick at heart, leaned back in her fauteuil, she 
 held the poor burning hand in her cool fresh palm, 
 and poured out before her mother all the thoughts 
 and feelings of her innocent, loving heart. She 
 told how D'Arcy loved her, how kind he was, 
 how clever far too wise and clever for her, how 
 could he think of such a child ? True, Lilian had 
 told him, or it could never have been ; but her 
 dear mother must teach her to become wise, wor- 
 thy of him, that he may not think her foolish 
 "But oh! my own, own mama, I never, never
 
 LOVED IN VAIN. 197 
 
 will marry and leave you all alone. I told Mr. 
 D'Arcy so. Never till you are a duchess, you 
 know," kissing her hand, " for though I like him 
 very much, I never shall love him like my own 
 sweet mother ; how could I ! " 
 
 Alas! poor Evelyn; bitterly did thy heart re- 
 proach thee that thou couldst not feel as the tender 
 maiden at thy feet that thy now guilty love still 
 glowed in thy tortured heart, as in a furnace, to the 
 exclusion of each gentle and more holy sentiment. 
 Unhappy mother ! she could scarce support the pre- 
 sence of her child now. 
 
 " Dear girl," she said, with an effort, " be hap- 
 py. I have written to accept M. di Balzano." 
 Ella made a movement of delight. "Bless you, 
 darling, now leave me. Take that letter and see 
 that it is sent. I would be alone, my head aches 
 terribly." A true woman's excuse, but in our he- 
 roine's case not a fictitious one. 
 
 Once more left to her own sad thoughts, Evelyn 
 endeavored to realize her painful position. It was 
 necessary to meet D'Arcy ; to show him that she 
 consented, nay, that she was even happy, in the 
 idea of his union with another, and that other her 
 own daughter. "Alas !" she repeated to herself,
 
 198 LOVED IN VAIN. 
 
 " To love thee dumbly, nor by look or word 
 To break the silence set upon my soul, 
 To crush the voice that struggles to be heard, 
 To gaze unmoved on the forbidden goal. 
 
 " To sit and look into thine eyes, and yearn 
 To tell thee all my closely hoarded thought, 
 And still to know that I must calmly learn 
 To meet thy gaze, and yet to utter naught 
 
 " To know there is no hope ; hourly to feel 
 That Destiny forbids a word, a breath ; 
 This bitter fate is mine, until the seal 
 Is broken, by the welcome hand of death." 
 
 And she accepted her fate, and she made the he- 
 roic resolve cost what it might, she would see 
 D'Arcy this evening, if but for five minutes. She 
 would school her eyes to gaze calmly on those 
 still beloved features. She would force herself to 
 support the sight of those lover-like attentions which 
 were not, which never could be for her. She would 
 even be happy in the mutual happiness of those two 
 dear ones. Did she, perchance, miscalculate her 
 strength ? For the present, at least, that trial was 
 spared her. Just about the hour D'Arcy's visit was 
 expected, a telegraphic despatch arrived from Hav- 
 re. It w r as handed to me by Evelyn to open and 
 read. It ran thus :
 
 LOVED IN VAIN. 199 
 
 " Pressing public business recalls me to America. 
 I sail to-night. Will write from Cowes. 
 
 "PHILIP D'ARCY." 
 
 A sigh of inexpressible relief burst from Evelyn's 
 overcharged bosom, as she murmured involuntarily, 
 "Thank God." Last evening, at the same hour 
 had an event so unexpected occurred, how different 
 would have been her feelings ! Truly " we know 
 not what a day may bring forth."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 Two days and the promised letter arrived, the 
 very superscription and seal proclaiming it the pro- 
 duction of no ordinary writer. Opening the missive 
 you at once remark the clear, decided, manly char- 
 acters. No dashes, (impotent attempts of weakness 
 to convey the idea of force), deface the spotless 
 page ; the style terse, and at the same time elegant, 
 reveals the scholar and the gentleman. The signa- 
 ture, at once bold and distinct, has the characteristic 
 finish, rather than flourish, which at once individu- 
 alizes the writer. Truly there is more in an auto- 
 graph than meets the eye of the casual observer. 
 Give me a letter and I will undertake to designate 
 the salient points in the character and disposition of 
 its author. The epistle in question was addressed 
 to Evelyn, and simply stated that public affairs hav- 
 ing assumed a very serious aspect, he (D'Arcy), had 
 received a mandate from an official personage, re-
 
 CORRESPONDENCE. 201 
 
 questing his immediate presence at Washington, 
 and offering him a responsible post under govern- 
 ment. That in view of the present sad political dif- 
 ficulties which threatened his beloved country, he 
 thought it his duty to tender his poor services to the 
 nation. Though his affections, he added, were dear 
 most dear to him still he felt that honor and 
 duty must take precedence even of love. In 
 conclusion he expressed the hope of a speedy re- 
 turn to Europe, but added that as his sweet Ella's 
 extreme youth rendered an immediate marriage un- 
 advisable, he would wait with patience, convinced 
 that every additional moment passed with her dear 
 and valued mother, would be fraught with inestima- 
 ble advantage to his young bride. Leaving her, there- 
 fore, to Evelyn, as a sacred charge, he invoked on 
 the beloved heads of both a farewell blessing. 
 
 Such was D'Arcy's first letter. Single hearted, 
 true and noble, he framed no polite excuses for ap- 
 parent neglect in not having called to bid them a 
 personal adieu. lie knew they would understand 
 him, and he was right. It now appeared to me that 
 there was a marked change in Evelyn. All her 
 passionate love for D'Arcy seemed to have merged 
 into a fond desire to educate Ella for him. She 
 accepted the holy task he had confided to her, and 
 made a firm resolve to devote her faculties wholly
 
 202 CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 to the furtherance of his wishes. Thus, no longer 
 living as before utterly in the self-hood, but rather 
 seeking the good of others, she could not fail to 
 bring a blessing on herself. 
 
 "We passed the remainder of the summer at Passy, 
 near Paris, where Rossini has a beautiful villa, and 
 where, others of our friends were also residing. Ex- 
 pecting shortly the arrival of Balzano, we had 
 thought it inexpedient to journey further. But 
 weeks were added to days, and months to weeks, 
 and yet no letter came " He will doubtless come 
 without writing," we said, and so saying, daily 
 looked we for his advent. Our frequent talk now 
 was of beloved Italy, and of the happy days we had 
 passed beneath the placid azure of its heavens. 
 
 " Ah ! me," sighed my friend, " how rarely do 
 we value the present till it has faded into the past ! 
 We spend our lives in wild hopes of the future in 
 sad regrets for- bygone days. Folly to the present 
 with its pleasures and pains may we alone lay claim as 
 our own. Do you remember, Mary, the fairy-like/efo 
 given by the Conte de Syracuse, in that exquisitely 
 lovely mountain glade at Castellamare, so shadowy 
 with graceful trees, through whose branches here 
 and there, a briglit glint of sunshine gilded the rocks, 
 dancing over the feathery fern, and causing the rivulet 
 to sparkle with a clearer crystal 2 how sapphire blue
 
 CORRESPONDENCE. 203 
 
 lay the Mediterranean, viewed through the intersti- 
 ces of the varied foliage. It was truly a scene of 
 enchantment, and reminded me of those days chron- 
 icled by Boccaccio when six gallant cavaliers with 
 their noble dames retired together to the fair gar- 
 dens of Sans Souci that they might avoid the in 
 fection of the pestilence then desolating the doomed 
 city of Florence." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " and how picturesque the table 
 prepared as it were, by the genii of the forest ; how 
 brilliant the dresses of the ladies, and though last, 
 not least, how cool and refreshing the well iced 
 champagne ! And, after the collation, how charm- 
 ingly wild our dance on the greensward to the stir- 
 ring music of the invisible orchestra deeply hidden 
 in the woods." 
 
 " And the Prince, too, how wickedly and mali- 
 ciously he insisted on the stout old Baroness de R 
 
 being his partner in the polka, till she looked ac- 
 tually purple, so that we feared every minute her 
 desire to oblige H. R. H. would cause her to faint 
 with fatigue. Oh ! Mary, those were merry days ! 
 The silver moon arose to look upon our sport, and 
 the fire-flies came and danced with us." 
 
 " And you remember the pretty compliment the 
 Prince paid you, Evelyn, about the pearls? You 
 had your hair braided, and bonnet trimmed with
 
 204: CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 these ornaments bracelets and necklace to match. 
 His Royal Highness said ' Pearls in the hair, on the 
 neck, and the rounded white arms, but the finest 
 pearls of all are within the rosy lips.' " 
 
 "Ah ! Mary, remind me not of my days of vanity 
 and folly. Have I not sufficiently suffered for my 
 poor triumphs ? Had I been less handsome I might 
 have been a better and a happier woman." 
 
 " You may yet be both, dearest , it is not too late." 
 
 Thus time passed, and we returned to Paris, no 
 reply having as yet arrived from Naples, so we be- 
 gan to think that, (as is frequently the case there), 
 Evelyn's letter might have miscarried. She was 
 just preparing to write again, when one morning 
 Ella entered, frantic with delight. 
 
 " A letter ! a letter !" she exclaimed, " from dear 
 Italy. What will mama give for it? a kiss no, 
 two, at least three there," and Evelyn took it, and 
 broke the seal. It was in di Balzano's fine Italian 
 hand, and as follows : 
 
 Naples, Nov. , 18. 
 
 Mr DEAR MRS. TRAVERS : I feel much distressed and 
 mortified in that I fear you must have considered 
 me ungrateful, and wanting in politeness ; but you 
 will, I trust, now pardon the silence I have been 
 compelled to observe towards you. It is time I
 
 CORRESPONDENCE. 205 
 
 should inform you that I am already married. Such, 
 however, being the case, remember it is yourself 
 who have constrained me to this step, by your in- 
 decision. But we will no longer speak of the past. 
 May I hope that being made aware of my marriage 
 will not prevent your still preserving for me that 
 same friendship you have ever accorded to one who 
 will never cease most deeply to appreciate it. For 
 my part, I should be truly delighted once more to 
 meet you, because I still feel for you a profound 
 affection ; having once loved you intensely and 
 passionately. I am thankful that your health is re- 
 established. Saluting you a thousand times, I am 
 as ever your true friend, 
 
 GIOVANNI, DUCA DI BALZANO. 
 
 " See, Mary," said poor Evelyn, handing me the 
 letter with a melancholy smile, " it is my sad doom 
 to lose all I love, all that have loved me !" 
 
 We heard later that Balzano's marriage bad 
 originated first, as is the custom in Italy, in the 
 wishes of the respective families of the young peo- 
 ple, the duke being averse to the connexion. Bal- 
 zano was thus necessarily much thrown into the 
 society of the young lady, who became deeply at- 
 tached to him so much so, that perceiving his in- 
 difference she took it so seriously to heart that
 
 206 CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 consumption threatened. Balzano, ever compas- 
 sionate and unselfish, pitied the girl, and not 
 having for months had any tidings of his former be- 
 trothed, consented at last to the wishes of his friends, 
 backed by the advice of the priests. A marriage 
 was arranged ; singularly enough, it was not till his 
 return from church, on the morning of the wedding, 
 that Evelyn's letter of acceptance was placed in his 
 hands thus may the three months' silence, on his 
 part, he accounted for. 
 
 Meanwhile, D'Arcy's letters came almost every 
 mail ; they were partly to Evelyn, partly to Ella ; 
 and were answered conjointly by both. Ella would 
 have deferred the marriage indefinitely, in conse- 
 quence of the bad news from Naples ; but her 
 mother would not suffer the subject even to be al- 
 luded to : " My child," she said, " let us leave the 
 future to Providence, patiently awaiting the accom- 
 plishment of our destiny."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE BARONET. 
 
 AMONG the crowd of English sojourning in Paris 
 thia winter, there was an old acquaintance of ours 
 a certain Sir Percy Montgomery, Bart., late 
 
 M. P. for shire. Some six years ago, when 
 
 in London, Sir Percy had visited Evelyn, and we 
 had dined occasionally at his house in Grosvenor 
 Street. Indeed, the Baronet had been at that time 
 a warm though unsuccessful admirer of our heroine. 
 Sir Percy was, in appearance, a perfect " John 
 Bull" that is to say, he possessed a countenance 
 rubicund and somewhat flat, with no very marked 
 features figure stout burly broad-shouldered 
 thick set, you perceived at a glance that the animal 
 nature preponderated in the man ; nevertheless, 
 the square and rather massive forehead displayed 
 intellect, and the tine teeth, seen to advantage in a 
 pleasant jovial smile of not unfrequent occurrence, 
 rendered the personal appearance of our friend, if
 
 208 THE BAKONET. 
 
 somewhat coarse, not altogether unpleasing. Let 
 not my readers, however, imagine that the 
 " John-Bull " type is the true type of our country- 
 men. They will, on referring to a former chapter 
 of this work, find the portrait of an accomplished 
 English gentleman, in our delineation of the young 
 and aristocratic Melville. We have there depicted 
 elegance, manliness and chivalry, in combination 
 with the splendid physical "development, only to be 
 seen in perfection in the Anglo-Saxon race. But, to 
 return. Sir Percy was by no means wanting in 
 brains. He had made some sensation in Parlia- 
 ment ; and, having had the tact to speak on the 
 popular side of each question, his fluency was 
 greatly appreciated, and he had thus acquired a 
 higher reputation than his (not first rate) talents 
 perhaps merited. So the Times wondered when he 
 resigned his seat ; and the Herald and other Tory 
 papers were open in their rather uncharitable sur- 
 mises, as to the motives for so sudden and untimely 
 a retreat in the late M. P. 
 
 Sir Percy, having discovered our address at Ga- 
 lignani's, lost no time in paying his respects to Eve- 
 lyn, and continued his visits from time to time. 
 Evelyn soon named him my adorer, and said it would 
 not be such a bad match ; the baronet was of a good 
 family, and reputed rich, though, as some asserted,
 
 THE BARONET. 209 
 
 rich in debts alone. He had, at least, talent, and if 
 I did not object to his lack of personal beauty, and 
 his fifty years, she added, I might do worse than be- 
 come Lady Montgomery. Ever occupied with re- 
 ceiving and replying to D'Arcy's frequent letters, 
 or in reading, talking and practising with Ella, my 
 friend paid but slight attention to a former admirer 
 for whom she had never felt even a passing gleam 
 of sympathy until one day she received from him 
 a rather melancholy letter ; making her in some sort 
 a confidante, the writer threw out dark hints of 
 debts and difficulties which had exiled him from his 
 native land, and adverted mysteriously to envious 
 political rivals, who were endeavoring to work his 
 ruin, and who had, alas! succeeded in putting a 
 present stop to a career which would have other- 
 wise shortly ended in the Cabinet. Much changed 
 for the better, since her acquaintance with Philip 
 D'Arcy, and somewhat hurt and humiliated by the 
 unexpected marriage of di Balzano, our heroine 
 opened her heart in pity for the baronet's misfor- 
 tunes ; had not she, too, suffered from envious 
 tongues ? had not slander been to her as " the worm 
 which never dieth ?" Cruel, cruel world ! thou art 
 indeed a hard master offend against thy laws 
 break thy one commandment " Thou shalt not be 
 found out " and thou art utterly without pity, even
 
 210 THE BAKONET. 
 
 to the exclusion of all repentance ; cruel, cruel 
 world ! And so Evelyn took compassion on the 
 injured man, and invited him oftener, and sym- 
 pathized with his griefs, and was in every way kind 
 to him. Thus did circumstances favor his suit. 
 
 So it came to pass that society at last coupled 
 their names together, and Sir Percy himself, mis 
 taking the sentiments of one who no longer had a 
 heart to give, made our heroine an offer of his hand 
 in a letter which appeared to me to allude to the 
 lady's fortune rather than to herself. Evelyn an- 
 swered that she would take time to consider the 
 proposal, provided Sir Percy could assure her on his 
 honor as a gentleman that there was no blemish at- 
 tached to his name. This assurance, as may be im- 
 agined, the baronet readily gave. My dearest friend 
 then spoke to me fully and confidentially ; frank- 
 ly confessing that she no longer hoped for hap- 
 piness on earth, she at the same time added, that 
 she was anxious to marry, hoping that enshrined 
 within the sacred precincts of a husband's home, 
 and safely sheltered by his protection, she should 
 have strength to crush forever from out her heart 
 that now guilty passion which still tortured her. 
 
 " I could not," she continued, " again meet 
 D'Arcy except as a wife no. I too much fear my 
 own weakness. I should sink to the earth with
 
 THE BAKONET. 211 
 
 shame, did he for one moment suspect the state 
 of my heart. Besides, I gave him my" word I 
 would marry, and at any cost I will keep my prom 
 ise. Ella, too, dear child, is firmly resolved never 
 to wed till she sees her mother, as she imagines, 
 happy. Ah ! Mary, does not this man's offer ap- 
 pear to you as it does to me, almost as a providen- 
 tial occurrence ?" 
 
 " Had you not better at least wait Mr. D'Arcy's 
 next letter before you give a definite reply to Sir 
 Percy f" 
 
 "Yes, my friend, I will wait. You are right. 
 Dear Mary, my soul is bound up in the future hap- 
 piness of Philip and that of my Ella, but like St. 
 Paul I may say, " I feel two laws warring within 
 me, and these are contrary, the one to the other, so 
 that when I would do good, evil is present with 
 me." 
 
 And the expected letter came, and it stated that 
 war having been declared between the North and 
 South, it was quite impossible for D'Arcy to leave 
 his post. Nor could he forsee when he dared hope 
 to return to Europe. Could not his beloved friends, 
 he suggested, all come over to New York next sum- 
 mer ? He would place at their disposition The Re- 
 treat, a villa beautifully situated on the banks of 
 the Hudson, which it would afford him the greatest
 
 212 THE BAKONET. 
 
 pleasure if they would occupy as long as the weath- 
 er should render such a sojourn agreeable. In con- 
 clusion, he reminded Evelyn, that being already 
 familiar with the continent of Europe, the difference 
 of scenery and the manner of living in the New 
 World, would greatly interest her, and that she 
 would find in this splendid country much to com- 
 pensate her for the fatigues of the voyage. D'Arcy 
 had never in any letter alluded either directly or in- 
 directly to our heroine's projected marriage, nor had 
 he ever known the name of her probable husband, 
 the fact alone of her engagement having been com- 
 municated to him by the imprudence of Ella. 
 
 That same day Evelyn wrote an acceptance to 
 Sir Percy Montgomery. 
 
 And Ella was she charmed with her mother's 
 present prospects ? Truth compels us to declare she 
 was not ; nor djd she ever cease expressing to me 
 her lively regret that her mama was so unwise as to 
 prefer the baronet to dear, good, handsome Balzano, 
 who was likewise of higher rank, and also of one 
 of the oldest families of mediaeval Italy. But Ella had 
 not, as we know, been made aware of the chain of 
 circumstances which led to such a step on her mo- 
 ther's part ; so she contented herself by adding, as a 
 last consolation, in the only Latin words she knew, 
 "di gustibus non est disputandem" Since, then,
 
 THE BARONET. 213 
 
 we cannot " account for tastes," still less may we 
 understand the multiform caprices of beauty. This, 
 however, I will say, and I appeal to the lovely of my 
 own sex who have passed the age of thirty, to cor- 
 roborate my assertion : Is there not some period in 
 the life of each woman, when she would scarcely 
 have thought any one worthy of herself? And is 
 there not, likewise, another period, when, in her 
 isolation, she might have been tempted to marry 
 the first eligible person who asked her ? I fear me 
 such is too often the case. 
 
 I will here mention an incident which occurred 
 apropos to this marriage : One evening, after din- 
 ner, Ella complaining of a headache, her mother, as 
 was her wont, made over her a few mesmeric 
 passes, in order to quiet the nerves. The young 
 girl slept the magnetic sleep, as we perceived by 
 the rigidity of the muscles, and other signs under- 
 stood by the initiated. As Ella slept, I placed 
 in her hand a letter, which had just chanced to ar- 
 rive from Sir Percy. Instantly she became con- 
 vulsed ; and, crushing the paper in her slender fin- 
 gers, she -flung it suddenly from her, exclaiming 
 
 " I will not look at that man ; take him out of my 
 sight he has no heart no honor." 
 
 The clairvoyante trembled violently, drawing her 
 breath with difficultv. We did not dare force her
 
 214 THE BARONET. 
 
 to continue looking upon a disagreeable object; 
 for, by such means, epileptic convulsions have been 
 occasionally induced in an impressible subject, and 
 sometimes even death has been known to supervene. 
 
 So Evelyn took her hand, as she now tranquilly 
 slept, saying, " Then tell me, sweet one, shall I be 
 happy ?" 
 
 An angelic smile broke over the features of the 
 lovely entranced, as she exclaimed, " You, dearest 
 mother ! Oh, yes by your talents, your superior 
 mind, your beautiful soul not else," and she 
 sighed. 
 
 Evelyn then awoke the young girl, who of comse 
 was aware of nothing that had passed during her 
 mesmeric sleep ; but her mother mused and won- 
 dered, and again I trembled for the future.
 
 CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 THREE MONTHS OF MARRIED LIFE. 
 
 IT was in her second wifehood that Evelyn, Lady 
 Montgomery, first set foot, on the shores of the New 
 World. Our voyage across the broad Atlantic had 
 been devoid of incident, and untroubled by storm. 
 An occasional squall, it is true, would banish us for 
 a day to our heaving couches, where, prostrate and 
 utterly helpless, we felt as if our head, detached 
 from our shoulders, were rolling about the cabin, 
 and the malignant sprites of ocean were recklessly 
 and remorselessly sporting with it as with a foot-ball. 
 
 We entered the magnificent bay of New York, 
 lighted by the glorious August moon with her 
 myriads of attendant stars, which, seen through the 
 pure ether of the western firmament, seemed multi 
 plied to infinity. The constellations of the belted 
 Orion, the greater and lesser Bear, and others, ap- 
 peared strangely familiar ; viewing them, we were 
 fain to forget the thousands of miles which now
 
 216 THEEE MONTHS OF MARRIED LIFE. 
 
 separated us from the land of our birth. But our 
 first step on terra firm a quickly dispelled the illu- 
 sion. The disagreeables of the Custom House at 
 an end, leaving our heavy baggage till the morrow, 
 with difficulty we climbed into the heavy, hearse- 
 like vehicle in waiting, which it seemed next to im- 
 possible to enter, and once in, equally vain and futile 
 to attempt the getting out. Tossed and tumbled 
 about on the roughest of pavements, our heads still 
 giddy from our recent sea- voyage, we arrived at 
 that gorgeous palace, yclept the Fifth Avenue Ho- 
 tel. Happily y Mr. D'Arcy, (unable through press of 
 public business to meet us,) had kindly written to 
 secure rooms, which insured to our party the atten- 
 tion we should not otherwise have received. 
 
 Here let me observe that I entirely endorse all 
 that my talented countryman, Anthony Trollope, 
 has stated regarding the inhospitality of the enor- 
 mous American hotels, where weary and travel- 
 worn ladies are forced to await in the wretched re- 
 ception parlors, the often long delayed advent of the 
 official charged to show them their rooms, while 
 gentlemen, still more unfortunate, must attend in 
 the office the favor for which they have humbly 
 made supplication to His Majesty the Book-keeper. 
 How different from the hearty welcome of " Mine 
 Host" and his worthy spouse, in the cheerful, old-
 
 THBEE MONTHS OF MAERIED LIFE. 217 
 
 fashioned inns of England ; how cheerily the land- 
 lord enters, and stirring the fire, makes his guests 
 feel instantly at home ; while the good wife, were you 
 an old acquaintance, could not proffer for you with 
 greater kindness the best fare her house can afford. 
 The pretty chambermaid, too, candle in hand, shows 
 you to a clean, comfortable bedroom, leaving at the 
 same time, all the requisites for your toilet ; and as 
 you discuss your cutlet or roast chicken, the waiter 
 tells you of all to be seen in the town and neighbor- 
 hood. He closes the shutters and draws the curtains, 
 and your glass of sherry or old port, as may be, 
 has quite a home flavor, as you draw your easy-chair 
 cosily before the bright, glad fire, which itself spark- 
 les and crackles its welcome. 
 
 I am not now describing the London or new railway 
 hotels, Heaven forbid! they are less comfortable, and 
 far more expensive than those in America ; but I al- 
 lude to the charming " hostelries" of the olden times, 
 some of which still exist, though " few and far be- 
 tween." Thanks, however, to the kind consideration 
 of Mr. D'Arcy, we were ushered at once to our 
 suite of elegantly furnished rooms, only too thank- 
 ful to seek and find repose in the luxurious beds of 
 this splendid Hotel. On awakening, next morning, 
 my first impression of New- York was as if I saw 
 pictured before me, in giant proportions, one of the
 
 218 THREE MONTHS OF MARRIED LIFE. 
 
 toy towns with their in-niy C'>lore<l houses, inter- 
 spersed with g: - een trees, that used to c >inc to me 
 in large oval deal boxes in the days of my youth. 
 Redbrick, g' - ey, brown, white, dark chocolate stone 
 all of iniiltifonri size and shape, such is the des- 
 cription of the dwellings, in this metropolis of the 
 west, now decked in its mantle of summer foliage. 
 
 Our heroine had been wedded about three 
 months was she blessed in her second union more 
 than in her first marriage? 
 
 My kind and gentle readers, she was not happy 
 yet she was content. But had she ever before 
 indulged in any illusions, as regards Sir Percy, they 
 must have, quickly faded. Even on returning 
 from the Church, his bride at his side, not one word 
 of affection did the newly made husband utter ; of 
 himself alone he spoke his position, his future ; but 
 then, to be sure, he was turned of fifty, and as 
 Byron observes, rather than one husband at that 
 mature age, 
 
 " 'Twere better to have two, at five-and-twenty." 
 
 This was the beginning of sorrows. 
 
 Immediately after the breakfast, the impatient 
 bridegroom, anxious, doubtless, to embrace the fair 
 lady he dared now call his own, knocked at the door
 
 THREE MONTHS OF MAREIED LIFE. 219 
 
 of her chamber, where, divested of her bridal cos- 
 tume, she was arraying herself in a becoming trav- 
 elling toilette. When admitted, the grateful lover 
 
 begged now guess, dear ladies. I pray what 
 
 Why for the loan of a few hundred francs to pay 
 his bill at the hotel. Eather early, methinks, to 
 usurp marital rights over his wife's purse. Poor 
 Evelyn's next fit of disgust was on the morrow of 
 her bridal, when, in an elegant morning robe of the 
 freshest inuslin, her hair braided under-the prettiest 
 of caps, she with horror beheld Sir Percy enter the 
 room, unwashed, uncombed, unbraced, and per- 
 fectly innocent of a clean shirt. Seating himself at 
 the breakfast table, he commenced feeding, utterly 
 unconscious of having committed an unpardonable 
 crime against good manners. Unfortunate Evelyn I 
 so refined, so fastidious, so exquisitely neat and 
 clean in her personal habits, to be brought to this. 
 " Oh ! what a falling off was there 1" 
 
 Sir Percy united in his own person those opposite 
 defects which in others are usually compensated by 
 corresponding virtues. He was at the same time a 
 spendthrift, and the meanest of men. Hasty and 
 imprudent, yet sly and cunning, with an appear- 
 ance of frankness, he combined an utter disre- 
 gard of truth. He seemed to lie for the pleasure of 
 lying. His temper was alike quick, vindictive, and
 
 220 THKEE MONTHS OF MARRIED LIFE. 
 
 revengeful, and his character comprised the oppo- 
 site qualities of weakness and obstinacy. A general 
 lover of the female sex, he was utterly incapable of 
 individual attachment. It was clear that the baro- 
 net had married for money, but finding that his wife 
 contented herself simply with paying their mutual ex- 
 penses, and refused to place her fortune in his power, 
 he actually began to dislike her and made no secret 
 of the feeling. One illustration I will give, and this 
 is but a solitary instance of the extraordinary line 
 of conduct pursued by Sir Percy towards her he had 
 so recently sworn to love, protect and cherish during 
 the term of their natural life. 
 
 Angered one night because Evelyn had left him a 
 email portion of his own travelling expenses to pay, 
 he rang up the servants of the hotel at midnight, and 
 though we were to start on the following morning at 
 break of day, he ordered his luggage to be transport- 
 ed and his bed made in a room at the most distant end 
 of the corridor, thus making himself and his wife of 
 a month, the laughing-stock of the hotel. We do not 
 pretend the man was altogether devoid of good im- 
 pulses ; but the evil of his nature was strong the 
 good feeble. He was ungrateful, heartless, unprin- 
 cipled. Evelyn had before known only the reverse 
 of the picture ; she had been adored, petted, spoiled. 
 How could she conceive so exceptional a character
 
 THBEE MONTHS OF MAKKIED LIFE. 221 
 
 as that of Sir Percy ? How bear with him ? Dear 
 friends, she did bear with him, and she was not 
 wretched, for she now knew that all trials are the 
 just retribution for past sins committed, past duties 
 unperformed. Alas! we cannot escape the past, 
 still does it pursue us like an avenging spectre ; 
 and so she resolved to endure all, looking no 
 longer to earth for bliss, living ever in the 
 sweet calm and beauty of the inner life, which 
 proceeds from the Christ who shines on the souls 
 of all who will receive him as the pure and per- 
 fect law. 
 
 No longer spell-bound by her passionate love for 
 D'Arcy, he was yet dear dearer to her than ever, 
 for to him alone she owed all her strength to bear, all 
 her courage to do ; through him she had been enabled 
 to behold the radiant, the immeasureable life of the 
 beyond, as the one great reality of our being, 
 compared to ivhich this earth life, did it last a 
 century, is but as a span, a point in eternity, " a 
 dream when one awaketh." Oh, had she real- 
 ized these blessed truths in earliest youth, how 
 different might have been her fate! But, re- 
 pulsed by narrow - minded sectarianism, mis- 
 called religion, she had strayed without a guide 
 in devious paths.
 
 222 THREE MONTHS OF MAERIED LIFE. 
 
 The idea of a future existence had then loomed 
 darkly before her young imaginations as a vague 
 terror, a portentous and lurid superstition forc- 
 ing her to an unwilling lip-service of prayer. 
 Now it was a glorious inspiration hourly in- 
 fluencing her, and turning the common inci- 
 dents of life into occasions for thanksgiving. 
 
 For she knew that the Infinite Father was call- 
 ing his erring child home through her loves and 
 through her griefs. 
 
 With this sweet conviction can tribulation harm 
 her? I trow not. Rather do her crosses and her 
 trials cause her lonely and unsatisfied heart to rise 
 each day more purely, tenderly, devotedly, upward 
 towards God. Then, too, she tremblingly believes 
 she may, in a brighter sphere, be united in the 
 sweet connubial tie to one who shall fully realize 
 the ideal of her soul. So, loving and beloved, she 
 will no longer dwell 
 
 'As one companionless 
 In essence, heart distressed and pining ever 
 With anguished yearning for a tenderness 
 Forever widely sought, experienced never."* 
 
 * " Lyric of the Golden Age," by Rev. T. L. Harris.
 
 THREE MONTHS OF MARRIED LIFE. 223 
 
 Is she mistaken ? I cannot think so. Is it possi- 
 ble to form too exalted an idea of the joys " God 
 hath prepared for them that love him," which, we 
 are told, " it hath not entered into the heart of man 
 to conceive ?" Yet, we may faintly shadow those 
 ecstatic raptures, if we remember that every faculty 
 of the mind, each affection of the spirit, will then 
 be fully and forever occupied in fulfilling its highest 
 destinies LOVE, KNOWLEDGE, USE.* Sublime trin- 
 ity ! Such the occupations of the angels throughout 
 eternity ; and for those who here exercise them- 
 selves in these Christian graces, heaven has already 
 begun on earth ! 
 
 Nor do these truly catholic doctrines militate 
 against a life of activity here they are rather 
 anti-monastic teaching that the life of the body is 
 necessary for the soul, and that the happiness of the 
 spirit hereafter will be proportionate to the use we 
 make of all our faculties and talents in the terres- 
 trial state ; while the contrary must be expected in 
 the world of spirits, from a life of idleness ; truly 
 blessed they 
 
 " in this loud stunning tide 
 Of human care and crime, 
 With whom the melodies abide 
 
 * See Swedenborg's works ; also, " Arcana of Christianity," by 
 Eev. T. L. Harris.
 
 224: THREE MONTHS OF MARRIED LIFE. 
 
 Of th' everlasting chime ; 
 
 Who carry music in their heart 
 
 Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, 
 
 Plying their daily task toith busier feet, 
 
 Because their secret souls a holier strain repeat."* 
 
 * "Keble's Christian Year."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 FIFTH AVBNUE HOTEL. 
 
 LADY MONTGOMERY'S DIABT. 
 
 New Fork, Aug. 1.0th. Seated in the window 
 of our parlor, I once more write my thoughts in my 
 journal. The wind is sultry scarce a movement 
 stirs the trees in Madison Square, although the snn 
 has long since sunk below the horizon. Mary is play- 
 ing Chopin's music on a fine piano of Chickering's, 
 sent here to wait our arrival a graceful attention 
 from Philip D'Arcy. I have just implored dear 
 Mary to repeat that Impromptu, to which the twi- 
 light lends additional charm. Oh ! how infinitely 
 do I prefer instrumental to vocal music, especially 
 to the conventionalism of the modern school of Ital- 
 ian singing; even when the latter is well executed, 
 (which is rare) you know each intonation which 
 will be given j all is too material, it chains you down
 
 ^O FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL. 
 
 to its own level while the listening to a classical 
 instrumental symphony is like following a long, 
 closely -connected chain of reasoning, and at the same 
 time you are inspired with a thousand new ideas and 
 sensations; or the phrases of musical diction accom- 
 pany you in the train of thought you are at the time 
 pursuing brightening, poetizing all. How 1 love 
 to wander with the serious, philosophic Beethoven, 
 through mazes of tangled modulations, at the same 
 time clear and intricate, to revel in the delicious 
 harmonized melodies of the divine Mozart, to drink 
 in the weird and plaintive tones of the melancholy 
 Weber, to muse, and sigh with the poet pianiste 
 Chopin, criticising naught, analyzing naught, float- 
 ing as it were, in an ocean of sweet sounds, lost in 
 a reverie of ineffable bliss. Oh ! if our most intense 
 and delicious emotions are those of the miud, the 
 spirit, who can say that the individual perishes with 
 the worthless clay of the body ! 
 
 "L\th. I had written thus far when Philip D'Arcy 
 entered, unexpected^-un announced. Oh ! sweet 
 surprise ! if partings here are painful, there is at least 
 compensation in again meeting those we love, when 
 the charm of their dear presence is as sunlight af- 
 ter storm, as rest to the weary as the fragrance of 
 spring flowers after the snows of winter. In D'Arcy 
 especially, as I have before mentioned, this power
 
 FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL. 227 
 
 of fascination is remarkable; he enters, and your 
 very soul is illumined with gladness, he departs, and 
 a shadow falls on all around. Softly, tenderly, hap- 
 pily, we conversed in the dim twilight, the three I 
 love most on earth. 
 
 Sir Percy was from home he is rarely with us 
 D'Arcy expressed the desire to make my husband's 
 acquaintance. My husband, how strangely from 
 his lips did those words grate on my ear. 
 
 Aug. 15^. Since I last wrote in my diary, only 
 a few days have elapsed, and yet what events I It 
 appears to me, as if I had dreamed a horrible dream 
 and have at last awaked. We had decided on leav- 
 ing the city on the morrow, escorted by D'Arcy, for 
 his beautiful villa on the Hudson. Sir Percy, was, 
 as usual, out but Philip determined to wait his re- 
 turn in order to see him, and arrange with him about 
 our journey as yet they had never met. 
 
 Mary had retired early, feeling unwell, but at my 
 request Ella remained to await with us Sir Percy's 
 appearance. At about eleven we heard his heavy 
 step in the corridor, and he entered the room. 
 
 " What, not yet in bed ?" he said. 
 
 " I waited," I replied, " to present you " 
 
 The sentence was never finished, for at this mo- 
 ment D'Arcy emerged from the shadow, into the 
 full glare of the gas-light. I saw Sir Percy stagger,
 
 228 FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL. 
 
 as a drunken man, and turn almost pale. Thinking 
 him ill, I would have sprung towards him, but Philip 
 caught my wrist and held it as in a vice. I turned 
 to look at him. To say that hatred and scorn flashed 
 from his eyes were little, his entire form seemed di- 
 lated with passion, his eyes glowed and flamed like 
 live coals, his lip and nostril expressed the most 
 profound contempt. 
 
 The baronet, on the other hand, seemed paralyzed 
 with terror ; his fingers worked, and his hands trem- 
 bled fearfully; his eyes (never able to support a 
 look without flinching), now rolled in restless 
 agony. D'Arcy paused only for a moment, as the 
 tiger before his deadly spring then, with one bound 
 he cleared the space between himself and his vic- 
 tim : "Oh! cursed, cursed serpent," he muttered, be- 
 tween his clenched teeth, " how darest thou defile 
 this pure Eden with the foul slime of thy presence ? 
 Demon in human form," and the delicate and 
 spiritual-looking man shook his sturdy and muscular 
 adversary as a reed, " demon, I say, how darest thou 
 violate the sanctity of this angel home. Vile, piti- 
 less wretch, where is poor Alice Vivian ? Answer, if 
 thy lying tongue can frame one word of truth, didst 
 thou not wed her, break her heart, drive her to mad- 
 ness, and then shut her up with gibbering maniacs 
 in a madhouse? and now she lives no denial, I say,"
 
 FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL. 229 
 
 (as the hardened culprit made a movement of dissent), 
 " she lives ! by Heaven, she lives, thy wronged, thy 
 wretched wife ; a wreck in soul as in body. Oh ! 
 may the curse of a desolate heart and blighted af- 
 fections recoil upon thee, may rest forsake thy 
 pillow, and peace be forever a stranger to thy couch, 
 that thy hard heart may be shivered at last, as 
 into fragments, by blank despair despair of pity 
 here, of mercy hereafter ! May God himself be 
 deaf to the prayers wrung from thy bitter agony. 
 No, go I will not blaspheme : if thou bee'st a devil 
 I cannot kill thee. Go, miserable man, and repent 
 if thou canst." 
 
 D'Arcy still held the cowed and trembling 
 wretch in his nervous grasp. Ella, pale, almost faint- 
 ing, had quitted the room. Silent, motionless, 
 horror-stricken, with dilated eyes, I watched, as in 
 a nightmare, the fearful scene, powerless to speak 
 or scream. I saw Philip at length open the door, 
 violently ejecting, almost flinging the man from the 
 room. I saw no more my trembling limbs refused 
 any longer to sustain me. I sank into the nearest 
 chair, sick sick, covering my face with my hands, 
 a film before my eyes. On recovering consciousness, 
 I was alone, and all was still.
 
 
 CHAPTER XXYIII. 
 
 SHADOWS. 
 
 ELLA. TO PHILIP 
 
 The Retreat, September - , 18 - . 
 
 FOEGIVE me for what I am about to write. In- 
 deed, I feel that I am performing a duty, even 
 though my dear mother is ignorant of this step. I 
 must, however, add, that I have the full approba- 
 tion of one who never fails to judge rightly I 
 mean our good, sensible friend, Mary Mildmay. 
 Dear Mr. D'Arcy, esteeming and respecting you 
 above all men living, as I do, you will think it 
 strange, when I tell you that I have come to the 
 conclusion, seriously and advisedly, that I can never 
 be your wife; and, believe me, this resolution is 
 irrevocable. As a favor, I implore you not to at- 
 tempt to change my determination. It would be
 
 SHADOWS. 231 
 
 utterly fruitless. "Would you know my reasons? 
 They are many. 
 
 When you honored me, by asking my hand, I 
 was a mere child. I am now a woman, and must 
 exert the prerogative of my sex that of choice in 
 a matter which concerns my own happiness, and 
 your future welfare. Know, then, that I am in- 
 spired to say to you, that, in marrying me, you 
 will pass by your destiny. The impression is so 
 strong that I cannot, if I would, shake it off; but 
 must obey, as if a voice from heaven had spoken. 
 Do you not know, too, that I have sworn never to 
 forsake my beloved mother in her sorrow and her 
 loneliness ? And can I falsify my oath ? In order 
 to remove all further doubt from your mind, know, 
 likewise, that it is not to me that you owe your life. 
 Poor little Ella nursed you tenderly, it is true, 
 through your convalescence ; but it was her dear 
 mother who recalled you, by the magnetism of her 
 health-producing touch, from the trance of death ; 
 and, in so doing, she herself nearly perished. If I 
 have yet another reason for thus writing that I 
 must ever preserve profoundly secret. 
 
 One parting favor I request : let this make no 
 difference. Come to us as before. Be still a friend 
 prove thus to me that I have your pardon for-
 
 232 SHADOWS. 
 
 give forget. Yes, forget all, except that I shall 
 never cease to pray for your happiness, and that 
 I am, as ever, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 ELLA. 
 
 My readers may readily imagine how highly I 
 approved my young friend's dignified and womanly 
 letter. I had never thought them suited either in 
 years or in tastes. Ella, lovely, sweet, innocent, 
 intelligent, was yet scarcely the companion required 
 by a man of D'Arcy's intellect and superior mind. 
 Their temperaments, too, Avere similar, each being 
 outwardly cold, reserved, calm, unimpulsive. ]STow 
 I have invariably found that the happiest unions 
 proceed from similarity of taste, but diversity of 
 temperament. I was therefore satisfied as to the wis- 
 dom of my Ella's decision. We had now been 
 staying about a fortnight in this lovely place, wnere 
 D'Arcy, on the plea of very pressing business at 
 Washington, had excused himself from escorting 
 us. He had, however, sent his confidential servant 
 with ns, as courier, having telegraphed to his house- 
 keeper to have all in readiness on our arrival at 
 " the Retreat." And in truth the house was fur- 
 nished with a luxury only to be attained by the 
 union of refined taste with great wealth in its
 
 SHADOWS. 233 
 
 owner. We discerned the ever-presiding hand of 
 affection in the recently-arrived harp and piano, 
 and in the works of modern literature, and late 
 numbers of periodicals which filled the shelves, and 
 encumbered the tables of the sitting-rooms. Some 
 men never remember anything D'Arcy had that 
 double memory of heart and head which never for- 
 gets the most minute arrangement or least matured 
 intention. Poor Evelyn, humiliated, heart-broken 
 at the wicked deception which had been practiced 
 upon her, loathing her position of reputed wife to 
 such a villain, was glad to hide her burning sense 
 of shame in complete solitude, happy even, that 
 D'Arcy, in respectful sympathy, delicately kept 
 aloof for a time. The latter had not yet replied to 
 Ella's letter, but in about ten days he wrote to Eve- 
 lyn a few lines, expressing the fear that business 
 might detain him another month at Washington, 
 but that the moment he could hope for a few days' 
 recreation, he would visit his friends at " The Re- 
 treat." He hinted a fear that he had alarmed her- 
 self and her sweet Ella, and asked pardon if his un- 
 controllable indignation had caused him to forget 
 for the first time what is due to the presence of la- 
 dies. This slight allusion was the only one he made 
 to having received Ella's letter of dismissal. Strange 
 Being, and unlike all others, I thought !
 
 234 SHADOWS. 
 
 And the days passed onward, and Evelyn was made 
 acquainted by her daughter that her engagement 
 with D'Arcy was at an end, and the sad mother care- 
 fully scrutinized each look and movement of her child 
 for with the exaggeration of love, she could ill be- 
 lieve that one who had been chosen by Philip D'Arcy 
 as his bride, could live without him, and be hap- 
 py. So she tenderly watched lest the delicate rose 
 should fade from that young cheek, lest the soft 
 blue eyes should look dim,, and lack their wonted 
 lustre. It did strike me tfiat the young girl's step 
 was less elastic, and that she more frequently than 
 was her wont, sought the solitude of her chamber. 
 But I persuaded Evelyn that the shock experienced 
 by poor Ella, on the discovery of Sir Percy's per- 
 fidious conduct, and her sympathy for her mother's 
 now blighted life, sufficiently accounted for this 
 apparent change in her. 
 
 And now the glorious Indian Summer pervades 
 the atmosphere with a glowing and intense heat, the 
 heavens wear a deeper tint of azure, the forests 
 clothed in their Autumn foliage, varying from the 
 palest shade of gold, and the softest green, to the 
 richest and most brilliant scarlet, and the deepest 
 crimson, remind you of the trees in the fabled gar- 
 den of Aladdin, whose branches were pendant with 
 the weight of rubies, emeralds, topaz and other pre-
 
 SHADOWS. 235 
 
 cious stones, so wonderfully gorgeous are the No- 
 vember tints of the North American forests, so un- 
 like anything ever beheld in the Old World. It 
 seems almost as if nature, prophetic of coming decay, 
 would array herself for the last time in her gayest and 
 richest attire, and like Cleopatra of old queen it even 
 on her couch of death. 
 
 And as one fine evening we sat in the verandah, 
 enjoying the fresh breezes, and looking on the deep 
 and rapid Hudson, we observed the splendid large 
 steamer stop opposite the landing, and a few passen- 
 gers enter the small boat which rowed towards shore. 
 Listlessly we watched, soothed by the quiet beauty 
 of the scene. A quarter of an hour may possibly have 
 elapsed, when hearing the door open, we turned glad- 
 ly to perceive and joyfully welcome Philip D'Arcy.
 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 FOEEQLEAM8. 
 
 IT is evening ; the air is soft and balmy, the gor- 
 gous sunset flushes the mountain tops, and falling 
 on the gladsome river causes it to glitter like mol- 
 ten gold. The advancing steamer, heavy with its 
 freight of human hearts, their loves and their cares, 
 is enveloped in a glow of hazy light ; the clear mir- 
 ror of the crystal Hudson reflects the blue, un- 
 clouded expanse of the heavens. The acacias gen- 
 tly wave, and the aspens tenderly quiver in the lan- 
 guid air. A moment, and the amber sun sinks be- 
 low the horizon, and white-robed twilight advances 
 stealthily, as a holy nun bearing incense ; softly she 
 distils with fairy fingers, the sparkling dew-drops, 
 and the water-lilies close their waxen petals, and the 
 birds fold their weary wings, all but the nightingale, 
 who ever maketh melody. Now the dragon-fly 
 awakes, and the glancing fish make ripple on the 
 water : the cricket chirps, and the glow-worm and
 
 FOREGLEAM8. 237 
 
 her sister, the fire-fly, prepare their tiny lamps. How 
 blissful a calm steals over the senses ; what sweet 
 peace pervades the soul attuned to the harmonies of 
 nature. On such a night as this did Philip D'Arcy 
 and Evelyn wander forth in the clear obscure, their 
 feet sought the green paths where the cool moss grew 
 beside the bubbling streamlet, and the night flowers 
 wept beneath the silent stars, dreamily they saun- 
 tered side by side, their souls permeated with the 
 placid tenderness of that soft hour. They spoke not, 
 yet Evelyn felt through her entire being, the 
 passionate gaze of those deep eyes, and the delicious 
 consciousness that she was beloved glowed on her 
 cheek and caused her eyelids to droop in timid 
 emotion ; they spake not, for they dared not break 
 the ineffable charm of that mute language. Yet 
 D'Arcy must leave that night, and he had much 
 to say, and Evelyn, by the instinct of love, 
 knew that he had much to say, and yet they 
 could not find it in their heart to break the spell, 
 the elysium of that silent hour. But Philip must 
 no longer keep silence, "Evelyn," he murmured 
 softly, and it was the first time he had thus named 
 her, "I know not how I shall support absence 
 from from my friends from you." 
 
 " You will return," she whispered. 
 
 " Return ah ! if God spare my life to happiness
 
 FOBEGLEAMS. 
 
 to love. Evelyn, forgive pardon, my mistake ; 
 the fatal misapprehension, not of my heart oh ! 
 do not think it ; but I believed I feared you loved 
 another." 
 
 " Never, Philip ! Oh ! I know it now, too well !" 
 Then in words of burning eloquence, he poured 
 forth the long restrained passion ot his soul. He 
 told how that she was the one love of his life ; ho\r 
 that all past feelings were cold and worthless com 
 pared to this; how his very being was entwined 
 with hers ; and kneeling at her feet he besought her 
 to become his bride his own. 
 
 Though the intense joy of that moment was al- 
 most an agony, Evelyn by a supreme effort mas- 
 tering her agitation, besought her lover to rise, then 
 she said, sadly, sorrowfully, tearfully, but with firm- 
 
 "Too late too late. Philip, this can never be." 
 
 "Never? Oh, God ! Evelyn, do not jest. Can 
 it be that after all, I am indifferent to you ?" 
 
 She turned upon him a look of such fond, such 
 devoted, such adoring love, that he would have 
 caught her to his breast, but he dared not so timid, 
 so respectful, is true love. 
 
 " Philip, you are dear dearer to me than exist- 
 ence. From the first moment I beheld you, you
 
 FOBEGLEAMS. 
 
 have been the star of my destiny ; and yet, I repeat, 
 I never, never can be yours." 
 
 " And that lip, the very arch of Cupid's bow 
 those perfect lips, where love in smiles and dimples 
 holds his throne can they frame such cruel words. 
 Sweetest, this is no time for coquetry." 
 
 " Ah ! Philip, speak not of that fatal beauty which 
 has ever been my curse. Hear me with patience. 
 Your affection to me is beyond all price ; but, yet, 
 far more do I prize your honor. Never, oh ! never, 
 may the unwedded wife of Sir Percy Montgomery 
 become the bride of the noble, the peerless D'Arcy. 
 The world " 
 
 " What of that ?" broke in Philip. 
 
 " Nothing, when we act rightly everything 
 when we do wrong. Never through Evelyn shall 
 the heartless world have reason to cast a slur on the 
 fair fame of him she venerates above all men ; nev- 
 er shall it be said that his name is no longer untar- 
 nished. Philip, the mother of your once betrothed 
 can not, must not, name you husband. We must, 
 therefore, part." 
 
 " Part, Evelyn? In pity, say not so ! My life 
 my love my bird of beauty we will forsake the 
 haunts of men ; together will we fly to distant 
 climes there, alone in the wilds of a yet virgin sol- 
 itude, will we live each for the other only, and earth
 
 24:0 FOKEGLEAM8. 
 
 shall become for us a second Eden. Say, sweet 
 one I shall it not be so ?" 
 
 For one moment only did she waver. The idea 
 of such bliss was too intoxicating her brain reeled 
 as in delirium. The temptation to give up all for 
 him was too strong. A moment, and she would 
 have sunk upon his breast, breathless, fainting, over- 
 come when, suddenly, she seemed to behold, over 
 against the dark sycamore grove, the form of Ella 
 her child her first-born her only one the long 
 fair hair, dank and uncurled, floating in the dewy 
 night the sweet young face pale and sad. The 
 semblance vanished : but, once more, Evelyn lis- 
 tened to her better angel. Self was forgotten the 
 weakness past the struggle over. Turning on her 
 beloved a look which he never ceased to remem- 
 ber a look which consoled him in all troubles, and 
 which ever inspired him to noble deeds, because in 
 that pure glance earthly passion had given place to 
 celestial love, she said, gently, but decisively, and 
 without wavering " We have both duties to per- 
 form ; you will serve your country be it mine to 
 protect my child, to soothe the suffering, to console 
 the afflicted. Ah ! me I have much to redeem in 
 the past." 
 
 "Cruel and unkind! and since when have you 
 thus changed?"
 
 FOBEGLEAM8. 
 
 "Since I have known YOU, Philip. All that is 
 good in me I owe to you alone and to you, next 
 God, I look for strength and courage to persevere." 
 
 " And so help me Heaven, you shall not look in 
 vain !" rejoined her lover, now restored to better 
 feeling. " But must we part ?" 
 
 " Yes more than ever beloved here for a time, 
 to be united forever ere long, when made ' perfect 
 through suffering,' we shall be found worthy to at- 
 tain to the joys of angelhood. In the faith of this 
 sweet hope, I can bear to part on earth for ever 
 even from you." 
 
 Evelyn's eyes beamed with an almost supernatu- 
 ral radiance ; and as the moon, bursting from forth 
 a cloud that had momentarily veiled her splendor, 
 shone full upon her chiselled features, she almost 
 looked a denizen of that world to which she aspired. 
 But the light of inspiration was soon quenched in 
 tears of pardonable human sorrow ; and, as Philip 
 strained her to his wildly-throbbing heart, their 
 lips met, and their souls blended in one long, long 
 kiss the first the last seal of their union for 
 eternity. Surely the angels were present, and 
 smiled benignantly on their pure and holy espou- 
 sals.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 AND Philip has departed, and Evelyn is alone 
 with the sweet memories of that thrice blessed eve, 
 alone with her undying love, her high resolve. No, 
 not alone, for ever in spirit she beholds deep 
 within the pure and liquid wells of those be- 
 loved eyes, the fond gaze of unutterable tender- 
 ness, for ever she looks beyond this weary vale of 
 tears, and sees in faith, the golden gates unclose 
 through which the radiance of the Divine Sun 
 streams downward, to enlighten the fields of care. 
 
 And moons have waxed and waned, and her 
 Philip is now a General in the Federal Army, his 
 name on every lip, his praise on every tongue. And 
 thus it must ever be. Men must DO great and heroic 
 deeds and we must ENDURE and SUFFEK. Which is 
 the truer heroism ? But we, too, may look beyond, 
 and upward to the ever present ONE who, if during 
 the Divine Humanity of His earth life, He had occa-
 
 CONCLUSION. 243 
 
 sion, not unfrequently, to rebuke the errors and fal- 
 sities of mankind, was ever tender and compassion- 
 ate to the faults and failings of woman. 
 
 Oh ! my sisters " Be ye also merciful, as He is 
 merciful." 
 
 THE END
 
 1863. 
 
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 A pleasant method for instructing children in History, 50 cts. 
 
 Brown's Carpenter's Assistant. 
 
 A practical work on architecture, with plans, large 410., $5.00. 
 Sybelle 
 
 And other miscellaneous poems, by L , 1 2mo., cloth, 75 cts 
 
 Wa-Wa- Wanda . 
 A legend of old Orange County, New York, in verse, 75 cts. 
 
 Husband vs. Wife. 
 
 A satirical poem, by Henry Clapp, Jr., illus. by Hoppin, 60 cts. 
 
 llou mania. 
 
 Travels in Eastern Europe, by J. O. Noyes, illustrated, $1.50. 
 
 The Christmas Tree. 
 
 A volume of miscellany for the young, with illustrations, 75 ct. 
 The Captive Nightingale. 
 
 A charming little book for children, many illustrations, 75 cts. 
 
 Sunshine through the Clouds. 
 
 Comprising stories for juveniles, beautifully illustrated, 75 cts. 
 
 Cosmogony, 
 Or, the mysteries of creation, by Thomas A. Davies, $1.50. 
 
 An Answer to Hugh miller 
 And other kindred geologists, by Thomas A. Davies, $1.25. 
 
 Walter Ash wood. 
 A novel by "Paul Siogvolk," author of " Schediasms," $1.00. 
 
 Sonthwpld. 
 A new society novel by Mrs. Lillie Devereuz Umsted, $1.00. 
 
 Ballads of the War. 
 A collection of poems for 1861, by George W. Hewes, 75 cts. 
 
 Hartley Norman. 
 Anew and striking American novel; one large I2mo., $1.25. 
 
 The Vagabond. 
 Sketches on literature, art, and society, by Adam Badeau, $1.00 
 
 Edgar Poe and His Critics. 
 A literary critique by Mrs. Sarah Helen Whitman, 75 ctt. 
 
 The New and the Old. 
 Sketches in California and India, by Dr. J. W. Palmer, $1.25 
 
 Up and Down the Irrawaddl. 
 Adventures in the Burman Empire, by J. W. Palmer, $1.00. 
 
 Miles Standlsh Illustrated. 
 With photographs, by J. W. Ehninger, elegant 410., $6.00.