conning these over I was surprised by Lady Hungerford, who had returned from her ride, during which she had fallen in with Mr. Hastings and Bertha.

My surprise may be imagined, when, rather abruptly (perhaps, for her, indiscreetly), she accosted me with

"Well, Mr. DeClifford, I find you have this morning gained Bertha's heart."

I started at the words, looked pale and red, and began to stammer out my wonder, when she cooled all by saying,

"There I have done wrong; I never considered how little you sanguine people can bear to be metaphorically treated, and how matter-of-fact every thing ought to be that alludes to your feelings. Know then, that by gaining the lady's heart, I meant nothing but her praise (and give me leave to tell you, that is no light thing), for the manner in which you read Otway this morning."

"And did she not add, how like a simpleton I behavedthat a green school-girl could not have done worse?"

"She said you frightened her by being taken ill, but I heard nothing of being a simpleton."

On this I could not help recounting to my kind protectress all that had oppressed my fancy, in regard to my own case, as the play proceeded, till at last it overcame me-when she observed,

"This will never do. Why, in nerves, cousin Mansell would beat you hollow; and, had he chosen to stay, with such inconvenient feelings as yours, might have proved a powerful rival.”

"And would you have me discard those feelings?"

"Not exactly; but I would not have them prevent action at a crisis where action is necessary. Though you are in love with Miss Hastings, I suppose, you do not expect Miss Hastings to be in love with you, without knowing any thing about the matter; or that she should throw herself at your feet, when you ought to be at hers? I doubt, if she did, if you would love her half so well. Consider, she is one of those

'Who would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.'

"O!" returned I, "play not with my feelings. If I thought

that seeking her would find her-find her what I wish-how could I ever cease the pursuit till what I wish was crowned?"

"Bravely spoken," replied the lady; "but depend upon it, to let fall your book in a tremor, for fear of shadows of your own creating, is not the way to succeed."

"May I look upon this as encouragement?"

"If by that word you wish to ask if I know any thing of my friend's heart towards yon, in the first place, let me say that if I did I would not tell you; but, in the next, let me say I do not. That she esteems you-thanks you-wishes you happy, as her father does too-and thinks you read Otway charmingly-is certain. Beyond this I know nothing." "Can you then tell me nothing favourable to my hopes ?" "No."

"Would you have me propose this instant?" "No."

"Alas! then what am I to do?"

"Go on; but let no more books fall in a fright."

Thus did this dear lady, I will not say amuse herself by playing with my feelings, but (perhaps without intending it) tantalize me with alternate encouragement and depression, for so I considered this conversation.

She wound it up with a strange ironical request, which her own happy spirits on her approaching nuptials, I suppose, prompted, that I would put into writing, and present to Bertha, a statement of the particular beauty of person or mind for which I so loved her; and, as I seemed so afraid of presenting such a thing myself, she said she would be my ambassadress, and present it for me.

I received this, as it was proposed, jestingly; but having only that moment laid down the poems I had been reading, I took them up again and said,

"Sedley shall answer for me, for I agree with him in every one of these lines, only changing the name of Chloris for Bertha.

For you are so entirely fair,
To love a part, injustice were.

No drowning man can know which drop
Of water his last breath did stop;
So when the stars in heav'n appear,
And join to make the night look clear;
The light we no one's bounty call,
But the obliging gift of all.

He that does lips or hands adore,
Deserves them only, and no more;
But I love all, and every part,
And nothing less can ease my heart.
Cupid that lover weakly strikes,

Who can express what 'tis he likes.' ”

Upon my word," said the lady, "you shew yourself a promising pupil of your master, Granville. I don't think he could have answered better. But give me the book, for the lines are very pretty, and I must shew them to him."

At that moment he joined us, but only to take his mistress away with him to billiards. Oh! how I envied him!

How did that envy increase as time advanced,though envy is not the proper name for it, for I seriously rejoiced. His position, however, made my own more restless, and it seemed unreasonable, nay, almost unnatural, that I should not feel the same contentment that he did.

His betrothed looked handsomer every hour, as the hour approached; handsomer as her consciousness increased. Yet at one time, instead of being, as she generally was, radiant with smiles, I found her in tears-Granville by her side.

Mr. Hastings and Bertha were taking their morning's drive, and I had settled, by way of a ride, to go to York, though it did not take place. They were in the music-room, thinking they should be alone, when I interrupted them.

I quickly retired, lost in wonder at what could have occasioned the emotions I witnessed. At first I thought they had had a quarrel (such things have happened), and a lover's quarrel is proverbial. Yet they seemed the tears of extreme tenderness, not of bitterness; and Granville, who told it me, lest I should misconstrue them, said they were really so.

In fact, as the day approached when this charming woman was to give herself up to another, the remembrance of her first lord occupied her mind almost to absorption. He had always loved her so devotedly, and with such perfection of

esteem, that she had begun to tremble with fear that the step she was about to take might be deemed ungrateful to his memory. Granville's tender attentions too, increasing as the day of his happiness drew nigh, her fears and conscious associations also augmented; and though far from repenting, still farther from retracting, the recollection of the tenderness of him who first possessed her love, mixed something like compunctious doubts as to the strict propriety of her present conduct, with the softness of her remembrance of the past.

This she ingeniously owned to Granville, together with all she had felt of former happiness with Lord Hungerford.

"Yes," said she, "though greatly older than myself, I loved him, not only with all the devotion of the respect he commanded from every one, but even with all the fondness he could desire. His mind and his heart were both young, and his inestimable worth heightened my feelings into real passion. You must not expect more, therefore, from ine than I gave to him. Though the eight years that have passed since he was lost to me have allayed the poignancy of grief, and though I have admitted you to my heart, it is impossible that I can displace him from it, or cease to love his memory. If I thought, therefore, he could now look down upon me with displeasure, for being able to love you, the heart I give you would be a desolate one."

"Here," said Granville, "she was so overcome as to produce those emotions in which you surprised us. Truth is, we neither of us had ever thought of discussing the question of second marriages; I, from being too happy to make any question about it; she, from the perpetual example of the world, till awakened by the near approach of the ceremony, and its association with his memory, who had so entirely possessed her esteem and affection. For my own part," concluded Granville, "I only honored her, nay, loved her more and more for it; and when she uttered something like an excuse, and a hope that this overtake would not hurt me, I told her with a full heart that she only raised herself higher than ever with me, as it did myself in my own mind, for having been able to win the affection of so sweet a character. With this she was satisfied, and we are better friends than ever."

I was quite penetrated by this account, and regarded Lady Hungerford with even more than usual admiration. That

one so superior to almost all her sex in every thing that the world deemed desirable-brilliant, elegant, full of rich talent, and with almost a masculine understanding, formed for public display should in reality possess also the soft and feminine graces that so charm us in private life, moved my wonder, and more than ever excited my attachment. I could only more than ever congratulate my friend on his good for

tune.

Nothing remarkable passed during the rest of the day, except the finishing of Venice Preserved, which, though moving both for horrors and for tenderness, yet as they did not draw forth anything that bore upon my own case, I pass them.

CHAPTER XXVII.

DISCOURSE WITH BERTHA ON CONJUAGL DUTY. BEAUTIFUL AND JUST, BUT NOT BLUE.

My noble father!

I do percieve here a divided duty.

SHAKSPEARE.-Othello.

ONE only day now remained, before the fates of Granville and that admirable woman, whose winning qualities I have so often described, were to be united. The day was spent in pleasing, yet awful, and in some respects sorrowful, preparation; pleasing and awful to the parties most concerned, who were to leave Foljambe from the church door; sorrowful to those who staid behind.

Granville and Lady Hungerford, as may be supposed, were occupied with one another, at least, as much as their gentleman and lady of the bed-chamber would permit them. These, in arranging matters both for the ceremony and their departure afterwards, seemed by far the principal characters in the drama; but for myself, the chief incident of the morning was another reading in Mr. Hastings' apartments. Here,