A Love Story

by

A Bushman. 

Vol. I. 

 "My thoughts, like swallows, skim the main, And bear my spirit back again Over the earth, and through the air, A wild bird and a wanderer. "

1841. 

ToLady GippsThis Work Is Respectfully Inscribed, ByA Grateful Friend. 

Preface. 

The author of these pages considered that a lengthened explanation mightbe necessary to account for the present work. 

He had therefore, at some length, detailed the motives that influencedhim in its composition. He had shown that as a solitary companionlessbushman, it had been a pleasure to him in his lone evenings

 "To create, and in creating live A being more intense. "

He had expatiated on the love he bears his adopted country, and hadstated that he was greatly influenced by the hope that although

 "Sparta hath many a worthier son than he, "

this work might be the humble cornerstone to some enduring and highlyornamented structure. 

The author however fortunately remembered, that readers have but littlesympathy with the motives of authors; but expect that their works shouldamuse or instruct them. He will therefore content himself, with giving aquotation from one of those old authors, whose "well of Englishundefined" shames our modern writers. 

He intreats that the indulgence prayed for by the learned Cowell may beaccorded to his humble efforts. 

"My true end is the advancement of knowledge, and therefore have Ipublished this poor work, not only to impart the good thereof, to thoseyoung ones that want it, but also to draw from the learned, the supplyof my defects. 

"Whosoever will charge these travails with many oversights, he shall needno solemn pains to prove them. 

"And upon the view taken of this book sithence the impression, I dareassure them, that shall observe most faults therein, that I, by gleaningafter him, will gather as many omitted by him, as he shall shewcommitted by me. 

"What a man saith well is not, however, to be rejected, because he hathsome errors; reprehend who will, in God's name, that is, with sweetness, and without reproach. 

"So shall he reap hearty thanks at my hands, and thus more soundly helpin a few months, than I by tossing and tumbling my books at home, couldpossibly have done in some years. "

A Love Story

Chapter I. 

The Family. 

 "It was a vast and venerable pile. "

 "Oh, may'st thou ever be as now thou art, Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring. "

The mansion in which dwelt the Delmes was one of wide and extensiverange. Its centre slightly receded, leaving a wing on either side. Fluted ledges, extending the whole length of the building, protrudedabove each story. These were supported by quaint heads of satyr, martyr, or laughing triton. The upper ledge, which concealed the roof fromcasual observers, was of considerably greater projection. Placed aboveit, at intervals, were balls of marble, which, once of pure white, hadnow caught the time-worn hue of the edifice itself. At each corner ofthe front and wings, the balls were surmounted by the family device--theeagle with extended wing. One claw closed over the stone, and the birdrode it proudly an' it had been the globe. The portico, of a pointedGothic, would have seemed heavy, had it not been lightened by glassdoors, the vivid colours of which were not of modern date. Theseadmitted to a capacious hall, where, reposing on the wide-spreadingantlers of some pristine tenant of the park, gleamed many a piece ofarmour that in days of yore had not been worn ingloriously. 

The Delme family was an old Norman one, on whose antiquity a peeragecould have conferred no new lustre. At the period when the aristocracyof Great Britain lent themselves to their own diminution ofimportance, by the prevalent system of rejecting the poorer class oftenantry, in many instances the most attached, --the consequence wasforeseen by the then proprietor of Delme Park, who, spurning theadvice of some interested few around him, continued to foster thosewhose ancestors had served his. The Delmes were thus enabled toretain--and they deserved it--that fair homage which rank and propertyshould ever command. As a family they were popular, and as individualsuniversally beloved. 

At the period we speak of, the Delme family consisted but of threemembers: the baronet, Sir Henry Delme; his brother George, some tenyears his junior, a lieutenant in a light infantry regiment at Malta;and one sister, Emily, Emily Delme was the youngest child; her motherdying shortly after her birth. The father, Sir Reginald Delme, a man ofstrong feelings and social habits, never recovered this blow. HenryDelme was barely fifteen when he was called to the baronetcy and to thepossession of the Delme estates. It was found that Sir Reginald had beenmore generous than the world had given him credit for, and that hisestates were much encumbered. The trustees were disposed to restcontented with paying off the strictly legal claims during Sir Henry'sminority. This the young heir would not accede to. He waited on hismost influential guardian--told him he was aware his father, fromhospitality and good nature, had incurred obligations which the law didnot compel his son to pay; but which he could not but think that equityand good feeling did. He begged that these might be added to the otherclaims, and that the trustees would endeavour to procure him acommission in the army. He was gazetted to a cornetcy; and entered lifeat an age when, if the manlier traits are ready to be developed, theworthless ones are equally sure to unfold themselves. Few of us thathave not found the first draught of life intoxicate! Few of us that havenot then run wild, as colts that have slipped their bridle!Experience--that mystic word--is wanting; the retrospect of past yearswakes no sigh; expectant youth looks forward to future ones without ashade of distrust. The mind is elastic--the body vigorous and free frompain; and it is then youth inwardly feels, although not daring to avowit, the almost total impossibility that the mind should wax lessvigorous, or the body grow helpless, and decay. 

But Sir Henry was cast in a finer mould, nor did his conduct at thisdangerous period detract from this his trait of boyhood. He joined hisregiment when before the enemy, and, until he came of age, never drew onhis guardians for a shilling. Delme's firmness of purpose, and his afterprudence, met with their due reward. The family estates became whollyunencumbered, and Sir Henry was enabled to add to the too scantyprovision of his sister, as well as to make up to George, on hisentering the army, a sum more than adequate to all his wants. Thesecircumstances were enough to endear him to his family; and, in truth, amidst all its members, there prevailed a confidence and an unanimitywhich were never for an instant impaired. There was one consequence, however, of Sir Henry Delme's conduct that _he_, at the least, foresawnot, but which was gradually and unconsciously developed. In pursuingthe line of duty he had marked out--in acting up to what he knew wasright--his mind became _too_ deeply impressed with the circumstanceswhich had given rise to his determination. It overstepped its object. The train of thought, to which necessity gave birth, continued topervade when that necessity no longer existed. His wish to re-establishhis house grew into an ardent desire to aggrandize it. His ambitionappeared a legitimate one. It grew with his years, and increased withhis strength. 

Many a time, on the lone bivouac, when home presents itself in itsfairest colours to the soldier's mind, would Delme's prayer be embodied, that his house might again be elevated, and that his descendants mightknow _him_ as the one to whom they were indebted for its rise. Delme'sambitious thoughts were created amidst dangers and toil, in a foreignland, and far from those who shared his name. But his heart swelled highwith them as he again trod his native soil in peace--as he gazed on thehome of his fathers, and communed with those nearest and dearest to himon earth. Sir Henry considered it incumbent on him to exert every meansthat lay in his power to promote his grand object. A connection thatpromised rank and honours, seemed to him an absolute essential that wasworth any sacrifice. Sir Henry never allowed himself to look for, orgive way to, those sacred sympathies, which the God of nature hathimplanted in the breasts of all of us. Delme had arrived at middle ageere a feeling incompatible with his views arose. But his had been adangerous experiment. Our hearts or minds, or whatever it may be thattakes the impression, resemble some crystalline lake that mirrors thesmallest object, and heightens its beauty; but if it once gets muddiedor ruffled, the most lovely object ceases to be reflected in its waters. By the time that lake is clear again, the fairy form that ere whilelingered on its bosom is fled for ever. 

Thus much in introducing the head of the family. Let us now attempt tosketch the gentle Emily. 

Emily Delme was not an ordinary being. To uncommon talents, and a mindof most refined order, she united great feminine propriety, and a totalabsence of those arts which sometimes characterise those to whom theaccident of birth has given importance. With unerring discrimination, she drew the exact line between vivacity and satire, true religion andits semblance. She saw through and pitied those who, pluming themselveson the faults of others, and imparting to the outward man the asceticinflexibility of the inner one, would fain propagate on all sides theirrigid creed, forbidding the more favoured commoners of nature even tosip joy's chalice. If not a saint, however, but a fair, confiding, andromantic girl, she was good without misanthropy, pure withoutpretension, and joyous, as youth and hopes not crushed might make her. She was one of those of whom society might justly be proud. She obeyedits dictates without question, but her feelings underwent no debasementfrom the contact. If not a child of nature, she was by no means theslave of art. 

Emily Delme was more beautiful than striking. She impressed more thanshe exacted. Her violet eye gleamed with feeling; her smile few couldgaze on without sympathy--happy he who might revel in its brightness!If aught gave a peculiar tinge to her character, it was the pride shefelt in the name she bore, --this she might have caught from SirHenry, --the interest she took in the legends connected with that name, and the gratification which the thought gave her, that by her ancestors, its character had been but rarely sullied, and never disgraced. 

These things, it may be, she had accustomed herself to look on in alight too glowing: for these things and all mundane ones are vain; buther character did not consequently suffer. Her lip curled not withhauteur, nor was her brow raised one shadow the more. The remembrance ofthe old Baronetcy were on the ensanguined plain, --of the matchlessloyalty of a father and five valiant sons in the cause of the RoyalCharles, --the pondering over tomes, which in language obsolete, buttrue, spoke of the grandeur--the deserved grandeur of her house; thesemight be recollections and pursuits, followed with an ardour tooenthusiastic, but they stayed not the hand of charity, nor could theycheck pity's tear. If her eye flashed as she gazed on the ancientdevice of her family, reposing on its time worn pedestal, it could meltto the tale of the houseless wanderer, and sympathise with the sorrowsof the fatherless. 

Chapter II. 

The Album. 

 "Oh that the desert were my dwelling place, With one fair spirit for my minister; That I might all forget the human race, And, hating no one, love but only her. "

A cheerful party were met in the drawing room of Delme. Clarendon Gage, a neighbouring land proprietor, to whom Emily had for a twelvemonth beenbetrothed, had the night previous returned from a continental tour. Inconsequence, Emily looked especially radiant, Delme much pleased, andClarendon superlatively happy. Nor must we pass over Mrs. Glenallan, Miss Delme's worthy aunt, who had supplied the place of a mother toEmily, and who now sat in her accustomed chair, with an almost sunnybrow, quietly pursuing her monotonous tambouring. At times she turned toadmire her niece, who occasionally walked to the glass window, to caressand feed an impudent white peacock; which one moment strutted on thewide terrace, and at another lustily tapped for his bread at ne of thelower panes. 

"I am glad to see you looking so well, Clarendon!"

"And I can return the compliment, Delme! Few, looking at you now, wouldtake you for an old campaigner. "

The style of feature in Delme and Clarendon was very dissimilar. SirHenry was many years Gage's senior; but his manly bearing, and darkdecided features, would bear a contrast with even the tall and elegant, although slight form of Clarendon. The latter was very fair, and what weare accustomed to call English-looking. His hair almost, but not quite, flaxen, hung in thick curls over his forehead, and would have given aneffeminate expression to the face, were it not for the peculiar flash ofthe clear blue eye. 

"Come! Clarendon, " said Emily, "I will impose a task. You have writtentwice in my album; once, years ago, and the second time on the eve ofour parting. Come! you shall read us both effusions, and then write asonnet to our happy meeting. Would that dear George were here now!"

Gage took up the book. It was a moderately-sized volume, bound incrimson velvet. It was the fashion to keep albums _then_. It glitterednot in a binding of azure and gold, nor were its momentous secretsenclosed by one of Bramah's locks. The Spanish proverb says, "Tell mewho you are with, and I will tell you what you are. " Ours, in that albumage, used to be, "Show me your scrap book, I will tell you yourcharacter. " Emily's was not one commencing with--

 "I never loved a dear gazelle!"

and ending with stanzas on the "Forget-me-not. " It had not thosehackneyed but beautiful lines addressed by Mr. Spencer to Lady Crewe--

 "I stay'd too late: forgive the crime! Unheeded flew the hours; For noiseless falls the foot of Time. That only treads on flowers. "

Nor contained it those sublime, but yet more common ones, on Sir JohnMoore's death; which lines, by the bye, have suffered more from thatmischief-making, laughter-loving creature, Parody, than any lines weknow. It was not one of these books. Nor was it the splendid scrap book, replete with superb engravings and proof-impression prints; nor at allallied to the sentimental one of a garrison flirt, containing locks ofhair of at least five gentlemen, three of whom are officers in the army. Nor, lastly, was it of that genus which has vulgarity in its verytitle-page, and is here and there interspersed with devilish imps, orcaricatured likenesses of the little proprietress, all done in mostinfinite humour, and marking the familiar friendship, of some half-dozenwhiskered cubs, having what is technically called the run of the house. No! it was a repository for feeling and for memory, and, in its fairpages, presented an image of Emily's heart. Many of these were marked, it is true; and what human being's character is unchequered? But it wasblotless; and the virgin page looks not so white as when the contrast ofthe sable ink is there. 

Clarendon read aloud his first contribution--who knows it not? The verywords form a music, and that music is Metastasio's, "Placido zeffiretto, Se trovi il caro oggetto, Digli che sei sospiro Ma non gli dir di chi, Limpido ruscelletto, Se mai t'incontri in lei, Digli che pianto sei, Ma non le dir qual' eiglio Crescer ti fe cosi. "

"And now, Emily! for my parting tribute--if I remember right, it wassorrowful enough. "

Gage read, with tremulous voice, the following, which we will christen

 THE FAREWELL. 

 I will not be the lightsome lark, That carols to the rising morn, -- I'd rather be some plaintive bird Lulling night's ear forlorn. 

 I will not be the green, green leaf, Mingling 'midst thousand leaves and flowers That shed their fairy charms around To deck Spring's joyous bowers. 

 I'd rather be the one red leaf, Waving 'midst Autumn's sombre groves:-- On the heart to breathe that sadness Which contemplation loves. 

 I will not be the morning ray, Dancing upon the river's crest, All light, all motion, when the stream Turns to the sun her breast. 

 I'd rather be the gentle shade, Lengthening as eve comes stealing on, And rest in pensive sadness there, When those bright rays are gone. 

 I will not be a smile to play Upon thy coral lip, and shed Around it sweetness, like the sun Risen from his crimson bed. 

 Oh, no! I'll be the tear that steals In pity from that eye of blue, Making the cheek more lovely red, Like rose-leaf dipp'd in dew. 

 I will not be remember'd when Mirth shall her pageant joys impart, -- A dream to sparkle in thine eye, Yet vanish from thy heart. 

 But when pensive sadness clouds thee, When thoughts, half pain, half pleasure, steal Upon the heart, and memory doth The shadowy past reveal. 

 When seems the bliss of former years, -- Too sweet, too pure, to feel again, -- And long lost hours, scenes, friends, return, Remember me, love--then!

"Ah, Clarendon! how often have I read those lines, and thought--but Iwill not think now! Here come the letters! Henry will soon be busy--Ishall finish my drawing--and aunt will finish--no! she never _can_finish her tambour work. Take my portfolio and give me anothercontribution!" Gage now wrote "The Return, " which we insert for thereader's approval:--

 THE RETURN. 

 When the blue-eyed morn doth peep Over the soft hill's verdant steep, Lighting up its shadows deep, I'll think of thee, love, _then!_

 When the lightsome lark doth sing Her grateful song to Nature's King, Making all the woodlands ring, I'll think of thee, love, _then!_

 Or when plaintive Philomel Shall mourn her mate in some lone dell, And to the night her sorrows tell, I'll think of thee, love, _then!_

 When the first green leaf of spring Shall promise of the summer bring, And all around its fragrance fling, I'll think of thee, love, _then!_

 Or when the last red leaf shall fall, And winter spread its icy pall, To mind me of the death of all, I'll think of thee, love, _then!_

 When the lively morning ray Is dancing on the river's spray, And sunshine gilds the joyous day, I'll think of thee, love, _then_!

 And when the shades of eve steal on, Lengthening as life's sun goes down, Like sweetest constancy alone, I'll think of thee, love, _then_!

 When I see a sweet smile play On coral lips, like Phoebus' ray, Making all look warm and gay, I'll think of thee, love, _then_!

 When steals the tear of pity, too, O'er a cheek, whose crimson hue Looks like rose-leaf dipp'd in dew, I'll think of thee, love, _then_!

 When mirth's pageant joys unbind The gloomy spells that chain my mind, And make me dream of all that's kind, I'll think of thee, love, _then_!

 And when pensive sadness clouds me, When the host of memory crowds me, When the shadowy past enshrouds me, I'll think of thee, love, _then_!

 When seems the bliss of former years, -- Too sweet, too pure, to feel again, -- And long lost hours, scenes, friends, return, I'll think of thee, love, _then_!

Chapter III. 

The Dinner. 

 "Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven. "

 "Away! there need no words or terms precise, The paltry jargon of the marble mart, Where pedantry gulls folly: we have eyes. "

We are told by the members of the silver-fork school, that no tale offiction can be complete unless it embody the description of a dinner. Let us, therefore, shutting from our view that white-limbed gum-tree, and dismissing from our table tea and damper, [Footnote: _Damper_. Bushman's fare--unleavened bread] call on memory's fading powers, andfeast once more with the rich, the munificent, the intellectualBelliston Graeme. 

Dinner! immortal faculty of eating! to what glorious sense orpre-eminent passion dost thou not contribute? Is not love half fed bythy attractions? Beams ever the eye of lover more bright than when, after gazing with enraptured glance at the coveted haunch, whose fat--apure white; whose lean--a rich brown--invitingly await the assault. Whendoth lover's eye sparkle more, than when, at such a moment, it lights onthe features of the loved fair one? Is not the supper quadrille the mostdangerous and the dearest of all?

Cherished venison! delicate white soup! spare young susceptible bosoms!Again we ask, is not dinner the very aliment of friendship? the hinge onwhich it turns? Does a man's heart expand to you ere you have returnedhis dinner? It would be folly to assert it. Cabinet dinners--corporationdinners--election dinners--and vestry dinners--and rail-roaddinners--we pass by these things, and triumphantly ask--does not _the_Ship par excellence--the Ship of Greenwich--annually assemble under itsrevered roof the luminaries of the nation? Oh, whitebait! called soearly to your last account! a tear is all we give, but it flowsspontaneously at the memory of your sorrows!

As Mr. Belliston Graeme was much talked of in his day, it may not beamiss to say a few words regarding him. He was an only child, and at anearly age lost his parents. The expense of his education was defrayedby a wealthy uncle, the second partner in a celebrated banking house. His tutor, with whom he may be said to have lived from boyhood--for hisuncle had little communication with him, except to write to him oneletter half-yearly, when he paid his school bill--was a shy retiringclergyman--a man of very extensive acquirements, and a first rateclassical scholar. After a short time, the curate and young Graemebecame attached to each other. The tutor was a bachelor, and Graeme washis only pupil. The latter was soon inoculated with the classical maniaof his preceptor; and, as he grew up, it was quite a treat to hear thepair discourse of Greeks and Romans. A stranger who had _then_ heardthem would have imagined that Themistocles and Scipio Africanus werestars of the present generation. When Graeme was nineteen, his uncleinvited him to town for a month--a most unusual proceeding. During thisperiod he studied closely his nephew's character. At the end of thisterm, Mr. Hargrave and his young charge were on their way to theclassical regions, where their fancy had been so long straying. Theyexplored France, and the northern parts of Italy--came on the shores ofthe Adriatic--resided and secretly made excavations near theamphitheatre of Polo--and finally reached the Morea. Not a crag, valley, or brook, that they were not conversant with before they leftit. They at length tore themselves away; and found themselves at theancient Parthenope. It was at Pompeii Mr. Graeme first saw thebeautiful Miss Vignoles, the Mrs. Glenallan of our story; and, in astrange adventure with some Neapolitan guides, was of some service toher party. They saw his designs of some tombs, and took the trouble ofdrawing him out. The young man now for the first time basked in thesweets of society; in a fortnight, to Mr. Hargrave's horror, wasrolling in its vortex; in a couple of months found himself indulgingin, and avowing, a hopeless passion; and in three, was once again inhis native land, falsely deeming that his peace of mind had fled forever. He was shortly, however, called upon to exert his energies. Thedeath of his uncle suddenly made him, to his very great surprise, oneof the wealthiest commoners of England. At this period he was quiteunknown. In a short time Mr. Hargrave and himself were lodgedluxuriously--were deep in the pursuit of science, literature, and thebelle arte--and on terms of friendship with the cleverest and mostoriginal men of the day. Mr. Graeme's occupations being sedentary, andhis habits very regular, he shortly found that his great wealth enabledhim, not only to indulge in every personal luxury at Rendlesham Park, but to patronise largely every literary work of merit. In him the needyman of genius found a friend, the man of wit a companion, and thepublisher a generous customer. He became famous for his house, hislibrary, his exclusive society. But he did not become spoilt by hisprosperity, and never neglected his old tutor. 

Our party from Delme were ushered into a large drawing-room, the solelight of which was from an immense bow window, looking out on theextensive lawn. The panes were of enormous size, and beautiful specimensof classique plated glass. The only articles of furniture, were somecrimson ottomans which served to set off the splendid paintings; and onetable of the Florentine manufacture of pietra dura, on which stood acarved bijou of Benvenuto Cellini's. Our party were early. They werewelcomed by Mr. Graeme with great cordiality, and by Mr. Hargrave withsome embarrassment, for the tutor was still the bashful man of formerdays. Mr. Graeme's dress shamed these degenerate days of black stock andloose trowser. Diamond buckles adorned his knees, and fastened hisshoes. His clear blue eye--the high polished forehead--the deep lines ofthe countenance--revealed the man of thought and intellect. The playfullip shewed he could yet appreciate a flash of wit or spark of humour. 

"Miss Delme, you are looking at my paintings; let me show you my latepurchases. Observe this sweet Madonna, by Murillo! I prefer it to theone in the Munich Gallery. It may not boast Titian's glow of colour, orRaphael's grandeur of design, --in delicate angelic beauty, it may yieldto the delightful efforts of Guido's or Correggio's pencil, --but surelyno human conception can ever have more touchingly portrayed thebeauteous resigned mother. The infant, too! how inimitably blended isthe God-like serenity of the Saviour, with the fond and gracefulwitcheries of the loving child! How little we know of the beauties ofthe Spanish school! Would I could ransack their ancient monasteries, andbring a few of them to light!

"You are a chess player! Pass not by this check-mate of Caravaggio's. What undisguised triumph in one countenance! What a struggle to repressnature's feelings in the other! Here is a Guido! sweet, as his ever are!He may justly be styled the female laureat. What artist can compete withhim in delineating the blooming expression, or the tender, but lighter, shades of female loveliness? who can pause between even the Fornarina, and that divine effort, the Beatrice Cenci of the Barberini?"

The party were by this time assembled. Besides our immediate friends, there was his Grace the Duke of Gatten, a good-natured fox-huntingnobleman, whose estate adjoined Mr. Graeme's; there was the ViscountChambery, who had penned a pamphlet on finance--indited a folio onarchitecture--and astonished Europe with an elaborate dissertation onmodern cookery; there was Charles Selby, the poet and essayist;Daintrey, the sculptor--a wonderful Ornithologist--a deep readHistorian--a learned Orientalist--and a novelist, from France; whoseworks exhibited such unheard of horrors, and made man and woman soirremediably vicious, as to make this young gentleman celebrated, evenin Paris--that Babylonian sink of iniquity. 

Dinner was announced, and our host, giving his arm very stoically toMrs. Glenallan, his love of former days, led the way to the dining-room. Round the table were placed beautifully carved oaken fauteuils, of avery old pattern. The service of plate was extremely plain, but ofmassive gold. But the lamp! It was of magnificent dimensions! The lightchains hanging from the frescoed ceiling, the links of which were hardlyperceptible, were of silver, manufactured in Venice; the lower part wasof opal-tinted glass, exactly portraying some voluptuous couch, on whichthe beautiful Amphitrite might have reclined, as she hastened throughbeds of coral to crystal grot, starred with transparent stalactites. Inthe centre of this shell, were sockets, whence verged small hollowgolden tubes, resembling in shape and size the stalks of a flower. Atthe drooping ends of these, were lamps shaped and coloured to imitatethe most beauteous flowers of the parterre. This bouquet of light hadbeen designed by Mr. Graeme. Few novelties had acquired greatercelebrity than the Graeme astrale. The room was warmed by heating thepedestals of the statues. 

"Potage a la fantome, and a l'ourika. "

"I will trouble you, Graeme, " said my Lord Chambery, "for the fantome. Ihave dined on la pritanniere for the last three months, and a novel soupis a novel pleasure. "

Of the fish, the soles were a la Rowena, the salmon a l'amour. Emilyflirted with the wing of a chicken saute au supreme, coquetted withperdrix perdu masque a la Montmorenci, and tasted a boudin a laDiebitsch. The wines were excellent--the Geisenheim delicious--theChampagne sparkling like a pun of Jekyll's. But nothing aroused theattention of the Viscount Chambery so much as a liqueur, which Mr. Graeme assured him was new, and had just been sent him by the Conte deDesir. The dessert had been some time on the table, when the Viscountaddressed his host. 

"Graeme! I am delighted to find that you at length agree with me as tothe monstrous superiority of a French repast. Your omelette imaginairewas faultless, and as for your liqueur, I shall certainly order a supplyon my return to Paris. "

"That liqueur, my dear lord, " replied Mr. Graeme, "is good old cowslipmead, with a flask of Maraschino di Zara infused in it. For the rest, the dinner has been almost as imaginaire as the omelet. The greater partof the recipes are in an old English volume in my library, or perhapssome owe their origin to the fertile invention of my housekeeper. Letus style them a la Dorothee. "

"Capital! I thank you, Graeme!" said his Grace of Gatten, as he shookhis host by the hand, till the tears stood in his eyes. 

The prescient Chambery had made a good dinner, and bore the jokephilosophically. Coffee awaited the gentlemen in a small octagonalchamber, adjoining the music room. There stood Mr. Graeme's threefavourite modern statues:--a Venus, by Canova--a Discobole, byThorwaldson--and a late acquisition--the Ariadne, of Dannecker. 

"This is the work of an artist, " said Mr. Graeme, "little known inthis country, but in Germany ranking quite as high as Thorwaldson. This is almost a duplicate of his Ariadne at Frankfort, but themarble is much more pure. How wonderfully fine the execution! Praynotice the bold profile of the face; how energetic her action as shesits on the panther!"

Mr. Graeme touched the spring of a window frame. A curtain of crimsongauze fell over a globe lamp, and threw a rich shade on the marble. The features remained as finely chiselled, but their expression wastotally changed. 

They adjourned to the music-room, which deserved its title. Save someseats, which were artfully formed to resemble lyres, nothing broke thecontinuity of music's tones, which ascended majestically to the loftydome, there to blend and wreath, and fall again. At one extremity ofmusic's hall was an organ; at the other a grand piano, built by a Germancomposer. Ranged on carved slabs, at intermediate distances, was placedalmost every instrument that may claim a votary. Of viols, from the violinto the double bass, --of instruments of brass, from trombones and basskettledrums even unto trumpet and cymbal, --of instruments of wood, fromwinding serpents to octave flute, --and of fiddles of parchment, from thegrosse caisse to the tambourine. Nor were ancient instruments wanting. These were of quaint forms and diverse constructions. Mr. Graeme woulddescant for hours on an antique species of spinnet, which he procured fromthe East, and which he vehemently averred, was the veritable dulcimer. Hewould display with great gusto, his specimens of harps of Israel; whosedeep-toned chorus, had perchance thrilled through the breast of more thanone of Judea's dark-haired daughters. Greece, too, had herrepresentatives, to remind the spectators that there had been an Orpheus. There were flutes of the Doric and of the Phrygian mode, and--let usforget not--the Tyrrhenian trumpet, with its brazen-cleft pavilion. But byfar the greater part of his musical relics he had acquired during his stayin Italy. He could show the litui with their carved clarions--the twistedcornua--the tuba, a trumpet so long and taper, --the concha wound byTritons--and eke the buccina, a short and brattling horn. 

Belliston Graeme was an enthusiastic musician; and was in this peculiar, that he loved the science for its simplicity. Musicians are but too aptto give to music's detail and music's difficulties the homage thatshould be paid to music's self: in this resembling the habitual man oflaw, who occasionally forgetteth the great principles of jurisprudence, and invests with mysterious agency such words as latitat and certiorari. The soul of music may not have fled;--for we cultivate herassiduously, --worship Handel--and appreciate Mozart. But music _now_springs from the head, not the heart; is not for the mass, but forindividuals. With our increased researches, and cares, and troubles, wehave lost the faculty of being pleased. Past are those careless days, when the shrill musette, or plain cittern and virginals, could withtheir first strain give motion to the blythe foot of joy, or call fromits cell the prompt tear of pity. Those days are gone! Music may affectsome of us as deeply, but none as readily!

Mr. Graeme had received from Paris an unpublished opera of Auber's. Emily seated herself at the piano--her host took the violin--Clarendonwas an excellent flute player--and the tinkle of the Viscount's guitarcame in very harmoniously. By the time refreshments were introduced, Charles Selby too was in his glory. He had already nearly convulsed theOrientalist by a theory which he said he had formed, of a gradualmetempsychosis, or, at all events, perceptible amalgamation, of theyellow Qui Hi to the darker Hindoo; which said theory he supported bythe most ingenious arguments. 

"How did you like your stay in Scotland, Mr. Selby?" said SirHenry Delme. 

"I am a terrible Cockney, Sir Henry, --found it very cold, and was verysulky. The only man I cared to see in Scotland was at the Lakes; but Ikept a register of events, which is now on the table in mydressing-room. If Graeme will read it, for I am but a stammerer, it isat your service. "

The paper was soon produced, and Mr. Graeme read the following:--

"THE BRAHMIN. 

"A stranger arrived from a far and foreign country. His was a mindpeculiarly humble, tremblingly alive to its own deficiencies. Yet, endowed with this mistrust, he sighed for information, and his soulthirsted in the pursuit of knowledge. Thus constituted, he sought thecity he had long dreamingly looked up to as the site of truth--Scotia'scapital, the modern Athens. In endeavouring to explore the mazes ofliterature, he by no means expected to discover novel paths, but soughtto traverse beauteous ones; feeling he could rest content, could he meetwith but one flower, which some bolder and more experienced adventurermight have allowed to escape him. He arrived, and cast around an anxiouseye. He found himself involved in an apparent chaos--the whirl ofdistraction--imbedded amidst a ceaseless turmoil of would-be knowingstudents, endeavouring to catch the aroma of the pharmacopaeia, or diveto the deep recesses of Scotch law. He sought and cultivated thefriendship of the literati; and anticipated a perpetual feast of soul, from a banquet to which one of the most distinguished members of alearned body had invited him. He went with his mind braced up for thesubtleties of argument--with hopes excited, heart elate. He deemed thatthe authenticity of Champolion's hieroglyphics might now be permanentlyestablished, or a doubt thrown on them which would for ever extinguishcuriosity. He heard a doubt raised as to the probability of Dr. Knox'sconnection with Burke's murders! Disappointed and annoyed, he returnedto his hotel, determined to seek other means of improvement; and tocarefully observe the manners, customs, and habits of the beings he wasamong. He enquired first as to their habits, and was presented withscones, kippered salmon, and a gallon of Glenlivet; as to their mannersand ancient costume, and was pointed out a short fat man, the head ofhis clan, who promenaded the streets without trousers. Neither did hefind the delineation of their customs more satisfactory. He was madenearly tipsy at a funeral--was shown how to carve haggis--and a fit ofbile was the consequence, of his too plentifully partaking of asuperabundantly rich currant bun. He mused over these defeats of hisobject, and, unwilling to relinquish his hitherto fruitlesssearch, --reluctant to despair, --he bent his steps to that city, whereutility preponderates over ornament; that city which so early encouragedthat most glorious of inventions, by the aid of which he hoped, that thediminutive barks of his countrymen might yet be propelled, thussuperseding the ponderous paddle of teak, He here expected to beinvolved in an intricate labyrinth of mechanical inventions, --in astormy discussion on the comparative merits of rival machinery, --to beimmersed in speculative but gigantic theories. He was elected anhonorary member of a news-room; had his coat whitened with cotton; andwas obliged to confess that he knew of no beverage that could equaltheir superb cold punch. Our philosopher now gave himself up to despair;but before returning to his own warm clime, he sought to discover thereason of his finding the flesh creep, where he had deemed the spiritwould soar. He at length came to the conclusion that we are all slavesto the world and to circumstances; and as, with his peculiar belief, hecould look on our sacred volume with the eye of a philosopher, feltimpressed with the conviction that the history of Babel's tower is butan allegory, which says to the pride of man, "'Thus far shall ye go, and no farther. '"

The Brahmin's adventures elicited much amusement. In a short time, Selby was in a hot argument with the French novelist. Every now andthen, as the Frenchman answered him, he stirred his negus, and hummed atranslation of

 "I'd be a butterfly. "

 "Erim papilio, Natus in flosculo. "

Chapter IV. 

The Postman. 

 "Not in those visions, to the heart displaying Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd, Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd; Or, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which, imaged as they beam'd, To such as see thee not, my words were weak; To those who gaze on thee, what language could they speak?"

Delme had long designed some internal improvements in the mansion;and as workmen would necessarily be employed, had proposed that ourfamily party should pass a few weeks at a watering place, until thesewere completed. They were not without hopes, that George might therejoin them, as Emily had written to Malta, pressing him to be presentat her wedding. 

We have elsewhere said, that Sir Henry had arrived at middle age, before one feeling incompatible with his ambitious thoughts arose. Itwas at Leamington this feeling had imperceptibly sprung up; and toLeamington they were now going. 

Is there an electric chain binding hearts predestined to love?

Hath Providence ordained, that on our first interview with that being, framed to meet our wishes and our desires--the rainbow to our cloud, andthe sun to our noon-day--hath it ordained that there should also begiven us some undefinable token--some unconscious whispering from theheart's inmost spirit?

Who may fathom these inscrutable mysteries?

Sir Henry had been visiting an old schoolfellow, who had a country seatnear Leamington. He was riding homewards, through a sequestered andwooded part of the park, when he was aware of the presence of twoladies, evidently a mother and daughter. They sate on one side of therude path, on an old prostrate beech tree. The daughter, who was verybeautiful, was sketching a piece of fern for a foreground: the motherwas looking over the drawing. Neither saw the equestrian. 

It was a fair sight to regard the young artist, with her fine profileand drooping eyelid, bending over the drawing, like a Grecian statue;then to note the calm features upturn, and forget the statue in thebreathing woman. At intervals, her auburn tresses would fall on thepaper, and sweep the pencil's efforts. At such times, she would removethem with her small hand, with such a soft smile, and gentle grace, thatthe very action seemed to speak volumes for her feminine sympathies. Delme disturbed them not, but making a tour through the grove of beechtrees, reached Leamington in thoughtful mood. 

It was not long before he met them in society. The mother was a Mrs. Vernon, a widow, with a large family and small means. Of that familyJulia was the fairest flower. As Sir Henry made her acquaintance, andher character unfolded itself, he acknowledged that few could study itwithout deriving advantage; few without loving her to adoration. Thatcharacter it would be hard to describe without our descriptionappearing high-flown and exaggerated. It bore an impress of loftiness, totally removed from pride; a moral superiority, which impressed all. With this was united an innate purity, that seemed her birthright; apurity that could not for an instant be doubted. If the libertine gazedon her features, it awoke in him recollections that had long slumbered;of the time when his heart beat but for one. If, in her immediatesphere, any littleness of feeling was brought to her notice, it was metwith an intuitive doubt, followed by painful surprise, that suchfeeling, foreign as she felt it to be to her own nature, could reallyhave existence in that of another. 

Thank God! she had seen few of the trickeries of this restless world, inwhich most of us are struggling against our neighbours; and, if we couldlook forward with certainty, to the nature of the world beyond this, itis most likely that we should breathe a fervent prayer that she shouldnever witness more. 

Her person was a fit receptacle for such a mind. A face all softness, seemed and _was_ the index to a heart all pity. Taller than hercompeers, --in all she said or did, a native dignity and a witchinggrace were exquisitely blended. She was one not easily seen withoutadmiration; but when known, clung Cydippe-like to the heart's mirror, animage over which neither time nor absence possessed controul. 

The Delmes resided at Leamington the remainder of the winter, whichpassed fleetly and happily. Emily, for the first time, gave way to thatone feeling, which, to a woman, is the all-important and engrossing one, enjoying her happiness in that full spirit of content, which basking inpresent joys, attempts not to mar them by ideal disquietudes. The Delmescultivated the society of the Vernons; Emily and Julia became greatfriends; and Sir Henry, with all his stoicism, was nourishing anattachment, whose force, had he been aware of it, he would have been atsome pains to repress. As it was, he totally overlooked the possibilityof his trifling with the feelings of another. He had a number of sageaphorisms to urge against his own entanglement, and, with a moralperverseness, from which the best of us are not free, chose to forgetthat it was possible his convincing arguments, might neither be knownto, nor appreciated by one, on whom their effect might be far fromunimportant. 

At this stage, Clarendon thought it his duty to warn Delme; and, to hiscredit be it said, shrunk not from it. 

"Excuse me, Delme, " said he, "will you allow me to say one word to youon a subject that nearly concerns yourself?"

Sir Henry briefly assented. 

"You see a great deal of Miss Vernon. She is a very fascinating and avery amiable person; but from something you once said to me, it hasstruck me that in some respects she might not suit you. "

"I like her society, " replied his friend; "but you are right. She would_not_ suit me. _You_ know me pretty well. My hope has ever been toincrease, and not diminish the importance of my house. It once stoodhigher both in wealth and consideration. I see many families springingup around me, that can hardly lay claim to a descent so unblemished Ispeak not in a spirit of intolerance, nor found my family claim solelyon its pedigree; but my ancestors have done good in their generation, and it is a proud thing to be 'the scion of a noble race!'"

"It may be;" said Clarendon quietly, "but I cannot help thinking, thatwith your affluence, you have every right to follow your owninclination. I know that few of my acquaintances are so independent ofthe world. "

Sir Henry shook his head. 

"The day is not very distant, Gage, when a Dacre would hardly havereturned two members for my county, if a Delme had willed it otherwise. But there is little occasion for me to have said thus much. Miss Vernon, I trust, has other plans; and I believe my own feelings are not enlisteddeep enough, to make me forget the hopes and purposes of half alife-time. "

It was some few days after this, when Emily had almost given up lookingwith interest to the postman's visit, that a letter at last came, directed to Sir Henry; not indeed in George's hand-writing, but withthe Malta post mark. Delme read it over thoughtfully, and, assuringEmily that there was nothing to alarm her, left the room to considerits contents. 

By the way, we have thought over heartless professions, and cannot helpconceiving that of a postman, (it may be conceit!) the most callous andunfeeling of all. He is waited for with more anxiety than any guest ofthe morning; for his visits invariably convey something new to the mind. He is not love! but he bears it in his pocket; he cannot be friendship!but he daily hawks about its assurances. With all this, knowing hisimportance, aware of the sensation his appearance calls forth, his veryknock is heartless--the tones of his voice cold. Feeling seems deniedhim; his head is a debtor and creditor account, his departure thereceipt, and time alone can say, whether your bargain has been a good ora bad one. He has certainly no assumption--it is one of his few goodtraits; he walks with his arms in motion, but attempts not a swagger;his knock is unassuming, and his words, though much attended to, arefew, and to the point. Why, then, abuse him? We know not, but believe itoriginates in fear. An intuitive feeling of dread--a rushingpresentiment of evil--crosses our mind, as our eye dwells on histhread-bare coat, with its capacious pockets. News of a death--or amarriage--the tender valentine--the remorseless dun--your having beenleft an estate, or cut off with a shilling--fortune, and misfortune---he quietly dispenses, as if totally unconscious. Surely such a man--hisround performed--cannot quietly sink to the private individual. Can sucha man caress his wife, or kiss his child, when he knows not how manyhearts are bursting with joy, or breaking with sorrow, from the tidings_he_ has conveyed? To our mind, a postman should be an abstractedvisionary being, endowed with a peculiar countenance, betraying theunnatural sparkle of the opium-eater, and evincing intense anxiety atthe delivery of each sheet. But these, --they wait not to hear the joyfulshout, or heart-rending moan--to know if hope deferred be at lengthjoyful certainty, or bitter only half-expected woe. We dread a postman. Our hand shook, as we last year paid the man of many destinies hisdemanded Christmas box. 

The amount was double that we gave to the minister of our corporealnecessities--the butcher's boy--not from a conviction of the superiorservices or merit of the former, but from an uneasy desire to bribe, ifwe could, that Mercury of fate. 

The letter to Sir Henry, was from the surgeon of George's regiment. Itstated that George had been severely ill, and that connected with hisillness, were symptoms which made it imperative on the medical adviser, to recommend the immediate presence of his nearest male relative. Apologies were made for the apparent mystery of the communication, witha promise that this would be at once cleared up, if Sir Henry would butconsent to make the voyage; which would not only enable him to be ofessential service to his brother, but also to acquire much informationregarding him, which could only be obtained on the spot. A note fromGeorge was enclosed in this letter. It was written with an unsteadyhand, and made no mention of his illness. He earnestly begged hisbrother to come to Malta, if he could possibly so arrange it, andtransmitted his kindest love and blessing to Emily. 

Sir Henry at once made up his mind, to leave Leamington for town on themorrow, trusting that he might there meet with information which wouldbe more satisfactory. He concealed for the time the true state of thecase from all but Clarendon; nor did he even allude to his proposeddeparture. 

It was Emily's birth-day, and Gage had arranged that the whole partyshould attend a little fete on that night. Sir Henry could not find itin his heart to disturb his sister's dream of happiness. 

Chapter V

The Fete. 

 "Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven! If, in your bright leaves, we would read the fate Of men and empires, --'tis to be forgiven, That, in our aspirations to be great, Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you. "

The night came on with its crescent moon and its myriads of stars: justsuch a night as might have been wished for such a fete. It was in themonth of April. April dews, in Britain's variable clime; are not themost salubrious, and April's night air is too often keen and piercing;but the season was an unusually mild one; and the ladies, with theircloaks and their furs, promenaded the well-lighted walks, determined tobe pleased and happy. 

The giver of the fete was an enterprising Italian. Winter'samusements were over, or neglected--summer's delights were notarrived; and Signor Pacini conceived, that during the dull andmonotonous interval, a speculation of his own might prove welcome tothe public and beneficial to himself. To do the little man justice, hewas indefatigable in his exertions. From door to door he wended hissmiling way, --here praising the mother's French, there the daughter'sItalian. He gained hosts of partisans. "Of course you patronisePacini!" was in every one's mouth. The Signor's prospectus stated, that "through the kindness of the steward of an influential nobleman, who was now on the continent, he was enabled to give his fete in thegrounds of the Earl of W----; where a full quadrille band would be inattendance, a pavilion pitched on the smooth lawn facing the river, and a comfortable ball room thrown open to a fashionable andenlightened public. The performance would be most various, novel, andexciting. Brilliant fireworks from Vauxhall would delight the eye, andshed a charm on the fairy scene; whilst the car would be regaled withthe unequalled harmony of the Styrian brethren, Messrs. Schezer, Lobau, and Berdan, who had very kindly deferred their proposed returnto Styria, in order to honour the fete of Signor Pacini. "

As night drew on, the mimic thunder of carriages hastening to the sceneof action, bespoke the Signor's success. After the ninth hour, hisnumbers swelled rapidly. Pacini assumed an amusing importance, and hisvery myrmidons gave out their brass tickets with an air. At ten, arocket was fired. At this preconcerted signal, the pavilion, hithertopurposely concealed, blazed in a flood of light. On its balcony stoodthe three Styrian brethren, --although, by the way, they were notbrethren at all, --and, striking their harmonious guitars, wooedattention to their strains. The crowd hurried down the walk, and formedround the pavilion. Our party suddenly found themselves near theVernons. As the gentlemen endeavoured to obtain chairs for the ladies, acrush took place, and Sir Henry was obliged to offer his arm to Julia, who happened to be the nearest of her party. It was with pain MissVernon noted his clouded brow, and look of abstraction; but hardly oneword of recognition had passed, before the deep voices of the Styrianssilenced all. After singing some effective songs, accompanied by azither, and performing a melodious symphony on a variety of Jew's-harps;Pacini, the manager, advanced to address his auditors, with that air ofsmiling confidence which no one can assume with better grace than aclever Italian. His dark eye flashed, and his whole features irradiated, as he delivered the following harangue. 

"Ladies and gentlemen! me trust you well satisfied wid de formermusical entertainment; but, if you permit, me mention one leetlecirconstance. Monsieur Schezer propose to give de song; but it requiremuch vat you call stage management: all must be silent as de grave. Itver pretty morceau. "

The applause at the end of this speech was very great. Signor Pacinibowed, till his face rivalled, in its hue, the rosy under-waistcoat inwhich he rejoiced. 

Schezer stepped forward. He was attired as a mountaineer. His hattapered to the top, and was crowned by a single heron feather. Hussarsmight have envied him his moustaches. From his right side protruded acouteau de chasse; and his legs were not a little set off by thetight-laced boots, which, coming up some way beyond the ancle, displayedhis calf to the very best advantage. 

The singer's voice was a fine manly tenor, and did ample justice to thewords, of which the following may be taken as a free version. 

"Mountains! dear mountains! on you have I passed my green youth; to meyour breeze has been fragrant from childhood. When may I see the chamoisbounding o'er your toppling crags? When, oh when, may I see myfair-haired Mary?"

The minstrel paused--a sound was heard from behind the pavilion. It wasthe mountain's echo. It continued the air--then died away in thesoftest harmony. All were charmed. Again the singer steppedforward--the utmost silence prevailed--his tones became moreimpassioned--they breathed of love. 

"Thanks! thanks to thee, gentle echo! Oft hast thou responded to thestrains of love my soul poured to--ah me! how beautiful was thefair-haired Mary!"

Again the echo spoke--again all were hushed. The minstrel's voice roseagain; but its tones were not akin to joy. 

"Why remember this, deceitful echo? War's blast hath blown, and hushedare the notes of love. The foe hath polluted my hearth--I wander anexile. Where, where is Mary?"

The echo faintly but plaintively replied. There were some imagined thata tear really started to the eye of the singer. He struck the guitarwildly--his voice became more agitated--he advanced to the extremity ofthe balcony. 

"My sword! my sword! May my right hand be withered ere it forget tograsp its hilt! One blow for freedom. Freedom--sweet as was thelip--Yes! I'll revenge my Mary!"

Schezer paused, apparently overcome by his emotion. The echo wildlyreplied, as if registering the patriot's vow. For a moment all wasstill! A thundering burst of applause ensued. 

The mountain music was succeeded by a sweep of guitars, accompanying aVenetian serenade, whose burthen was the apostrophising the cruelty of"la cara Nina. "

It was near midnight, when all eyes were directed to a ball of fire, which, rising majestically upward, soared amid the tall elm trees. For amoment, the balloon became entangled in the boughs, revealing by itstransparent light the green buds of spring, which variegated and cheeredthe scathed bark. It broke loose from their embrace--hoveredirresolutely above them--then swept rapidly before the wind, rising tillit became as a speck in the firmament. 

This was the signal for Mr. Robinson's fireworks, which did not shameVauxhall's reputation. At one moment, a salamander courted notice; atanother, a train of fiery honours, festooned round four wooden pillars, was fired at different places, by as many doves practised to the task. Here, an imitation of a jet d'eau elicited applause--there, thegyrations of a Catherine's wheel were suddenly interrupted by the rapidascent of a Roman candle. 

Directly after the ascent of the balloon, Emily and Clarendon hadturned towards the ball room. Julia's sisters had a group of laughingbeaux round their chairs, --Mrs. Glenallan and Mrs. Vernon werediscussing bygone days, --and no one seemed disposed to leave thepavilion. Sir Henry, in his silent mood, was glad to escape from theparty; and engaging Julia in a search for Emily, made his way to thecrowded ball room. He there found his sister spinning round withClarendon to one of Strauss's waltzes; and Sir Henry and his partnerseated themselves on one of the benches, watching the smiling faces asthey whirled past them. It was a melancholy thought to Delme, how soonEmily's brow would be clouded, were he to breathe one word of George'sillness and despondency. The waltz concluded, a quadrille was quicklyformed. Miss Vernon declined dancing, and they rose to join Emily andClarendon; but the lovers were flown. The ball room became still morethronged; and Delme was glad to turn once more towards the pavilion. Theparty they had left there had also vanished, and strangers usurped theirseats. In this dilemma, Miss Vernon proposed seeking their party in thelong walk. They took one or two turns down this, but saw not those forwhom they were in search. 

"If you do not dislike leaving this busy scene, " said Sir Henry, "Ithink we shall have a better chance of meeting Emily and Clarendon, ifwe turn down one of these winding paths. "

They turned to their left, and walked on. How beautiful was that night!Its calm tranquillity, as they receded from the giddy throng, could notbut subdue them. We have said that the moon was not riding the heavensin her full robe of majesty, nor was there a sombre darkness. The purplevault was spangled thick with stars; and there reigned that dubious, glimmering light, by which you can note a face, but not mark its blush. The walks wound fantastically. They were lit by festoons of colouredlamps, attached to the neighbouring trees, so as to resemble the pendentgrape-clusters, that the traveller meets with just previous to theBolognese vintage. Occasionally, a path would be encountered where nolight met the eye save that of the prying stars overhead. In thedistant vista, might be seen a part of the crowded promenade, wheremusic held its court; whilst at intervals, a voice's swell or guitar'stinkle would be borne on the ear. There was the hum of men, too--thelaugh of the idlers without the sanctum, as they indulged in thedelights of the mischievous fire-ball--and the sudden whizz, followed byan upward glare of light, as a rocket shot into the air. But the hour, and the nameless feeling that hour invoked, brought with them a subduinginfluence, which overpowered these intruding sounds, attuning the heartto love and praise. They paced the walk in mutual and embarrassedsilence. Sir Henry's thoughts would at one time revert to his brother, and at another to that parting, which the morrow would assuredly bringwith it. He was lost in reverie, and almost forgot who it was that leantthus heavily upon his arm. Julia had loved but once. She saw hisabstraction, and knew not the cause; and her timid heart beat quickerthan was its wont, as undefined images of coming evil and sorrow, chasedeach other through her excited fancy. At length she essayed to speak, although conscious that her voice faltered. 

"What a lovely night! Are you a believer in the language of the stars?"

This was said with such simplicity of manner, that Delme, as he turnedto answer her, felt truly for the first time the full force of hisattachment. He felt it the more strongly, that his mind previously hadbeen wandering more than it had done for years. 

There are times and seasons when we are engrossed in a train of deep andunconscious thought. Suddenly recalled to ourselves, we start from ourmental aberration, and a clearer insight into the immediate purposes andmachinery of our lives, is afforded us. We seem endowed with a moreaccurate knowledge of self; the inmost workings of our souls areabruptly revealed--feeling's mysteries stand developed--our weaknessesstare us in the face--and our vices appear to gnaw the very vitals ofour hope. The veil was indeed withdrawn, --and Delme's heartacknowledged, that the fair being who leant on him for support, wasdearer--far dearer, than all beside. But he saw too, ambition in thatheart's deep recess, and knew that its dictates, unopposed for years, were totally incompatible with such a love. He saw and trembled. 

Julia's question was repeated, before Sir Henry could reply. 

"A soldier, Miss Vernon, is particularly susceptible of visionary ideas. On the lone bivouac, or remote piquet, duty must frequently chase sleepfrom his eyelids. At such times, I have, I confess, indulged in wildspeculations, on their possible influence on our wayward destinies. Iwas then a youth, and should not now, I much fear me, pursue with suchunchecked ardour, the dreams of romance in which I could thenunrestrainedly revel. Perhaps I should not think it wise to do so, evenhad not sober reality stolen from imagination her brightest pinion. "

"I would fain hope, Sir Henry, " replied Julia, "that all your mind'selasticity is not thus flown. Why blame such fanciful theories? I cannotthink them wrong, and I have often passed happy hours in forming them. "

"Simply because they remove us too much from our natural sphere ofusefulness. They may impart us pleasure; but I question whether, bydulling our mundane delights, they do not steal pleasure quiteequivalent. Besides, they cannot assist us in conferring happiness onothers, or in gleaning improvement for ourselves. I am not quitecertain, enviable as appears the distinction, whether the _too_feelingly appreciating even nature's beauties, does not bear with it itsown retribution. "

"Ah! do not say so! I cannot think that it _should_ be so with mindsproperly regulated. I cannot think that _such_ can ever gaze on thewonders revealed us, without these imparting their lesson of gratitudeand adoration. If, full of hope, our eye turns to some glorious planet, and we fondly deem that _there_, may our dreams of happiness _here, _ beperpetuated; surely in such poetical fancy, there is little to condemn, and much that may wean us from folly's idle cravings. 

"If in melancholy's hour, we mourn for one who hath been dear, and sorrowfor the perishable nature of all that may here claim our earthlyaffections; is it not sweet to think that in another world--perhaps insome bright star--we may again commune with what we have _so_loved--once more be united in those kindly bonds--and in a kingdom wherethose bonds may not thus lightly be severed?"

Julia's voice failed her; for she thought of one who had preceded her to"the last sad bourne. "

Delme was much affected. He turned towards her, and his handtouched hers. 

"Angelic being!"

As he spoke, darker, more worldly thoughts arose. A fearful struggle, which convulsed his features, ensued. The world triumphed. 

Julia Vernon saw much of this, and maiden delicacy told her it was notmeet they should be alone. 

"Let us join the crowd!" said she. "We shall probably meet our party inthe long walk: if not, we will try the ball room. "

Poor Julia! little was her heart in unison with that joyous scene!

By the eve of the morrow, Delme was many leagues from her and hisfamily. 

Restless man, with travel, ambition, and excitement, can woo and almostwin oblivion;--but poor, weak, confiding woman--what is left to her?

In secret to mourn, and in secret still to love. 

Chapter III. 

The Journey. 

 "Adieu! adieu! My native land Fades o'er the ocean blue; The night winds sigh--the breakers roar-- And shrieks the wild sea mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea, We follow in his flight: Farewell awhile to him and thee! My native land! good night!"

We have rapidly sketched the denouement of the preceding chapter; but itmust not be forgotten, that Delme had been residing some months atLeamington, and that Emily and Julia were friends. In his own familiarcircle--a severe but true test--Sir Henry had every opportunity ofbecoming acquainted with Miss Vernon's sweetness of disposition, and ofappreciating the many excellencies of her character. For the rest, their intercourse had been of that nature, that it need excite nosurprise, that a walk on a gala night, had the power of extracting anavowal, which, crude, undigested, and hastily withdrawn as it was, wascertainly more the effusion of the heart--more consonant with SirHenry's original nature--than the sage reasonings on his part, whichpreceded and followed that event. 

On Delme's arrival in town, he prosecuted with energy his enquiries asto his brother. He called on the regimental agents, who could give himno information. George's military friends had lost sight of him since hehad sailed for the Mediterranean; and of the few persons, whom he couldhear of, who had lately left Malta; some were passing travellers, whohad made no acquaintances there, others, English merchants, who had metGeorge at the Opera and in the streets, but nowhere else. It is true, there was an exception to this, in the case of a hair-brained youngmidshipman; who stated that he had dined at George's regimental mess, and had there heard that George "had fallen in love with some younglady, and had fought with her brother or uncle, or a soldier-officer, hedid not know which. "

Meagre as all this information was, it decided Sir Henry Delme. 

He wrote a long letter to Emily, in which he expressed a hope that bothGeorge and himself would soon be with her, and immediately prepared forhis departure. 

Ere we follow him on his lonely journey, let us turn to those he leftbehind. Mrs. Glenallan and Emily decided on at once leaving Leamingtonfor their own home. The marriage of the latter was deferred; and asClarendon confessed that his period of probation was a very happy one, he acquiesced cheerfully in the arrangement. Emily called on theVernons, and finding that Julia was not at home, wrote her a kindfarewell; secretly hoping that at some future period they might be morenearly related. The sun was sinking, as the travellers neared Delme. Theold mansion looked as calm as ever. The blue smoke curled above itssombre roof; and the rooks sailed over the chimneys, flapping theirwings, and cawing rejoicefully, as they caught the first glimpse oftheir lofty homes. Emily let down the carriage window, and with sunshinytear, looked out on the home of her ancestors. 

There let us leave her; and turn to bid adieu for a season, to one, whofor many a weary day, was doomed to undergo the pangs of blightedaffection. Such pangs are but too poignant and enduring, let theworldly man say what he may. Could we but read the history of thesnarling cynic, blind to this world's good--of him, who from being thedeceived, has become the deceiver--of the rash sensualist, who plunginginto vice, thinks he can forget;--could we but know the train ofevents, that have brought the stamping madman to his bars--and hiscell--and his realms of phantasy;--or search the breast of her, wholets concealment "feed on her damask cheek"--who prays blessings onhim, who hath wasted her youthful charms--then mounts with virgin soulto heaven:--we, in our turn, might sneer at the worldling, and pin ourfate on the tale of the peasant girl, who discourses so glibly ofcrossed love and broken hearts. 

Sir Henry Delme left England with very unenviable sensations. A cloudseemed to hang over the fate of his brother, which no speculations ofhis could pierce. Numberless were the conjectures he formed, as to thereal causes of George's sickness and mental depression. It was in vainhe re-read the letters, and varied his comments on their contents. Itwas evident, that nothing but his actual presence in Malta, couldunravel the mystery. Sir Henry had _one_ consolation; how great, letthose judge who have had aught dear placed in circumstances at allsimilar. He had a confidence in George's character, which entirelyrelieved him from any fear that the slightest taint could have infectedit. But an act of imprudence might have destroyed his peace ofmind--sickness have wasted his body. Nor was his uncertainty regardingGeorge, Delme's only cause of disquiet. When he thought of JuliaVernon, there was a consequent internal emotion, that he could notsubdue. He endeavoured to forget her--her image haunted him. Hemeditated on his past conduct; and at times it occurred to him, thatthe resolutions he had formed, were not the result of reason, but werebased on pride and prejudice. He thought of her as he had last seenher. _Now_ she spoke with enthusiasm of the bright stars of heaven;anon, her eye glistened with piety, as she showed how the feeling thesecreated, was but subservient to a nobler one still. Again, he wasbeside her in the moment of maiden agony; when low accents falteredfrom her quivering lip, and the hand that rested on his arm, trembledfrom her heart's emotion. 

Such were the bitter fancies that assailed him, as he left his own, andreached a foreign land. They cast a shadow on his brow, which change ofscene possessed no charm to dispel. He hurried on to France's capital, and only delaying till he could get his passports signed, hastened fromParis to Marseilles. 

On his arrival at the latter place, his first enquiries were, as to theearliest period that a vessel would sail for Malta. He was pointed out asmall yacht in the harbour, which belonging to the British government, had lately brought over a staff officer with despatches. 

A courier from England had that morning arrived--the vessel was about toreturn--her canvas was already loosened--the blue Peter streaming in thewind. Delme hesitated not an instant, but threw himself into a boat, andwas rowed alongside. The yacht's commander was a lieutenant in ourservice, although a Maltese by birth. He at once entered into SirHenry's views, and felt delighted at the prospect of a companion in hisvoyage. A short time elapsed--the anchor was up--the white sails beganto fill--Sir Henry was once more on the wide sea. 

What a feeling of loneliness, almost of despair, infects the landsman'smind, as he recedes from an unfamiliar port--sees crowds watchinglistlessly his vessel's departure--crowds, of whom not one feels aninterest in _his_ fate; and then, turning to the little world within, beholds but faces he knows not, persons he wots not of!

But to one whose home is the ocean, such are not the emotions whichits expanse of broad waters calls forth. To such an one, each plankseems a friend; the vessel, a refuge from the world and its cares. Trusting himself to its guidance, deceit wounds him no more--hollow-hearted friendship proffers not its hand to sting--loveexercises not its fatal sorcery--foes are afar--and his heart, if notthe waves, is comparatively at peace. And oh! the wonders of the deep!Ocean! tame is the soul that loves not thee! grovelling the mind thatscorns the joys thou impartest! To lean our head on the vessel's side, and in idleness of spirit ponder on bygone scene, that has brought usanything but happiness, --to gaze on the curling waves, as impelled bythe boisterous wind, we ride o'er the angry waters, lashed by the sablekeel to a yeasty madness, --to look afar upon the disturbed billow, presenting its crested head like the curved neck of the warhorse, --_then_ to mark the screaming sea bird, as, his bright eyescanning the waters, he soars above the stormy main--its wide tumulthis delight--the roaring of the winds his melody--the shrieks of thedrowned an harmonious symphony to the hoarse diapason of the deep! Allthese things may awake reflections, which are alike futile andtransitory; but they are accompanied by a mental excitement, which landscenes, however glorious, always fail to impart. 

Delme's voyage was not unpropitious, although the yacht was frequentlybaffled by contrary winds, which prevented the passage being veryspeedy. During the day, the weather was ordinarily blustering, at timesstormy; but with the setting sun, it seemed that tranquillity came; forduring the nights, which were uncommonly fine, gentle breezes continuedto fill the sails, and their vessel made tardy but sure progress. Henrywould sit on deck till a late hour, lost in reverie. _There_ would heremain, until each idle mariner was sunk to rest; and nothing but thedistant tread of the wakeful watch, or the short cough of the helmsman, bespoke a sentinel over the habitation on the waters. How would therecollections of his life crowd upon him!--the loss of his parent--theworld's first opening--bitter partings--painful misgivings--the lonebivouac--the marshalling of squadrons--the fierce charge--theexcitement of victory, whose charm was all but flown, for where were thecomrades who had fought beside him? These things were recalled, andbrought with them alternate pain and pleasure. And a less remote era ofhis life would be presented him; when he tasted the welcome of home--sawhands uplifted in gratitude--was cheered by a brother's greeting, andsubdued by a sister's kiss. But there _was_ a thought, which let himdwell as he might on others, remained the uppermost of all. It was ofJulia Vernon, and met him as a reproach. If his feelings were not ofthat enthusiastic nature, which they might have been were he now in hisgreen youth, they were not on this account the less intense. They werecoloured by the energy of manhood. He had lost a portion of hisself-respect: for he knew that his conduct had been vacillating withregard to one, whom each traversed league, each fleeting hour, proved tobe yet dearer than he had deemed her. 

In the first few days of their passage, the winds shaped their vessel'scourse towards the Genoese gulf. They then took a direction nearlysouth, steering between Corsica and Sardinia on the one hand--Italy onthe other. 

Delme had an opportunity of noting the outward aspect of Napoleon'sbirth-place; and still more nearly, that of its opposite island, whichalso forms so memorable a link in the history of that demi-god of moderntimes. How could weaker spirits deem that _there_, invested withmonarchy's semblance, the ruler of the petty isle could forget that hehad been master of the world?

How think that diplomacy's cobweb fibre could hold the eagle, pantingfor an upward flight?

They fearfully misjudged! What a transcendent light did his star give, as it shot through the appalled heavens, ere it sunk for ever inendless night!

The commander of the yacht pointed out the rock, which is traditionallysaid to be the one, on which Napoleon has been represented--his armsfolded--watching intently the ocean--and ambition's votary gleaning hismoral from the stormy waves below. As they advanced farther in theircourse, other associations were not wanting; and Delme, whose mind, like that of most Englishmen, was deeply tinctured with classic lore, was not insensible to their charms. They swept by the Latian coast. Every creek and promontory, attested the fidelity of the poet'sdescription, by vividly recalling it to the mind. On the seventh day, they doubled Cape Maritime, on the western coast of Sicily; and twodays afterwards, the vessel neared what has been styled the abode ofCalypso, the island of Gozzo. As they continued to advance, picturesquetrading boats, with awnings and numerous rowers, became morefrequent--the low land appeared--they were signalled from thepalace--the point of St. Elmo was turned--and a wide forest of mastsmet the gaze. The vessel took up her moorings; and in the novelty ofthe scene, and surrounding bustle, Sir Henry for a time rested frommisgivings, and forgot his real causes for melancholy. The harbour ofMalta is not easily forgotten. The sun was just sinking, tinging withhues of amber, the usually purple waters of the harbour, and bronzingwith its fiery orb, the batteries and lofty Baraca, where lie entombedthe remains of Sir Thomas Maitland. Between the Baraca's pillars, might be discerned many a faldette, with pretty face beneath, peeringover to mark the little yacht, as she took her station, amidst the moregigantic line of battle ships. 

The native boatmen, in their gilded barks with high prows, were seensurrounding the vessel; and as they exerted themselves in passing eachother, their dress and action had the most picturesque appearance. Theirlanguage, a corrupted Arabic, is not unpleasing to the ear; and theircostume is remarkably graceful. A red turban hangs droopingly on oneside, and their waistcoats are loaded with large silver buttons, theonly remains of their uncommon wealth during the war, when this littleisland was endowed with a fictitious importance, it can never hope toresume. Just as the yacht cast anchor, a gun from the saluting batterywas fired. It was the signal for sunset, and every flag was lowered. Down came in most seaman-like style the proud flag of merry England--the_then_ spotless banner of France--and the great cross, hangingungracefully, over the stout, but clumsy, Russian man of war. All theseflags were then in the harbour of Valletta, although it was not at thateventful time when--the Moslem humbled--they met with the cordiality ofcolleagues in victory. 

The harbour was full of vessels. Every nation had its representative. The intermediate spaces were studded by Maltese boats, crowded withpassengers indiscriminately mingled. The careless English soldier, withscarlet coat and pipe-clayed belt--priests and friars--Maltese women innational costume sat side by side. Occasionally, a gig, pulled by man ofwar's men, might be seen making towards the town, with one or moreofficers astern, whose glittering epaulettes announced them as eitherdiners out, or amateurs of the opera. The scene to Delme was entirelynovel; although it had previously been his lot to scan more than oneforeign country. 

The arrival of the health officers was the first circumstance thatdiverted his mind from the surrounding scene. There had been an epidemicdisease at Marseilles, and there appeared to be some doubts, whether, asa precaution, some quarantine would not be imposed. The superintendentof quarantine was rowed alongside, chiefly for the purpose of regulatingthis. The spirited little commander of the yacht, however, was not atall desirous of any such arrangement; and after some energetic appealson his part, met by cautious remonstrances on the part of the other, their pratique was duly accorded. 

During the discussion with the superintendent, Sir Henry had enquiredfrom the health officer, as to where he should find George, and wasinformed that his regiment was quartered at Floriana, one of Valletta'ssuburbs. In a short time a boat from the yacht was lowered, and thecommander prepared to accompany the government courier with hisdispatches to the palace. 

Previous to leaving the deck, he hailed a boat alongside--addressed theboatmen in their native language--and consigned Sir Henry to theircharge. Twilight was deepening into night as Delme left the vessel. Theharbour had lost much of its bustle; lights were already gleaming fromthe town, and as seen in some of the loftiest houses, looked as ifsuspended in the air above. Our traveller folded his cloak around him, and was rowed swiftly towards the shore. 

Chapter VII. 

The Young Greek. 

 "But not in silence pass Calypso's isles, The sister tenants of the middle deep. "

 * * * * *

 "Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone, But trust not this; too easy youth, beware! A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne. And thou mayst find a new Calypso there. "

Night had set in before Sir Henry reached the shore. The boatmen, inbroken, but intelligible English, took the trouble of explaining, thatthey must row him to a point higher up the harbour, than the landingplace towards which the commander's gig was directing its course, onaccount of his brother's regiment being quartered at Floriana. Landingon the quay, they took charge of Delme's portmanteau, and conducted himthrough an ascending road, which seemed to form a part of thefortifications, till they arrived in front of a closed gate. They werechallenged by the sentinel, and obliged to explain their business to anon-commissioned officer, before they were admitted. 

This form having been gone through, a narrow wicket was opened for theirpassage. They crossed a species of common, and, after a few minutes'walk, found themselves in front of the barrack. This was a plain stonebuilding, enclosing a small court, in the centre of which stood a marblebason. The taste of some of the officers had peopled this with goldenfish; whilst on the bason's brim were placed stands for exotics, whosefragrance charmed our sea-worn traveller, so lately emancipated fromthose sad drawbacks to a voyage, the odours of tar and bilge water. 

On either side, were staircases leading to the rooms above. A sentry wasslowly pacing the court, and gave Delme the necessary directions forfinding George's room. Delme's hand was on the latch, but he paused fora moment ere he pressed it, for he pictured to himself his brother lyingon the bed of sickness. This temporary irresolution soon gave way to theimpulse of affection, and he hastily entered the chamber. George wasreading, and had his back turned towards him. As he heard the footsteps, he half turned round; an enquiry was on his lip, when his eye caughtHenry's figure--a hectic flush suffused his cheek--he rose eagerly, andthrew himself into his brother's arms. 

Ah! sweet is fraternal affection! As boys, we own its just, itsproper influence; but as men--how few of us can lay our hands on ourhearts, and in the time of manhood feel, that the thought of abrother, still calls up the kindly glow which it did in earlieryears. Delme strained his brother to his heart, whilst poor George'stears flowed like a woman's. 

"Ah, how, " he exclaimed, "can I ever repay you for this?"

The first burst of joyful meeting over--Sir Henry scanned his brother'sfeatures, and was shocked at the apparent havoc a few short years hadwrought. It was not that the cheek--whose carnation tint had once drawna comment from all who saw it--it was not that the cheek was bronzed byan eastern sun. The alabaster forehead, showed that this was the naturalresult, of exposure to climate. But the wan, the sunken features--theunnatural brilliancy of the eye--the almost impetuous agitation ofmanner--all these bespoke that more than even sickness had produced thechange:--that the mind, as well as body, must have had its sufferings. 

"My dear, dear brother, " said Henry, "tell me, I implore you, themeaning of this. You look ill and distressed, and yet from you I did nothear of sickness, nor do I know any reason for grief. " George smiledevasively; then, as if recollecting himself, struck his forehead. Hepressed his brother's arm, and led him towards a room adjoining the onein which they were. 

"It were in vain to tell you now, Henry, the eventful history of thelast few months; but see!" said he, as they together entered, "theinnocent cause of much that I have gone through. "

Sir Henry Delme started at the sight that greeted him. The room wasdimly lighted by a lamp, but the moon was up, and shed her full lightthrough part of the chamber. On a small French bed, whose silken liningsthrew their rosy hue on the face of its fair occupant, lay as lovely agirl as ever eye reposed on. 

The heat had already commenced to become oppressive; the jalousies andwindows were thrown open. As the night breeze swept over the curtains, and the tint these gave, trembled on that youthful beauty; Delme mightwell be forgiven, for deeming it was very long since he had seen acountenance so exquisitely lovely. The face did indeed bear the stamp ofyouth. Delme would have guessed that the being before him, had barelyattained her fifteenth year, but that her bosom heaved like playfulbillows, as she breathed her sighs in a profound slumber. Her style ofbeauty for a girl was most rare. It had an almost infantine simplicityof character, which in sleep was still more remarkable; for awake, thoseeyes, now so still, did not throw unmeaning glances. 

Such as these must Guarini have apostrophised, as he looked at hisslumbering love. 

 "Occhi! stelle mortale! Ministri de miei mali! Se chiusi m'uccidete, Aperti, --che farete?"

Or, as Clarendon Gage translated it. 

 "Ye mortal stars! ye eyes that, e'en in sleep, Can thus my senses chain'd in wonder keep, Say, if when closed, your beauties thus I feel, Oh, what when open, would ye not reveal?"

Her beauty owed not its peculiar charm to any regularity of feature; butto an ineffable sweetness of expression, and to youth's freshest bloom. Hafiz would have compared that smooth cheek to the tulip's flower. Hereye-lashes, of the deepest jet, and silken gloss, were of uncommonlength. Her lips were apart, and disclosed small but exquisitely formedteeth. Their hue was not that of ivory, but the more delicate thoughmore transient one of the pearl. One arm supported her head--its handtangled in the raven tresses--of the other, the snowy rounded elbow wasalone visible. 

She met the eye, like a vision conjured up by fervid youth; when, ereour waking thoughts dare to run riot in beauty's contemplation--sleep, the tempter, gives to our disordered imaginations, forms and scenes, which in after life we pant for, but meet them--never!

George put his finger to his lips, as Delme regarded her--kissed hersilken cheek, and whispered, "Acme, carissima mia!"

The slumberer started--the envious eye-lid shrouded no more its lustrousjewel--the wondering eyes dilated, as they met her lover's--and shemurmured something with that sweet Venetian lisp, in which the Greekwomen breathe their Italian. But, as she saw the stranger, her face andneck became suffused with crimson, and her small hand wrapped the snowysheet round her beauteous form. 

Sir Henry, who felt equally embarrassed, returned to the room theyhad left; whilst George lingered by the bedside of his mistress, andtold her it was his brother. Once more together, Sir Henry turnedtowards George. 

"For God's sake, " said he, "unravel this mystery! Who is this youngcreature?"

"Not now!" said his brother, "let us reserve it for to-morrow, and talkonly of home. Acme has retired earlier than usual--she has beencomplaining. " And he commenced with a flushed brow and rapid voice, toask after those he loved. 

"And so, dearest Emily will soon be married. I am glad of it; you speakso well of Gage! I wish I had stayed three weeks longer in England, andI should have seen him. We shall miss her in the flower garden, Henry!Yes! and every where else! And how is my kind aunt? I forgot to thankher when I last wrote to Delme, for making Fidele a parlour inmate!--andI don't think she likes dogs generally either!--And Mrs. Wilcox! asdemure as ever?--Do you recollect the trick I played her the last AprilI was at home?--And my favourite pony! does _he_ still adorn thepaddock, or is he gone at last? Emily wrote me he could hardly supporthimself out of the shed. And the old oak--have you railed it round as Iadvised? And the deer--Is my aunt still as tenacious of killing them? Isuppose Emily's pet fawn is a fine antlered gentleman by this time. Andyour charger, Henry--how is he? And Mr. Sims? and the new green house?Does the aviary succeed? did you get my slips of the blood orange? havethe Zante melon seeds answered? And the daisy of Delme, Fanny Porter--isshe married? I stole a kiss the day I left. And so the coachman is dead?and you have given the reins to Jenkins, and have taken my little fellowon your own establishment? And Ponto? and Ranger? and my friend Guess?"

Here George paused, quite out of breath; and his brother, viewing withsome alarm his nervous agitation, attempted to answer his many queries;determined in his own mind, not to seek the explanation he so muchlonged for, until a more favourable period for demanding it arrived. Thebrothers continued conversing on English topics till a late hour, whenHenry rose to retire. 

"I cannot, " said George, "give you a bed here to-night; but my servantshall show you the way to an hotel; and in the course of to-morrow, wewill take care to have a room provided for you. You must feel harassed:will nine be too early an hour for breakfast?"

It was a beautiful night, still and starry. Till they arrived in thebusy street, no sound could be heard, but the cautious opening of thelattice, answering the signal of the guitar. Escorted by his guide, Delme entered Valletta, which is bustling always, even at night; but wasmore than usually so, as there happened to be a fete at the palace. Asthey passed through the Strado Teatro, the soldier pointed out theOpera-house; although from the lateness of the hour, Rossini's melodieswere hushed. From a neighbouring cafe, however, festive soundsproceeded; and Delme, catching the words of an unfamiliar language, paused before the door to recognise the singer. The table at which hesat, was so densely enveloped in smoke, that it was some time before hecould make out the forms of the party, which consisted of some jovialBritish midshipmen, and some Tartar-looking Russians. One of the Russianofficers was charming his audience with a chanson a boire, acquired onthe banks of the Vistula, His compatriots were yelling the chorus mostunmercifully. A few caleche drivers, waiting for their fares, and two orthree idle Maltese, were pacing outside the cafe, and appeared to regardthe scene as one of frequent occurrence, and calculated to excite butlittle interest. His guide showed Delme the hotel, and was dismissed;and Sir Henry, preceded by an obsequious waiter, was introduced to aspacious apartment facing the street. 

It was long ere sleep visited him. He had many subjects on which toruminate; there were many points which the morrow would clear up. Hismind was too busy to permit him to rest. 

When he did, however, close his eyes; he slept soundly, and did notawake till the broad glare of day, penetrating through the Venetianblinds, disclosed to him the unfamiliar apartment at Beverley's. 

Chapter VIII. 

The Invalid. 

 "'Mid many things most new to ear and eye, The pilgrim rested here his weary feet. "

As Sir Henry Delme stepped from the hotel into the street, the sun'srays commenced to be oppressive, and, although it was only entering themonth of May, served to remind him that he was in a warmer clime. Thescene was already a bustling one. The shopkeepers were throwing wateron the hot flag stones, and erecting canvas awnings in front of theirdoors. In the various cafes might be seen the subservient waiters, handing round the small gilded cup, which contained thick Turkishcoffee, or carrying to some old smoker the little pipkin, whence he wasto light his genial cigar. In front of one of these cafes, someEnglish officers were collected, sipping ices, and criticising therelieving of the guard. Turning a corner of the principal street, agroup of half black and three-parts naked children assaulted ourtraveller, and vociferously invoked carita. They accompanied thisdemand by the corrupted cry of "nix munjay"--nothing to eat, --whichthey enforced by most expressive gestures, extending their mouths, andexhibiting rows of ravenous-looking teeth. The caleche drivers, too, were on the alert, and respectfully taking off their turbans, profferedtheir services to convey the Signore to Floriana. Delme declined theiroffers, and, passing a draw-bridge which divides Valletta from thecountry, made his way through an embrasure, and descending some halfworn stone steps--during which operation he was again surrounded bybeggars--he found himself within sight of the barracks. Acme and Georgewere ready to receive him. The latter's eye lit, as it was wont to do, on seeing his brother, whilst the young Greek appeared in doubt, whether to rejoice at what gave him pleasure, or to stand in awe of arelation, whose influence over George might shake her own. This didnot, however, prevent her offering Delme her hand, with an air of greatfrankness and grace. Nor was he less struck with her peculiar beautythan he had been on the night previous. Her dress was well adapted toexhibit her charms to the greatest advantage. Her hair was parted infront, and smoothly combed over her neck and shoulders, descending toher waist. Over her bosom, and fastened by a chased silver clasp, wasone of the saffron handkerchiefs worn by the Parganot women. A jacketof purple velvet, embroidered with gold, fitted closely to her figure. Round her waist was a crimson girdle, fastened by another enormousbroach, or rather embossed plate of silver. A Maltese gold rose chainof exquisite workmanship was flung round her neck, to which depended alocket, one side of which held, encased in glass, George's hair braidedwith her own; the other had a cameo, representing the death of thepatriot Marco Bozzaris. 

"Giorgio tells me, " said she, "that you speak Italian, at which I amvery glad; for his efforts to teach me English have quite failed. Do youknow you quite alarmed me last night, and I really think it was too badof George introducing you when he did;" and she placed her hand on herlover's shoulder, and looked in his face confidingly. In spite of thesubstance of her speech, and the circumstances under which Delme sawher, he could not avoid feeling an involuntary prepossession in herfavour. Her manner had little of the polish of art, but much of nature'switching simplicity; and Sir Henry felt surprised at the ease andanimation of the whole party. Acme presided at the breakfast table, witha grace which many a modern lady of fashion might envy; and during themeal, her conversation, far from being dull or listless, showed that shehad much talent, and that to a quick perception of nature's charms, sheunited great enthusiasm in their pursuit. The meal was over, when thesurgeon of the regiment was announced, and introduced by George to SirHenry. After making a few inquiries as to the invalid's state of health, he proposed to Delme, taking a turn in the botanical garden, which wasimmediately in front of their windows. 

Sir Henry eagerly grasped at the proposition; anxious, as he felthimself, to ascertain the real circumstances connected with hisbrother's indisposition. They strolled through the garden, which wasalmost deserted--for none but dogs and Englishmen, to use the expressionof the natives, court the Maltese noon-day sun, --and the surgeon at onceentered into George's history. He was a man of most refined manners, anda cultivated intellect, and his professional familiarity with horrors, had not diminished his natural delicacy of feeling. His narrative wasbriefly thus:--

George Delme's bosom companion had been an officer of his own age andstanding in the service, with whom he had embarked when leaving England. Their intercourse had ripened into the closest friendship. George hadmet Acme, although the surgeon knew not the particulars of therencontre, --had confided to his friend the acquaintance he had made--andhad himself introduced Delancey at the house where Acme resided. Whetherher charms really tempted the friend to endeavour to supplant George, or whether he considered the latter's attentions to the young Greek tobe without definite object, and undertaken in a spirit of indifference, the narrator could not explain; but it was not long before Delanceyconsidered himself as a principal in the transaction. Acme, whoseknowledge of the world was slight, and whose previous seclusion fromsociety, had rendered her timidity excessive, considered that her bestmode of avoiding importunities she disliked, and attentions that werepainful to her, would be to speak to George himself on the subject. 

By this time, the latter, quite fascinated by her beauty andsimplicity, and deeming, as was indeed the fact, that his love wasreturned, needed not other inquietudes than those his attachment gavehim. The pride of ancestry and station on the one hand--on the other, a deep affection, and a wish to act nobly by Acme--caused an internalstruggle which made him open to any excitement, nervously alive to anywrong. He sought his friend, and used reproaches, which rendered itimperative that they should meet as foes. Delancey was wounded; andas _he_ thought--and it was long doubtful whether it _were_so--_mortally_. He beckoned George Delme to his bedside--begged him toforgive him--told him that his friendship had been the greatest sourceof delight to him--a friendship which in his dying moments he beggedto renew--that far from feeling pain at his approaching dissolution, he conceived that he had merited all, and only waited his full andentire forgiveness to die happy. George Delme wrung his hands in thebitterness of despair--prayed him to live for his sake--told him, thatdid he not, his own life hereafter would be one of the deepestmisery, --that the horrors of remorse would weigh him down to hisgrave. The surgeon was the first to terminate a scene, which heassured Delme was one of the most painful it had ever been his lot towitness. This meeting, though of so agitating a nature, seemed to havea beneficial effect on the wounded man. He sunk into a sweet sleep;and on awaking, his pulse was lower, and his symptoms less critical. He improved gradually, and was now convalescent. But it was otherwisewith George Delme. He sought the solitude of his chamber, a prey tothe agonies of a self-reproaching spirit. He considered himselfinstrumental in taking the life of his best friend--of one, richlyendowed with the loftiest feelings humanity can boast. His nervespreviously had been unstrung; body and mind sank under the picture hisimagination had conjured up. His servant was alarmed by startlingscreams, entered his room, and found his master in fearfulconvulsions. A fever ensued, during which George's life hung by athread. To this succeeded a long state of unconsciousness, occasionally broken by wild delirium. 

During his illness, there was one who never left him--who smoothed hispillow--who supported his head on her breast--who watched him as amother watches her first-born. It was the youthful Greek, Acme Frascati. The instant she heard of his danger, she left her home to tend him. Noentreaties could influence her, no arguments persuade. She would sit byhis bedside for hours, his feverish hand locked in hers, and implore himto recover, to bless one who loved him so dearly. They could not partthem; for George, even in his delirious state, seemed to be consciousthat some one was near him, and, did she leave his side, would rise inhis bed, and look around him as if missing some accustomed object. Inhis wilder flights, he would call passionately upon her, and beg her tosave his friend, who was lying so dead and still. 

For a length of time, neither care nor professional skill availed. Fearful was the struggle, between his disease, and a naturally hardyconstitution. Reason at last resumed her dominion. "I know not, " saidthe surgeon, "the particulars of the first dawning of consciousness. Itappears that Acme was alone with him, and that it was at night. I foundhim on my professional visit one morning, clear and collected, and hismistress sobbing her thanks. I need perhaps hardly inform you, " said thenarrator, "that George's gratitude to Acme was vividly expressed. It wasin vain I urged on her the propriety of now leaving her lover. This wasmet on both sides by an equal disinclination, and indeed obstinaterefusal; and I feared the responsibility I should incur, by enforcing aseparation which might have proved of dangerous consequence to mypatient. Alas! for human nature, Sir Henry! need it surprise you thatthe consequences were what they are? Loving him with the fervency of oneborn under an eastern sun--with the warm devotion of woman's firstlove--with slender ideas of Christian morality--and with a mindaccustomed to obey its every impulse--need it, I say, surprise you, thatthe one fell, and that remorse visited the other? To that remorse, do Iattribute what my previous communication may not have sufficientlyprepared you for; namely, the little dependence to be placed on the toneof the invalid's mind. Reason is but as a glimmering in a socket; andpainful as my professional opinion may be to you, it is my duty to avowit; and I frankly confess, that I entertain serious apprehensions, as tothe stability of his mind's restoration. It is on this account, that Ihave felt so anxious that one of his relations should be near him. Change of scene is absolutely necessary, as soon as change of scene canbe safely adopted. Every distracting thought must be avoided, and theutmost care taken that no agitating topic is discussed in his presence. These precautions may do much; but should they have no effect, which Ithink possible; as a medical man, I should then recommend, what as amember of his family may startle you. My advice would be, that if it beultimately found, that his feelings as regard this young girl, are suchas are likely to prevent or impede his mind's recovery; why I would thenat once allow him to make her any reparation he may think just. 

"To what do you allude?" enquired Sir Henry. 

"Why, " continued the surgeon, "that if his feelings appear deeplyenlisted on that side of the question, and all our other modes havefailed in obtaining their object; that he should be permitted to marryher as soon as he pleases. I see you look grave. I am not surprised youshould do so; but life is worth preserving, and Acme, if not entirely toour notions, is a good, a very good girl--warm-hearted and affectionate;and it is not fair to judge her by our English standard. You willhowever have time and scope, to watch yourself the progress and extentof his disorder. I fear this is more serious than you are at presentaware of; but from your own observations, would I recommend and wishyour future line of conduct to be formed. May I trust my frankness hasnot offended you?"

Sir Henry assured him, that far from this being the case, he owedhim many thanks for being thus explicit. Shaking him by the hand, he returned to George's room with a clouded brow; perplexed how toact, or how best discuss with his brother, the points connectedwith his history. 

Chapter IX. 

The Narrative. 

 "The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd, Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch, Her lips whose kisses pout to leave their nest, Bid man be valiant ere he merit such; Her glance how wildly beautiful--how much Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, Which grows yet smoother from his amorous clutch, Who round the north for paler dames would seek? How poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and weak. "

Love! Heavenly love! by Plato's mind conceived, and Sicyon's artistchiselled! not thou! night's offspring, springing on golden wing fromthe dark bosom of Erebus! the first created, and the first creating: butthou! immaculate deity; effluence of unspotted thought, and child of achaster age! where, oh where is now thy resting place?

Pensile in mid-heaven, gazest thou yet with seraphic sorrow on this, the guilty abode of guilty man?--with pity's tear still mournest thou, as yoked to the car of young desire, we bow the neck in degrading andslavish bondage? Or dost thou, the habitant of some bright star, wherefrailty such as ours is yet unknown, lend to lovers a rapture unalloyedby passion's grosser sense; as, symphonious with the tremulous zephyr, chastened vows of constancy are there exchanged? Ah! vainly does onesolitary enthusiast, in his balmy youth, for a moment conceive he reallygrasps thee! 'tis but a fleeting phantasy, doomed to fade at the firstsneer of derision--and for ever vanish, as a false and fascinating worldstamps its dogmas on his heart! Celestial love! oh where may he yet findthee? and a clear voice whispers, ETERNITY!

Hope! guide the fainting pilgrim! undying soul! shield him from theworld's venomed darts, as he painfully wends his toilsome way!

When Delme returned to his brother, he found the latter anxiouslyexpecting him, and desirous of ascertaining the impression, which hisconversation with the surgeon had created. 

But Delme thought it more prudent, to defer the discussion of thosepoints, till he had heard from George himself, as to many circumstancesconnected with Acme's history, and had been able to form some personalopinion regarding the health of the invalid. He therefore beggedGeorge, if he felt equal to the task, to avail himself of theopportunity of Acme's absence, to tell him how he had first met her. Tothis George willingly assented; and as there is ever a peculiarity inforeign scenes and habits, which awakens interest, we give his story inhis own language. 

"There are some old families here, Henry, " began the invalid, "whosenames are connected with some of the proudest, which the annals of theKnights of St. John of Jerusalem can boast. They are for the most partsunk in poverty, and possess but little of the outward trappings ofrank. But their pride is not therefore the less; and rather than have itwounded, by being put in collision with those with whom in worldlywealth they are unable to compete, they prefer the privacy ofretirement; and are rarely seen, and more rarely known, by any of theEnglish residents, whom they distrust and dislike. It is true, there area few families, some of the male members of which have acceptedsubordinate situations under government: and these have becomehabituated to English society, and meet on terms of tolerablecordiality, the English whose acquaintance they have thus made. Butthere are others, as I have said, whose existence is hardly recognised, and who vegetate in some lone palazzo; brooding over the decay of theirfortunes--never crossing the threshold of their mansions--except whenreligious feelings command them to attend a mass, or public procession. Of such a family was Acme a member. By birth a Greek, she was a witnessto many of the bloody scenes which took place at the commencement of thestruggle for Grecian freedom. She was herself present at the murder ofboth her parents. Her beauty alone saved her from sharing their fate. One of the Turks, struck with, her expression of childish sorrow, interfered in her behalf, and permitted a friend and neighbour to saveher life and his own, by taking shipping for one of the islands in ourpossession. After residing in Corfu for some months, she received aninvitation from her father's brother-in-law, a member of an ancientMaltese family; and for the last few years has spent a life, if not gay, at least free from a repetition of those sanguinary scenes, which havelent their impress to a sensitive mind, and at moments impart amelancholy tinge, to a disposition by nature unusually joyous. It was ona festa day, dedicated to the patron saint of the island, when noMaltese not absolutely bed-ridden, but would deem it a duty, to witnessthe solemn and lengthy procession which such a day calls forth; that Ifirst met Acme Frascati. 

"I was alone in the Strada Reale, and strolling towards the Piazza, whenmy attention was directed to what struck me as the loveliest face I hadever seen. 

"Acme, for it was her, was drest in the costume of the island; and, although a faldette is not the best dress for exhibiting a figure, there was a grace and lightness in her carriage, that would havearrested my attention, even had I not been riveted by her countenance. She was on the opposite side of the street to myself, and was attendedby an old Moorish woman, who carried an illumined missal. Of thesewomen, several may yet be seen in Malta, looking very Oriental andduenna-like. As I stopped to admire her, she suddenly attempted tocross to the side of the street where I stood. At the same moment, Iobserved a horse attached to a caleche galloping furiously towards her. It was almost upon her ere Acme saw her danger. The driver, anxious topass before the procession formed, had whipped his horse till it becameunmanageable, and it was now in vain that he tried to arrest itsprogress. A natural impulse induced me to rush forward, and endeavourto save her. She was pale and trembling, as I caught her and placed herout of the reach of danger; but before I could touch the pavement, Ifelt myself struck by the wheel of the carriage, was thrown down, andtaken up insensible. When consciousness returned, I found they hadconveyed me to a neighbouring shop, and that medical attendance hadbeen procured. But more than all, I noticed the solicitude of Acme. Until the surgeon had given a favourable report, she could not addressme, but when this had been pronounced, she overwhelmed me with thanks, begged to know where I would wish to be taken, and rested not until herown family caleche came up, and she saw me, attended by the Moorishwoman, on the road to Floriana. 

"My accident, though not a very serious one, proved of sufficientconsequence, to confine me to my room for some time; and during thatperiod, not a day passed, that did not give me proof of the anxiety ofthe young Greek for my restoration. I need not say that one of myfirst visits was to her. Her family received me as they would anabsent brother. The obligations they considered I had conferred, outweighed all prejudices which they might have imbibed against mynation. On _my_ part, charmed with my adventure, delighted with Acme, and gratified by the kindness of her relations, I endeavoured toincrease their favourable opinion by all the means in my power. Acmeand myself were soon more than friends, and I found my visits gave andimparted pleasure. 

"I now arrive at the unhappy part of my narrative. How do I wish it wereeffaced from my memory. You may remember how, in all my letters toDelme, I made mention of my dear friend Delancey. We were indeed dearfriends. We joined at the same time, lived together in England, embarked together, and when, one dreadful night off the African coast, the captain of the transport thought we must inevitably drift on thelee shore, we solaced each other, and agreed that, if it came to theworst, on one plank would we embark our fortunes. On our landing inMalta, we were inseparable, and my first impulse was to inform Delanceyof all that had occurred, and to introduce him to a house where I feltso happy. I must here do him the justice to state, that whether I waspartly unaware of the extent of my own feelings towards Acme, orwhether I felt a morbid sense of delicacy, in alluding to what I knewto be the first attachment I had ever formed, I am unable to informyou! but the only circumstance I concealed from my friend was myattachment to the young Greek. Perhaps to this may be mainly attributedwhat happened. God, who knows all secrets, knows this; but I may nowaver, that my friend, with many faults, has proved himself to have asfrank and ingenuous a spirit, as noble ideas of friendship, as canexist in the human breast. For some time, matters continued thus. Wewere both constant visitors at Acme's house. With unparalleledblindness, I never mistrusted the feelings of my friend. I nevercontemplated that _he_ also might become entangled with the youngbeauty. I considered her as my own prize, and was more engaged inanalysing my own sensations, and in vainly struggling against apassion, which I was certain could not meet my family's approval, thanat all suspicious that fresh causes of uneasiness might arise inanother quarter. As Acme's heart opened to mine, I found her withfeelings guileless and unsuspecting as a child's; although these werewarm, and their expression but little restrained. There was a confidingsimplicity in her manner, that threw an air over all she said or did, which quite forbade censure, and excited admiration. My passion becamea violent and an all-absorbing one. I had made up my mind, to throwmyself on the kindness of my family, and endeavour to obtain all yourconsents. Thus was I situated, when one day Acme came up to me withfrankness of manner, but a tremulous voice, to beg I would use myinterest with my friend, to prevent his coming to see her. 

"'Indeed, indeed, ' said she, 'I have tried to love him as a friend, asthe friend of my life's preserver, but ever since he has spoken as henow does, his visits are quite unpleasant. My family begged me to tellyou. They would have asked him to come no more, but were afraid youmight be angry. Will you still come to us, and love us all, if they tellhim this? If you will not, he shall still come; for indeed we could notoffend one to whom we owe so much. '

"'_I_, too, ' said I to Acme, '_I_, too, dearest, ought perhaps to leaveyou, _I_, too'--

"'Oh, never! never!' said she, as she turned to me her dark eyes, brightwith humid radiance. 'We cannot thus part!'

"She _did_, then, love me! I clasped her to my arms--our lips clungtogether in one rapturous intoxicating embrace. 

"Yet, even in that moment of delirium, Henry, I told her of you, and ofthe many obstacles which still presented themselves to retard or evenprevent our union. I sought my friend Delancey, and remonstrated withhim. He appeared to doubt my right to question his motives. Success mademe feel still more injured. I showered down reproaches. He could nothave acted differently. We met! and I saw him fall! Till then, I hadconsidered myself as the injured man; but as I heard him on the groundname his mother, and one dearer still--as he took from his breast thelast gift _she_ had made him--as he begged of _me_ to be its bearer; Ithen first felt remorse. He was taken to his room. Even the surgeonentertained no hopes. He again called me to his side; I heard his nobleacknowledgment, his reiterated vows of friendship, the mournful tones ofhis farewell. I entered this room a heart-broken man. I felt my pulsethrob fearfully, a gasping sensation was in my throat, my head swamround, and I clung to the wall for support. The next thing of which Ihave any recollection, was the dawn of reason breaking through mytroubled dreams. It was midnight--all was still. The fitful lamp shonedimly through my chamber. I turned on my side--and, oh! by its light, Isaw the face I most loved--that face, whose gentle lineaments, were eachdeeply and separately engraven on my heart. I saw her bending over mewith a maiden's love and a mother's solicitude. As I essayed tospeak--as my conscious eye met her's--as the soft words of affectionwere involuntarily breathed by my feeble lips--how her features lit upwith joy! Oh, say not, Henry, till you have experienced such a moment oftransport, say not that the lips which then vowed eternal fidelity, thatthe young hearts which _then_ plighted their truth, and vowed to lovefor ever--oh call not these guilty!

"Since that time my health has been extremely precarious. Whether theevents crowded too thickly on me, or that I have not fully recovered myhealth, or--which I confess I think is the case--that my compunctionsfor my conduct to Acme weigh me down, I know not; but it is not always, my dear Henry, that I can thus address you. There are hours when I amhardly sensible of what I do, when my brain reels from its oppression. At such times, Acme is my guardian angel--my tender nurse--myaffectionate attendant! In my lucid intervals, she is what you seeher--the gentle companion--the confiding friend. I love her, Henry, morethan I can tell you! I shall never be able to leave her! From Acme youmay learn more of those dreary hours, which appear to me like wastedreams in my existence. She has watched by my bed of sickness, till sheknows every turn of the disorder. From her, Henry, may you learn all. "

Thus did George conclude his tale of passion; which Delme mused over, but refrained from commenting on. 

Soon afterwards, George's caleche, in which he daily took exercise, wasannounced as being at the door. The brothers entered, and left Floriana. 

Chapter X. 

The Caleche. 

 "The car rattling through the stony street. "

For an easy conveyance, commend us to a Maltese caleche! Many a time, assaulted by the blue devils, have we taken refuge in its solacinginterior--have pulled down its silken blinds, and unseeing and unseen, the motion, like that of the rocking-cradle to the petulant child ofless mature growth, has restored complacency, and lulled us to goodhumour. The caleche, the real caleche, is, we believe, peculiar toMalta. It is the carriage of the rich and poor--Lady Woodford may beseen employing it, to visit her gardens at St. Antonio; and in theservice of the humblest of her subjects, will it be enlisted, as theywend their way to a picnic in the campagna. Every variety of steed isput in requisition for its draught. 

We may see the barb, with nostril of fire, and mane playing with thewind, perform a curvet, as he draws our aristocratic countrywoman--aristocratic and haughty at least in Malta, although, in England, perhaps a star of much less magnitude. 

We may view too the over-burthened donkey, as he drags along some agedvehicle, in which four fat smiling women, and one lean weeping child, look forward to his emaciated carcase, and yet blame him for being slow. 

And thou! patient and suffering animal, whose name has passed into aproverb, until each vulgar wight looks on thee as the emblem ofobstinacy, --maligned mule! when dost thou appear to more advantage, morejoyous, or more self-satisfied, than when yoked to the Maltese caleche?Who that has witnessed thee, taking the scanty meal from the hand ofthine accustomed driver, with whinnying voice, waving tail, thy longears pricked upwards, and thy head rubbing his breast, who that hasseen thee thus, will deny thee the spirit of gratitude?

Most injured of quadrupeds! if we ascend the rugged mountain's path, where on either side, precipices frown, and the pines wave far--farbeneath--when one false step would plunge us, with our hopes, our fears, and our vices, into the abyss of eternity; is it not to thee we trust?

Calumniated mule! go on thy way. 

This world's standard is but little to be relied on, whether it be forgood, or whether it be for evil. 

The motion of a caleche, such as we patronised, is an easy and luxuriousone--the pace, a fast trot or smooth canter, of seven miles an hour--andwith the blinds down, we have communed with ourselves, with as greatfreedom, and as little fear of interruption, as if we had been crossingthe Zahara. The caleche men too are a peculiar and happy race--attentiveto their fares--masters of their profession--and with a cigar in theircheek dexter, will troll you Maltese ditties till your head aches. Theircostume is striking. Their long red caps are thrown back over theirnecks--their black curls hang down on each side of the face--and acrimson, many-folded sash, girds in a waist usually extremely small. Their neck, face, and breast, from continued exposure to the sun, are ared copper colour. They are always without shoes and stockings; and evenour countrywomen, who pay much attention to the costume of theirdrivers, have not yet ventured to encase their brawny feet in themysteries of leather. They run by the side of their caleches, the reinsin one hand--the whip in the other--cheering on their animals by aconstant succession of epithets, oaths, and invocations to theirfavourite saint. 

They are rarely fatigued, and may be seen beside their vehicles, urgingthe horses, with the thermometer at 110 deg. , and perhaps a stout-lookingEnglishman inside, with white kerchief to his face, the image of languorand lassitude. 

Their horses gallop down steeps, which no English Jehu dare attempt; andascend and descend with safety and hardihood, stone steps which occur inmany parts of Valletta; and which would certainly present aninsurmountable obstacle to our steeds at home. 

The proper period, however, to see a caleche man in his glory, is duringthe carnival. Every caleche is in employ; and many a one which hasreposed for the twelvemonth previous, is at that time wheeled from itsaccustomed shed, and put in requisition for some of pleasure's votaries. Long lines of them continue to pass and repass in the principal street. Their inmates are almost universally of the fair sex, and of the bestpart of it, the young and beautiful. Cavaliers, with silken bags, containing bon-bons, slung on their left arm, stand at intervals, readyto discharge the harmless missiles, at those whom their taste approvesworthy of the compliment. Happy the young beauty, who, returninghomewards, sees the carpet of her caleche thickly strewn with thesedulcet favours! The driver is now in his element! He ducks his head, asthe misdirected sweetmeat approaches; he has an apt remark prompt forthe occasion. As he nears too the favoured inamorato, for whom he wellknows his mistress' sweetest smile is reserved--who already with hisright hand grasping the sugared favours, is prepared to lavish his wholestore on this one venture--how arch his look--how roguish his eye--as heturns towards his donna, and speaks as plainly as words could do, "See!there he is, he whom you love best!"

Ah! well may we delight to recal once more those minute details! ah!well may we remember how--when our brow was smoothed with youth, as itis now furrowed with care--when our eye sparkled from pleasure, as it isnow dimmed from time, or mayhap, tears--well may we love to remember, how our whole hearts were engrossed in that mimic warfare. Howimpatiently did we watch for _one_, amidst that crowded throng, forone--whose beauty haunted us by day, and whose smile we dreamt over bynight. Well do we recal with what unexampled ingenuity, we laboured tobefit the snow white egg for a rare tenant--attar-gul. Well do weremember how that face, usually so cloudless, became darkened almost toa frown, as our heart's mistress saw the missile approach her. What aradiant smile bewitched us, as it burst on her lap, and filled the airwith its fragrance! Truly we had our reward!

Delme and George took a quiet drive, and enjoyed that sweet interchangeof ideas, that characterises the meeting of two brothers long absentfrom each other. 

They went in the direction of St. Julian's, a drive all our Maltesefriends will be familiar with. The road lay almost wholly by the seaside. A gentle breeze was crisping the waters, and served to allay theheat, which, at a more advanced period of the season, is by no means anenviable one. Sun-shine seemed to beam on George's mind, as he once morespoke of home ties, to one to whom those home ties were equally dear. And gratefully did he bask in its rays! Long used to the verdant buttame, beautiful but romantic landscapes, which the part of England heresided in presented; the scenery around him, novel and picturesque, struck Sir Henry forcibly. To one who has resided long in Malta, itsscenes may wear an aspect somewhat different. The limited country--theceaseless glare--the dust, or rather the pulverised rock--theever-present lizard, wary and quick, peeping out at each crevice--thebuzzing mosquito, inviting the moody philosopher to smite his owncheek, --these things may come to be regarded as real grievances. 

But Delme, as a visitor, was pleased with what he saw. The promisingvineyards--the orange groves, with their glowing fruit and amplefoliage, "looking like golden lamps" in a dark night of leaves--thethick leaves of the prickly pear--the purple sky above him, lending itsrich hue to the sea beside--the architectural beauties of thecottages--the wide portico of the mansions--the flat terrace with itsbalustrade, over which might be seen a fair face, half concealed by thefaldette, smilingly peering, and through whose pillars might be noted apretty ancle, and siesta-looking slipper--these were novelties, andpleasing ones! Their drive over, Delme felt more tranquil as to George'sstate of mind, and more inclined to look on the bright side, as to hisfuture fortunes. 

Acme was waiting to receive them, and as she scanned George's features, Delme could not but observe the affectionate solicitude that marked herglance and manner. 

Let it not be thought we would make vice seductive!

Fair above all things is the pure affection of woman! happy he who mayregard it his! he may bask without a shade of distrust in its glorioussplendour, and permanently adore its holy beauty. 

While, fascinating though be the concentred love of woman, whetherstruggling in its passion--enraptured in its madness--or clinging andloving on in its guilt: Man--that more selfish wanderer from virtue'spale, that destroyer of his own best sympathies--will find too late thata day of bitterest regret must arrive: a day when love shall exist nomore, or, linked with remorse, shall tear--a fierce vulture--at his veryheart strings. 

Chapter XI. 

The Colonel. 

 "Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peace. "

Delme strolled out half an hour before his brother's dinner hour, withthe intention of paying a visit of ceremony to the Colonel of George'sregiment. His house was not far distant. It had been the palazzo of oneof the redoubted Knights of St. John; and the massive gate at which SirHenry knocked for admittance, seemed an earnest, that the family, whohad owned the mansion, had been a powerful and important one. The doorwas opened, and the servant informed Delme, that Colonel Vavasour was onthe terrace. 

The court yard through which they passed was extensive; and a spring

 "Of living water from its centre rose, Whose bubbling did a genial softness fling. "

Ascending a lofty marble staircase, along which were placed a fewbronzed urns, Delme crossed a suite of apartments--thrown open in theItalian mode--and passing through a glass door, found himself on a widestone terrace, edged by pillars. 

Immediately beneath this, was an orange grove, whose odours perfumed theair. Colonel Vavasour was employed in reading a German treatise on lightinfantry tactics. He received Sir Henry with great cordiality, andproposed adjourning to the library. Delme was pleased to observe, for itcorresponded with what he had heard of the man; that, with the exceptionof the chef d'oeuvres of the English and German poets, the Colonel'slibrary, which was an extensive one, almost wholly consisted of suchbooks as immediately related to military subjects, or might be able tobear on some branch of science connected with military warfare. Pagan, and his follower Vauban, and the more matured treatises of Cormontaigne, were backed by the works of that boast of the Low Countries, Coehorn;and by the ingenious theories, as yet _but_ theories, of Napoleon'sminister of war, Carnot. 

Military historians, too, crowded the shelves. _There_ might be notedthe veracious Polybius--the classic Xenophon--the scientificCaesar--the amusing Froissart, with his quaint designs, and quainterdiscourses--and many an author unknown to fame, who in lengthy quarto, luxuriated on the lengthy campaigns of Marlborough or Eugene; those wisecommanders, who flourished in an era, when war was a well debatedscientific game of chess; when the rival opponents took their time, before making their moves; and the loss of a pawn was followed by theloss of a kingdom. _There_ might you be enamoured with even a soldier'shardships, as your eye glanced on the glowing circumstantial details ofKincaid;--or you might glory in your country's Thucydides, as you readthe nervous impassioned language of a Napier. _Thou_, too, Trant! ourfriend! wert there! Ah, why cut off in thy prime? Did not thy spiritglow with martial fire? Did not thy conduct give promise, that not invain were those talents accorded thee? What hadst _thou_ done, to sinkthus early to a premature inglorious grave? Nor were our friends Folardand Jomini absent; nor eke the minute essays of a Jarry, who taught theaspiring youths of Great Britain all the arts of castrametation. Withwhat gusto does he show how to attack Reading; or how, with the greatestchance of success, to defend the tranquil town of Egham. _Here_ would hesink trous de loup on the ancient Runnimede, whereby the advance of theenemy's cavalry would be frustrated; _there_ would he cut down anabattis, or plant chevaux de frise. At _this_ winding of England'snoblest river, would he establish a pontoon bridge; the approaches towhich he would enfilade, by a battery placed on yonder height. 

Before relating the conversation between Delme and Colonel Vavasour, itmay not be improper to say a few words as to the character of thelatter. When we say that he was looked up to as an officer, and adoredas a man, by the regiment he had commanded for years; we are notaccording light praise. 

Those who have worn a coat of red, or been much conversant withmilitary affairs, will appreciate the difficult, the ungrateful task, devolving on a commanding officer. 

How few, how very few are those, who can command respect, and ensurelove. How many, beloved as men, are imposed on, and disregarded asofficers. How many are there, whose presence on the parade ground awesthe most daring hearts, who are passed by in private life, withsomething like contumely, and of whom, in their private relations, fewspeak, and yet fewer are those who wish kindly. When deserving in eachrelation, how frequently do we see those who want the manner, the tact, to show themselves in their true colours. An ungracious refusal--ay! oran ungraciously accorded favour! may raise a foe who will be a bar to aman's popularity for years:--whilst how many a free and independentspirit is there, who criticises with a keener eye than is his wont, thesayings and doings of his commanding officer, solely because he _is_such. How apt is such an one to misrepresent a word, or create a wrongmotive for an action! how slow in giving praise, lest _he_ should bedeemed one of the servile train! Pass we over the host of pettyintrigues--the myriads of conflicting interests:--show not how thepartial report of a favourite, may make the one in authority unjust tohim below him; or how the false tale-bearer may induce the one below tobe unjust to his superior. Colonel Vavasour was not only considered inthe field, as one of England's bravest soldiers; but was yet moreremarkable for his gentlemanly deportment, and for the attention he everpaid to the interior economy of his corps. This gave a tone to the----mess, almost incredible to one, who has not witnessed, what the constantpresence of a commanding officer, if he be a real gentleman, is enabledto effect. Colonel Vavasour had ideas on the duties of a soldier, whichto many appeared original. We cannot but think, that the Colonel'sideas, in the main, were right. He disliked his officers marrying; oftenstating that he considered a sword and a wife as totally incompatible. 

"Where, " would he say, "is _then_ that boasted readiness of purpose, that spirit of enterprise? Can an officer _then_, with half a dozenshirts in his portmanteau, and a moderate quantity of cigars, if he be asmoker, declare himself ready to sail over half the world?"

The Colonel would smile as he said this, but would continue with agraver tone. 

"No, there is a choice, and I blame no one for making his election:--asoldier's hardships and a soldier's joys;--or domestic happiness, and aninglorious life:--but to attempt to blend the two, is, I think, injudicious. "

On regimental subjects, he was what is technically called, a regulationman. No innovations ever crept into his regiment, wanting the sanctionof the Horse Guards; whilst every order emanating from thence, was asscrupulously adopted and adhered to, as if his own taste had promptedthe change. On parade, Colonel Vavasour was a strict disciplinarian;--but his sword in the scabbard, he dropped the officer in his manner, --itwas impossible to do so in his appearance, --and no one ever heard himdiscuss military points in a place inappropriate. He knew well how tomake the distinction between his public and his private duties. On anofficer under his command, being guilty of any dereliction of duty, hewould send for him, and reprimand him before the assembled corps, if hedeemed that such reprimand would be productive of good effect to others;but--the parade dismissed--he would probably take this very officer'sarm, or ask to accompany him in his country ride. 

Colonel Vavasour had once a young and an only brother under his command. In no way did he relax discipline in his favour. Young Vavasour hadcommitted a breach of military etiquette. He was immediately ordered byhis brother to be placed in arrest, and would inevitably have beenbrought to a court martial, had not the commanding officer of thestation interfered. During the whole of this time, the Colonel's mannertowards him continued precisely the same. They lived together as usual;and no man, without a knowledge of the circumstance, could have beenaware that any other but a fraternal tie bound them together. What wasmore extraordinary, the younger brother saw all this in its properlight; and whilst he clung to and loved his brother, looked up with aweand respect to his commanding officer. 

As for Colonel Vavasour, no one who saw his convulsed features, as hisbrother fell heading a gallant charge of his company at Waterloo, couldhave doubted for a moment his deep-rooted affection. From that period, agloomy melancholy hung about him, which, though shaken off in public, gave a shade to his brow, which was very perceptible. 

In person, he was particularly neat; being always the best dressedofficer in his regiment, "How can we expect the men to pay attention to_their_ dress, when we give them reason to suppose we pay but littleattention to our own?" was a constant remark of his. And here we mayobserve, that no class of men have a stricter idea of the propriety ofdress, than private soldiers. To dress well is half a passport to asoldier's respect; whilst on the other hand, it requires many excellentqualities, to counterbalance in his mind a careless and slovenlyexterior. Colonel Vavasour had an independent fortune, which he spent atthe head of his regiment. Many a dinner party was given by him, forwhich the corps he commanded obtained the credit; many a young officerowed relief from pecuniary embarrassments, which might otherwise haveoverwhelmed him, to the generosity of his Colonel. He appeared not tohave a wish, beyond the military circle around him, although those whoknew him best, said he had greater talent, and possessed the art offascinating in general society, more than most men. 

"I am glad to see you here, Sir Henry, " said he to Delme, "although Icannot but wish that happier circumstances had brought you to us. I havea very great esteem for your brother, and am one of his warmest wellwishers. But I must not neglect the duties of hospitality. You mustallow me to present you to my officers at mess this evening. Our dinnerhour is late; but were it otherwise, we should miss that delightful hourfor our ride, when the sun's rays have no longer power to harm us, andthe sea breezes waft us a freshness, which almost compensates for thelanguor attending the summer's heat. "

Delme declined his invitation, stating his wish to dine with his brotheron that day; but expressed himself ready to accept his kind offer on theensuing one. 

"Thank you!" said Colonel Vavasour, "it is natural you should wish tosee your brother; and it pains me to think that poor George cannot yetdine with his old friends. Have you seen Mr. Graham?"

Delme replied in the affirmative; adding, that he could not but feelobliged to him for his frankness. 

"I am glad you feel thus, " said Vavasour, "it emboldens me to addressyou with equal candour; and, painful as our advice must be, I confess Iam inclined to side with George's medical attendant. I have myself beenwitness to such lamentable proofs of George's state of mind--he has sooften, with the tears in his eyes, spoken to me of his feelings withregard to Acme Frascati, that I certainly consider these as in a greatmeasure the cause, and his state of mind the effect. I speak to you, Sir Henry, without disguise. I had once a brother--the apple of myeye--I loved him as I shall never love human being more; and, as God ismy witness, under similar circumstances, frankness is what I should haveprayed for, --my first wish would have been at once to know the worst. Mr. Graham has told you of his long illness--his delirium--and has, Iconclude, touched upon the present state of his patient. Shall I shockyou, when I add that his lucid intervals are not to be depended upon;that occasionally the wildest ideas, the most extraordinary projects, are conceived by him? I wish you not, to act on any thing that Mr. Graham, or that I may tell you, but to judge for yourself. Without this, indeed, you would hardly understand the danger of these mentalparoxysms. So fearful are they, that I confess I should be inclined toadopt any remedy, make any sacrifices which promised the remotestpossibility of success. "

"I trust, " said Sir Henry, "there are no sacrifices I would notpersonally make for my only brother, were I once convinced these werefor his real benefit. "

"I frankly mean, " said Vavasour, "that I think almost the only chance ofrestoring him, is by allowing him to marry Acme Frascati. "

Delme's brow clouded. 

"Think not, " continued he, "that I am ignorant of what such adetermination must cost you. _I_, too, Sir Henry, "--and the old man drewhis commanding form to its utmost height, --"_I_ too, know what must bethe feelings of a descendant of noble ancestors. I know them well; andin more youthful days, the blood boiled in my veins as I thought of thename they had left me. Thank heaven! I have never disgraced it. But were_I_ situated as _you_ are, and the dead Augustus Vavasour in the placeof the living George Delme, I would act as I am now advising you to do. I speak solely as to the expediency of the measure. From what I havestated--from my situation in life--from my character--you may easilyimagine that all my prejudices are enlisted on the other side of thequestion. But I must here confess that I see something inexpressiblytouching in the devotion which that young Greek girl displayed, duringthe whole of George's illness. But putting this on one side, andconsidering the affair as one of mere expediency, I think you willfinally agree with me, that however desperate the remedy, some such mustbe applied. And now, let me assure you, that nothing could have inducedme to obtrude thus, my feelings and opinions on a comparative stranger, were it not that that stranger is the brother of one in whose welfare Ifeel the liveliest interest. "

Sir Henry Delme expressed his thanks, and inwardly determined that hewould form no opinion till he had himself been witness to some act ofmental aberration. It is true, he had heard the medical attendant give adecided opinion, --from George's own lips he had an avowal of much thathad been stated, --and now he had heard one, for whom he could not butfeel great respect--one who had evidently no interest in thequestion--declare his sentiments as strongly. We are all sanguine as towhat we wish. It may be, that a hope yet lurked in Delme's breast, thatthese accounts might be unconsciously exaggerated, or that his brother'sstate of health was now more established than heretofore. 

On returning to Floriana, Delme found George and the blushing Acmeawaiting him. A delightful feeling is that, of again finding ourselveswith those from whom we have long been parted, once more engaged in thesame round of familiar avocations, once more re-acting the thousandlittle trifles of life which we have so often acted before, and that, too, in company with those who now sit beside us, as if to mock thelapse of intervening years. These meetings seem to steal a pinion fromtime's wing, and hard indeed were it if the sensations they called forthwere not pleasurable ones; for oh! how rudely and frequently, on theother hand, are we reminded of the changes which the progress of yearsbrings with it: the bereavement of loved ones--the prostration of whatwe revered--our buoyant elasticity of body and mind departed--all thingschanging and changed. 

We sigh, and gaze back. How few are the scenes, which memory'skaleidoscope presents in their pristine bright colours, of thatjourney, performed so slowly, as it once appeared, but which, to theeye of retrospection, seems to have hurried to its end with the rapidwings of the wind!

Imbued with an association, what a trivial circumstance will please! Asthe brothers touched each other's glass; and drank to mutual happiness, what grateful recollections were called up by that act! How did thesemanifest their power, as they lighted up the wan features of GeorgeDelme. Acme looked on smilingly; her hair flowing about her neck--herdark eyes flashing with unusual brilliancy. Delme felt it would beunsocial were he alone to look grave; and although many forebodingthoughts crowded on him, _he_ too seemed to be happy. It was twilightwhen the dinner was over. The windows were open, and the party placedthemselves near the jalousies. They here commanded a view of the publicgardens, where groups of Maltese were enjoying the coolness of the hour, and the fragrance of the flowers. The walk had a roof of lattice worksupported by wooden pillars; round which, an image of woman's love, thehoneysuckle clingingly twined, diffusing sweets. 

Immediately before them, the principal outlet of the town presenteditself. Laughing parties of English sailors were passing, mounted onsteeds of every size, which they were urging forward, in spite of thepiteous remonstrances of the menials of their owners. The latter, forthe most part, held by the tails of their animals, and uttered ajargon composed of English, Italian, and Maltese. The only wordshowever, that met the unregarding ears of the sailors, were some suchexclamations as these. 

"Not you go so fast, Signore; he good horse, but much tire. "

The riders sat in their saddles swinging from side to side, evidentlythinking their tenure more precarious than that on the giddy mast; andwholly unmindful of the expressive gestures, and mournful ejaculationsof the bare-legged pursuers. At another time, their antics andbuffoonery, as they made unmerciful use of the short sticks with whichthey were armed, would have provoked a smile. _Now_ our party gazed onthese things as they move the wise. They felt calm and happy; anddeceptive hope whispered they might yet remain so. Acme took up herguitar, and throwing her fingers over it, as she gave a soft prelude, warbled that sweet although common song, "Buona notte, amato bene. " Shesung with great feeling, and feeling is the soul of music. 

How plaintively! how tenderly did her lips breathe the

 "ricordati! ricordati di me!"

There was something extremely witching in her precocious charms. Sheresembled some beauteous bud, just ready to burst into light and bloom. It is not yet the rose, --but a moment more may make it such. Herbeauties were thus ripe for maturity. It seemed as if the sunshine oflove were already upon them--they were basking in its rays. A briefspace--and the girl shall no longer be such. What was promise shall bebeauty. She shall meet the charmed eye a woman; rich in grace andloveliness. As Delme marked her sympathising glance at George--herbeaming features--her innocent simplicity;--as he thought of all she hadlost, all she had suffered for his brother's sake, --as he thought of thescorn of the many--the pity of the few--the unwearied watching--thesleepless nights--the day of sorrow passed by the bed of sickness--allso cheerfully encountered for _him_--he could not reproach her. No! hetook her hand, and the brothers whispered consolation to her, and toeach other. 

Late that evening, they were joined by Colonel Vavasour, and Mr. Graham. George's spirits rose hourly. Never had his Colonel appeared to suchadvantage--Acme so lovely--or Henry so kind--as they did to George Delmethat night. 

It was with a sigh at the past pleasures that George retired tohis chamber. 

Chapter XII. 

The Mess. 

 "Red coats and redder faces. "

The following day, a room having been given up to Delme, he dischargedhis bill at Beverley's; and moved to Floriana. He again accompaniedGeorge in his drive; and they had on this occasion, the advantage ofAcme's society, who amused them with her artless description of themanners of the lower orders of Maltese. 

Pursuant to his promise, at the bugle's signal Delme entered the messroom; and the Colonel immediately introduced him to the assembledofficers. To his disappointment, for he felt curious to see one, who hadexercised such an influence over his brother, Delancey was not amongstthem. Sir Henry was much pleased with the feeling that appeared toexist, between Colonel Vavasour and his corps of officers:--respect onone side--and the utmost confidence on both. We think it is the talentedauthor of Pelham, who describes a mess table as comprising "cold dishesand hot wines, where the conversation is of Johnson of ours and Thomsonof jours. "

This, though severe, is near the truth; and if, to this description, beadded _lots_ of plate of that pattern called the Queen's--ungainlyservants in stiff mess liveries--and a perpetual recurrence to Mr. Vice;we have certainly caught the most glaring features of a commonplaceregimental dinner. Vavasour was well aware of this, and had directedunremitting attention, to give a tone to the conversation at the messtable, more nearly approaching to that of private life; one which shouldembrace topics of general interest, and convey some general information. Even in _his_ well ordered regiment, there were some, whose nature wouldhave led them, to confine their attention to thoughts of the dailymilitary routine. This inclination was repressed by the example oftheir Colonel; and these, if not debaters, were at least patientlisteners, as the conversation dealt of matters, to them uncongenial, and the value of the discussion of which they could not themselvesperceive. Not that military subjects were interdicted; the contrary wasthe case. But these subjects took a somewhat loftier tone, than thecontemplation of an exchange of orderly duty, or an overslaugh of guard. 

When dinner was announced, Colonel Vavasour placed his hand on theshoulder of a boy near him. 

"Come, Cholmondeley!" said he, "sit near me, and give me an account ofyour match. You must not fail to write your Yorkshire friends everyparticular. Major Clifford, will you sit on the other side of Sir Henry?You are both Peninsula men, and will find, I doubt not, that you havemany friends in common. 

"There is something, " said he to Delme, as he took his seat, "revivifying to an old soldier, in noting the exhilaration of spirit ofthese boys. It reminds us of the zeal with which _we_ too buckled onour coat of red. It is a great misfortune these youngsters labour under, that they have no outlet for their ambition, no scene on which they candisplay their talents. Never were youthful aspirants for service moreworthy, or more zealous, and yet it is probable their country will notneed them, until they arrive at an age, when neither body nor mind areattuned for _commencing_ a life of hardship, however well adapted to_continue_ in it. _We_ have had the advantage there--_we_ trod thesoldier's proudest stage when our hopes and buoyancy of heart were attheir highest; and for myself, I am satisfied that much of my presenthappiness, arises from the very different life of my earlier years. "

The conversation took a military turn; and Delme could not helpobserving the attention, with which the younger members of the corpsheard the anecdotes, related by those who had been actually engaged. Occasionally, the superior reading of the juniors would peep out, andgive them the advantage of knowledge, even with regard tocircumstances, over those who had been personal actors in the affairsthey spoke of. The most zealous of these detail narrators, were thequarter-master of the regiment, and Delme's right-hand neighbour, MajorClifford. The former owed his appointment to his gallantry, in savingthe colours of his regiment, when the ensign who bore them was killed, and the enemy's cavalry were making a sudden charge, before theregiment could form its square. 

His was a bluff purple face, denoting the bon vivant. Indeed, it waswith uncommon celerity, that his previous reputation of being the bestmaker of rum punch in the serjeants' mess, had changed into his presentone of being the first concoctor of sangaree at the officers'. 

Major Clifford merits more especial notice. He was a man hardlyappreciated in his own profession; out of it, he was misrepresented, andvoted a bore. He had spent all the years of his life, since the downmantled his upper lip, in the service of his country; and for _its_good, as he conceived it, he had sacrificed all his little fortune. Itis true his liberality had not had a very comprehensive range: he hadsunk his money in the improvement of the personal appearance of hiscompany--in purchasing pompons--or new feathers--or whistles, when hewas a voltigeur--in establishing his serjeants' mess on a morerespectable footing--in giving his poor comrade a better coffin, or aricher pall:--these had been his foibles; and in indulging them, he hadexpended the wealth, that might have purchased him on to rank andhonours. His eagle glance, his aquiline nose, and noble person, showedwhat he must have been in youth. His hair was now silvered, but his coatwas as glossy as formerly--his zeal was unabated--his pride in hisprofession the same--and what he could spare, still went, to adorn thepersons of the soldiers he still loved. He remained a captain, althoughhis long standing in the army had brought him in for the last brevet. Itis true every one had a word for poor Clifford. "Such a fine fellow!what a shame!" But _this_ did not help him on. At the Horse Guards, too, his services were freely acknowledged. The Military Secretary had alwaysa smile for him at his levee, and an assurance that "he had his eye onhim" The Commander in Chief, too, the last time he had inspected theregiment, attracted by his Waterloo badge, and Portuguese cross, hadstopped as he passed in front of the ranks, and conversed with him mostaffably, for nearly two minutes and a half; as his colour serjeant withsome degree of pride used to tell the story. But yet, somehow or other, although Major Clifford was an universal favourite, they always forgotto reward him. A man of the world, would have deemed the Major's ideasto be rather contracted; and to confess the truth, there were twohalcyon periods of his life, to which he was fond of recurring. The onewas, when he commanded a light company, attached to General Crauford'slight brigade;--the other, when he had the temporary command of theregimental depot, and at his own expense, had dressed out its littleband, as it had never been dressed out before. 

Do you sneer at the old soldier, courtly reader?

There breathes not a man who dare arraign that man's courage;--there isnot one who knows him, who would not cheerfully stake his life as a gagefor his stainless honour. 

The soup and fish had been removed, when Delme observed a young officerglide in, with that inexpressible air of fashion, which appears to shunnotice, whilst it attracts it. His arm was in a sling, and hisattenuated face seemed to bespeak ill health. Sir Henry addressedColonel Vavasour, and begged to know if the person who had just enteredthe room was Delancey. He was answered in the affirmative; and he againturned to scrutinise his features. These rivetted attention; and weresuch as could not be seen once, without being gazed at again. His eyeswere dark and large, and rested for minutes on one object, with analmost mournful expression; nor was it until they turned from itscontemplation, that the discriminating observer might read in theirmomentary flash, that their possessor had passions deep anduncontrollable. His dark hair hung in profusion over his forehead, whichit almost hid; though from the slight separation of a curl, the form ofbrow became visible; which was remarkable for its projection, and forits pallid hue, which offered a strong contrast to the swart andsunburnt face. 

"Are you aware of his history?" said the Colonel. 

"Not in the slightest, " replied Delme. "I felt curious to see him, onaccount of the way in which he has been mixed up with George's affair;and think his features extraordinary--very extraordinary ones. "

"He is son, " said Vavasour, "to the once celebrated Lady Harriet D----, who made a marriage so disgracefully low. He is the only child by thatunion. His parents lived for many years on the continent, in obscurity, and under an assumed name. They are both dead. It is possible Delanceymay play a lofty role in the world, as he has only a stripling betweenhim and the earldom of D----, which descends in the female line. I amsure he will not be a common character; but I have great fears abouthim. In the regiment he is considered proud and unsocial; and indeed itwas your brother's friendship that appeared to retain him in our circle. He has great talents, and some good qualities; but from his uncommonimpetuosity of temper, and his impatience of being thwarted, I should beinclined to predict, that the first check he receives in life, willeither make him a misanthrope, or a pest to society. "

At a later period of his life, Delme again encountered Delancey; andthis prophecy of the Colonel's was vividly recalled. 

In the ensuing chapter, we purpose giving Oliver Delancey's history, asa not uninstructive episode; although we are aware that episodes areimpatiently tolerated, and it is in nowise allied to the purpose of ourstory. But before doing so, we must detail a conversation which occurredbetween Delancey and Delme, at the table of the ---- mess. The latter wasscanning the features of the former, when their eyes met. A convictionseemed to flash on Delancey, that Delme was George's brother; for theblood rushed to his cheek--his colour went and came--and as he turnedaway his head, he made a half involuntary bow. Delme was struck with hismanner, and apparent emotion; and in returning the salute, ventured "tohope he was somewhat recovered. "

When Major Clifford left the table, Delancey took his vacant seat. 

"Sir Henry Delme, " said he, "I have before this wished to see you, toimplore the forgiveness of your family for the misery I haveoccasioned. How often have I cursed my folly! I acted on an impulse, which at the time I could not withstand. I had never serious viewswith regard to Acme Frascati. Indeed, I may here tell you, --to noother man have I ever named it, --that I have ties in my own countryfar dearer, and more imperatively binding. I knew I had erred. Thelaws of society could alone have made me meet George Belme as a foe;but even then--on the ground--God and my second know that my weaponwas never directed at my friend. I am an unsocial being, Sir Henry, and, from my habits, not likely to be popular. Your brother knew this, and saved me from petty contentions and invidious calumnies. He wasthe best and only friend I possessed. I purpose soon to leave Maltaand the army. The former is become painful to me, --for the latter Ihave a distaste, A feeling of delicacy to Acme Frascati would preventmy seeing your brother, even if Mr. Graham had not forbidden theinterview, as likely to harass his mind. Will you, then, assure him ofmy unabated attachment, and tell me that _you _ forgive me for thepart I have taken in this unhappy affair. "

Delme was much moved as he assured him he would do all he wished; thathe could see little to blame him for--that George's excited feelings hadbrought on the present crisis, and that _he_ had amply atoned for anyshare he might have had in the transaction. Delancey pressed his handgratefully. 

It was at a somewhat late hour that Delme joined Acme and his brother;declining the hearty invitation of the Quartermaster to come down tohis quarters. 

"He could give him a devilled turkey and a capital cigar. "

Chapter XIII. 

Oliver Delancey. 

 "Then the few, whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness, Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt, or ocean of excess; The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never reach again. "

We have said that Delme saw Delancey once more. It was at a later periodof our story, when business had taken Sir Henry to Bath. He had beendining with Mr. Belliston Graeme, who possessed a villa in theneighbourhood. Tempted by the beauty of the night, he dismissed hiscarriage, and, turning from the high road, took a by-path which led tothe city. The air was serene and mild. The moon-light was sufficientlyclear to chase away night's dank vapours. The ground had imperceptiblyrisen, until having ascended a grassy eminence, over which the pathstretched, the well-lighted city burst upon the eye. 

Immediately in front of the view, a principal street presented itself, the lamps on either side stretching in regular succession, until theygradually narrowed and joined in the perspective. Nearer to thespectator, the flickering lights of the detached villas, and the movingones of the carriages in the public road, relieved the stillness of thescene. Delme paused to regard it, with that subdued feeling with whichmen, arrived at a certain period of life, scan the aspect of nature. Themoon at the moment was enveloped in light clouds. As it broke throughthem, its shimmering light revealed a face and form that Delme at oncerecognised as Delancey's. It was with a consciousness of pain he did so, for it brought before him recollections of scenes, whose impressions hadstill power to subdue him. All emotions, however, soon became absorbedin that of curiosity, as he noted the still figure and agitatedfeatures before him. A block of granite lay near the path. Delanceyleant back over it--his right hand nearly touched the ground--his hatlay beside him. The dark hair, wet with the dews of night, was blownback by the breeze. His high forehead was fully shewn. His vest andshirt were open, as he gazed with an air of fixedness on the city, andconversed to himself. His teeth were firmly clenched, and it seemed thatthe lips moved not, but the words were fearfully distinct. We often hearof these soliloquies, --they afford scope to the dramatist, food for thepoet, a chapter for the narrator of fiction, --but we rarely witnessthem. When we do, they are eminently calculated to thrill and alarm. Itwas evident that Delancey saw him not; but had it been otherwise, Delme's interest was so aroused that he could not have left the spot. 

"Hail! sympathising night!" thus spoke the young man, "the calm of thysilent hour seems in unison with my lone heart--thy dewy breeze impartsa freshness to this languid and darkened spirit, Sweet night! how Ilove thee! And moon, too! fair moon! how abruptly!--how chastely!--howgloriously!--dost thou break through the variegated and fleecy clouds, which would impede thy progress, and deny me to gaze on thy white orbunshrouded. And thou, too! radiant star of eve! oh that woman's love butresembled thee! that it were gentle, constant, and pure as thy holygleam. That _that_ should dazzle to bring in its train--oh God! whatmisery. " He raised his hand to his brow, as if a poignant thought hadstung him. 

Sir Henry Delme stole away, and ruminated long that night, on thedistress that could thus convulse those fine features. Afterwards, whenDelancey's name was no longer the humble one he had first known it, butbecame bruited in loftier circles, --for Vavasour's prediction becamerealised, --Delme heard it whispered, that his affections had sufferedan early blight, from the infidelity of one to whom he had beenaffianced. We may relate the circumstances as they occurred. BlancheAllen was the daughter of a country gentleman of some wealth, whoseestate joined that of the Earl of D----'s, where Delancey's boyhoodhad been spent. For years Blanche and Oliver considered themselves asmore than friends. Each selected the other as the companion in thesolitary walk, or partner in the joyous dance. Not a country girl buthad her significant smile, as young Delancey's horse's head was turnedtowards Hatton Grange. 

Delancey joined the army at an early age. Blanche was some eighteenmonths his junior. They parted with tears, and thus they continued to dofor the two following years, during which Oliver frequently got leave torun down to his uncle's. This was while he was serving with part of theregiment at home. When it came to his turn to embark for foreignservice, it was natural from this circumstance, as well as from theirriper age, that their farewell should be of a more solemn nature. Theybade adieu by the side of the streamlet that divided the two properties. It was where this made a small fall, down which it gushed in crystalbrightness, and then meandered with gentle murmur through a successionof rich meadows. A narrow bridge was below the fall, while beside it, arustic seat had been placed, on which the sobbing Blanche sat, with herlover's arm round her waist. For the first time he had talked seriouslyof their attachment, and it was with youthful earnestness, that theymutually plighted their troth. Nor did Blanche hesitate, though blushingdeeply as she did so, to place in his hand a trivial gage d'amour, andthat which has so long solaced absent lovers, a lock of her sunny hair. Blanche was very beautiful, but she had a character common to manyEnglish women--more so, we think, than to foreign ones. 

As a girl, Blanche was nature's self, warm, gentle, confiding, --as anunmarried woman, she was a heartless coquette, --as a matron, anexemplary mother and an affectionate wife. During the time Delancey wasabroad, he heard of Blanche but seldom, for the lovers were not of thatage in which a correspondence would be tolerated by Blanche's family. She once managed to send him, by the hands of a young cousin, sometrifling present, with a few lines accompanying it, informing him thatshe had not forgotten him. His uncle--his only correspondent inEngland--was not exactly the person to make a confidant of; but hewould, in an occasional postscript, let him know that he had seenBlanche Allen lately--that "she was very gay, prettier than ever, andalways blushing when spoken to of a certain person. "

To do Oliver justice, he at all times thought of Blanche. We have seenhim, with regard to Acme, apparently disregarding her, but in thataffair he had been actuated by a mere spirit of adventure. His heart wasbut slightly enlisted, and his feelings partook of any thing but thoseof a serious attachment. 

Oliver Delancey left Malta soon after his conversation withDelme. Previous to doing so, he had forwarded his resignation toColonel Vavasour. 

He passed some time in Italy, and, as the season arrived, found himselfa denizen in that gayest of cities, Vienna. Pleasure is truly thereenshrouded in her liveliest robes. As regards Delancey, not in vain wasshe thus clothed. Just relieved from the dull monotony of a militarylife--dull as it ever must be without war's excitement, and peculiarlydistasteful to one constituted like Delancey, who refused to makeallowance for the commonplace uncongenial spirits with whom he foundhimself obliged to herd--he was quite prepared to embrace with avidityany life that promised an agreeable change. Austria's capital holds outmany inducements to dissipation, and to none are these more freelytendered, than to young and handsome Englishmen. The women, over thedangerous sentimentality of their nation, throw such an air of ease andfrankness, that their victims resemble the finny tribe in the famoustunny fishery. While they conceive the whole ocean is at theircommand--disport here and there in imagined freedom--they are alreadyencased by the insidious nets; the harpoon is already pointed, whichshall surely pierce them. Delancey plunged headlong into pleasure'svortex--touched each link between gaiety and crime. He wandered from thepaths of virtue from the infatuation of folly, and continued to err fromthe fascinations of sin. He was suddenly recalled to himself, by one ofthose catastrophes often sent by Providence, to awaken us fromintoxicating dreams. His companion, with whom he had resided during hisstay in Vienna, lost his all at a gaming table. Although he had not thefirmness of mind to face his misfortunes, yet had he the rashness tomeet his God unbidden. Sobered and appalled, Oliver left Germany forEngland. There was a thought, which even in the height of his folliesobtruded, and which now came on him with a force that surprised himself. That thought was of Blanche Allen. He turned from the image of hisexpiring friend to dwell unsated on hers. A new vista of life seemed toopen--thoughts which had long slept came thronging on his mind--he wasonce more the love-sick boy. The more, too, he brooded over his lateunworthiness, the more did his imagination ennoble the one he loved. Henow looked to the moment of meeting her, as that whence he would datehis moral regeneration. "Thank God!" thought he, "a sure haven is yetmine. There will I--my feelings steadied, my affectionsconcentrated--enjoy a purified and unruffled peace. What a consolationto be loved by one so good and gentle!"

He hurried towards England, travelled day and night, and only wonderedthat he could have rested any where, while he had the power of flying toher he had loved from childhood. Occasionally a feeling of apprehensionwould cross him. It was many months since he had heard of her--she mightbe ill. His love was of that confiding nature, that he could notconceive her changed. As he came near his home, happier thoughtssucceeded. In fancy, he again saw her enjoying the innocent pleasures inwhich he had been her constant companion, --health on hercheek--affection in her glance. He had to pass that well known lodge. His voice shook, as he told the driver to stop at its gate. As he drovethrough the avenue of elms, he threw himself back in the carriage, andevery limb quivered from his agitation. He could hardly make himselfunderstood to the domestic--he waited not an answer to his enquiry--butbounded up the stairs, and with faltering step entered the room. Blanche was there, and not alone but oh! how passing fair! Even Delanceyhad not dared to think, that the beauty of the girl could have been soeclipsed by the ripe graces of the woman. She recognised him, and roseto meet him with a burst of unfeigned surprise. She held out her handwith an air of winning frankness; and yet for an instant, --and his handas it pressed hers, trembled with that thought, --he deemed there was ahesitating blush on her cheek, which should not have been there. But itpassed away, and radiant with smiles, she turned to the one beside her. 

"My dear, " said she, as she gave him a confiding look, which hauntsDelancey yet, "this is a great friend of Papa's, and an old playmate ofmine--Mr. Delancey;" and as the stranger stepped forward to shake hishand, Blanche looked at her old lover, with a glance that seemed to say, "How foolish were we, to deem we were ever more than friends. " OliverDelancey turned deadly pale; but pride bade him scorn her, and his handshook not, as it touched that of him, who had robbed him of a treasure, he would have died to have called his. 

"And you have been to D---- Castle, I suppose, and found your uncle hadleft it for Bath. Indeed, _we_ only arrived the day before yesterday;but Papa wrote us, saying he had got one of his attacks of rheumatism, from the late fishing, and begged us to take this on our way toHabberton, Did you see my marriage in the papers, or did your unclewrite you, Oliver?"

Delancey's lips quivered, but his countenance did not change, as helooked her in the face, and told her he had not known it until now. 

And now her husband spoke: "It was very late, and he must wantrefreshment; and Mr. Allen intended to be wheeled to the dinner table;and they could so easily send up to D---- Castle to tell them to get abed aired; and he could dismiss the chaise now, and their carriage couldtake him there at night. "

And Delancey _did_ stay, although unable to analyse the feeling thatmade him do so. 

And during dinner, _he_ was the life of that little party. He spoke offoreign lands--related strange incidents of travel--dwelt with animationon his schoolboy exploits. The old man was delighted--the husband forgothis wife;--and she, the false one, sat silent, and for the momentdisregarded. She gazed and gazed again on that familiar face--drank inthe tones of that accustomed voice--and the chill of compunction creptover her frame. 

But Delancey's brain was on fire; and in the solitude of hischamber--no! he was not calm there. He paced hurriedly across the oakenfloor; and he opened wide his window, and looked out on the brightstars, spangling heaven's blue vault; and then beneath him, where thecypress trees bowed their heads to the wind, and the moon's light fellon the marble statues on the terrace. 

And he turned to his bed-side, and hid his tearless face in his hands;and in the fulness of his despair, he knelt and prayed, that though hehad long neglected his God, his God would not now forsake him. And, asif to mock his sufferings, sleep came; but it was short, very short; anda weight, a leaden weight, oppressed his eye-lids even in slumber. Andhe gave one start, and awoke a prey to mental agony. His despair flashedon him--he sprung up wildly in his bed. "Liar! liar!" said he, as withclenched teeth, and hand upraised, he recalled that fond look given toanother. Drops of sweat started to his brow--his pulse beat quick andaudibly--quicker--quicker yet. A feeling of suffocation came overhim--and God forgive him! Oliver Delancey deemed that hour his last. Hestaggered blindly to the bell, and with fearful energy pulled its cord, till it fell clattering on the marble hearth stone. The domestics foundhim speechless and insensible on the floor--the blood oozing from hismouth and ears. 

It may be said that this picture is overcharged; that no vitiated mindcould have thus felt. But it is not so. In life's spring we all feelacutely: and to the effects of disappointed love, and wounded pride, there are few limits. 

Woman! dearest woman! born to alleviate our sorrow, and soothe ouranguish! who canst bid feeling's tear trickle down the obdurate cheek, or mould the iron heart, till it be pliable as a child's--why stain thygentle dominion by inconstancy? why dismiss the first form that hauntedthy maiden pillow, until--or that vision is a dear reality besidethee--or thou liest pale and hushed, on thy last couch of repose?

And then--shall not thy virgin spirit hail him? Why first fetter us, slaves to virtue and to thee; _then_ become the malevolent Typhoon, onwhose wings our good genius flies for ever? In this--far worse than theiconoclasts of yore art thou! _They_ but disfigured images of man's rudefashioning: whilst _thou_ wouldst injure the _once_ loved form of God'shigh creation, --wouldst entail on the body a premature decay--and onthat which dieth not, an irradicable blight. 

 "Then the mortal coldness of the soul, like death itself comes down; It cannot feel for others woes--it dares not dream its own. That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears; And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. "

On such a character as was Delancey's, the blow did indeed fall heavy. Not that his paroxysms of grief were more lasting, or his pangs moreacute, than is usual in similar cases; but to his moral worth it wasdeath. An infliction of this nature, falling on a comparatively virtuousman, is productive of few evil consequences. It may give a holier turnto his thoughts--wean him from sublunary vanities--and purify hisnature. On an utterly depraved man, its effects may be fleeting also;for few can _here_ expect a moral regeneration. But falling on Delancey, it was not thus. The slender thread that bound him to virtue, was snaptasunder; the germ whence the good of his nature might have sprung, destroyed for ever. Such a man could not love purely again. To expecthim to wander to another font, and imbibe from as clear a stream, wouldbe madness. The love of a man of the world, let it be the first andbest, is gross and earthly enough; but let him be betrayed in thatlove--let him see the staff on which he confidingly leant, break fromunder him--and he becomes from henceforth the deceiver--but never thedeceived. When Delme saw him, Delancey was writhing under hisaffliction. When he again entered the world, and it was soon, heregarded it as a wide mart, where he might gratify his appetites, andunrestrainedly indulge his evil propensities. He believed not thatvirtue and true nobility were there; could he but find them. He lookedat the blow his happiness had sustained, and thought it afforded a fairsample of human nature. Oliver Delancey became a selfish and aprofligate man. 

He was to be pitied; and from his soul did Delme pity him. He had beenone of promise and of talent; but _now_ his lot is cast on the die ofapathy;--and it is to be feared--without a miracle intervene--andshould his life be spared--that when the wavy locks of youth arechanged to the silver hairs of age--that he will then be that thing ofall others to be scoffed at--the hoary sensualist. Let us hope not! Letus hope that she who hath brought him to this, may rest her head on thebosom of her right lord, and forget the one, whose hand used to belocked in her own, for hours--hours which flew quick as summer'sevening shadows! Let us trust that remorse may be absent from her;that she may never know that worst of reflections--the having injuredone who had loved her, irremediably; that she may gaze on herfair-haired children, and her cheek blanch not as she recals anotherform than the father's; that her life may be irreproachable, her endcalm and dignified; that dutiful children may attend the inanimate clayto its resting place; that filial tears may bedew her grave; and, whenthe immortal stands appalled before its Judge, that the destruction ofthat soul may not be laid to her charge. 

Chapter XIV. 

The Spitfire. 

 "And I have loved thee! Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne like thy bubbles onward. "

 * * * * *

 "Pull away! yo ho! boys!"

Delme continued to reside with his brother, whose health seemed to amenddaily. George generally managed to accompany him in his sight-seeing, from which Henry derived great gratification. 

He mused over the antique tombs of some of the departed knights; andadmired the rich mosaics in that splendid church, dedicated to SaintJohn; than which the traveller may voyage long, and meet nothingworthier his notice. He visited the ancient armoury--dined at thepalace, and at the different messes--inspected the laborioustravailings of the silkworm at the boschetto--conversed with theoriginal of Byron's Leila--a sweet creature she is!--looked withwondering eye on the ostrich of Fort Manuel--and heard the thencommandant's wife relate her tale thereanent. He went to Gozzo too--shotrabbits--and crossed in a basket to the fungus rock. He saw a festa inthe town, and a festa in the country--rode to St. Antonio, and St. Paul's Bay--and was told he had seen the lions. Nor must we pass overthat most interesting of spectacles; viz. , some figures enveloped inmonkish cowl, and placed in convenient niches; but beneath the closehood, the blood mounts not with devotion's glow, nor do eyes glare fromsockets shrunk by abstinence. Skeletons alone are there!

These, curious reader, are the bodies of saintly Capuchins; thusexhibited--dried and baked--to excite beholders to a life of virtue!

One morning, George said he felt rather unwell, and would stay at home. An oar happened to be wanted in the regimental gig, which Sir Henryoffered to take. He was soon accoutred in the dress of an absentmember, and in a short time was discharging the duties of his office tothe satisfaction of all; for he knew every secret of _feathering, _ andhad not _caught a crab_ for years. 

It was a beautifully calm day--not a speck in the azure heaven. It washot too--but for this they cared not. They had porter; and on suchoccasions, what better beverage would you ask? Swiftly and gaily did theslim bark cleave through the glassy sea. Its hue was a dark crimson, with one black stripe--its nom de guerre, the Spitfire. 

As the ------ regiment particularly prided itself on its aquatic costume, we shall describe it. Small chased pearl buttons on the blue jacket andwhite shirt; a black band round the neck, to match the one on thenarrow-brimmed thick straw hat; white trousers; couleur de rose silkcollar, fastened to the throat by a golden clasp; and stockings of thesame colour. How joyously did the gig hold her course! What a thrillingsensation expanded the soul, as the steersman, a handsome little fellowwith large black whiskers, gave the encouraging word, "Stroke! my goodones!" Then were exerted all the energies of the body--then wasdeveloped each straining muscle--then were the arms thrown back insympathy, to give a long pull, and a strong pull--till the bark reeledbeneath them, and shot through the wave. 

The tall ship--the slender mole--the busy deck--the porticoedpalace--the strong fort--the bristling battery--the astonished fisher'sbark as it sluggishly crept on--were all cheeringly swept by, as thebending oars in perfect unison, kissed the erst slumbering water. Whatsensation can be more glorious? The only thing to compete with it, isthe being in a crack coach on the western road; the opposition slightlyin front--a knowing whip driving--when the horses are at their utmostspeed--the traces tight as traces can be--the ladies inside pale andscreaming--one little child cramming out her head, her mouth stuffedwith Banbury cakes, adding her shrill affetuoso--whilst the odd-lookingman in the white hat, seated behind, is blue from terror, and withchattering teeth, mumbles undistinguishable sentences of furiousdriving and prosecution. Surely such moments half redeem our miseries!What bitter thought can travel twelve miles an hour?

And ever and anon would the Spitfire dart into some little creek, andthe thirsty rowers would rest on their oars, whose light drip fell onpurple ocean, tinged by a purple sky. And now would the jovial steersmanintroduce the accommodating corkscrew, first into one bottle and theninto another, as these were successively emptied, and thrown overboard, to give the finny philosophers somewhat to speculate on. 

Delme landed weary; but it was a beneficial weariness. He felt he hadtaken manly exercise, and that it would do him good. He was walkingtowards the barrack, with his jacket slung over his shoulder, when hewas met by George's servant. 

"Oh, Sir!" said the man, "I am so glad you are come. The Signora isterribly afraid for my young master. I fear, Sir, he is in one ofhis fits. "

Delme hurried forward, and entered his brother's room. George held ariding whip in his hand. He had thrown off his cravat--his throat wasbare--his eyes glanced wildly. 

"And who are you, Sir?" said he, as Henry entered. 

"What! not know me, dearest George?" replied his brother, in agony. 

"I do not understand your insolence, Sir; but if you are a dun, go to myservant. Thompson, " continued he, "give me my spurs! I shall ride. "

"Ride!" said Delme. 

Thompson made him a quiet sign. "I am very sorry, Sir, " said he, "butthe Arab is quite lame, and is not fit for the saddle. "

"Give me a glass of sangaree then, you rascal! Port--do you hear?"

The glass was brought him. He drained its contents at a draught. 

"Now, kick that scoundrel out of the room, Thompson, and let me sleep. "

He threw himself listlessly on the sofa. Acme was weeping bitterly, but he seemed not to notice her. It was late in the day. The surgeonhad been sent for. He now arrived, and stated that nothing could bedone; but recommended his being watched closely, and the removingall dangerous weapons. He begged Henry, however, to indulge him inall his caprices, in order that he might the better observe thestate of his mind. 

While George slept, Delme entered another room, and ordering the servantto inform him when he awoke, he sat down to dinner alone and dispirited;for Acme refused to leave George. It was indeed a sad, and to Sir HenryDelme an unforeseen shock. 

In a couple of hours, Thompson came with a message from Acme. "Masteris awake, Sir--knows the Signora--and seems much better. He hasdesired me to brush his cloak, as he intends going out. Shall I do so, Sir, or not?"

"Do so!" said Delme, "but fail not to inform me when he is about to go;and be yourself in readiness. We will watch him. "

Chapter XV. 

The Charnel House. 

 "And when at length the mind shall be all free, From what it hates in this degraded form, Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be Existent happier in the fly or worm; When elements to elements conform, And dust is as it should be. "

The last grey tinge of twilight, was fast giving place to the sombrehues of night, as a figure, enveloped in a military cloak, issued fromthe barrack at Floriana. 

Henry at once recognised George; and only delaying till a short distancehad intervened between his brother and himself, Delme and Thompsonfollowed his footsteps. 

George Delme walked swiftly, as if intent on some deep design. The longshadow thrown out by his figure, enabled his pursuers to distinguish himvery clearly. He did not turn his head, but, with hurried step, strodethe species of common which divides Floriana from La Valette. Crossingthe drawbridge, and passing through the porch which guards the entranceto the town, he turned down an obscure street, and, folding his cloakcloser around him, rapidly--yet with an appearance of caution--continuedhis route, diving from one street to another, till he entered a smallcourt-yard, in which stood an isolated gloomy-looking house. No lightappeared in the windows, and its exterior bespoke it uninhabited. Henryand the domestic paused, expecting George either to knock or return tothe street. He walked on, however, and, turning to one side of theporch, descended a flight of stone steps, and entered the lower part ofthe house. 

"Perhaps we had better not both follow him, " said the servant. 

"No, Thompson! do you remain here, only taking care that your masterdoes not pass you: and I think you may as well go round the house, andsee if there is any other way of leaving it. "

Sir Henry descended the steps in silence. Arrived at the foot of thedescent, a narrow passage, diverging to the left, presented itself. Beyond appeared a distant glimmering of light. Delme groped along thepassage, using the precaution to crouch as low as possible, until hecame before a large comfortless room in the centre of which, was placeda brass lamp, whose light was what he had discerned at the extremity ofthe passage. He could distinctly observe the furniture and inmates ofthe room. Of the former, the only articles were a table--on which wereplaced the remains of a homely meal--an iron bedstead, and a barrel, turned upside down, which served as a substitute for a chair. Thebedstead had no curtains, but in lieu of them, there were hangingsaround it, which struck Delme as resembling mourning habiliments. Whilst the light operated thus favourably, in enabling Sir Henry tonote the interior of the apartment, it was hardly possible, from itssituation, that he himself could be observed. Its rays did not reachthe passage; and he was also shrouded in some degree by a door, whichwas off its hinges, and which was placed against the wall. Fastened tothe side of the room were two deep shelves--the lower one containingsome bottles and plates; the upper, a number of human sculls. In acorner were some more of these, intermingled in a careless heap, with afew bleached bones. 

George Delme was standing opposite the door, conversing earnestly with aMaltese, evidently of the lowest caste. The latter was seated on thebarrel we have mentioned, and was listening with apparently a mixture ofsurprise and exultation to what George was saying. George's voice sunkto an inaudible whisper, as the conversation continued, and he wasevidently trying to remove some scruples, which this man either affectedto feel, or really felt. The man's answers were given in a gruff andloud tone of voice, but from the Maltese dialect of his Italian, SirHenry could not understand what was said. His countenance was verypeculiar. It was of that derisive character rarely met with in one ofhis class of life, except when called forth by peculiar habits, orextraordinary circumstances. His eyes were very small, but bright anddeeply set. His lips wore a constant sarcastic smile, which gave him theair of a bold but cunning man. His throat and bosom were bare, and of adeep copper colour; and his muscular chest was covered with short curlyhair. The conversation on George's part became more animated, and he atlength made use of what seemed an unanswerable argument. Taking out abeaded purse, which Sir Henry knew well--it had been Emily's lastpresent to George--he emptied the contents into the bronzed hand of hiscompanion, who grasped the money with avidity. The Maltese _now_appeared to acquiesce in all George's wishes; and rising, went towardsthe bed, and selected some of the articles of wearing apparel Delme hadalready noticed. He addressed some words to George, who sat on thebedside quiescently, while the man went to the table, and took up aknife that was upon it. For a moment, Delme felt alarm lest his designmight be a murderous one; but it was not so. He laughed savagely, as hemade use of the knife, to cut off the luxuriant chestnut ringlets, whichshaded George's eyes and forehead. He then applied to the face somedarkening liquid, and commenced choosing a sable dress. George threw offhis cloak, and was attired by the Maltese, in a long black cotton robeof the coarsest material, which, descending to the feet, came in a hoodover his face, which it almost entirely concealed. During the whole ofthis scene, George Delme's features wore an air of dogged apathy, whichalarmed his brother, even more than his agitation in the earlier part ofthe day. After his being metamorphosed in the way we have described, itwould have been next to an impossibility to have recognised him. Hiscompanion put on a dress of the same nature, and Sir Henry was preparingto make his retreat, presuming that they would now leave the building, when he was induced to stay for the purpose of remarking the conduct ofthe Maltese. He took up a scull, and placing his finger through aneyeless hole, whence _once_ love beamed or hate flashed, he made somesavage comment, which he accompanied by a long and malignant laugh. Thiswould at another time have shocked Sir Henry, but there was anotherlaugh, wilder and more discordant, that curdled the blood in Delme'sveins. It proceeded from his brother, the gay--the happy George Delme;and as it re-echoed through the gloomy passage, it seemed that of aremorseless demon, gloating on the misfortunes of the human race. Delmeturned away in agony, and, unperceived, regained the anxious domestic. Screened by an angle of the building, they saw George and his companionascend the stone steps, cross the yard, and turn into the street. Theyfollowed him cautiously--Delme's ears ringing with that fiendish laugh. George's companion stopped for a moment, at a house in the street, wherethey were joined by a sallow-looking priest, apparently one of the mostdisgusting of his tribe. He was accompanied by a boy, also drest insacerdotal robes, in one hand bearing a silver-ornamented staff, of thekind frequently used in processions, and in other observances of theCatholic religion; and in the other, a rude lanthorn, whose lightenabled Delme to note these particulars. As the four figures sweptthrough the streets, the lower orders prostrated themselves, before thefigure of the crucified and dying Saviour which surmounted the staff. They again stopped, and the priest entered a house alone. On comingback, he was followed by a coffin, borne on the shoulders of four of thelower order of Maltese. At the moment these were leaving the house, Henry heard a solitary scream, apparently of a woman. It was wild andthrilling; such an one as we hear from the hovering sea bird, as thetempest gathers to a head. To Delme, coming as it did at that lone hourfrom one he saw not, it seemed superhuman. In the front of the housestood two caleches, the last of which, Sir Henry observed was withoutdoors. At a sign from the Maltese, George and his strange companionentered it. They were followed by the coffin, which was placedlengthways, with the two ends projecting into the street. In the_leading_ caleche were the priest and boy, the latter of whom thrustthe figure of the bleeding Jesus out at the window, whilst with theother hand he held up the lanthorn. Twice more did the calechestop--twice receive corpses. Another light was produced, and placed inthe last conveyance, and Delme took the opportunity of their arrangingthis, to pass by the caleche. The light that had been placed in it shonefull on George. The coffins were on a level with the lower part of hisface. Nothing of his body, which was jammed in between the seat and thecoffins, could be seen. But the features, which glared over the pall, were indeed terrific; apathy no longer marked them. George seemed woundup to an extraordinary state of excitement. Gone was the glazedexpression of his eye, which now gleamed like that of a famished eagle. The Maltese leant back in the carriage, with a sardonic smile, his darkface affording a strange contrast to the stained, but yet ghastly hue ofGeorge Delme's. 

"They intend to take them to the vault at Floriana, your honor, " saidthe servant, "shall I call a caleche, and we can follow them?"

Without waiting a reply, for the man saw that Sir Henry's faculties, were totally absorbed in the strange scene he had witnessed; Thompsoncalled a carriage, which passed the other two--now commencing at afuneral pace to proceed to the vault--and, taking the same directionwhich they had done on entering the town, a short time sufficed to putthem down immediately opposite the church. They had time allowed them todismiss their carriage, and screen themselves from observation, beforethe funeral procession arrived. 

This stopped in front of the vault, and Delme anxiously scrutinised theproceedings. Another man--probably the one whose place George hadsupplied--had joined them outside the town, and now walked by the sideof the caleche. He assisted George's companion in bearing out thecoffins. The huge door grated on its hinges, as they opened it. Thecoffins were borne in, and the whole party entered; the priest mumblinga short Latin prayer. In a short time, the priest alone returned; andlooking cautiously around, and seeing no one, struck a light from atinder box, and lighted his cigar. The other two men brought back thecoffins, evidently relieved of their weight; and the priest--theboy--with the man who had last joined them, and who had also lit hiscigar--entered the first caleche, after exchanging some jokes withGeorge's companion, and returned at a rapid pace towards the town. During this time, George Delme had been left alone in the vault. Hiscompanion returned to him, after taking the precaution to fasten itsdoors inside. 

Sir Henry was now at a loss what plan to adopt; but Thompson, after amoment's hesitation, suggested one. 

"There is an iron grating, Sir, over part of the vault, through which, when a bar was loose, I know one of our soldiers went down. Shall Iget a cord?"

The man ran towards his barrack, and returned with it. To wrench bytheir united efforts, one bar from its place, and to fasten the rope toanother, was the work of an instant. Space was just left them to creepthrough the aperture. Sir Henry was the first to breathe the confinedair of the sepulchre. A voice warned him in what direction to proceed;and not waiting for the domestic, he groped his way forward through anarrow passage. At first, Delme thought there was a wall on either sidehim; but as he made a false step, and the bones crumbled beneath, heknew that it was a wall, formed of the bleached remains of the bygonedead. As he drew nearer the voice, he was guided by the lanthorn broughtby George's companion; and towards this he proceeded, almost overpoweredby the horrible stench of the charnel house, As he drew near enough todistinguish objects, what a scene presented itself! In one corner of thevault, lay a quantity of lime used to consume the bodies, whilst nearerthe light, lay corpses in every stage of putrefaction. In some, the limehad but half accomplished its purpose; and while in parts of the body, the bones lay bare and exposed; in others, corruption in its mostloathsome form prevailed. Here the meaner reptiles--active andprolific--might be seen busily at work, battening on human decay. SirHenry stepped over a dead body, and started, as a rat, scared from itsprey, rustled through a wreath of withered flowers, and hid itself amida mouldering heap of bones. But there were some forms lovely still! Inthem the pulse of life had that day ceased to beat. The rigidity ofDeath--his impressive stillness was there--but he had not yet "swept thelines where beauty lingers. "

The Maltese stood with folded arms, closely regarding George Delme. 

George leant against a pillar, with one knee bent. Over it was stretchedthe corpse of a girl, with the face horribly decomposed. The dull andflagging winds of the vault moved her dank and matted hair. 

"Acme, " said he, as he parted the dry hair from the blackened brow, "_do_ but speak to your own George! Be not angry with me, dearest!" Heheld the disgusting object to his lips, and lavished endearments on theputrid corpse. 

Delme staggered--and Thompson supported him--as he gasped for breathin the extremity of his agony. At this moment his eye caught the face ofthe Maltese. He had advanced towards George--his arms were stillfolded--his eyes were sparkling with joy--and his features wore themalignant expression of gratified revenge. Sir Henry sprang to his feetand rushed forward. 

"George! my brother! my brother!"

The maniac raised his pallid brow--his eye flashed consciousness--theblue veins in his forehead swelled almost to bursting--he tossed hisarms wildly--and sunk powerless on the corpses around--his convulsiveshrieks re-echoing in that lonely vault. Thompson seized the Maltese, and making him unlock the door, bore the brothers into the open air; forHenry, at the time, was as much overpowered as George himself. 

A clear solution to that curious scene was never given, for George couldnot give the clue to his train of mental aberration. 

With regard to his companion's share in the transaction, the man wasclosely questioned, and other means of information resorted to, but theonly facts elicited were these:

His son had been executed some years before for a desperate attempt toassassinate a British soldier, with whom he had had an altercationduring the carnival. 

The man himself said, that he had no recollection of ever havingseen George before, but that he certainly _did_ remember someofficers questioning him on two occasions somewhat minutely as tohis mode of life. 

This part of his story was confirmed by another officer of the regiment, who remembered George and Delancey being with him on one occasion, whenthe latter had taken much interest in the questioning of this man. TheMaltese declared, that on the night in question he was taken entirely bysurprise--that George entered the room abruptly--offered him money to beallowed to accompany him to the vault--and told him that he had justplaced a young lady there whom he wished to see. 

Colonel Vavasour, who took some trouble in arriving at the truth, wassatisfied that the man was well aware of George's insanity, but thathe felt too happy in being able to wreak an ignoble revenge on aBritish officer. 

Chapter XVI. 

The Marriage. 

 "The child of love, though born in bitterness, And nurtured in convulsion. "

For many days, George Delme lay on his couch unconscious andimmoveable. If his eye looked calm, it was the tranquillity ofapathetic ignorance, the fixedness of idiotcy. He spoke if he wasaddressed, but recognised no one, and his answers were not to thepurpose. He took his food, and would then turn on his side, and closehis eyes as if in sleep. In vain did Acme watch over him--in vain didher tears bedew his couch--in vain did Delme take his hand, andendeavour to draw his attention to passing objects. 

George had never been so long without a lucid interval. The surgeon'svoice grew less cheering every day, as he saw the little amendment inhis patient, and remarked that the pulse was gradually sinking. ColonelVavasour never allowed a day to elapse without visiting the invalid; andin the regiment, his illness excited great commiseration, and drew forthmany expressions of kindness. 

"Oh God! oh God!" said Delme, "he must not sink thus. Just as I am withhim--just as--oh, poor Emily! what will _she_ feel? Can nothing he done, Mr. Graham?"

"Nothing! Sir: we must now put our whole trust in an all-seeingProvidence. _My_ skill can neither foresee nor hasten the result. "

One soft summer's evening, when the wind blew in the scent of flowersfrom the opposite gardens--and the ceaseless hum of the insects--thosetwilight revellers--sounded happily on the ear, Acme started from thecouch as a thought crossed her. 

"We have never tried music, " said she, "I have been too unhappy tothink of it. "

Her tears fell fast on the guitar, as she tuned its strings. She sung aplaintive Greek air. It was the first George ever heard her sing, andwas the favourite. He heard it, when watching; lover-like beneath herbalcony during the first vernal days of their attachment. The song wasgone through sadly, and without hope. George's face was from her, andshe laid down the guitar, weary of life. 

George gently turned his head. His eyes wore a subdued melancholyexpression, bespeaking consciousness. Down his cheek one big drop wastrickling. 

"Acme!" said he, "dearest Acme!"

Delme, who had left the room, was recalled by the hysterical sobs of thepoor girl, as she fell back on the chair, her hands clasped in joyfulgratitude. 

The surgeon, who had immediately been sent for, ordered that Georgeshould converse as little as possible. 

What he did say was rational. What a solace was that to Henry and Acme!The invalid too appeared well aware of his previous illness, although healluded to it but seldom. To those about him, his manner was femininelysoft, as he whispered his thanks, and sense of their kindness. 

Immediately after the horrible scene he had witnessed, Sir Henry's mindhad been made up, as to the line of conduct he ought to pursue. Theaffectionate solicitude of the young Greek, during George's illness, gave him no reason to regret his determination. 

"Now, " said Mr. Graham, one day as George was rapidly recovering, "now, Sir Henry, I would recommend you to break all you have to say toGeorge. For God's sake, let them be married; and although, mark me! Iby no means assert that it will quite re-establish George's health, yet I think such a measure _may_ effectually do so, and at all eventswill calm him for the present; which, after all, is the great objectwe have in view. "

The same day, Delme went to his brother's bed-side. "George, " said he, "let me take the present opportunity of Acme's absence, to tell you whatI had only deferred till you were somewhat stronger. She is a good girl, George, a very good girl. I wish she had been English--it would havebeen better!--but this we cannot help. You must marry her, George! Iwill be a kind brother-in-law, and Emily shall love her for your sake. "

The invalid sat up in his bed--his eyes swam in tears. He twice essayedto speak, ere he could express his gratitude. 

"Thank you! a thousand times thank you! my kind brother! Even _you_cannot tell the weight of suffering, you have this day taken from mymind. My conduct towards Acme has been bowing me to the earth; and yetI feared your consent would never be obtained. I feared that coldnessfrom you and Emily would have met her; and that I should have had but_her_ smile to comfort me for the loss of what I so value. God blessyou for this!"

Delme was much affected. 

To complete his good work, he waited till Acme had returned from a visitshe had just made to her relations; and taking her aside, told her hiswishes, and detailed his late conversation with George. 

"Never! never!" said the young Greek, "I am too happy as I am. I haveheard you all make better lovers than husbands. I cannot be happier!No! no! I will never consent to it. "

All remonstrances were fruitless--no arguments could affect her--noentreaties persuade. 

Delme, quite perplexed at finding such a difficulty, where he had solittle expected to find one, --pitying her simplicity, but admiring herdisinterestedness, --went to George, and told him Acme's objections. 

"I feared it, " said his brother, "but perhaps I may induce her to thinkdifferently. Were I to take advantage of her unsophisticated feelings, and want of knowledge of the world, I should indeed be a villain. "

Acme was sent for, and came weeping in--took Georg's hand--and gazedearnestly in his face as he addressed her. 

"You must change your mind, dearest, " said he. And he told her of theworld's opinion--the contumely she might have to endure--the slights towhich she would be subjected. Still she heeded not. 

"Why mention these things?" said she. "Who would insult me, were _you_near? or if they did, should I regard them while _you_ were kind?"

And her lover's words took a loftier tone; and he spoke of religion, andof the duties it imposes; of the feelings of his countrywomen; and theall-seeing eye of their God. Still the fond girl wept bitterly, butspoke not. 

"My own Acme! consider _my_ health too, dearest! Were you now toconsent, I might never again be ill. It would be cruelty to me torefuse. Say you consent for _my_ sake, sweet!"

"For your sake, then!" said Acme, as she twined her snowy arms round hisneck, "for _your_ sake, Giorgio, I do so! But oh! when I am yours forever by that tie; when--if this be possible--our present raptures areless fervent--our mutual affections less devoted--do not, dearestGeorge--do not, I implore you--treat me with coldness. It would break myheart, indeed it would. "

They were married according to the rites of both the Protestant andCatholic Church. Few were present. George had been lifted to the sofa, and sat up during the ceremony; and although his features were pale andemaciated, they brightened with internal satisfaction, as he heard thosewords pronounced, which made his love a legitimate one. Acme was silentand thoughtful; and tears quenched the fire of her usually sparklingeye. George Delme's recovery from this date became more rapid. 

He was able to resume his wonted exercise--his step falteredless--his eye became clearer. His convalescence was so decided, thatthe surgeon recommended his at once travelling, and for the presentrelinquishing the army. 

"Perhaps the excessive heat may not be beneficial. I would, if possible, get him to Switzerland for the summer months. I will enquire whatoutward-bound vessels there are. If there is one for Leghorn, so muchthe better. But the sooner he tries change of scene, the moreadvantageous it is likely to be; and after all, the climate is but asecondary consideration. "

An American vessel bound to Palermo, happened to be the only one in theharbour, whose destination would serve their purpose; and determinednot to postpone George's removal, Sir Henry at once engaged its cabin. Colonel Vavasour obtained George leave for the present, and promised toarrange as to his exchanging from full pay. He likewise enabled him, which George felt as a great boon, to take his old and attached servantwith him; with the promise that he would use all his interest to havethe man's discharge forwarded him, before the expiration of his leave. 

"He may be useful to you, my dear boy, if you get ill again, which Godforbid! He is an old soldier, and a good man--well deserving theindulgence. And remember! if you should be better, and feel a returningpenchant for the red coat, write to me--we will do our best to work anexchange for you. "

Chapter XVII. 

The Departure. 

 "Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been, A sound that makes us linger, yet farewell. "

The day of departure at length arrived. Thompson had been busy thegreater part of the night in getting every thing ready for the voyage. It was a lovely morning, and the wind, although light, was propitious. 

Acme had parted with her relations and friends the day previous. 

She was henceforward to share the destiny of one, who was to supply theplace of both to her. Attached to them as she was, and grateful as shefelt for their kindness in the hour of need, there was nothing in thatparting to throw a permanent gloom on the hopes of the youthful bride. 

Her love, and the feelings it engendered, were of that confiding nature, that she could have followed George anywhere, and been happy still. Asit was, her lot seemed cast "in pleasant places, " and no foreboding ofevil, except indeed for George, ever marred the waking dreams of Acme. Her simple heart had already learnt, to look up with respect andaffection to Sir Henry, and yearned with fond longing for the periodwhen she should return a sister's love. 

She had that lively talent too, which, miniatured as it was, allowed ofher fully appreciating the superiority of the English she had latelymet, to the general run of those with whom she had hitherto associated. An English home had none but charms for her. 

"Come Acme, " said George, as he assisted her in adjusting the firstbonnet that had ever confined her wavy curls, "wish good bye to yourring-dove, dear! Mrs. Graham will take good care of it; and Thompson hasjust finished the packing. "

The boat which was to convey them to the vessel was so near, that theyhad agreed to walk down to the place of embarkation. 

As George left the room, a tall figure presented itself on thestaircase. 

"Ah, Clark!" said George, "my good fellow! I am very sorry to part withyou. I do not know what I shall do without my pay serjeant!" and he heldout his hand. 

It was grasped gratefully. 

"Thank you, your honour!"

The old soldier stood erect, and put his hand to his cap. 

"God bless you! Mr. Delme. I have served under many officers, but neverunder a kinder. May the Almighty bless you, Sir, in all yourwanderings. "

The soldier turned away--one large drop burst o'er the lid, and trickleddown his sun-burnt cheek. 

With the back of his hand, he brushed it off indignantly. 

His converse may be rough--his manner rude--his hand ever ready forquarrel;--but, believe us! ye who deem the soldier beneath hisfellow-men, --that the life of change--of chance--of hardship--and ofdanger--which is his, freezes not the kindlier emotions of the soul, ifit sweep away its sicklier refinements. Beneath the red vest, beathearts as warm and true, as ever throbbed beneath operative apron, orswelled under softest robe of ermine. 

George was moved by the man's evidently sincere grief. He reached thebottom of the stairs. The company to which he belonged was drawn up inthe court yard. 

In front of it, the four tallest men supported a chair, and almostbefore George Delme was aware of their purpose, bore him to it, andlifted him on their shoulders, amidst the huzzas of their comrades. Theband, too, which had voluntarily attended, now struck up the march whichGeorge delighted to hear; and, followed by his company, he was carriedtriumphantly towards the mole. 

George's heart was full. 

Sir Henry felt deeply interested in the scene; and poor Acme leant onhis arm, and wept with joy. 

Yes! there are moments in life, and this was one, when the approval ofour inferiors awakens a degree of pride and mental satisfaction, thatno panegyric of our superiors, no expressions of esteem from ourequals, could have ever called forth. Such approval meets us, as thespontaneous effusion of hearts that have looked up to ours, and have_not_ been deceived. 

This pride was it that flushed George's cheek, and illumed withbrightness his swimming eye. He was thus carried till he arrived at thespot where his boat should have been. It was already, with Thompson andtheir baggage, half way towards the vessel. In its place was theregimental gig, manned by George's best friends. Its steersman wasColonel Vavasour, drest in the fanciful aquatic costume his regimenthad adopted. 

Trifling as this may appear, this act of his Colonel, seemed to Georgethe very highest compliment that had ever been paid him. 

George Delme turned to his company, and with choking voice thanked themfor this last mark of attention. We are very certain that a shake ofthe hand from a prince, would not have delighted him as much, as didthe hearty farewell greeting of his rough comrades. 

Even Acme blushingly went up to the chair-supporters, and, with awinning smile, extended her small hand. Vavasour assisted her into thegig, and it was with a bounding elasticity of spirit, to which he hadlong been a stranger, that George followed. As the boat cut through thewater, they were greeted with a last and deafening huzza. 

In a short time they were alongside the vessel. The captain was pacingthe deck, and marking the signs of the wind, with the keen eye of thesailor. A chair was lowered for Acme. She shook hands with the rowers. George parted from them as if they had been brothers, and from ColonelVavasour last of all. 

"Take care of yourself, my dear boy, " said the latter, "do notforget to write us; we shall all be anxious to know how you havestood the voyage. "

As the gig once more shot its way homewards, and many a friendlyhandkerchief waved its adieu, George felt, that sad as the parting was, he should have felt it more _bitterly_ if they had loved him less. 

To divert their minds from thoughts of a melancholy nature, Sir Henry, as the boat made a turn of the land, and was no longer visible, proposedexploring the cabin. This they found small, but cleanly. Some hampers offruit, and a quantity of ice, exhibited agreable proofs of the attentionof Acme's relations. We may, by the way, observe, that rarely does thesense of the palate assert its supremacy with greater force than onboard-ship. There will the _thought_--much more the _reality_--of amellow pine--or juicy pomegranate--cause the mouth to water for the bestpart of a long summer's day. On their ascending the deck, the captainapproached Sir Henry. 

"No offence! Sir; but I guess the wind is fair. If you want nothingashore, we will off, Sir, _now_! if you please. "

Delme acquiesced. 

How disagreable is the act of leaving harbour in a merchant ship!

Even sailors dislike it, and growl between their teeth, like captivebears. The chains of the anchor clank gratingly on the ear. The verychorus of the seamen smacks of the land, and wants the rich and freetone that characterises it in mid-sea. Hoarse are the mandates of theboat-swain! his whistle painfully shrill! The captain walks the deckthoughtfully, and frowningly ruminates on his bill of lading--or on someover-charge in the dock duties--or, it may be, on his dispute on shorewith a part owner of the vessel. 

And anon, he shakes off these thoughts, and looks on theweather-side--then upwards at the the masts--and, as he notes theproceedings, his orders are delivered fiercely, and his passions seemungovernable. 

The vessel, too, seems to share the general feeling--is loath toleave the port. 

She unsteadily answers the call of her canvas--her rigging creaks--andher strong sides groan--as she begins lazily and slowly to make her way. 

Glad to turn their attention to anything rather than the scene around, George began conversing on the effect the attentions of his company andbrother officers had had on him. 

"Their kindness, " said George, "was wholly unexpected by me, and I feltit very deeply. An hour before, I fancied that Acme and my own familymonopolised every sympathy I possessed. But, thank God! the heart hasmany hidden channels through which kindness may steal, and infuse itsgenial balm. "

"_I_ felt it, too, George!" said his brother, "and was anxious as to theeffect the scene might have on you. I am glad it _was_ unexpected. Weare sometimes better enabled to enact our parts improvising them, thanwhen we have schooled ourselves, and braced all our energies to the oneparticular purpose. 

"Acme, how did you like the way George's men behaved?"

"It made me weep with joy, " replied the young Greek, "for I love all wholove my Giorgio. "

Chapter XVIII. 

The Adieu. 

 "Adieu! the joys of La Valette. "

 * * * * *

 "No more! no more! No! never more on me The freshness of the heart shall fall like dew. "

 * * * * *

 "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Isle of Beauty! fare thee well. "

Malta! the snowy sail shivers in the wind--the waves, chafed by ourintruding keel, are proudly foaming--sea birds soar, screaming theirfarewell aloft--as we wave our hand to thee for ever! What is ourfeeling, as we see thee diminish hourly?

Regret! unfeigned regret!

Albeit we speed to our native land, on the wing of a bark as fleet asever--but it matters not--_thou_ hast seen the best of our days. 

Visions conjured up by thee, have the unusual power, to banishanticipations of Almack's glories, and of home flirtations. 

We are recalling balls enjoyed in thee, loved island! the valse spunround with the darling fleet-footed Maltese, who during its pauses leantback on our arm, against which her spangled zone throbbed, from thepulsations of her heart. 

Dreams of turtle and of grand master--the _fish_, not the_official_--and of consecutive iced champagne, mock our sight! Butmore--yes! far more than all, are we reminded of thy abode--thoudispenser of cheering liquids! thou promoter of convivial happiness!meek Saverio! How swiftly glided the mirth-loving nights as--theenchanting strains of the prima donna hushed--we adjourned to thy everto be praised bottegua!

With what precision didst thou there mete out the many variedingredients--the exact relative proportions--which can alone embody ourconception of the nectar of the Gods, punch a la Romaine!

Whose cigars ever equalled thine, thou prince of Ganymedes? and whenwere cigars more justly appreciated, than as our puffs kept time withthe trolling ditty, resounding through the walls of thy domain?

The luxury of those days!

Then would Sol come peeping in upon us; as unwelcome and unlooked-fora visitant, as to the enamoured Juliet, when she sighing told herlover that

 "'Twas but a meteor that the sun exhaled, To be to him that night a torch-bearer, And light him on his way to Mantua. "

Then, with head dizzy from its gladness, with heart unduly elate, hasthe Strada Teatro seen us, imperiously calling for the submissivecaleche. Arrived in our chamber, how gravely did we close its shutters!With what a feeling of satisfied enjoyment, did we court the downyfreshness of the snow-white sheet!

Sweet and deep were our slumbers--for youth's spell was upon us, andour fifth lustre had not _yet_ heralded us to serious thoughts andanxious cares. 

Awoke by the officious valet, and remorseless friend, deemest thoughour debauch was felt? No! an effervescent draught of soda calmed us; weate a blood orange, and smoked a cigar!

We often hear Malta abused. Byron is the stale authority; and everysnub-nosed cynic turns up his prominent organ, and talks of "sirocco, sun, and sweat. " Byron disliked it--he had cause. He was there at a badseason, and was suffering from an attack of bile. _We_ know of no placeabroad, where the English eye will meet with so little to offend it, andso much to please and impress. 

There is such a blending together of European, Asiatic, and Africancustoms; there is such a variety in the costumes one meets; there issuch grandeur in their palaces--such glory in their annals; such noveltyin their manners and habits; such devotion in their religiousobservances; such simplicity and yet such beauty, in the dress of thewomen; and their wearers possess such fascinations; that we defy themost fastidious of critics, who has really resided there, to deny toMalta many of those attributes, with which he would invest that place, on whose beauty and agremens, he may prefer of all others to descant. 

With the commonplace observer, its superb harbour, studded with gildedboats; its powerful fortifications, where art towers over nature, andwhere the eye looks up a rock, and catches a bristling battery; theglare of its scenery, with no foliage to cover the white stone;--allthese, together with the different way in which the minutiae of life aretransacted, --will call forth his attention, and demand his notice. 

Art thou a poet, or a fancied warrior? What scene has been more repletewith noble exploits? In whose breasts did the flame of chivalry burnbrighter, than in those of the knights of St. John of Jerusalem? Not aname meets thee, that has not belonged to a hero! If thou grievest tofind all dissimilar _but_ the name; yet mayest thou still muse, contemplative, over the tomb and ashes of him, whom thy mind hasshadowed forth, as a noble light in a more romantic age. 

Art thou a moralist, a thinking Christian? Thou mayest there trace--andthe pursuit shall profit thee--the steps of the sainted apostle; he whowas so signally called forth, to hear witness to the truth of ONE, whomhe had erst reviled. Yon cordelier will show you the bay, where hisvessel took refuge in its distress; and will tell you, that yon jaggedrock first gave its dangerous welcome, to the bark of his patron saint. 

Lovest thou music? hast loved? or been beloved? or both perchance?

Steal forth when night holds her starry court, and the guitars aroundare tinkling, as more than one rich voice deplores his mistress'scruelty, in hopes she may now relent. But see! _there_ is one, who putsin requisition neither music's spell, nor flattery's lay. 

See! he approaches. His cloak wrapped around him, he cautiously treadsthe tranquil street. 

He gains the portico--the signal is given. Who but an expectant maidencould hear one so slight?

Hark! a sound! cautiously the lattice opens--above him blushes the fairone! How brightly her dark eye flashes! how silver soft the tones ofher voice!

The stern father--the querulous mother--the tricked duenna--all--allare slumbering. She leans forward, and her ear drinks in his honiedwords; as her head is supported by her snowy arm. 

And now he whispers more passionately. She answers not, but hides herface in her hands. She starts! she throws back her hair from her brow;she waves a white fazzolet, and is gone. 

Not thus flies the lover. He crouches beneath the Ionic portico, hisfigure hardly discernible. A bolt--the last bolt is withdrawn. A form isdimly seen within--retiring, timid, repentant. 

Sweet the task to calm that throbbing heart, or teach it to throb nomore with fear!

But let him of melancholy mood, wander to the deserted village. A morefearful calamity has befallen it, than ever attended the soft shades, ofthe one conjured up by the poet. 

_Here_ the demon Plague, with baneful wing, and pestilential influence, tarried for many days; till not one--no! not one soul of that villagetrain--that did not join his bygone fathers. 

Stray along its grass-grown roofless tenements! where _your_ echo alonebreaks the silence, as it startles from its resting-place the slumberingowl--for who would dwell in abodes so marked for destruction? Straythere! think of the gentle contadina diffusing happiness around her!_then_ think of her as she supports the youth she loves--as she claspshis faint form--and drinks in a poisonous contagion from his pallid lip. 

Think of her as the disease seizes on its new victim--stillattempting to prop up his head--to reach the cup, that may relievehis maddening thirst, --until, giddy and overpowered, she sinks atlast; but--beside him!

Think of their dying together! _that_ at least is a solace. 

Do not the scene and the thought draw a tear?

If your eye be dry, come--come away--_your_ step should not sound there!

The wind continued fair during the whole of the first day. Every traceof Valletta was soon lost; and the good barque Boston swept by the rockycoast of the island, where few human habitations meet the eye, swiftlyand cheerily. The sea birds sported round the tall masts--the canvasbulged out bravely--the Captain forgot his shore griefs, and commenced acolloquy with Sir Henry. The sailors sung in chorus; whilst poorAcme, --we grieve to confess the fact, for never was a Mediterranean sealooked down on by brighter sun, or more cloudless sky, --retired to hercabin, supported by George, a prey to that unsentimental malady, seasickness. The following day, the wind shifted some points; and theCaptain judged it most prudent to forego his original intention ofsteering direct for Palermo; but to take advantage of the breeze, andadopt the passage through the Faro of Messina. 

Delme felt glad of this change; for Scylla and Charybdis to anEnglishman, are as familiar as Whittington and his cat. For the firsttwo days Acme continued unwell; and George, who already appearedimproved by the sea air, never left her side. 

Delme had therefore a dull time of it; which he strove to enliven byconversing, one after the other, with the Captain and his two mates. From all of them, he learnt something; but from all he turned away, asthey commenced discussing the comparative merits of the United States, and the old country; a subject he had neither the wish to enter on, norfortitude to prosecute. Not daunted, he attacked mate the third; and wasled to infer better things, as the young gentleman commenced expatiatingon the "purple sky, " and "dark blue sea. " This hope did not last long;for this lover of nature turned round to Sir Henry, and asked him in anasal twang, if he preferred Cooper's or Mr. Scott's novels? Delme wasnot naturally a rude man, but as he turned away, he hummed somethingvery like Yankee-doodle. 

And then the moon got up; and Sir Henry felt lonely and sentimental. Heleant over the vessel's side, and watched it pictured on the ocean, andquivering as the transient billow swept onwards. And he thought of home, and Emily. He thought of his brother, his heir, --if he died, the onlymale to inherit the ancient honours of his house, --married to astranger, and--but Acme was too sweet a being, not to have alreadyenlisted all his sympathies with her. And as if all these thoughts, likerays converged in a burning glass, did but tend to one object, the imageof Julia Vernon suddenly rose before him. 

He saw her beautiful as ever--gentleness in her eye--fascination inher smile!

And the air got cold--and he went to bed. 

Chapter XIX. 

A Dream and a Ghost Story. 

 "Touching this eye-creation; What is it to surprise us? Here we are Engendered out of nothing cognisable-- If this were not a wonder, nothing is; If this be wonderful, then all is so. Man's grosser attributes can generate What _is_ not, and has never been at all; What should forbid his fancy to restore A being pass'd away? The wonder lies In the mind merely of the wondering man. "

It was the fourth evening of the voyage. Hardly a breath fanned thesails, as the vessel slowly glided between the Calabrian and Siciliancoasts, approaching quite close to the former. 

The party, seated on chairs placed on the deck, gazed in a spirit ofplacid enjoyment on one of those scenes, which the enthusiastictraveller often recals, as in his native clime, he pines for foreignlands, and for novel impressions. The sun was setting over the purplepeaks of the Calabrian mountains, smiling in sunny gladness on deepravines, whose echoes few human feet now woke, save those of simplepeasant, or lawless bandit. Where the orb of day held its decliningcourse, the sky wore a hue of burnished gold; its rich tint alonevaried, by one fleecy violet cloud, whose outline of rounded beauty, wasmarked by a clear cincture of white, On their right, beneath the mountain, lay the little village of Capo delMarte, a perfect specimen of Italian scenery. 

Its sandy beach, against which the tide beat in dalliance--the chafedspray catching and reflecting the glories of the setting sun--ransmoothly up a slope of some thirty yards; beyond which, the orangetrees, in their greenest foliage, chequered with their shade the whitecottages scattered above them. 

The busy hum of the fishermen on the coast--the splash of the castingnet--and the drip of the oar--were appropriate accompaniments to thesimple scene. 

On the Sicilian side, a different view wooed attention. There, old Etnaupreared his encumbered head, around which the smoke clung in densemajesty; and--not contemptible rivals of the declining deity--the moon'ssilvery crescent, and the evening star's quiet splendour, were bedeckingthe cloudless blue of the firmament. 

Acme gazed enraptured on the scene--her long tresses hanging back on thechair, across which one hand was languidly thrown. 

"Giorgio, " said she, "do you see this beautiful bird close to theship--swimming so steadily--its snowy plumage apparently unwet from itscontact with the wave? To what can you compare it?"

"That bright-eyed gull, love!" replied he, "riding on the water as ifall regardless that he is on the wide--wide sea--whose billows may sosoon be lashed up to madness;--where may I find a resemblance moreclose, than my Acme's simplicity, which guides her through a troubledworld, unknowing its treacheries, and happily ignorant of its dangersand its woes?"

"Ah!" said the blushing girl, "how poetical you are this evening; willyou tell us a story, Giorgio?"

"_I_ will tell you one, " said Delme, interrupting her. "Do you recollectold Featherstone, who had been in the civil service in India, and wholived so near Delme Park, George?"

"Perfectly, " said his brother, "I remember I used to think him mad, because he always looked so melancholy, and used to send us word in themorning when he contemplated a visit; in order that all cats might bekept out of his way. "

"The very man! I am glad you know so much about him, for it is on thissubject I was going to speak. I cannot tell you where he picked up theidea originally--but I believe in a dream--that a cat would occasionhis death. 

"Well! he was at Ascot one year, when a gipsy woman came up to him onthe course--told him his fortune--and, to his utter astonishment, warnedhim to beware of the wild cat. 

"From that moment, I understand his habits changed. From being atolerably cheerful companion, he became a wretched hypochondriac; allhis energies being directed to the avoiding a contact with any of thefeline race. 

"Featherstone, two or three years ago, embarked in one of the miningspeculations--lost great part of his fortune--and found it necessary totry and retrieve his affairs, by a second voyage to India. 

"I heard nothing more of him, till just before leaving England, whenmy old school-fellow, Lockhart, who went as a cadet to the East, called on me--reminded me of our old whimsical friend--and relatedhis tragic death. 

"Lockhart says that one day he and some mutual friends, persuadedFeatherstone to accompany them into the interior of the country, toenjoy the diversion of a boar hunt. 

"They had had good sport, and were returning homewards, when theysuddenly came on a party of natives, headed by the Rajah. 

"They were mounted on elephants, and surrounding a jungle, in which, assome sepoys had reported, lay a tiger. 

"You know Lockhart's manner--animated and enthusiastic--making one seethe scene he is describing. 

"I will try and clothe the rest of the story in his own words, although Ican hardly hope it will make the same impression on you, that itsrecital did on me. 

"'Well, Sir! we all said we would see the sport--all butFeatherstone--who said something about coming on. 

"'We were engaged to dine with Sir John M----, who was in that part ofthe world, on some six-and-eightpenny mission about indigo. 

"'The beaters went in, firing and shouting--intending to make him breaktowards the hunting party. 

"'We all drew up on one side, to be in view, but out of the way;Featherstone was next me. He suddenly grasped my arm, and pointed to thejungle, his teeth chattering--his face ashy pale. I turned and saw thetiger!--a splendid beast--certainly!

"'He seemed not to notice us, and stalked on with an innocent yep! yep!like a sick hound's, more than anything else. 

"'Suddenly his eye caught us, and flashed fire. At the first view, hecrouched to the earth, then came on us, bounding like a tost foot-ball. More magnificent leaps I never beheld! We were struck dumb--butfired--and turned our horses' heads!--all but Featherstone. 

"'I shall remember the tones of his voice to my dying hour. 

"'"The cat! Lockhart! the cat!"

"'I don't know whether his horse refused the spur--or whether the rider'snerve was gone: but neither appeared to make an effort, till the animalwas close on them. 

"'The horse gave one plunge--and had hardly recovered his feet, when downwent horse and rider. 

"'Featherstone gave a piercing scream! Some of the sepoys were by thistime up--and fired. 

"'The tiger trailed off--the blood spouting down his striped side. 

"'We came up--it was all over!

"'The first stroke of that terrific paw had laid the unfortunate man'sscull bare. On his shoulder, were the marks of the animal's teeth. 

"'The horse was still writhing in agony. One of my pistols relieved him. 

"'We bore Featherstone to the nearest cantonment, and buried him there. '"

"How terrible!" said Acme, as she gave a slight shudder. "Englishmen aregenerally more sceptical on these points than we are; and disbelievesupernatural appearances, which we are accustomed to think are notunfrequent. I could tell you many stories, which, in my native island, were believed by our enemies the Turks, as well as by ourselves: but ifyou would like it, I will tell you a circumstance that occurred tomyself, the reality of which I dare not doubt. 

"You have often, Giorgio! heard me revert with pain, to the horriblescene which took place, on the recapture of our little isle by theinfidel Turks; when my family were massacred, and only poor Acme left totell their tale. "

Here the young bride put her handkerchief to her face, and weptbitterly. George put his arm round her and soothed her. She continuedher narrative. 

"You know my escape, and how I was sent to a kinsman, who had promisedto have me sent to my kind friends in Malta. He was a Corfuote, and itwas in Corfu I remained for a long--a very long time--and there firstmet my dear friend, Zoee Scalvo-Forressi. I was then very young. We livedin the Campagna--about four miles from each other. 

"We had both our Greek ponies, and used often to pass the eveningstogether; and at length knew our road so well, that often it was nightbefore we parted. 

"One night, we had been singing together at her house, and it was laterthan usual when I cantered home. 

"About four months had elapsed previous to my landing in Corfu, and I hadbeen eight months there; although at the time, I paid little attentionto these circumstances. 

"My road lay through an olive grove. I had arrived in its centre, wherea small knoll stretched away on my right; on whose summit, was a whiteGreek monastery, backed by some dark cypress trees. 

"The moon was shining brightly--dancing on the silver side of the olivetrees--and illuminating the green sward. 

"This was smooth and verdant. 

"My spirits were more than usually buoyant, when suddenly my ponystopped. 

"I could not conceive the reason. 

"I looked before me. Immediately in front of me, was the shattered trunkof an old olive tree--it had been blasted by lightning--and sittingquietly at its foot--I saw my own mother, Giorgio! as clearly as I seeyou now. I could not be mistaken. She wore the same embroidered vest andAlbanian shawl, as when I had last seen her. 

"She conversed with me calmly for many minutes, and--which surprised memuch at the time--I felt no dread, and asked her and answered manyquestions. 

"She told me I should die early, in a foreign land; and many--many morethings, which I dare not repeat; for I cannot contemplate thepossibility of their being true. 

"At the time, I told you I felt composed: without any sense of alarmor surprise. For many days afterwards, however, I never left my bedof sickness. 

"I told my kinsman all the circumstances, and he discovered beyond adoubt, that it was on that very day, the twelve-month previous, that mypoor mother had been murdered. "

Sir Henry and George tried to smile at Acme's story, and account forwhat she had seen;--but her manner was so impressive, and her ingeniousreasonings--delivered in the most earnest tone--seemed to confute soentirely all their speculations, that they were at length content todeem it "wondrous strange. "

In the best and wisest of us, there is such a tendency to believe in amysterious link, connecting the living and the departed; that a storyof this nature, in exciting our feelings, serves to paralyse ourreasoning faculties, and leaves us half converts, to the doctrines thatwe faintly combat. 

They looked forth again on the scene. The mountains of Calabria werefrowning on them. The village was far behind--and not a straggling lightmarked its situation. 

Numberless stars were reflected on the glassy water, whose serenity wasno longer ruffled by wing of sea bird, which long ere now had returnedto its "wave girded nest. "

Our party and the watch were the only lingerers on deck. 

George wrapped Acme's silk cloak around her, and then carefully assistedher in her descent to the cabin. 

Chapter XX. 

The Mad House. 

 "And see the mind's convulsion leave it weak. "

The land breeze continued to freshen, and the first dawn of morning sawour party on deck, scanning with near view, the opposite coasts ofSicily and Italy, as their vessel glided through the Faro of Messina. 

Some pilot boats, --how unlike those which greet the homeward-boundvoyager, as he first hails Britain's chalky cliffs--crowded around thevessel, offering their services to guide it through the strait. 

Avarice--one incentive to language--had endowed these Sicilian marinerswith a competent knowledge of English, which they dealt outvociferously. 

As the Captain made his selection, the rejected candidates failed notto use that familiar English salam; half the gusto of which is lost, when used by foreign lip. 

On the Calabrian coast, the sea-port town of Reggio wore an unusual airof bustle and animation. 

It was a festa day there; and groups of peasants, in many-colouredcostumes, paced up and down the mole; emitting that joyous hum, whichis the never-failing concomitant of a happy crowd. Passing throughthe Faro, the vessel's course lay by the northern coast of Sicily. The current and wind were alike favourable, as it swept on by Melazzoand Lascari. 

Etna, towering over the lesser mountains, became once more visible; itssummit buried in the clouds of heaven. 

On the right, a luminous crimson ring revealed Stromboli, whose fitfulvolcano was more than usually active. 

The following day our party arrived at Palermo. So pleasurable had beentheir voyage, that it was with a feeling akin to regret, that they heardthe rumbling chains of the anchor, rush through the hawse-hole, astheir vessel took her station in the bay. 

After going through those wearisome forms, which a foreign sea-portexacts; and which appear purposely intended, to temper the rapture ofthe sea-worn voyager, as he congratulates himself on once more treadingterra firma; our party found themselves the inmates of the Englishhotel; and spent the remainder of the day in engaging a cicerone, and indiscussing plans for the morrow. 

The morrow came--sunny and cloudless--and the cicerone bowed to theground, as he opened the door of the commodious fiacre. 

"Where shall I drive to, Sir?"

"What were our plans, George?" said Sir Henry. 

"I think, " replied George, "that we only formed one plan to change itfor another. Let the cicerone decide for us. "

_He, _ nothing loath, accepted the charge; and taking his station on thebox of the carriage, directed the driver. 

The carriage first stopped before a large stone building. The bell wasrung--a veteran porter presented himself--and our party entered thecourt yard. 

"What place is this?" said Delme. 

"This, " rejoined his guide, with the true cicerone fluency, "is thefamous lunatic asylum, instituted by the illustrious Baron Pisani. This, gentlemen, is the Baron!"

Here a benevolent-looking little man with a large nose, took off hishat. 

"So much approved of was his beneficent design, that our noble King, andour paternal Government, have not only adopted it; but have graciouslypermitted the Baron, to continue to preside over that institution, whichhe so happily commenced, and which he so refulgently adorns. "

During this announcement, the Baron's face flushed with a simple, buthonest pride. 

These praises did not to him appear exaggerated; for his intentions hadbeen of the purest, and in this institution was his whole soul wrapt up. Acme became somewhat pale, as she heard where they were, and lookednervously at George; who could not forbear smiling, as he begged theywould be under no apprehensions. 

"Yes! gentlemen, " said the Baron, "circumstances in early life made meregard mental disease as the most fearful of all. I observed its victimsstruggling between reason and insanity; goaded on by the ignorance ofempirics, and the harsh treatment of those about them, until light fledthe tortured brain, and madness directed its every impulse. You, gentlemen, are English travellers, I perceive! In _your_ happy land, where generosity and wealth go hand in hand, there are, I doubt not, many humane institutions, where those, who--bowed down by misfortunes, or preyed on by disease--have lost the power to take care of themselves, may find a home, where they may be anxiously tended, and carefullyprovided for. 

"Here we knew not of such things. 

"I have said, gentlemen, that chance made me feel a deep interest inthese unfortunates. I sunk the greater part of my fortune, inconstructing this mansion, trusting that the subscriptions ofindividuals, would enable me to prosecute the good work. 

"In this I was disappointed; but our worthy Viceroy, who took an interestin my plans, laid the matter before the Government, which--as SignerGuiseppe observes--has not only undertaken to support my asylum, butalso permits me to preside over the establishment. _That_, gentlemen, ismy apartment, with the mignionette boxes in front, and without iron barsin the window; though indeed these very bars are painted, at mysuggestion, such a delicate green, that you might not have been awarethat they were such. 

"This is our first chamber--cheerful and snug. Here are the patientsfirst brought. We indulge them in all their caprices, until we areenabled to decide with certainty, on the fantasy the brain has conjuredup. From this room, we take them to the adjacent bed-room, where weadminister such remedies as we think the best fitted to restore reason. 

"If these fail, we apportion the patient a cell, and consider the case asbeyond our immediate relief. We cure, on an average, two-thirds of thecases forwarded to us; and there have been instances of the mind'srecovering its tone, after a confinement of some years. "

"How many inmates have you in the asylum at present?" said Acme. 

"One hundred and thirty-six, eighty-six of whom are males. These are ourbaths, to which they are daily taken; this the refectory; this theparlatorio, where they see their friends; and now, if the lady is notafraid, we will descend to the court yard, and see my charges. "

"There is no fear?" said George. 

"Not in the least. Our punishment is so formidable, that few will incurit by being refractory. "

"What! then you are obliged to punish them?" said Acme, with a shudder. 

"Sometimes, but not often. I will show you what our punishment consistsin. You see this room without furniture! Observe the walls and floor;and even the door as it closes. All these are carefully stuffed; and ifyou walk across the room, there is no sound. 

"We cautiously search violent lunatics; who are then dressed in a plainflannel suit, and left alone. It is seldom we have occasion to retainthem longer than twenty-four hours. They soon find they cannot injurethemselves; their most violent efforts cannot elicit a sound. Theirminds become calmed; and when released, they are perfectly quiet, andgenerally inclined to melancholy. "

They descended to the court yard, set apart for the men. Its inmateswere pacing it hurriedly; some jabbering to themselves; others withgroups round them, to whom they addressed some quickly delivered jargon. With one or two exceptions, all noticed the entrance of the strangers;and some of them bowed to them, with mock gravity. One man, who wore anold cocked hat with a shabby feather, tapped Sir Henry on the shoulder. 

"Vous me reconnaissez--Napoleon! votre Empereur!"

He wheeled round, and called for his Mamelukes. 

The next moment, a young and interesting looking person came forward, the tears standing in his, eyes, and extended his hand to Acme. 

"Give me yours, " said he, "as a great favour. I was a painter once inNaples--and I went to Rome--and I loved Gianetta Cantieri!"

A more ludicrous incident now occurred. At and since their entrance, our party had heard what seemed the continued bark of a dog. A man onall fours came forward from behind a group, and with unmeaning face, and nostril snuffing up the wind, imitated to perfection the deep bayof a mastiff. 

"That man's peculiarity, " observed the Baron, "is an extraordinary one. He had a cottage near Catania, and had saved some little wealth. Hishouse was one night robbed of all it contained. This misfortune preyedon the man's reason, and he now conceives himself a watch dog. He knowsthe step of every inmate of the asylum, and only barks at strangers. "

From the male court yard, the Baron ushered them to the female, whereinsanity assumed a yet more melancholy shape. 

A pale-faced maniac, with quivering frame, and glaring eye-balls, continued to cry, in a low and piteous tone, "Murder! murder!!murder!!!"

One woman, reclining on the cold pavement, dandled a straw, and calledit her sweet child; while another hugged a misshapen block of wood toher bared breast, and deemed it her true love. 

A third was on her knees, and at regular intervals, bent down hershrivelled body, and devoured the gravel beneath her. 

Acme was happy to leave the scene, and move towards the garden; whichwas extensive, and beautifully laid out. 

As they turned down one of the alleys, they encountered five or six men, drawn up in line, and armed with wooden muskets. 

In front stood Napoleon, who, with stentorian voice, gave the word to"present arms!" then dropping his stick, and taking off his hat toDelme, began to converse familiarly with him, as with his friend EmperorAlexander, as to the efficiency of Poniatowski and his Polish lancers. 

"Poor fellow!" said the Baron, as they moved on. "Never was insanitymore harmless! He was once brigade major to Murat. This is his hour forexercise. Exactly at two, he goes through the scene of Fontainbleau, What will appear to you extraordinary is, that over the five or six menyou saw around him, whose madness has been marked by few distinguishingtraits, he has gradually assumed a superiority, until they now believehim to be, in reality, the Emperor he so unconsciously personates. "

In the garden, which was of considerable size, were placed a number ofswings and whirligigs, in full motion and occupancy. 

On a stuccoed wall, were represented grotesque figures of animalsdancing; opposite to which, one of Terpsichore's votaries, with apaper cap on his head, shaped like a pyramid, was executing agilecapers, whose zeal of purpose would have found infinite favour in theeyes of Laporte. 

Having explored the garden, Delme accompanied the Baron to a small room, where the sculls of the deceased maniacs were ranged on shelves, with asmall biographical note attached to each; and heard with attention, theold man's energetic reasoning, as to these fully demonstrating the truthof Spurzheim's theory. 

Acme, meantime, remained on George's arm, talking to a girl ofthirteen, who had been selected to conduct them to the carriage. 

They entered their names in a book at the lodge, and then, turning tothe benevolent director, paid him some well deserved compliments, forwhich he bowed low and often. 

The young girl, who had been conversing most rationally with Acme, movedforward, and made a signal for the carriage to drive up. 

She was a fair-haired gentle-looking creature, with quiet eye, andsilvery voice. She assisted Acme to step into the carriage, whodropped a piece of silver into her hand, for which she gave a sweetsmile and a curtsey. 

She stood a moment motionless. Suddenly her eye lighted up--she dartedinto the carriage, and clapped her hands together joyfully. 

"Viva! viva! we shall soon be home at Trapani!"

The tears sprang to the eyes of the young Greek. 

Even the driver and cicerone were moved. 

Acme took some flowers from her zone--kissed her cheek--and tried tochange the current of her thoughts; but it was not till the driverpromised he would call again, at the same hour the following day, thatshe consented with a sigh to relinquish her journey home. 

From the Lunatic Asylum, our party adjourned to the Duomo, and beheldthe coffin, where the revered body of the Palermitan Saint, attractsmany a devout Catholic. 

Sweet Rosalia! thy story is a pretty one--thy festa beauteous--thefireworks in thy honour most bright. No wonder the fair Sicilians adorethy memory. 

In the cool of the evening, our travellers drove to the Marina; wherecustom--the crowded assemblage--and the grateful sea breeze--nightlyattract the gay inhabitants of Palermo. 

The carriages, with their epauletted chasseurs, swept on in giddysuccession, and made a scene quite as imposing as is witnessed in mostEuropean capitals. 

Delme did not think it advisable, to remain too long in the metropolisof Sicily; and the travellers contented themselves, with thesight-seeing of the immediate neighbourhood. 

They admired the mosaics of the Chiesa di Monte Reale; and fed thepheasants, at that beautiful royal villa, well styled "the Favourite. "They took a boat to witness the tunny fishery; and Sir Henry exploredalone the vast catacombs--that city of the dead. 

After a few days thus passed--the weather continuing uncommonlyfine--they did not hesitate to engage one of the small vessels of theplace, to convey them to Naples. 

After enjoying their evening drive as usual, they embarked on board theSparonara, one fine starry night, in order to get the full advantage ofthe favouring night breeze. 

End of the First Volume. 

A Love Story

by

A Bushman. 

Vol. II. 

 "My thoughts, like swallows, skim the main, And bear my spirit back again Over the earth, and through the air, A wild bird and a wanderer. "

1841. 

A Love Story. 

Chapter I. 

Naples. 

 "And be it mine to muse there, mine to glide From day-break when the mountain pales his fire, Yet more and more, and from the mountain top, Till then invisible, a smoke ascends, Solemn and slow. "

 "Vedi Napoli! e poi muori!"

Memory! beloved memory! to us thou art as hope to other men. Thepresent--solitary, unexciting--where are its charms? The future hath nojoys in store for us; and may bereave us of some of the few faintpleasures that still are ours. 

What then is left us--old before our time--but to banquet on the past?

Memory! thou art in us, as the basil of the enamouredFlorentine. [Footnote 1: See Keats' poem taken from Boccaccio. ] Thyblossoms, thy leaves, --green, fresh, and fragrant, --draw their nurture, receive their every colouring, from what was dearest to us on earth. Andare they not watered by our tears?

The poet tells us--

 "Nessun maggior dolore Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria. "

But it is not so. Where is he of the tribe of the unfortunate, who wouldnot gladly barter the contemplation of present wretchedness, for theremembrance, clogged as it is by a thousand woes, of a time when joyousvisions flitted across life's path?

Yes! though the contrast, the succeeding moment, should cut him to thesoul. 

But

 "Joy's recollection is no longer joy, Whilst sorrow's memory is a sorrow still. "

Ah! there's the rub! yet, better to think it _was_ joy, than gaze unveiledon the cold reality around; than view the wreck--the grievous wreck--afew short years have made. 

We care not, --and, alas! to such as we have in our mind's eye, these arethe only cases allowed, --we care not! whether rapture has been succeededby apathy, or whether the feelings continue as deeply enlisted--thethoughts as intensely concentrated;--but--in the servitude of despair!

And again we say--gentle memory! let us dream over our past joys! ay! andbrood over our sorrows--undeserved--as in this hour of solitude, we mayjustly deem them. 

Yes! let us again live over our days of suffering, and deem it wiser tosteep our soul in tears, than let it freeze with an iced coating of cynicmiscalled philosophy. 

And shall adversity--that touchstone--softened as our hearts shall thusbe--shall it pass over us, and improve us not?

No! it has purifying and cleansing qualities; and for us, it has themnot in vain. 

We are not dust, to be more defiled by water; nor are we as the turbidstream, which passing over driven snow, becomes more impure by theclose contact. 

Thee, Mnemosyne! let us still adore; content rather to droop, fade, anddie--martyrs to thee! than linger on as beasts of the forest, that knowthee not. No hope may be ours to animate the future: let us still cling tothee, though thine influence sadden the past. 

Away! we are on the placid sea! and Naples lies before us. 

The sun had just risen from ocean's bed, attired in his robe of gold; asour travellers watched from the deck of their Sparonara, to catch thefirst view of the "garden of the world, " as the Neapolitans fondly styletheir city, A dim haze was abroad, the mists were slowly stealing up the mountains, astheir vessel glided on; a light breeze anon filling its canvas, then dyingaway, and leaving the sails to flap against the loosened cordage. 

On their left, extended the charming heights of Posilipo---the classicsite of Baia--Pozzuoli--Nisida--and Ischia, to be reverenced for its wine. 

On their right, Capra's isle and Portici--and Vesuvius--wreathed invapour, presented themselves. 

As their vessel held on her way, Naples became visible--its turrets captby a solitary cloud, which had not yet acknowledged the supremacy of therising deity. 

The effulgence of the city was dimmed, but it was lovely still, --as adiamond, obscured by a passing breath; or woman's eye, humid frompity's tear. 

"And this, " said Sir Henry, for it happened that his travels in Italy hadnot extended so far south, "this is Naples! and this sea view the secondfinest in the world!"

"Which is the first?" said Acme, laughing, "not in England, I trust; forwe foreigners do not invest your island with beauty's attributes. "

"My dear Acme!" replied Sir Henry, somewhat gravely, "I trust the day mayarrive, when you will deem Delme Park, with its mansion bronzed bytime--its many hillocks studded with ancient trees--its glistening brook, and hoary gateways--its wooded avenue, where the rooks have built forgenerations--its verdant glades, where the deer have long found ahome:--when you will consider all these, as forming as fair a prospect, asever eye reposed on. But I did not allude at the time to England; but tothe Turkish capital. George! I remember your glowing description of yourtrip in Mildmay's frigate, up the Dardanelles. What comparison would youmake between the two scenes?"

"I confess to have been much disappointed, " replied George, "in my firstview of Stamboul; and even the beauty of the passage to the Dardanelles, seemed to me to have been exaggerated. But what really _did_ strike me, asbeing the most varied, the most interesting scenery I had ever witnessed, was that which greeted us, on an excursion we made in a row boat, from theBosphorus into the Black Sea. 

"There all my floating conceptions of Oriental luxury, and of Moslem pomp, were more than realised. 

"The elegant kiosks--the ornamented gardens--the pinnacled harems, theentrance to which lofty barriers jealously guarded--the number of thetombs in their silent cities---gave an intense interest to the Turkishcoast;--while sumptuous barges, filled with veiled women, swept by us, andgave a fairy charm to the sea. On our return, we were nearly lost from ourignorance of the current, which is rapid and dangerous. "

"Well! I am glad to hear such a smiling account of Stamboul, " rejoinedAcme. "My feelings regarding it have been quite Grecian. It has alwaysbeen to me a sort of Ogre city. "

The breeze began to freshen, and the vessel made way fast. 

As they neared the termination of their voyage, some church, or casinobedecked with statues, or fertile glen, whose sides blushed with theluscious grape, opened at every instant, and drew forth their admiration. 

Their little vessel swung to her anchor. 

The busy hum of the restless inhabitants, and the joyous toll of thechurches, announcing one of the never-failing Neapolitan processions, wasborne on the breeze. 

The whole party embarked for the quarantine office, and--once authorisedto join the throng of Naples--soon found themselves in the Strada Toledo, moving towards the Santa Lucia. 

Their hotel was near the mole; its windows commanding an extensive view ofthe purple sea, beyond which the eye took in the changeful volcano; andmany a vista--sunny, smiling, and beauteous enough, for the exacting fancyof an Englishman, who conjures up for an Italian landscape, marble-likevillas--and porticoes, where grapes cluster, in festoons of thevine--heaving mountains--a purple sky--faces bronzed, but oh howfair!--and song, revelry, and grace. 

But what struck Acme, and even Sir Henry, who was more inured to the whirlof cities, as the characteristical feature of Naples, was its moving life. In the streets, there was an incessant bustle from morning until midnight. Each passer by wore an air of importance, almost amounting to aconsciousness of happiness. There was fire in the glance--speech in theaction--on the lip a ready smile. 

In no city of Italy, does care seem more misplaced. The noble rolls on inhis vehicle on the Corso, with features gay and self-possessed; while themerry laugh of the beggar--as he feasts on the lengthened honors of hisMacaroni--greets the ear at every turn. Stray not there! oh thou with browfurrowed by anguish!

If thy young affections have been blighted--if hope fondly indulged, bereplaced by despair--if feelings that lent their roseate hue, to thecommonest occurrences of life, now darken every scene--if thou knowestthyself the accessary to this, thy misery, stray not in Naples, all toojoyous for thee!

Rather haunt the shrines of the world's ancient mistress! Perchance thesunken pillar--and the marble torso--and the moss-grown edifice--and thesepulchre, with the owl as tenant--and the thought that the great, thegood, and the talented, who reared these fading monuments--are silent andmouldering below: mayhap these things will speak to thy heart, and repressthe full gush of a sorrow that may not be controlled! And if--the martyrto o'er-sicklied refinement--to sentiment too etherialised for the world, where God hath placed thee--ideal woes have stamped a wrinkle on the brow, and ideal dreams now constitute thy pleasure and thy bane: for such asthou art! living on feeling's excess--soaring to rapture's heights--orsinking to despair's abyss--Naples is not fitting!

Visit the city of the sea! there indulge thy shapeless imaginings--with nosound to break thy day dreams--save the shrill cry of the gondolier, andthe splash of his busy oar. 

The young Greek, Delme, and George, were soon immersed in the round ofsight seeing. 

Visits to the ancient palace of Queen Joanna--to the modern villa of theMargravine--to the Sibyl's Cave, and to Maro's Tomb--to _some_ sites thatowed their interest to classic associations--to _others_ that claimed itfrom present beauty--wiled away days swiftly and pleasurably. 

What with youth, change of scene, and an Italian sky, George was nolonger an invalid. His eye wore neither the film of apathy, nor theunnatural flush of delirium; but smiled its happiness on all, and beamedits love on Acme. 

One night they were at the Fondo, and after listening delightedly toLalande, and following with quick glance, the rapid movements of the agileballerina, and after George had been honoured by a bow--which greatlyamused Acme--from the beautiful princess; who, poor girl! _then_ felt apenchant for Englishmen, which she failed not to avow from her operabox--the party agreed to walk home to the hotel. On their way, they turnedinto a coffee-room to take ice. 

The fluent waiter prattled over his catalogue; and Acme selected his"sorbetto Maltese, " because the name reminded her of the loved island. 

Leaving the coffee-room, they were accosted by a driver of one of thepublic coaches. 

"Now, Signore! just in time for Vesuvius! See the sun rise! superb sight!elegant carriage!"

"Do let us go!" said Acme, clapping her hands with youthful enthusiasm. 

"No, no! my dear!" said Sir Henry, "we must not think of it! you would beso tired. "

"No, no! you do not know how strong I am; and I intend sleeping onGeorge's shoulder all the way--and we are all in such high spirits--andthese improvised excursions you yourself granted were always best--andbesides, you know we must always start at this hour, if we expect to seethe sunrise from the mountain. What do _you_ say, Giorgio?"

The discussion ended, by the driver taking the direction of the hotel;whence, after making arrangements as to provisions and change of dress, the party started for the mountain. 

The warm cheek of Acme was reposing on that of her husband; and the wantonnight air was disporting with her wavy tresses, as the loud halloo of thedriver, warned them that they were in Portici, and in the act of arousingSalvador, the guide to the mountain. After some short delay, they procuredmules. Each brother armed himself with a long staff, and leaving thecarriage, they wended their way towards the Hermitage. 

It was a clear night. The moon was majestically gliding on her path, vassalled by myriads of stars. 

There was something in the hour--and the scene--and the novelty of theexcursion--that enjoined silence. 

Arrived at the Hermitage, the party dismounted. Acme clung to the strap, fastened round their guide, and they commenced the ascent. In a shorttime, they had manifest proofs of their vicinity to the volcano. Theashy lava gave way at each footstep, and it was only by taking short andquick steps, and perseveringly toiling on, that they were enabled tomake any progress. 

More than once, was Acme inclined to stop, and take breath, but the guideassured them they were already late, and that they would only just be intime for the sunrise. 

As the last of the party reached the summit, the sun becameperceptible--and rose in glory indescribable. The scene afar how gorgeous!around them how grand!

Panting from their exertions, they sat on a cloak of Salvador's, and gazedwith astonishment at the novelties bursting on the eye. 

Each succeeding moment, gusts of flame issued forth from the crater. 

They looked down on the bason, above which they were. From a conicalpyramid of lava, were emitted volumes of smoke, which rolled up to heavenin rounded and fantastic shapes of beauty. Below, a deep azure--above, ofa clear amber hue--the clouds wreathed and ascended majestically, as ifin time to the rumbling thunder--the accompaniments of nature'ssubterraneous throes. 

Their fatigues were amply repaid. Sir Henry's curiosity was aroused, andhe descended with the guide to the crater. George and Acme, delighted withthe excursion, remained on the summit, partaking of Salvador's provisions. 

The descent they found easy and rapid; the lava now assisting, as much asit had formerly impeded them. 

At Portici, Salvador introduced them to his apartment, embellished withspecimens of lava. They purchased some memorials of their visit--partookof some fruit--and, after rewarding the guide, they returned to Naples. 

Another of their excursions, and it is one than which there are few moreinteresting, was to that city--which, like the fabulous one of the easterntale, rears its temples, but there are none to worship; its theatres, butthere are none to applaud; its marble statues, where are the eyes thatshould dwell on them with pride? Its mansions are many--its walls andtesselated pavements, show colours of vivid hue, and describe talesfamiliar from our boyhood. The priest is at his altar--the soldiers intheir guard-room--the citizen in his bath. It is indeed difficult, as ourstep re-echoes through the silent streets, to divest ourselves of theimpression, that we are wandering where the enchanter's wand has been allpowerful, that he has waved it, and lo! the city sleeps for a season, until some event shall have been fulfilled. 

Our party were in the Via Appia of Pompeii, when Acme turned aside, toremark one tomb more particularly. It was an extensive one, surroundedwith a species of iron net work, through which might be seen ranges of redearthen vases. Acme turned to the custode, and asked if this was theburial place of some noble family. 

"No! Signora! this is where the ashes of the gladiators are preserved. "

From the Appian Way, they entered through the public gate; and passingmany shops, whose signs yet draw notice, if they no longer attract custom, they came to the private houses, and entered one--that calledSallust's--for the purpose of a more minute inspection. 

"Nothing appears to be more strange, " said George, "on looking at thesefrescoed paintings, and on such mosaics as we have yet seen; than theextraordinary familiarity of their subjects. 

"There are many depicted on these walls, and I do not think, Henry, _we_are first rate classics;--and yet it would be difficult to puzzle us, innaming the story whence these frescoes have their birth. Look at thisLatona--and Leda--and the Ariadne abbandonata--and this must certainly bethe blooming Hebe. Ah! and look at this little niche! This grinning littledeity--the facsimile of an Indian idol--must express their idea of thePenates. Strange! is it not?"

"But are you not, " rejoined Sir Henry, "somewhat disappointed in thedwelling-houses? This seems one of the most extensive, and yet, howdiminutive the rooms! and how little of attraction in the wholearrangement, if we except this classic fountain. 

"This I think is a proof, that the ancient Romans must have chiefly passedtheir day abroad--in the temples--the forum--or the baths--and have leftas home tenants none but women, and those unadorned with the toga virilis. 

"These habits may have tended to engender a manlier independence; andto impart to their designs a loftier spirit of enterprise. What sayyou, Acme?"

"I might perhaps answer, " replied Acme, "that the happiness gained, iswell worth the glory lost. But I must not fail to remind you, that--grandas this nation must have been--my poor fallen one was its precursor--itstutor--and its model. "

Hence they wandered to the theatre--the forum--the pantheon--andamphitheatre:--which last, from their converse in the earlier part of theday--fancy failed not to fill with daring combatants. As the guidepointed out the dens for the wild beasts--the passages through which theycame--and the arena for the combat--Sir Henry, like most Britishtravellers, recalled the inimitable story of Thraso, and his lion fight. [Footnote: In Valerius. ]

The following day was devoted to the Studio, and to the inspection of therelics of Pompeii. 

These relics, interesting as they are, yet convey a melancholy lesson tothe contemplative mind. Each modern vanity here has its parallel--eachluxury its archetype. Here may be found the cameoed ring--and the signetseal--and the bodkin--and paint for the frail one's cheek--a cuirass, thata life guardsman might envy--weights--whose elegance of shape charm theeye. Not an article of modern convenience or of domestic comfort, that hasnot its representative. They teach us the trite French lesson. 

 "L'histoire se repete. "

With the exception of these two excursions, and one to Poestum; ourtravellers passed their mornings sight-seeing in Naples, and chiefly atthe Studio, whose grand attraction is the thrilling group of theTaureau Farnese. 

In the cool of the evening, until twilight's hour was past, they droveinto the country, or promenaded in the gardens of the Villa Reale, to thesound of the military band. 

Each night they turned their footsteps towards the Mole; where theyembarked on the unruffled bay. To a young and loving heart--the heart of abride--no pleasure can equal that, of being next the one loved best onearth--at night's still witching hour. The peculiar scenery of Naples, yetmore enhances such pleasure. 

Elsewhere night may boast its azure vault and its silver stars. Cynthiamay ride the heavens in majesty--the water may be serene--and the heartattuned to the night's beauty:--but from the _land_, if discernible--wecan rarely expect much addition to the charms of the scene, and can neverexpect it to form its chief attraction. At Naples it is otherwise. 

Our eyes turn to the Volcano, whose flame, crowning the mountain's summit, crimsons the sky. 

We watch with undiminished interest, its fitful action--now bursting outbrilliantly--now fading, as if about to be extinguished for ever. Seatedbeside George, and thus gazing, what pleasure was Acme's! We need not saytime flew swiftly. Never did happiness meet with more ardent votary thanin that young bride--or find a more ready mirror, on which to reflect herbeaming attributes--than on the features of that bride's husband. 

Their swimming eyes would fill with tears--and their voices sink to thelowest whisper. 

Sir Henry rarely interrupted their converse; but leant his head on theboat's side, and thoughtfully gazed on the placid waters, till he almostdeemed he saw reflected on its surface, the face of one, in whose society_he_ felt he too might be blest. 

But these fancies would not endure long. Delme would quickly arousehimself; and, warned by the lateness of the hour, and feeling thenecessity that existed, for his thinking for the all-engrossed pair, wouldorder the rowers to direct the boat's course homewards. 

Returned to their hotel, it may be that orisons more heavenward, haveissued from hearts more pure. 

Few prayers more full of gratitude, have been whispered by earthlylips, than were breathed by George and his young wife in the solitudeof their chamber. 

How often is such uncommon happiness as this the precursor of evil!

Chapter II. 

The Doctor. 

 "Son port, son air de suffisance, Marquent dans son savoir sa noble confiance. Dans les doctes debats ferme et rempli de coeur, Meme apres sa defaite il tient tete an vainqueur. Voyez, pour gagner temps, quelles lenteurs savantes, Prolongent de ses mots les syllabes trainantes! Tout le monde l'admire, et ne peut concevoir Que dans un cerveau seul loge tant de savoir. "

It was soon after the excursion to Poestum, that a packet of lettersreached the travellers from Malta. These letters had been forwarded fromEngland, on the intelligence reaching Emily, of George's intendedmarriage. They had been redirected to Naples, by Colonel Vavasour, andwere accompanied by a few lines from himself. 

In Sir Henry's communication with his sister, he had prudently thrown aveil, over the distressing part of George's story, and had dwelt warmly, on the beauty and sweetness of temper of Acme Frascati. He could hardlyhope that the proposed marriage, would meet with the entire approval ofthose, to whom he addressed himself. 

The letters in reply, however, only breathed the affectionate overflowingsof kind hearts. Mrs. Glenallan sent her motherly blessing to George; andEmily, in addition to a long communication to her brother, wrote to Acmeas to a beloved sister; begging her to hasten George's return to England, that they might meet one, in whom they must henceforward feel theliveliest interest. 

"How kind they all are, " said George. "I only wish we _were_ with them. "

"And so do I, " said Acme. "How dearly I shall love them all. "

"George!" said Sir Henry, abruptly, "do you know, I think it is quite timewe should move farther north. The weather is getting most oppressive; andwe have nearly exhausted the lions of Naples. "

"With all my heart, " replied George. "I am ready to leave it wheneveryou please. "

On Sir Henry's considering the best mode of conveyance, it occurred tohim, that some danger might arise from the malaria of the Pontine marshes;and indeed, Rome and its environs were represented, at that time, as beingby no means free from this unwelcome visitant. 

Sir Henry enquired if there were any English physicians resident inNaples; and having heard a high eulogium passed by the waiter, on a DoctorPormont, "who attended the noble Consul, and my Lord Rimington, " venturedto enclose his card, with a note, stating that he would be glad of fiveminutes' conversation with that gentleman. 

In a short time, Doctor Pormont was introduced. 

He was a tall man, with very marked features, and a deeply furrowed brow;whose longitudinal folds, however, seemed rather the result of thought orof study, than of age. The length of his nose was rivalled by the width ofhis mouth. When he spoke, he displayed two rows of very clean and veryregular teeth, but which individually narrowed to a sharp point, and gavehis whole features a peculiarly unpleasing expression. His voice washusky--his manners chilling--his converse that of a pedant. 

Doctor Pormont was in many respects a singular man. From childhood, he hadbeen remarkable for stoicism of character. He possessed none of the weakfrailties, or gentle sympathies, which ordinarily belong to human nature. His blood ran cold, like that of a fish. Never had he been known to losehis equanimity of deportment. 

A species of stern principle, however, governed his conduct; and his veryabsence of feeling, made him an impartial physician, and one of the mostsuccessful anatomists of the day. 

What brought him to bustling, sunny Naples, was an unfathomedmystery. Once there, he acquired wealth without anxiety, and patientswithout friends. 

Amongst the many anecdotes, current amongst his professional brethren, asto the blunted feelings of Doctor Pormont, was one, --related of him whenhe was lecturer at a popular London institution. A subject had beenplaced on the anatomist's table, for the purpose of allowing the lecturer, to elucidate to the young students, the advantages of a post mortemexamination, in the determination of diseases. The lecturer dissected ashe proceeded, and was particularly clear and luminous. He even threw lighton the previous habits of the deceased, and showed at what period of life, the germ of decay was probably forming. 

A friend casually enquired, as they left the lecture room, whether thesubject had been a patient of his own. 

"No!" replied the learned lecturer, "the body is that of my cousin andschoolfellow, Harry Welborne. I attended his funeral, at some littledistance from town, a couple of days ago. My servant must have giveninformation to the exhumer. It is clear the body was removed from thevault on the same evening. "

Sir Henry Delme briefly explained to Doctor Pormont, his purpose insending for him. He stated that he was anxious to take his advice, as tothe best mode of proceeding to Rome, and also as to the best sleepingplace for the party;--that he had a wholesome dread of the malaria, butthat one of his party being a female, and another an invalid, he thoughtit might be as well to sleep one night on the road. Regarding all this, hedeferred to the advice and superior judgment of the physician. 

"Judgment, " said Doctor Pormont, "is two-fold. It may be defined, eitheras the faculty of arriving at the knowledge of things, which may beeffected by the synthetic or analytic method; or it may be considered asthe just perception of them, when they are fully indagated. 

"Our problem seems to resolve itself into two cases. 

"First: does malaria exist to an unusual and alarming extent, on the routeyou purpose taking?

"Secondly: the existence conceded--what is the best method to escape theevil effects that might attend its inhibition into the human system?

"Let us apply the synthetic method to our first case. "

The Doctor prefaced his arguments, by a long statement, as to the gradualcommencement, and progress of malaria;--showed how the atmosphere, polluted by exhalations of water, impregnated with decaying and putrifiedvegetable matter, gave forth miasmata; which he described as beingparticles of poison in a volatile state. 

He alluded to the opinion held by many, that the disease owed its originto the ravages of the barbarians, who destroying the Roman farms andvillas, had made _desert_ what were _fertile_ regions. 

He traced it from the time of the late Roman Emperors, to that of thedominion of the Popes, whose legislative enactments to arrest the malady, he failed not to comment on at length. 

He explained the uncertainty which continued to exist, as to theboundaries of the tract of country, in which the disease was rife; andthen plunged into his argument. 

George, at this crisis, quietly took the opportunity of gliding from theroom. Sir Henry stretched his legs on an ottoman, and appeared immersed inthe study of a print--the Europa of Paul Veronese--which hung over themantel-piece. 

"The Diario di Roma, " continued the Doctor, "received this day, decidedlystates that malaria is fearfully raging on the Neapolitan road. Prayforgive me, if I occasionally glide into the vulgar error, of confoundingthe disease itself, with the causes of that disease. 

"On the other hand, a young collegian, who arrived in Naples from Romeyesterday evening, states that he smoked and slept the whole journey, andsuffered no inconvenience whatever. 

"Here two considerations present themselves. While sleep has beenconsidered by the best authorities, as predisposing the human frame toinfection, by opening the pores, relaxing the integuments, and retardingthe circulation of the blood; I cannot overlook the virtues of tobacco, narcotic--aromatic--disinfecting--as we must grant them to be. 

"Here then may I place in juxta-position, the testimony of the Diario, andthat of a young gentleman, half of his time asleep--the other half, underthe influence of the fumes of tobacco. 

"Synthetically, I opine, that we may conclude that malaria does exist, andto a great degree, in the Campagna di Roma. Will you now allow me, tosubmit the question under dispute, to the analytic process? By many, inthe present age, though not by me, it is considered the more philosophicalmode of reasoning. "

"I am extremely obliged to you, Doctor, " said Sir Henry, in a quiet toneof voice, "but you have raised the synthetic structure so admirably, that I think that in this instance we may dispense with your analysis. Pray proceed!"

"Having already shown, then--although your kindness has allowed me to doso but partially--that malaria does indeed exist, it becomes me to show, which is the best mode of avoiding its baneful effects. 

"Injurious as are the miasmata in general, and fatal as are the effects ofthat peculiar form in this country, termed malaria; the diseases theyengender, I apprehend to be rather endemic than epidemic. 

"It would be difficult to determine, to what part of the Campagna, thedisease is at present confined; but I should certainly not advise you, tosleep within the bounds of contagion, for the predisposing effects ofsleep I have already hinted at. 

"Rapid travelling is, in my opinion, the best prophylactic I can prescribe, as besides a certain exhilarating effect on the spirits, the swift passagethrough the air, will remove any spiculae of the marsh miasmata, which maybe hovering near your persons. Air, cheerfulness, and exercise, however, predispose to, and are the results of sleep: and to an invalid especially, sleep is indispensable. 

"In Mr. Delme's case, therefore, I would recommend a temporary halt. "

Dr. Pormont then gave an account of the length of the stages, the natureof the post-house accommodations, and the probable degree of dangerattached to each site. 

From all this, Delme gathered, that malaria existed to some extent, on theline of road they were to travel--that sleep would be necessary forGeorge--and that, on the whole, it would be most desirable to sleep at aninn, situated at a hamlet between Molo di Gaeta and Terracina, somewhatremoved from the central point of danger. 

But the truth is, that Sir Henry Delme was disposed to consider Dr. Pormont, with his pomposity, and wordy arguments, as a mere superficialthinker; and he half laughed at himself, for having ever thought itnecessary to consult him. This class of men influence less than theyought. Sensible persons are apt to set them down, as either fools orpedants. Their very magniloquence condemns them; for, in the present day, it seems an axiom, that simplicity and genius are invariably allied. 

This rule, like most others, has its exceptions; and it would be well forall of us, if we thought less of the manner, in which advice may bedelivered, and more of the matter which it may contain. 

The Doctor rose to take leave, --Sir Henry witnessed his departure withlively satisfaction; and, with the exception of enjoying a hearty laugh, at his expense, with George and Acme, ceased to recollect that such apersonage existed. 

Delme, however, had cause to remember that Doctor Pormont. 

Were it not so, he would not have figured in these pages. 

The last evening they were at Naples, they proceeded, as was theircustom, to the Mole; and there engaging a boat, directed it to be rowedacross the bay. 

The volcano was more than usually brilliant, and the villages at its base, appeared as clear as at noonday. 

The water's surface was not ruffled by a ripple. A bridal party wasfollowing in the wake of their boat--and nuptial music was floating pastthem in subdued cadence. 

A nameless regret filled their minds, as they thought of the journey onthe coming morrow. They had been so happy in Naples. Could they hope to behappier elsewhere?

It was midnight, when they returned to the hotel. As they neared itsportico, the round cold moon fell on the forms of the lazzaroni, who werelying in groups round the pillars. 

One of the party sprang to his feet, alarming the slumberers. The wholeof them rose with admirable cheerfulness--took off their hatsrespectfully--and made way for the forestieri. 

During the momentary pause that ensued, Acme turned to the volcano, andplayfully waved her hand in token of farewell. 

Her eyes filled with tears, and she clung heavily to George's arm. 

She was doomed never to look on that scene again. 

Chapter III. 

The Beginning of the End. 

 "Thou too, art gone! thou loved and lovely one, Whom youth and youth's affections bound to me. "

At an early hour, rich aureate hues yet streaking the east, our party wereduly seated in a roomy carriage of Angrasani's, on their way to Rome. 

They had hopes of arriving at the capital, in time to witness that uniquesight, the illumination of Saint Peter's; a sight which few can remember, without deeming its anticipation well worthy, to urge on the jadedtraveller, to his journey's termination. 

Who can forget the play of the fountains in front of the Vatican, themusic of whose descending water is most distinctly audible, althoughcrowds throng the wide and noble space. 

Breathless--silent all--is the assembled multitude, as the clock of SaintPeter's gives its long expected signal. 

Away! darkness is light! a fairy palace springs before us! itsbeautiful proportions starting into life, until the giddy brain reels, from the excess of that splendour, on which the eye suddenly anddelightedly feasts!

With the exception of a short halt, which afforded the travellers time foran early dinner at the Albergo di Cicerone, which is about half a milefrom the Molo di Gaeta, they prosecuted their journey withoutintermission, till arrived within sight of their resting place. 

This bore the aspect of an extensive, but dilapidated mansion, evidentlydesigned for some other purpose. 

Its proprietor had erected it, at a period, when malaria was either lessprevalent or less dreaded; and his descendants had quitted it, for somemore salubrious site. 

The albergo itself, occupied but a small portion of the building, immediately on the right and left of the porch. 

The other apartments, which formed the wings, were either whollytenantless, or were fitted up as hay-lofts, granaries, or receptacles forfarming utensils. 

In the upper rooms, the panes of glass were broken; and the whole aspectof the place betokened desolation and decay. 

As they drove to the door, a throng of mendicants and squalid peasantscame forth. Their faces had a cadaverous hue, which could not but beremarked. Their eyes, too, seemed heavy, and deep set in the head; whilemany had their throats bandaged, from the effects of glandular swellings, brought on by the marshy exhalations. 

Acme threw some small pieces of Neapolitan money amongst them; and theirgratitude in consequence was boundless. 

She sprang from the carriage like a young fawn. 

"Come, come, Giorgio! look at that sweet sun-set--and at the blue cloudsedged with burnished gold! Would it not be a sin to remain in-doors onsuch an evening? and besides, " added she, in a whisper--"is it not apleasure to leave behind us these sickly faces, to muse on an Italianlandscape, and admire an Italian sky? Driver! will you order supper? Wewill take a stroll while it is preparing. 

"Come! Henry! come away! do not look so grave, or you will make me thinkof your amusing friend--Dr. Pormont. "

"Thompson!" said George, as the smiling bride bore off the brothers intriumph, "do not forget your mistress' guitar case!"

The travellers passed a paved court, in rear of the building; whence awicket gate admitted them to a kitchen garden, well stocked with therequisites for an Italian salad. 

Behind this, enclosed with embankments, was a small vineyard. The vinestwined round long poles, these again being connected with thin cords, which the tendrils were already clasping. 

Thus far, there was nothing that seemed indicative of an unwholesomesituation. As they extended their walk, however, pursuing thecontinuation of the path, that had led them through the vineyard, theyarrived at the edge of a dark sluggish stream, whose surface was nearly ona level with them; and which, gradually becoming broader, at lengthemptied itself into what might be styled a wide and luxuriant marsh, whichabounded with water-fowl. This was studded with small round lakes, andwith islets of an emerald verdure. 

From the bosom of the marsh itself, rose bulrushes and pollard willows, towered over by gigantic noisy reeds. 

The stream was thickly strewn with the pure honours of the water lily. 

If--as Eastern poets tell us--these snowy flowers bathe their charms, when the sun is absent, but lift up their virgin heads, when he looksdown approvingly:--but that, sometimes deceived, on some peerlessdamsel's approaching, they mistake her eye for their loved luminary, andpay to her beauty an abrupt and involuntary homage:--_now_ might theyindeed gaze upward, to greet as fair a face as ever looked down on thewater they bedecked. 

They approached the edge of the marsh, and discovered a rural arbourof faded boughs--the work of children--placed around a couple ofwillow trees. 

Within it, was a rude seat; and some parasitical plant with a deep redflower, had twined round the withered boughs, and mingled fantasticallywith the dead leaves. 

Below the arbour, was a small stone embankment, which prevented thewaters from encroaching, and made the immediate site comparatively freefrom dampness. 

Acme arranged her cloak--took one hand of each of the brothers inhers--and in the exuberance of health and youth--commenced prattling inthat charming domestic strain, which only household intimacy can begetor justify. George leant back in silence, but could have clasped her tohis heart. 

Memory! memory! who that hath a soul, cannot conjure up one such gentlebeing, --while the blood for one moment responds to thy call, and rollsthrough the veins with the tide of earlier and of happier days?

At the extremity of the horizon, was a more extensive lake, than any nearthem. Over this, the sun was setting; tinting its waters with a clear richamber, save in its centre, where, the lake serving as a halo to its glory, a blood-red sun was vividly reflected. 

As the sun descended, one slender ray of light, came quivering andtrembling through the leaves of the arbour. 

This little incident gave rise to a thousand fanciful illustrations on thepart of Acme. Her spirits were as buoyant as a child's; and her playfulmood soon communicated itself to her travelling companions. 

They compared the solitary ray to virtue in loneliness--to the flickeringof a lamp in a tomb--to a star reflected on quicksilver--to the flash of asword cutting through a host of foes--and to the light of genius illumingscenes of poverty and distress. 

Thompson made his appearance, and announced the supper as being ready. 

"This, " said George, good-naturedly, "is an odd place, is it not, Thompson? Is it anything like the Lincolnshire Fens?"

"Not exactly, your honour!" replied the domestic, with perfect gravity, "but there ought to be capital snipe shooting here. "

"Ah! che vero Inglese!" said the laughing Acme. 

They retraced their steps to the inn, and were ushered into the supperroom, which was neither more nor less than the kitchen, although formerly, perhaps, the show room of the mansion. Around the deep-set fireplace, watching the simmering of the cauldron, were grouped some peasants. 

The supper table was laid in one corner of the room; and although neitherthe accommodation nor the viands were very tempting, there was such adisposition to be happy, that the meal was as much enjoyed as if served upin a palace. 

The repast concluded, Acme rose; and observing a countryman with his armbound up, enquired if he had met with an accident; and patiently listenedto the prosy narrative of age. 

An old bronzed husbandman, too, was smoking his short earthen pipe, nearthe window sill. 

"What a study for Lanfranc!" said the happy wife, as she took up a burntstick, and sketched his dried visage to the life. 

The old man regarded his portrait on the wall, with intense satisfaction;and commenced dilating on what he had been in youth. 

How different, thought Sir Henry, is all this from the conduct of a wellbred English girl! yet how natural and amiable does it appear in Acme!With what an endearing manner--with what sweet frankness--does this youngforeigner wile away--what would otherwise have been--a tedious evening inan uncomfortable inn!

As the night advanced, George brought out the guitar; and Acme warbled toits accompaniment like a fairy bird. 

It was a late hour, before Delme ventured to remind the songstress, thatthey must prosecute their journey early on the following morning. 

"I will take your hint, " said Acme, as she shook his hand, and trippedout of the room; "buona sera! miei Signori. "

"She is a dear creature!" said Delme, "She is indeed!" replied his brother, "and I am a fortunate man. Henry! Ithink I shall be jealous of you, one of these days. I do believe she lovesyou as well as she does me!"

The brothers retired. 

Sir Henry's repose was unbroken, until morning dawned; when George enteredhis room in the greatest agitation, and with a face as pale as death, toldhim Acme was ill. 

Delme arose immediately; and at George's earnest solicitation, entered the room. 

Her left cheek, suffused with hectic, rested on one small hand. The otherarm was thrown over the bed-clothes. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds. Herlips murmured indistinctly--the mind was evidently wandering. 

A man and horse were sent express to Naples. The whole of that weary day, George Delme was by Acme's side, preparing cooling drinks, and vainlyendeavouring to be calm. 

As the delirium continued, she seemed to be transported to the scenes ofher early youth, As night wore on, the fever, if it were such, gradually increased. 

George's state of mind bordered on distraction. Sir Henry becameexceedingly alarmed, and anxious for the presence of the medicalattendant. 

At about four o'clock the following morning, Doctor Pormont was announced, Cold and forbidding as was his aspect, George hailed him as his tutelaryangel, and burst into tears, as he implored him to exert his skill to theuttermost. 

The physician approached the invalid, and in a moment saw that the casewas a critical one. 

His patient was bled twice during the day, and strong opiatesadministered. 

Towards evening, she slept; and awoke with restored consciousness, butwith feelings keenly alive to her own danger. 

The following night and day she lingered on, speaking but little. 

During the whole of that time, even, when she slept, George's handremained locked in hers. On this, her tears would sometimes fall, butthese she strove to restrain. 

To the others around her, she spoke gratefully, and with femininesoftness; but her whole heart seemed to be with George. 

Doctor Pormont, to do him justice, was unremitting in his exertions, andhardly took rest. 

All his professional skill was called to her aid; but from the second day, he saw it was in vain. 

The strength of the invalid failed her more and more. 

Doctor Pormont at length called Sir Henry on one side, and informed himthat he entertained no doubt of a fatal result; and recommended his atonce procuring such religious consolation as might be in his power. 

No Protestant clergyman was near at hand, even had Delme thought itadviseable to procure one. 

But he was well aware, that however Acme might have sympathised withGeorge, her earlier religious impressions would now in all probabilitybe revived. 

A Catholic priest was sent for, and arrived quickly. He was habited inthe brown garb of his order, his waist girt with a knotted cord. He borein his hand the sainted pyx, and commenced to shrive the dying girl. 

It was the soft hour of sunset, and the prospect in rear of the mansion, presented a wide sea of rich coloured splendour. 

Over the window, had been placed a sheet, in order to exclude the lightfrom the invalid's chamber. The priest knelt by her bedside; and foldinghis hands together, began to pray. 

The rays of the setting sun, fitfully flickered on the sheet, over whosesurface, light shadows swiftly played, ever and anon glancing on the shornhead of the kneeling friar. 

His intelligent face was expressive of firm belief. 

His eye turned reverentially to heaven, as in deep and sonorous accents, he implored forgiveness for the sufferer, for the sins committed duringher mortal coil. 

Acme sat up in her bed. On her countenance, calm devotion seemed to usurpthe place of earthly affections, and earthly passions. 

The soul was preparing for its upward flight. Delme led away the sorrowinghusband, and the minister of Christ was left alone, to hear the contriteoutpourings of a weak departing sinner. 

The priest left the chamber, but spoke not, either to the physician, orthe expecting brothers. His impassioned glance belonged to another and ahigher world. 

He made one low obeisance--his robes swept the passage quickly--and theFranciscan friar sought his lonely cell to reflect on death. 

The brothers re-entered. They found Acme in the attitude in which they hadleft her--her features wearing an expression at once radiant and resigned. 

But--as her eye met George's--as she saw the havoc grief had alreadymade--the feelings of the woman resumed the mastery. 

She extended her arms--she brought his lip to hers--as if she would havemade _that_ its resting place for ever. 

Alas! an inward pang told her to be brief. She drew away her face, crimsoned with her passion's flush--tremblingly grasped his hand---and, with voice choked by emotion, gave her last farewell. 

"Giorgio, my dearest! my own! I shall soon join my parents. I feelthis--and my mother's words, as she met me by the olive tree, ringin my ear. 

"She told me I should die thus; but she told me, too, that I should killthe one dearest to me on earth. Thank God! this cannot be--for I know mylife to be ebbing fast. 

"Dearest I do not mourn for me too much. You may find another Acme--astrue. But, oh! sometimes--yes! even when your hearts cling fondlytogether, as ours were wont to do--think of your own Acme--who loved youfirst--and only--and does it now! oh! how well! Giorgio! dear! dearest!adieu! My feet are _so, so_ cold--and ice seems"--

A change shadowed the face, as from some corporeal pang. 

She tried to raise an ebony cross hung round her neck. 

In the effort, her features became convulsed--and George heard a lowgurgling in the throat, as from suffocation. 

Ah! that awful precursor of "the first dark hour of nothingness. "

George Delme sprang to his feet, and was supporting her head, when thephysician grasped his arm. 

"Stop! stop! you are preventing"----

The lower lip quivered--and drooped--slightly! very slightly!

The head fell back. 

One long deep drawn sigh shook the exhausted frame. 

The face seemed to become fixed. 

Doctor Pormont extended his hand, and silently closed those darkfringed lids. 

The cold finger, with its harsh touch, once more brought consciousness. 

Once more the lid trembled! there was an upward glance that lookedreproachful!

Another short sigh! Another!

Lustreless and glaring was that once bright eye!

Again the physician extended his hand. 

"Assuredly, gentlemen! vitality hath departed!"

A deep--solemn--awful silence--which not a breath disturbed--came overthat chamber of death. 

It seemed as if the insects had ceased their hum--that twilight hadsuddenly turned to night--that an odour, as of clay, was floating aroundthem, and impregnating the very atmosphere. 

George took the guitar, whose chords were never more to be woke to harmonyby that loved hand, and dashed it to the ground. 

Ere Delme could clasp him, he had staggered to the bedside--and fallenover Acme's still form. 

And did her frame thrill with rapture? did she bound to his caress? didher lip falter from her grateful emotion?--did she bury his cheek in herraven tresses?

No, no! still--still--still were all these! still as death!

Chapter IV. 

Rome. 

 "Woe unto us, not her; for she sleeps well. "

 * * * * *

 "The Niobe of nations! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within her wither'd hands, Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago. The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now; The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers; dost thou flow, Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. "

Undertakers! not one word shall henceforth pass our lips in yourdispraise!

An useful and meritorious tribe are you!

What! though sleek and rosy cheeked, you seem to have little in commonwith the wreck of our hopes?

What! if our ears be shocked by profane jests on the weight of yourburden, as you bear away from the accustomed mansion, what _was_ itslight and its load star--but what _is_--pent up in your dark, narrowtenement, but--

 "A heap, To make men tremble, that never weep. "

What! if our swimming eye--as we follow those dear--dear remains to theirlast lone resting place--glance on the heartless myrmidons, who salute thepasser by with nods of recognition, and smiles of indifference?

What! if, returning homewards--choked with bitter recollections, whichrise fantastic, quick, and ill-defined--the very ghosts of departedscenes and years--what if we start as we then perceive you--lightsome ofheart, and glib of speech--clustered and smirking, on that roof ofnodding plumes--neath which, one short hour since--lay what was dearestto us on earth?

Let us not heed these things! for--light as is the task to traders indeath's dark trappings; painful and soul-subduing are those witheringdetails to the grieving and heart-struck mourner!

We left George lying half insensible by the side of his dead wife. 

Sir Henry and Thompson carried him to the apartment of the former, andwhile Thompson hung over his master, attempting to restoreconsciousness--Delme had a short conference with Doctor Pormont as totheir ulterior proceedings. 

Doctor Pormont--as might be expected--enjoined the greatest promptitude, and recommended that poor Acme's remains, should be consigned to theburial place of the hamlet. 

George's objections to this, however, as soon as he was well enough tocomprehend what was going forward, seemed quite insurmountable; and afterSir Henry had sought the place by moonlight, and found it wild and open, with goats browsing on the unpicturesque graves, and with nothing to markthe sanctity of the spot, save a glaring painted picture of the Virgin, his own prejudices became enlisted, and he consented to proceed to Rome. 

After this decision was made, he found it utterly impossible, to procurea separate conveyance for the corpse; and was equally unsuccessful in hisattempt to procure that--which from being a common want, he had beendisposed to consider of every day attainment--a coffin. 

While his brother made what arrangements he best might, poor Georgereturned to the chamber of death, and gazed long and fixedly--with thedespair of the widower--on those hushed familiar features. 

Her hair was now turned back, and was bound with white ribbon, andfestooned with some of the very water lilies that Acme had admired. Asnow-white wreath bound her brow. It was formed of the white convolvulus. We have said the features were familiar; but oh! how different! The yellowwaxen hue--the heavy stiffened lid--how they affected George Delme, whohad never looked on death before!

First he would gaze with stupid awe--then turn to the window, and attemptto repress his sobs--return again--and refuse to credit his bereavement. Surely the hand moved? No! of its free will shall it never move more! Theeye! was there not a slight convulsion in that long dark lash?

No! over it may crawl the busy fly, and creep the destructive worm, without let, and without hindrance!

No finger shall be raised in its behalf--that lid shall remain closedand passive!

The insect and the reptile shall extend their wanderings over thesmooth cheek, and revel on the lips, whose red once rivalled that ofthe Indian shell. 

Moveless! moveless shall all be!

The long--long night wore on. 

An Italian sunrise was gilding the heavens. 

Acme was never to see a sunrise more; and even this reflection--trite asit may seem, occurring to one, who had watched through the night, by theside of the dead--even this reflection, convulsed again the haggardfeatures of the mourner. 

Delme had made the requisite arrangements during the night, for theirearly departure. 

Just previous to the carriage being announced, he led George out of theroom; whilst the physician, aided by the women, took such precautions asthe heat of the climate rendered necessary. 

Linen cloths, steeped in a solution of chlorate of lime, were closelywound round the body--a rude couch was placed in the inside of thecarriage, which was supported by the two seats--and the carriage itselfwas darkened. 

These preparations concluded--and having parted with DoctorPormont---whose attentions, in spite of his freezing manner, had been verygreat--the brothers commenced their painful task. 

George knelt at the head of the corpse--ejaculated one short ferventprayer--and then, assisted by his brother, bore it in his arms tothe vehicle. 

The Italian peasants, with rare delicacy, witnessed the scene from thewindows of the inn, but did not intrude their presence. 

The body was placed crosswise in the carriage. George sat next thecorpse. Delme sat opposite, regarding his brother with anxious eye. 

Most distressing was that silent journey! It made an impression on SirHenry's mind, that no after events could ever efface; and yet it hadalready been his lot, to witness many scenes of horror, and ride overfields of blood. 

We have said it was a silent journey. George's despair was too deepfor words. 

The first motion of the carriage affected the position of the corpse. George put one arm round it, and kept it immoveable. Sometimes, hisscalding tears would fall on that cold face, whose outline yet preservedits beautiful roundness. 

It appeared to Sir Henry, that he had never seen life and death, soclosely and painfully contrasted. There sat his brother, in the fullenergies of manhood and despair; his features convulsed--his framequivering--his sobs frequent--his pulse quick and disturbed. 

There lay extended his mistress--cold--colourless--silent--unimpassioned. There was life in the breeze that played on her raven tresses--grim deathwas enthroned on the face those tresses swept. 

Not that decay's finger had yet really assailed it; but one of thepeculiar properties of the preservative used by Doctor Pormont, is itspervading sepulchral odour. 

They reached Rome; and the consummation of their task drew nigh. 

Pass we over the husband's last earthly farewell. Pass we over thatsubduing scene, in which Henry assisted George to sever long ringlets, androb the cold finger, of affection's dearest pledge. 

Alas! these might be retained as the legacy of love. 

They were useless as love's memento. Memory, the faithful mirror, forbadethe relic gatherer ever to forget!

Would you know where Acme reposes?

A beautiful burial ground looks towards Rome. It is on a gentle declivityleaning to the south-east, and situated between Mount Aventine and theMonte Testaccio. 

Its avenue is lined with high bushes of marsh roses; and the cemeteryitself, is divided into three rude and impressive terraces. 

_There_ sleeps--in a modest nook, surmounted by the wall-flower, and bycreeping ivy, and by many-coloured shrubs, and by one simple yellowflower, of very peculiar and rare fragrance; a type, as the author ofthese pages deemed, of the wonderful etherialised genius of theman--_there_ sleeps, as posterity will judge him, the first of the poetsof the age we live in--Percy Bysshe Shelley! There too, moulders thatwonderful boy author--John Keats. 

Who can pass his grave, and read that bitter inscription, dictated on hisdeathbed, by the heart-broken enthusiast, without the liveliest emotion?

 "Here lies one, whose name was writ in water. February 4th, 1821. "

The ancient wall of Rome, crowns the ridge of the slope we have described. Above it, stands the pyramid of Caius Caestius, constructed some twentycenturies since. 

Immediately beneath it, in a line with a round tower buried with ivy, andnear the vault of our beautiful countrywoman, Miss Bathurst, who wasthrown from her horse and drowned in the Tiber, may be seen a sarcophagusof rough granite, surmounted by a black marble slab. 

Luxuriant with wild flowers, and studded even in the winter season, withdaisies and violets, the sides of the tomb are now almost concealed. Overthe slab, one rose tree gracefully droops. 

When seen in the dew of the morning, when the cups of the roses are full, and crystal drops, distilling from leaves and flowers, are slowlytrickling on the dark stone, you might think that inanimate nature wasweeping for the doom of beauty. 

Only one word is engraved on that slab. Should you visit Rome, and readit, recollect this story. 

That word is--"Acme!"

 * * * * *

Sir Henry and his brother remained at Rome nearly a month. 

The former, with hopes that the exertion might be useful, in distractingGeorge from the constant contemplation of his loss, plunged at once intothe sight-seeing of "the eternal city. "

Their days were busily passed--in visiting the classic sites of Rome andits neighbourhood--in wandering through the churches and convents--andloitering through the long galleries of the Vatican. 

Delme, fearfully looking back on the scenes that had occurred in Malta, was apprehensive, that George's despair might lead to some violentoutbreak of feeling; and that mind and body might sink simultaneously. 

It was not so. 

That heavy infliction appeared to bear with it a torpedo-like power. Thefirst blow, abrupt and stunning, had paralysed. Afterwards, it seemed tocarry with it a benumbing faculty, which repressed external display. Wesay _seemed_; for there were not wanting indications, even to Sir Henry'spartial eye, that the wound had sunk very deep, The mourner _might_ sink, although he did not writhe. 

In the mornings, George, followed by Thompson, would find his way tothe Protestant burial ground; and weep over the spot where his wifelay interred. 

During the day, he was Sir Henry's constant and gentle companion; givingvent to no passionate display, and uttering few unavailing complaints. Yetit was now, that a symptom of disease first showed itself, which Delmecould not account for. 

George would suddenly lean back, and complain of a spasm on the left sideof the chest. This would occasionally, but rarely, affect the circulation. George's sleep too, was disturbed, and he frequently had to rise from hisbed, and pace the apartment; but this last circumstance, perhaps, was themere result of anxiety of mind. 

Sir Henry, without informing George, consulted a medical gentleman, whowas well known to him, and who happened to be at Rome at the time, regarding these novel symptoms. 

He was reassured by being informed, that these pains were probably of aneuralgic character, and not at all likely to proceed from any organicaffection. 

George Delme's mind was perfectly clear and collected; with theexception, that he would occasionally allude to his loss, in connectionwith some scene or subject of interest before them; and in a tone, andwith language, that, appeared to his brother eccentric, butinexpressibly touching. 

For instance, they were at Tivoli, and in the Syren's grotto, looking upto the foaming fall, which dashes down a rude cleft, formed offantastically shaped rocks. 

Immediately below this, the waters make a semicircular bend. 

On their surface, a mimic rainbow was depicted in vivid colours. 

"Not for me!" burst forth the mourner, "not for me! does the arc ofpromise wear those radiant hues. Prismatic rays once gilded my existence. With Acme they are for ever fled. But look! how the stream dashes on! Thushave the waters of bitterness passed over my soul!"

In the gallery of the Vatican, too, the very statues seemed to speak tohim of his loss. 

"I like not, " would he exclaim, "that disdainful Apollo. Thus cold, callous, and triumphing in the work of destruction, must be the angel ofdeath, who winged the shaft at my bright Acme. 

"May the launching of his arrow, have been but the signal, for hertranslation to a sphere, more pure than this. 

"Let us believe her the habitant of some bright planet, such as shepointed out to us in the Bay of Naples--a seraph with a golden lyre--andshrouded in a white cymar! No, no!" would he continue, turning hisfootsteps towards the adjacent room, where the suffering pangs ofApollo's high priest are painfully told in marble, "let let me rathercontemplate the Laocoon! His agony seems to sympathise with mine--but washis fate as hard? _He_ saw his sons dying before him; could a son, orsons, be as the wife of one's bosom? The serpent twines around him, too, awaking exquisite corporeal pangs, but would it not have been luxury tohave died with my Acme?

"Can the body suffer as the mind?"

At night, reposing from the fatigues of the day, might the brothersfrequently be seen at the fountain of Trevi; George listlessly swingingon the chains near it, and steadfastly watching the water, as it gurgledover the fantastic devices beneath--while his mind wandered back toMalta, and to Acme. 

Sir Henry's conduct during this trying period was most exemplary. Like themother, who lavishes her tenderest endearments on her sickliest child, did he now endeavour to support his brother in his afflictions. 

As the bleak night wind came on, he would arouse George from hisreverie--would make him lean his tall form on his--would wrap closelythe folds of his cloak around him--would speak _so_ softly--and soothe_so_ tenderly. 

And gratefully did George's heart respond to his kindness. He knew thatthe sorrow which bowed _him_ to the earth, was also blanching the cheek ofhis brother, and he loved him doubly for his solicitude. 

Ah! few brothers have thus made sweet the fraternal tie!

Chapter V. 

The East Indian. 

 "Would I not stem A tide of suffering, rather than forego Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm Of those whose thoughts are only turn'd below, Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts that dare not glow?"

From Rome and our care-worn travellers, let us turn to Mrs. Vernon'sdrawing-room at Leamington. 

An unforeseen event suddenly made a considerable change in the hopes andprospects of our fair friend Julia. 

One warm summer's morning--it was on the very day, that the brothers, withAcme, were sailing close to the Calabrian mountains, and the latter wastelling her ghost story, within view of the sweet village of Capo delMarte--one balmy summer's morning, the Miss Vernons were seated in a room, furnished like most English drawing-rooms; that is to say, it had tablesfor trinkets--a superb mirror--a Broadwood piano--an Erard harp--areclining sofa--and a woolly rug, on which slept, dreamt, and snored, asmall Blenheim spaniel. 

Julia had a mahogany frame before her, and was thoughtfully working abeaded purse. 

The hue of health had left her cheek. Its complexion was akin to that oftranslucent alabaster. The features wore a more fixed and regular aspect, and their play was less buoyant and quick changing than heretofore. 

Deep thought! thus has been thy warfare for ever. First, thou stealestfrom the rotund face its joyous dimples; then, dost thou gradually imprintremorseless furrows on the anxious brow. 

A servant entered the room, and bore on a salver a letter addressed toMiss Vernon. 

Its deep black binding--its large coat of arms--bespoke it death'sofficial messenger. 

Julia's cheek blanched as she glanced over its first page. 

Her sisters laid down their work, and looked towards her with somecuriosity. 

Julia burst into tears. 

"Poor uncle Vernon!"

Her sisters seemed surprised at the announcement, but not to participatein Julia's feelings on the occasion. 

One of them took up the letter, which had fallen to the ground, and thetwo read its contents. 

"How very odd!" said they together, "uncle has left you Hornby, andCatesfield, and almost all the property!"

"Has he?" replied Julia, "I could not read it all, for however he mayhave behaved to mamma, I ever found him good and kind; and had alwayshoped, that we might have yet seen him with us once more. Poor old man!and the letter says a lingering illness--how sad to think that we werenot with him to soothe his pillow, and cheer his death bed!"

"Well!" said one of the sisters reddening, "I must say it was his ownfault. He would not live with his nearest relations, who loved him, andtried to make his a happy home--but showed his caprice _then_, as he has_now_. But I will go up stairs, and break it to mamma, and will tell heryou are an heiress. "

"An heiress!" replied Julia, with heart-broken tone! "an heiress!" Thetear quivered in her eye; but before the moisture had formed its liquidbead, to course down her pallid cheek; a thought flashed across her, whichhad almost the power to recal it to its cell. 

That thought comprised the fervency and timidity--the hopes and fears ofwoman's first love. She thought of her last meeting with Sir Henry Delme:of the objections which might now be removed. 

A new vista of happiness seemed to open before her. 

It was but for a moment. 

The blush which that thought called up, faded away--the tear trickledon--her features recovered their serenity--and she turned with a sweetsmile to her sisters. 

"My dear--dear sisters! it is long since we have seen my poor uncle. 

"Affection's ties may have been somewhat loosened. They cannot--I amsure--have been dissolved. 

"Do not think me selfish enough to retain this generous bequest. 

"It may yet be in my power, and it no doubt is, to amend its too partialprovisions. 

"Let us be sisters still--sisters in equality--sisters in love andaffection. "

Julia Vernon was a very noble girl. She lived to become of age, and sheacted up to this her resolve. 

And, now, a few words as to the individual, by whose death the MissVernons acquired such an accession of property. 

The Miss Vernons' father had an only and a younger brother, who at anearly age had embarked for the East, in the civil service. He hadacquired great wealth, and, after a residence of twenty-five years in theBengal Presidency, had returned to England a confirmed bachelor, and awealthy nabob. His brother died, while Mr. Benjamin Vernon was on hispassage home. He arrived in England, and found himself a stranger in hisnative land. 

He shouldered his cane through Regent Street, and wandered in theQuadrant's shade;--and in spite of the novelties that every where methim--in spite of cabs and plated glass--felt perfectly isolated andmiserable. 

It is true, his Indian friends found him out at the Burlington, and theircards adorned his mantelpiece--for Mr. Benjamin Vernon was said to beworth a plum, and to be on the look out for a vacancy in the Directory. 

But although these were indisputably his Indian friends, it appeared toMr. Vernon, that they were no longer his friends of India. They seemed tohim to live in a constant state of unnatural excitement. 

_Some_ prided themselves on being stars in fashion's gayestcircle--others, whom he had hardly known, _were_ fathers--for theirfamilies were educating in England---he now found surrounded by children, on whose provision they were wholly intent. 

These were off at a tangent, "to see Peter Auber, at the India House, "or, "could not wait an instant; they were to meet Josh: Alexanderprecisely at two. "

And then their flippant sons! taking wine with him, forsooth--adjustingtheir neckcloths--and asking "whether he had met their father at Madras orCalcutta?"

This to a true Bengalee!

Nor was this all!

The young renegades ate their curry with a knife!

Others, from whom he had parted years before, shook hands with him at theOriental, as if his presence there was a matter of course; and then askedhim "what he thought of Stanley's speech?"

Now, there are few men breathing, who have their sympathies so keenlyalive--who show and who look for, such warmth of heart---who are sochilled and hurt by indifference--as your bachelor East Indian. 

The married one may solace himself for coldness abroad, by sunny smiles athome;--but the friendless bachelor is sick at heart, unless he encounter ahearty pressure of the hand--an eye that sparkles, as it catches his--aninterested listener to his thousand and one tales of Oriental scenes, andof Oriental good fellowship. 

Mr. Benjamin Vernon soon found this London solitude--it was worse thansolitude--quite insupportable. 

He determined to visit his brother's widow, and left town for Leamington. The brother-in-law felt more than gratified at the cordial welcome thatthere met him. 

His heart responded to their tones of kindness, and the old Indian, in thewarmth of his gratitude, thought he had at length discovered a congenialhome. He plunged into the extreme of dangerous intimacy; and was soondomiciled in Mrs. Vernon's small mansion. 

It is absurd what trifles can extinguish friendships, and estrangeaffection. Mr. Vernon had always had the controul of his hours--loved hishookah, and his after-dinner dose. 

His brother's widow was an amiable person, but a great deal tooindependent, to humour any person's foibles. 

She liked activity, and disliked smoking; and was too matter-of-fact inher ideas, to conceive that these indulgences, merely from force of habit, might have now become absolute necessities. 

Mrs. Vernon first used arguments; which were listened to very patiently, and as systematically disregarded. 

As she thought she knew her ground better, she would occasionally secretethe hookah, and indulge in eloquent discourse, on the injurious effects, and waste of time, that the said hookah entailed. 

Nor could the old man enjoy in peace, his evening slumber. 

One of his nieces was always ready to shake him by the elbow, and addresshim with an expostulatory "Oh! dear uncle!" which, though delivered withsilvery voice, seemed to him deuced provoking. 

For some time, the old Indian good-naturedly acquiesced in thesearrangements; and was far too polite at any time to scold, orhazard a scene. 

Mrs. Vernon was all complacency, and imagined her triumph assured. 

Suddenly the tempest gathered to a head. Bachelor habits regained theirascendancy; and Mrs. Vernon was thunderstruck, when it was one morningduly announced to her, that her brother-in-law had purchased a largeestate in Monmouthshire, and that he intended permanently to reside there. 

Mrs. Vernon was deeply chagrined. 

She thought him ungrateful, and told him so. 

At the outset, our East Indian was anxious that his niece Julia, who hadbeen by far the most tolerant of his bachelor vices, should preside overhis new establishment; but the feelings of the mother and daughter werealike opposed to this arrangement. 

This was the last rock on which he and his brother's widow split; and itwas decisive. 

From that hour, all correspondence between them ceased. 

Arrived in Wales, our nabob endeavoured to attach himself to countrypursuits--purchased adjoining estates--employed many labourers--andgreatly improved his property. But his rural occupations were quite atvariance with his acquired habits. 

He pined away--became hypochondriacal--and died, just three years afterleaving Mrs. Vernon, for want of an Eastern sun, and something to love. 

Chapter VI. 

Veil

"The seal is set. "

On the day fixed for the departure of Sir Henry Delme and his brother, they together visited once more the sumptuous pile of St. Peter's, andheard the voices of the practised choristers swell through the mightydome, as the impressive service of the Catholic Church was performed bythe Pope and his conclave. 

The morning dawn had seen George, as was his daily custom in Rome, kneeling beside the grave of Acme, and breathing a prayer for theirblissful reunion in heaven. 

As the widower staggered from that spot, the thought crossed him, andbitterly poignant was that thought, that now might he bid a secondearthly farewell, to what had been his pride, and household solace. 

Now, indeed, "was the last link broken. " Each hour--each traversedleague--was to bear him away from even the remains of his heart'streasure. 

Their bones must moulder in a different soil. 

It was Sir Henry's choice that they should on that day visit SaintPeter's; and well might the travellers leave Rome with so unequalled anobject fresh in the mind's eye. 

Whether we gaze on its exterior of faultless proportions--or on theinternal arrangement, where perfect symmetry reigns;--whether we considerthe glowing canvas--or the inspired marble, --or the rich mosaics;--whetherwith the enthusiasm of the devotee, we bend before those gorgeous shrines;or with the comparative apathy of a cosmopolite, reflect on the historicalrecollections with which that edifice--the focus of the rays ofCatholicism--teems and must teem forever;--we must in truth acknowledge, that _there_ alone is the one matchless temple, in strict and perfectharmony with Imperial Rome. 

Gazing there--or recalling in after years its unclouded majesty--thedelighted pilgrim knows neither shade of disappointment--nor doth heharbour one thought of decay. 

Where is the other building in the "eternal city, " of which we can saythus much?

Sir Henry Delme had engaged a vettura, which was to convey them with thesame horses as far as Florence. 

This arrangement made them masters of their own time, and was perhaps intheir case, the best that could be adopted; for slowness of progress, which is its greatest objection, was rather desirable in George's thenstate of health. 

As is customary, Delme made an advance to the vetturino, who usually bindshimself to defray all the expenses at the inns on the road. 

The travellers dined early--left Rome in the afternoon--and proposedpushing on to Neppi during the night. 

When about four miles on their journey, Delme observed a mausoleum on theside of the road, which appeared of ancient date, and rather curiousconstruction. 

On consulting his guide-book, he found it designated as the tomb of Nero. 

On examining its inscription, he saw that it was erected to the memory ofa Prefect of Sardinia; and he inwardly determined to distrust hisguide-book on all future occasions. 

The moon was up as they reached the post-house of Storta. 

The inn, or rather tavern, was a small wretched looking building, with alarge courtyard attached, but the stables appeared nearly--if notquite--untenanted. 

Sir Henry's surprise and anger were great, when the driver, coollystopping his horses, commenced taking off their harness;--and informed thetravellers, that _there_ must they remain, until he had received someinstructions from his owner, which he expected by a vettura leaving Romeat a later hour. 

It was in vain that the brothers expostulated, and reminded him ofhis agreement to stop when they pleased, expressing theirdetermination to proceed. 

The driver was dogged and unmoved; and the travellers had neglectedto draw up a written bargain, which is a precaution absolutelynecessary in Italy. 

They soon found they had no alternative but to submit. It was with a verybad grace they did so, for Englishmen have a due abhorrence of imposition. 

They at length stepped from the vehicle--indulged in some vehementremonstrances--smiled at Thompson's voluble execrations, which they foundwere equally unavailing--and were finally obliged to give up the point. 

They were shown into a small room. The chief inmates were some Papalsoldiers of ruffianly air, engaged in the clamorous game of moro. Unlikethe close shorn Englishmen, their beards and mustachios, were allowed togrow to such length, as to hide the greater part of the face. 

Their animated gestures and savage countenances, would have accorded wellwith a bandit group by Salvator. 

The landlord, an obsequious little man, with face pregnant withmischievous cunning, was watching with interest, the turns of the game;and assisting his guests, to quaff his vino ordinario, which Sir Henryafterwards found was ordinary enough. 

Delme's equanimity of temper was already considerably disturbed. 

The scanty accommodation afforded them, by no means diminished his choler;which he began to expend on the obstinate driver, who had followed theminto the room, and was busily placing chairs round one of the tables. 

"See what you can get for supper, you rascal!"

"Signore! there are some excellent fowls, and the very best wine ofVelletri. "

The wine was produced and proved vinegar. 

The host bustled away loud in its praise, and a few seconds afterwards, the dying shriek of a veteran tenant of the poultry yard, warned them thatsupper was preparing. 

"Thompson!" said George, rather languidly, "do, like a good fellow, seethat they put no garlic with the fowl!"

"I will, Sir, " replied the domestic; "and the wine, Mr. George, seems noneof the best. I have a flask of brandy in the rumble. "

"Just the thing!" said Sir Henry. 

To their surprise, the landlord proffered sugar and lemons. 

Sir Henry's countenance somewhat brightened, and he declared he wouldmake punch. 

Punch! thou just type of matrimony! thy ingredients of sweets and bittersso artfully blended, that we know not which predominate, --so deceptive, too, that we imbibe long and potent draughts, nor awake to a consciousnessof thy power, till awoke by headache. 

Hail to thee! all hail!

Thy very name, eked out by thine appropriate receptacle, recals rapturespast--bids us appreciate joys present--and enjoins us duly to reverencethee, if we hope for joys in futurity. 

A bowl of punch! each merry bacchanal rises at the call!

Moderate bacchanals all! for where is the abandoned sot, who would notrather dole out his filthy lucre, on an increase of the merealchohol--than expend it on those grateful adjuncts, which, throwing agraceful veil over that spirit's grossness, impart to it its chief and itsbest attraction. 

Up rises then each hearty bacchanal! thrice waving the clear tinklingcrystal, ere he emits that joyful burst, fresh from the heart, which fromhis uncontrolled emotion, meets the ear husky and indistinct. 

Delme squeezed the lemons into not a bad substitute for a bowl, viz. A redearthen vase of rough workmanship, but elegant shape, somewhat resemblinga modern wine cooler. 

George stood at the inn door, wistfully looking upward; when he remarkedan intelligent boy of fourteen, with dark piercing eyes, observing himsomewhat earnestly. 

On finding he was noticed, he approached with an air of ingenuousembarrassment--pulled off his cap--and said in a tone of enquiry, "Un Signore Inglese?"

"Yes! my fine fellow! Do you know anything of me or the English?"

"Oh yes!" replied the boy with vivacity, replacing his cap, "I havetravelled in England, and like London very much. "

George conversed with him for some time; and found him to be one of thatclass, whose numbers make us unmindful of their wants or theirloneliness; who eke out a miserable pittance, by carrying busts ofplaster-of-Paris--grinding on an organ--or displaying through Europe, the tricks of some poodle dog, or the eccentricities of a monkeydisguised in scarlet. 

It is rare that these come from a part of Italy so far south; but itappeared in this instance, that Giuseppe's father being a carrier, hadtaken him with him to Milan--had there met a friend, rich in an organ andporcupine--and had entrusted the boy to his care, in order that he mightsee the world, and make his fortune. 

Giuseppe gave a narrative of some little events, that had occurred to himduring his wanderings, which greatly interested George; and he finallyconcluded, by saying that his father had now retired to his native placeat Barberini, where many strangers came to see the "antichita. " George, on referring to the guide book, found that this was indeed the case; andthat Isola Barberini is marked as the site of ancient Veii, the rival ofyoung Rome. 

"And when do you go there, youngster, and how far is it from this?"

"I am going now, Signore, to be in time for supper. It is only a'piccolo giro' across the fields; and looks as well by moonlight as atany other time. "

"Ah!" replied George, "I would be glad to accompany you. Henry, " said he, as he entered the room of the inn, "I am away on a classic excursion toVeii. The night is lovely--I have an excellent guide--and shall be backbefore you have finished your punch making. 

"_Do_ let me go!" and he lowered his voice, and the tears swam in his eyes, "I cannot endure these rude sounds of merriment, and a moonlight walk willat least afford nothing that can _thus_ pain me. "

Sir Henry looked out. The night was perfectly fine. The young peasant, all willingness, had already shouldered his bundle, and was preparing tomove forward. 

"You must not be late, George, " said his brother, assenting to hisproposal. "Do not stay too long about the ruins. Remember that you arestill delicate, and that I shall wait supper for you. "

As the boy led on, George followed him in a foot path, which led throughfields of meadow land, corn, and rye. 

The fire-flies--mimic meteors--were giddily winging their way from bush tobush, --illuming the atmosphere, and imparting to the scene a glitteringbeauty, which a summer night in a northern clime cannot boast. 

As they approached somewhat nearer to the hamlet, their course was overground more rugged; and the disjointed fragments of rocks strewed, and atintervals obstructed, the path. 

The cottages were soon reached. 

The villagers were all in front of their dwellings, taking their last mealfor the day, in the open air. 

The young guide stopped in front of a cottage, a little apart from therest. The family party were seated round a rude table, on which wereplates and napkins. 

Before the master of the house--a wrinkled old man, with long greyhair--was a smoking tureen of bread soup, over which he was in the act ofsprinkling some grated Parmesan cheese. 

A plate of green figs, and a large water melon--the cocomero--made upthe repast. 

"Giuseppe! you are late for supper, " said the old patriarch, as the boyapproached to whisper his introduction of the stranger. 

The old man waved his hand courteously--made a short apology for thehumble viands--and pointed to a vacant seat. 

"Many thanks, " said George, "but my supper already awaits me. I will not, however, interfere with my young guide. Show me the ruins, Giuseppe, and Iwill trouble you no further. "

The boy moved on towards what were indeed ruins, or rather thevestige of such. 

Here a misshapen stone--there a shattered column--decaying walls, overgrown with nettles--arches and caves, choked up with rankvegetation--bespoke remains unheeded, and but rarely visited. 

George threw the boy a piece of silver--heard his repeated cautions asto his way to Storta--and wished him good night, as he hurried back tothe cottage. 

George Delme sat on the shaft of a broken pillar, his face almost buriedin his hands, as he looked around him on a scene once so famous. 

But with him classic feelings were not upper-most. The widowedheart mourned its loneliness; and in that calm hour found the fullrelief of tears. 

The mourner rose, and turned his face homeward, slowly--sadly--butresignedly. 

The heavens had become more overcast--and clouds occasionally werehiding the moon. 

It was with some difficulty that George avoided the pieces of rock whichobstructed the path. 

The road seemed longer, and wilder, than he had previously thought it. 

Suddenly the loud bay of dogs was borne to his ear; and almost, before hehad time to turn from the path, two large hounds brushed past him, followed by a rider--his gun slung before his saddle--and his horsefearlessly clattering over the loose stones. 

The horseman seemed a young Roman farmer. He did not salute, and probablydid not observe our traveller. As the sound from the horse receded, andthe clamour of the dogs died away, a feeling almost akin to alarm crossedGeorge's mind. 

George was one, however, who rarely gave way to vague fears. 

It so happened that he was armed. 

Delancey had made him a present of a brace of pocket pistols, during thedays of their friendship; and, very much to Sir Henry's annoyance, Georgehad been in the habit, since leaving Malta, of constantly carrying theseabout him. 

He strode on without adventure, until entering the field of rye. 

The pathway became very narrow--so that on either side him, he grazedagainst the bearded ears. 

Suddenly he heard a rustling sound. The moon at the moment broke froma dark cloud, and he fancied he discerned a figure near him half hidby the rye. 

Again the moon was shrouded. 

A rustling again ensued. 

George felt a ponderous blow, which, aimed at the left shoulder, struckhis left arm. 

The collar of his coat was instantaneously grasped. 

For a moment, George Delme felt irresolute--then drew a pistol from hispocket and fired. 

The hold was loosened--a man fell at his feet. 

The pistol's flash revealed another figure, which diving into thecorn--fled precipitately. 

Let us turn to Sir Henry Delme and to Thompson. 

For some time after George's departure, they were busily engaged inpreparing supper. 

While they were thus occupied, they noticed that the Papal soldierswhispered much together--but this gave rise to no suspicion ontheir part. 

One by one the soldiers strolled out, and the landlord betook himself tothe kitchen. 

The punch was duly made, and Sir Henry, leaving the room, pacedthoughtfully in front of the inn. 

At length it struck him, that it was almost time for his brother toreturn. 

He was entering the inn, for the purpose of making some enquiries; when hesaw one of the soldiers cross the road hurriedly, and go into thecourtyard, where he was immediately joined by the vetturino. 

Delme turned in to the house, and called for the landlord. 

Before the latter could appear, George rushed into the room. 

His hat was off--his eyes glared wildly--his long hair streamed back, wet with the dews of night. He dragged with him the body of one of thesoldiers; and threw it with supernatural strength into the very centreof the room. 

"Supper!" said he, "ha, ha, ha! _I_ have brought you supper!"

The man was quite dead. 

The bullet had pierced his neck and throat. The blood was yet flowing, andhad dabbled the white vest. His beard and hair were clotted with gore. 

Shocked as Sir Henry was, the truth flashed on him. He lost not a momentin beckoning to Thompson, and rushing towards the stable. The driver wasstill there, conversing with the soldier. 

As Sir Henry approached, they evinced involuntary confusion; and thevetturino---at once unmanned--fell on his knees, and commenced aconfession. 

They were dragged into the inn, and the officers of justice were sent for. 

Sir Henry Delme's anxious regards were now directed to his brother. 

George had taken a seat near the corpse; and was sternly regarding it withfixed, steady, and unflinching gaze. 

It is certainly very fearful to mark the dead--with pallidcomplexion--glazed eye--limbs fast stiffening--and gouts ofblood--standing from out the face, like crimson excrescences on adiseased leaf. 

But it is far more fearful than even this, to look on one, who is boundto us by the nearest and most cherished ties--with cheek yetglowing--expression's flush mantling still--and yet to doubt whether theintellect, which adorned that frame--the jewel in the casket--hath not forever left its earthly tenement. 

Chapter VII. 

The Vetturini. 

 "Far other scene is Thrasymene now. "

 * * * * *

 "Fair Florence! at thy day's decline When came the shade from Appennine, And suddenly on blade and bower The fire-flies shed the sparkling shower, As if all heaven to earth had sent Each star that gems the firmament; 'Twas sweet at that enchanting hour, To bathe in fragrance of the Italian clime, By Arno's stream. "

The brothers were detained a few days at Storta; while the Roman police, who, to do them justice, were active on the occasion, and showed everyanxiety to give the travellers as little trouble as possible--wereinvestigating the occurrences we have described. It appeared that somesuspicion had previously attached itself to Vittore Santado, and that theeyes of the police had been on him for some time. 

It now became evident, both from his own confession, and subsequentdiscoveries, that this man had for years trafficked in the lives andproperty of others;--and that the charge connected with George, was one ofthe least grave, that would be brought against him. 

It was shown that he was an active agent, in aiding the infamous designsof that inn, on the Italian frontier, whose enormities have given rise tomore than one thrilling tale of fiction, far out-done by thereality--that inn--where the traveller retired to rest--but rose notrefreshed to prosecute his journey:--where--if he slumbered but once, that sleep was his last. 

Until now, his career had been more than usually successful. 

The crafty vetturino had had the art to glean a fair reputation even fromhis crimes. 

More than once, had he induced a solitary traveller to leave the high roadand his carriage, for the purpose of visiting some ruin, or viewing somefamous prospect. 

On such occasions, Vittore's accomplices were in waiting; and theunsuspecting stranger--pillaged and alarmed, would return to the vetturapenniless. 

Vittore would be foremost in his commiseration; and with an air of bluntsincerity, would proffer the use of his purse; such conduct ensuring thegratitude, and the after recommendations of his dupe. 

It is supposed that the vetturino had contemplated rifling the carriage inthe inn yard; but some suspicion as to the servant's not leaving theluggage, and the sort of dog fidelity displayed by Thompson towards thebrothers; had induced him rather to sanction an attempt on George duringhis imprudent excursion to Barberini. 

Vittore Santado was executed near the Piazza del Popolo, and to this day, over the chimney-piece of many a Roman peasant, may be seen the tale ofhis crimes--his confessions--and his death; which perused by casualneighbour guests--calls up many a sign of the cross--and devout look ofrustic terror. 

After the incident we have related in the last chapter, George Delme, contrary to Sir Henry's previous misgivings, enjoyed a good night's rest, and arose tolerably calm and refreshed. 

The following night he was attacked with palpitation of the heart. 

His brother and Thompson felt greatly alarmed; but after an hour's severesuffering, the paroxysm left him. 

Nothing further occurred at Storta, to induce them to attach very greatimportance to the shock George's nerves had experienced; but in afterlife, Sir Henry always thought, he could date many fatal symptoms fromthat hour of intense excitement. 

Delme was in Rome two days; during which period, his depositions, asconnected with Santado, were taken down; and he was informed that hispresence during the trial would not be insisted on. 

Delme took that opportunity again to consult his medical friend; whoaccompanied him to Storta, to visit George; and prescribed a regimencalculated to invigorate the general system. 

He directed Delme not to be alarmed, should the paroxysm return; andrecommended, that during the attack, George should lie down quietly--andtake twenty drops of Battley's solution of opium in a wine glass of water. 

As his friend did not appear alarmed, Delme's mind was once moreassured; and he prepared to continue their journey to Florence, by theway of Perugia. 

Punctual to his time, the new vetturino--as to whose selection Sir Henryhad been very particular--arrived at Storta; and the whole party, withgreat willingness left the wretched inn, and its suspicious inmates. 

There certainly could not be a greater contrast, than between the twoVetturini. 

Vittore Santado was a Roman; young--inclined to corpulency---oilyfaced--plausible--and a most consummate rascal. 

Pietro Molini was a Milanese;--elderly--with hardly an ounce of flesh onhis body--with face scored and furrowed like the surface of the hedgepippin--rough in his manners--and the most honest of his tribe. 

Poor Pietro Molini! never did driver give more cheering halloo tofour-footed beast! or with spirit more elate, deliver in the drawlingpatois of his native paesi, some ditty commemorative of Northern liberty!Honest Pietro! thy wishes were contained within a small compass! thylittle brown cur, snarling and bandy-legged--thy raw-boned steeds--thesewere thy first care;--the safety of thy conveyance, and its variousinmates, the second. 

To thee--the most delightful melody in this wide world, was the jinglingof thy horses' bells, as all cautiously and slowly they jogged on theirway:--the most discordant sound in nature, the short husky cough, emittedfrom the carcase of one of these, as disease and continued fatigue madetheir sure inroads. 

Poor simple Pietro! his only pride was encased in his breeches pocket, andit lay in a few scraps of paper--remembrances of his passengers. 

One and all lavished praise on Pietro!

Yes! we have him again before us as we write--his ill-looking, but easycarriage--his three steeds--the rude harness, eked out with clusteringknots of rope--and the happy driver, seated on a narrow bench, juttingover the backs of his wheelers, as he contentedly whiffs from his smallred clay pipe--at intervals dropping off in a dose, with his cur on hislap. At such a time, with what perfect nonchalance would he open his largegrey eyes, when recalled to the sense of his duties, by the volublybreathed execration of some rival whip--and with what a silent look ofineffable contempt, would he direct his horses to the side of the road, and again steep his senses in quiescent repose. 

At night, Pietro's importance would sensibly increase, as after rubbingdown the hides of his favourites, and dropping into the capacious mangerthe variegated oats; he would wait on his passengers to arrange the hourof departure--would accept the proffered glass of wine, and give utteranceto his ready joke. 

A King might have envied Pietro Molini, as---the straw rustling beneathhim--he laid down in his hairy capote, almost between the legs of hisfavourite horse. 

To do so will be to anticipate some years!

Yet we would fain relate the end of the Vetturino. 

Crossing from Basle to Strasbourg, in the depth of winter, and descendingan undulated valley, Pietro slept as usual. 

Implicitly relying on the sure footedness of his horses, a fond dream ofGerman beer, German tobacco, and German sauerkraut, soothed his slumbers. 

A fragment of rock had been loosened from its ancient bed, and layacross the road. 

Against this the leader tripped and fell. 

The shock threw Pietro and his dog from their exalted station. 

The pipe, which--whether he were sleeping or waking--had long decked thecheek of the honest driver, now fell from it, and was dashed into athousand pieces. 

It was an evil omen. 

When the carriage was stopped, Pietro Molini was found quite lifeless. Hehad received a kick from the ungrateful heel of his friend Bruno, and thewheel of the carriage, it had been his delight to clean, had passed overthe body of the hapless vetturino. 

Ah! as that news spread! many an ostler of many a nation, shook his headmournfully, and with saddened voice, wondered that the same thing had notoccurred years before. 

At the time, however, to which we allude--viz. , the commencement of theacquaintance between our English travellers, and Pietro; the latterthought of anything rather than of leaving a world for which he had anuncommon affection. 

He and Thompson soon became staunch allies; and the want of a commonlanguage seemed only to cement their union. 

Not Noblet, in her inimitable performance of the Muette, threw moreexpression into her sweet face--than did Pietro, into the furrowed linesof his bronzed visage, as he endeavoured to explain to his friend someItalian custom, or the reason why he had selected another dish, orother wine; rather than that, to which they had done such justice theprevious day. 

Thompson's gestures and countenance in reply, partook of a more stoicalcharacter; but he was never found wanting, when a companion was needed fora bottle or a pipe. 

Their friendship was not an uninstructive one. 

It would have edified him, who prides himself on his deep knowledge ofhuman nature, or who seizes with avidity on the minuter traits of anation, to note with what attention the English valet, would listen to aMilanese arietta; whose love notes, delivered by the unmusical Pietro, were about as effectively pathetic as the croak of the bull frog in amarsh, or screech of owl sentimentalising in ivied ruin; and to markwith what gravity, the Italian driver would beat his hand against thetable; in tune to "Ben Baxter, " or "The British Grenadiers, " roared outmore Anglico. 

There are two grand routes from Home to Florence:--the one is by Perugia, the other passes through Sienna. The former, which is the one Sir Henryselected, is the most attractive to the ordinary traveller; who is enabledto visit the fall of Terni, Thrasymene, and the temple of Clitumnuss Thefirst, despite its being artificial, is equal in our opinion, to thevaunted Schaffhausen;--the second is hallowed in story;--and the third hasbeen illustrated by Byron. 

 "Pass not unblest the genius of the place! If through the air a zephyr more serene Win to the brow, 'tis his; and if ye trace Along the margin a more eloquent green, If on the heart, the freshness of the scene Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust Of weary life a moment lave it clean With nature's baptism, --'tis to him ye must Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. "

Poor George Delme showed little interest in anything connected withthis journey. Sir Henry embarked on the lake above, in order to see thecascade of Terni in every point of view; and afterwards took hisstation with George, on various ledges of rock below the fall--whencethe eye looks upward, on that mystic scene of havoc, turbulence, andmighty rush of water. 

But the cataract fell in snowy sheet--the waves hissed round the sablerocks--and the rainbow played on the torrent's foam;--but thesepossessed not a charm, to rouse to a sense of their beauty, the sadheart of the invalid. 

Near the lake of Thrasymene, they passed some hours; allowing Pietro toput up his horses at Casa di Piano. Sir Henry, with a Livy in his hand, first proceeded to the small eminence, looking down on the round tower ofBorghetto; and on that insidious pass, which his fancy peopled once more, with the advancing troops of the Consul. 

The soldier felt much interested, and attempted to impart that interest toGeorge; but the widowed husband shook his head mournfully; and it wasevident, that his thoughts were not with Flaminius and his entrappedsoldiers, but with the gentle Acme, mouldering in her lonely grave. 

From Borghetto, they proceeded to the village of Torre, where Delme wasglad to accept the hospitable offer of its Priest, and procure seats forhimself and George, in the balcony of his little cottage. From thispoint, they looked down on the arena of war. 

There it lay, serene and basking in the rays of the meridian sun. 

On either side, were the purple summits of the Gualandra hills. 

Beneath flowed the little rivulet, once choked by the bodies of thecombatants; but which now sparkled gaily through the valley, although atintervals, almost dried up by the fierce heat of summer. 

The lake was tranquil and unruffled--all on its margin, hushed andmoveless. What a contrast to that exciting hour, which Sir Henry wasconjuring up again; when the clang of arms, and crash of squadrons, commingled with the exulting shout, that bespoke the confident hope of thewily Carthaginian; and with that sterner response, which hurled back theindomitable spirit of the unyielding, but despairing Roman!

Our travellers quitted the Papal territories; and entering Tuscany, passedthrough Arezzo, the birth-place of Petrarch; arriving at Florence justprevious to sunset. 

As they reached the Lung' Arno, Pietro put his horses to a fast trot, andrattling over the flagged road, drew up in front of Schneidorff's with anair of greater importance, than his sorry vehicle seemed to warrant. 

The following morning, George Delme was taken by his brother, to visitthe English physician resident at Florence; and again was Delme informed, that change of scene, quiet, and peace of mind, were what his brothermost required. 

George was thinner perhaps, than when at Rome, and his lip had lost itslustrous red; but he concealed his physical sufferings, and always metHenry with the same soft undeviating smile. 

On their first visit to the Tribune, George was struck with the SamianSibyl of Guercino. 

In the glowing lip--the silken cheek--the ivory temple--the eye ofinspiration--the bereaved mourner thought he could trace, some faintresemblance to the lost Acme. Henceforward, it was his greatest pleasure, to remain with eyes fixed on that masterpiece of art. 

Sir Henry Delme, accompanied by the custode, would make himselfacquainted with the wonders of the Florentine gallery; and every now andthen, return to whisper some sentence, in the soothing tones of brotherlykindness. At night, their usual haunt was the public square--where theloggio of Andrea Orcagna presents so much, that may claim attention. 

There stands the David! in the freshness of his youth! proudly regardinghis adversary--ere he overthrow, with the weapon of the herdsman, thehaughty giant. 

The inimitable Perseus, too! the idol of that versatile genius, BenvenutoCellini:--an author! a goldsmith! a cunning artificer in jewels! a founderin bronze! a sculptor in marble! the prince of good fellows! the favoredof princes! the warm friend and daring lover! as we gaze on his gloriousperformance, and see beside it the Hercules, and Cacus of his rival BaccioBandanelli, --we seem to live again in those days, with which Cellini hasmade us so familiar:--and almost naturally regard the back of the bendingfigure, to note if its muscles warrant the stinging sarcasm of Cellini, which we are told at once dispelled the pride of the aspiringartist--"that they resembled cucumbers!"

The rape of the Sabines, too! the white marble glistening in theobscurity, until the rounded shape of the maiden seems to elude the stronggrasp of the Roman!

Will she ever fly from him thus? will the home of her childhood be ever asdear? No! the husband's love shall replace the father's blessing; and theaffections of the daughter, shall yield to the tender yearnings of themother's bosom. 

We marvel not that George's footsteps lingered there!

How often have _we_--martyrs to a hopeless nympholepsy--strayed throughthat piazza, at the self same hour--there deemed that the heart wouldbreak--but never thought that it might slowly wither. 

How often have _we_ gleaned from those beauteous objects around, butaliment to our morbid griefs;--and turning towards the gurgling fountainof Ammonati, and gazing on its trickling waters, have vainly tried toarrest our trickling tears!

Chapter VIII. 

Argua. 

 "There is a tomb in Arqua: rear'd in air, Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose The bones of Laura's lover. "

 * * * * *

 "I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs. "

How glorious is the thrill, which shoots through our frame, as we firstwake to the consciousness of our intellectual power; as we feel thespirit--the undying spirit--ready to burst the gross bonds of flesh, andsoar triumphant, over the sneers of others, and our own mistrust. 

How does each thought seem to swell in our bosom, as if impatient of theconfined tenement--how do the floating ideas congregate--how does eachimpassioned feeling subdue us in turn, and long for a worthy utterance!

This is a very bright moment in the history of our lives. It is one inwhich we feel--indubitably feel--that we are of the fashioning ofGod;--that the light which intellect darts around us, is not the result ofeducation--of maxims inculcated--or of principles instilled;--but that itis a ray caught from the brightness of eternity--that when our waveringpulse has ceased to beat, and the etherialised elements have left thebaser and the useless dust--that ray shall not be quenched; but shallagain be absorbed in the full effulgence from which it emanated. 

Surely then, if such a glorious moment as this, be accorded to even theinferior votaries of knowledge--to the meaner pilgrims, struggling ontowards the resplendent shrines of science:--how must _he_--the divinePetrarch, who could so exquisitely delineate love's hopes and story, as toclothe an earthly passion, with half the attributes of an immortalaffection:--how must _he_ have revelled in the proud sensations calledforth at such a moment!

It is the curse of the poet, that he must perforce leave the goldenatmosphere of loftiest aspirations--step from the magic circle, where allis pure and etherial--and find himself the impotent denizen, of a sombreand an earthly world, It was in the early part of September, that the brothers turned theirbacks on the Etrurian Athens. Their destination was Venice, and theirroute lay through Bologna and Arqua. 

They had been so satisfied, under the guidance of their old vetturino, that Sir Henry made an arrangement, which induced him to be at Florence, at the time of their departure;--and Pietro and Thompson were once moreseated beside each other. 

Before commencing the ascent of the Appennines, our travellers visited thecountry seat of the Archduke; saw the gigantic statue executed by John ofBologna, which frowns over the lake; and at Fonte-buona, cast a farewellglance on Florence, and the ancient Fiesole. 

As they advanced towards Caravigliojo, the mountains began to be moreformidable, and the scenery to lose its smiling character. 

Each step seemed to add to the barrenness of the landscape. 

The wind came howling down from the black volcanic looking ridges--thenswept tempestuously through some deep ravine. 

On either side the road, tall red poles presented themselves, a guide tothe traveller during winter's snows; while, in one exposed gully, werebuilt large stone embankments for his protection--as a Latin inscriptionintimated--from the violence of the gales. 

Few signs of life appeared. 

Here and there, her white kerchief shading a sun-burnt face, a youngBolognese shepherd girl might be seen on some grassy ledge, waving herhand coquettishly; while her neglected flock, with tinkling bell, browsedon the edge of the precipice. As they neared Bologna, however, thescenery changed. 

Festoons of grapes, trained to leafy elms, began to appear--white villaschequered the suburbs--and it was with a pleasurable feeling, that theyneared the peculiar looking city, with its leaning towers, and oldfacades. It is the only one, where the Englishman recals Mrs, Ratcliffe'sharrowing tales; and half expects to see a Schedoni, advancing from somecovered portico. 

The next day found them in the Bolognese gallery, which is the first whichduly impresses the traveller, coming from the north, with the full powersof the art. 

The soul of music seems to dwell in the face of the St. Cecilia; and thecup of maternal anguish to be filled to the brim, as in Guide's Murder ofthe Innocents, the mother clasps to her arms the terrified babe, andstrives to flee from the ruthless destroyer. 

It was on the fourth morning from their arrival in Bologna, that theyapproached the poet's "mansion and his sepulchre. "

As they threaded the green windings of vine covered hills, these graduallyassumed a bolder outline, and, rising in separate cones, formed a sylvanamphitheatre round the lovely village of Arqua. 

The road made an abrupt ascent to the Fontana Petrarca. A large ruinedarch spanned a fine spring, that rushes down the green slope. 

In the church-yard, on the right, is the tomb of Petrarch. 

Its peculiarly bold elevation--the numberless thrilling associationsconnected with the poet--gave a tone and character to the whole scene. Thechiaro-scuro of the landscape, was from the light of his genius--the shadeof his tomb. 

The day was lovely--warm, but not oppressive. The soft green of the hillsand foliage, checked the glare of the flaunting sunbeams. 

The brothers left the carriage to gaze on the sarcophagus of red marble, raised on pilasters; and could not help deeming even the indifferentbronze bust of Petrarch, which surmounts this, to be a superfluousornament in such a scene. 

The surrounding landscape--the dwelling place of the poet--his tomb facingthe heavens, and disdaining even the shadow of trees--the half-effacedinscription of that hallowed shrine--all these seemed appropriate, andmelted the gazer's heart. 

How useless! how intrusive! are the superfluous decorations of art, amidthe simpler scenes of nature. 

Ornament is here misplaced. The feeling heart regrets its presence at thetime, and attempts, albeit in vain, to banish it from after recollections. 

George could not restrain his tears, for he thought of the dead; and theysilently followed their guide to Petrarch's house, now partly used as agranary. Passing through two or three unfinished rooms, whose walls wereadorned with rude frescoes of the lover and his mistress, they were showninto Petrarch's chamber, damp and untenanted. 

In the closet adjoining, were the chair and table consecrated by the poet. 

There did he sit--and write--and muse--and die!

George turned to a tall narrow window, and looked out on a scene, fair andluxuriant as the garden of Eden. 

The rich fig trees, with their peculiar small, high scented fruit, mixedwith the vines that clustered round the lattice. 

The round heads of the full bearing peach trees, dipped down in a leafyslope beneath a grassy walk;--and this thicket of fruit was charminglyenlivened, by bunches of the scarlet pomegranate, now in the pride oftheir blossom. 

The poet's garden alone was neglected--rank herbage choking up itsuncultivated flowers. 

A thousand thoughts filled the mind of George Delme. 

He thought of Laura! of his own Acme!

With swimming glance, he looked round the chamber. 

It was almost without furniture, and without ornament. In a niche, andwithin a glass case, was placed the skeleton of a dumb favourite ofPetrarch's. 

Suddenly George Delme felt a faintness stealing over him:--and heturned to bare his forehead, to catch the slight breeze from belowredolent of sweets. 

This did not relieve him. 

A sharp pain across the chest, and a fluttering at the heart, as of a birdstruggling to be free, succeeded this faintness. 

Another rush of blood to the head:--and a snap, as of some tendon, wasdistinctly felt by the sufferer. 

His mouth filled with blood. 

A small blood-vessel had burst, and temporary insensibility ensued. 

Sir Henry was wholly unprepared for this scene. 

Assisted by Thompson, he bore him to the carriage--sprinkled his face withwater--and administered cordials. 

George's recovery was speedy; and it almost seemed, as if the rupture ofthe vessel had been caused by the irregular circulation, for no furtherbad effects were felt at the time. 

The loss of blood, however, evidently weakened him; and his spasmshenceforward were more frequent. 

He became less able to undergo fatigue; and his mind, probably inconnection with the nervous system, became more than ordinarily excited. 

There was no longer wildness in his actions; but in his thoughts andlanguage, was developed a poetical eccentricity--a morbid sympathy withsurrounding scenes and impressions, which kept Sir Henry Delme in aconstant state of alarm, --and which was very remarkable. 

 * * * * *

"What! at Mestre already, Pietro?" said Sir Henry. 

"Even so, Signore! and here is the gondola to take you on to Venice. "

"Well, Pietro! you must not fail to come and see us at the inn. "

The vetturino touched his hat, with the air of a man who would be verysorry _not_ to see them. 

It was not long ere the glittering prow of the gondola pointed to Venice. 

Before the travellers, rose ocean's Cybele; springing from the waters, like some fairy city, described to youthful ear by aged lip. 

The fantastic dome of St. Mark--the Palladian churches--the columnedpalaces--the sable gondolas shooting through the canals--made its aspect, as is its reality, unique in the world. 

"Beautiful, beautiful city!" said George, his eye lighting up as he spoke, "thou dost indeed look a city of the heart--a resting place for a weariedspirit. And our gondola, Henry, should be of burnished silver; and thoseafar--so noiselessly cutting their way through the glassy surface--thoseshould be angels with golden wings; and, instead of an oar flashingfreely, a snowy wand of mercy should beat back the kissing billows. 

"And Acme, with her George, should sit on the crystal cushion of glory--andwe would wait expectant for you a long long time--and then you should joinus, Henry, with dear Emily. 

"And Thompson should be with us, too, and recline on the steps of our barkas he does now. 

"And together we would sail loving and happy through an amethystine sea. "

During their stay in Venice, George, in spite of his increasing languor, continued to accompany his brother, in his visits to the various objectsof interest which the city can boast. 

The motion of the gondola appeared to have a soothing influence on themind of the invalid. 

He would recline on the cushions, and the fast flowing tears would coursedown his wan cheeks. 

These, however, were far from being a proof of suffering;--they wereevidently a relief to the surcharged spirit. 

One evening, a little before sunset, they found themselves in the crowdedpiazza of Saint Mark. The cafes were thronged with noble Venetians, cometo witness the evening parade of an Austrian regiment. The sounds ofmartial music, swelled above the hum of the multitude; and few couldlisten to those strains, without participating in some degree, in themilitary enthusiasm of the hour. 

But the brothers turned from the pageantry of war, as their eyes fell onthe emblems of Venice free--the minarets of St. Mark, with the horses ofLysippus, a spoil from Byzantium--the flagless poles that once bore thebanners of three tributary states--the highly adorned azure clock--thepalaces of the proud Doges--where Faliero reigned--where Falierosuffered:--these were before them. 

Their steps mechanically turned to the beautiful Campanile. 

George, leaning heavily on Sir Henry's arm, succeeded in gaining thesummit: and they looked down from thence, on that wonderful city. 

They saw the parade dismissed--they heard the bugle's fitful blastproclaim the hour of sunset. The richest hues of crimson and of gold, tinted the opposite heavens; while on those waters, over which thegondolas were swiftly gliding, quivered another city, the magic reflectionof the one beneath them. 

They gazed on the scene in silence, till the grey twilight came on. 

"Now, George! it is getting late, " said Sir Henry. "I wonder whether wecould find some old mariner, who could give us a chaunt from Tasso?"

Descending from the Campanile, Sir Henry made enquiries on the quay, andwith some difficulty found gondoliers, who could still recite from theirfavourite bard. 

Engaging a couple of boats, and placing a singer in each, the brotherswere rowed down the Canale Giudecca--skirted many of the small islands, studding the lagoons; and proceeded towards the Adriatic. 

Gradually the boats parted company, and just as Sir Henry was about tospeak, thinking there might be a mistake as to the directions; thegondolier in the other boat commenced his song, --its deep bass mellowed bydistance, and the intervening waves. The sound was electric. 

It was so exquisitely appropriate to the scene, and harmonised soadmirably, with the associations which Venice is apt to awaken, that onelonged to be able to embody that fleeting sound--to renew its magicinfluence in after years. The pen may depict man's stormy feelings: thesensitive caprice of woman:--the most vivid tints may be imitated on theglowing canvas:--the inspired marble may realise our every idea of thebeauty of form:--a scroll may give us at will, the divine inspiration, ofHandel:--but there are sounds, as there are subtle thoughts, which, awayfrom the scenes, where they have charmed us, can never delight us more. 

It was not until the second boatman answered the song, that the brothersfelt how little the charm lay, in the voice of the gondolier, and that, heard nearer, the sounds were harsh and inharmonious. 

They recited the death of Clorinda; the one renewing the stanza, wheneverthere was a momentary forgetfulness on the part of the other. 

The clock of St. Mark had struck twelve, before the travellers had reachedthe hotel. George had not complained of fatigue, during a day which evenSir Henry thought a trying one; and the latter was willing to hope thathis strength was now increasing. 

Their first design had been to proceed though Switzerland, resting forsome time at Geneva. Their plans were now changed, and Sir Henry Belmedetermined, that their homeward route should be through the Tyrol andBavaria, and eventually down the Rhine. 

He considered that the water carriage, and the very scenes themselves, might prove beneficial to the invalid. 

Thompson was sent over to Mestre, to inform Pietro; and they prepared totake their departure. 

"You have been better in Venice, " said Sir Henry, as they entered thegondola, that was to bear them from the city. "God grant that you may longremain so!"

George shook his head doubtingly. 

"My illness, Henry, is not of the frame alone, although that is fragileand shattered. 

"The body lingers on without suffering; but the mind--a very bright swordin a worthless sheath--is forcing its way through. Some feelings mustremain to the last--gratitude to you--love to dear Emily! Acme, wife of mybosom! when may I join you?"

Chapter IX. 

Inspruck. 

 "Oh there is sweetness in the mountain air, And life, that bloated ease can never hope to share. "

Inspruck! a thousand recollections flash across us, as we pronounce theword!

We were there at a memorable period; when the body of the hero of theTyrol--the brave, the simple-minded Anderl Hofer--was removed from Mantua, where he so nobly met a patriot's death, to the capital of the country, which he had so gallantly defended. 

The event was one, that could not fail to be impressive; and to us it wasdoubly so, for that very period formed an epoch in our lives. 

We had lost! we had suffered! we had mourned! Our mind's strength wasshook. Ordinary remedies were worse than futile. 

We threw ourselves into the heart of the Tyrol, and became resigned ifnot happy. 

Romantic country! did not duty whisper otherwise, how would we fly to thyrugged mountains, and find in the kindly virtues of thine inhabitants, wherewithal to banish misanthropy, and it may be purchase oblivion. 

Noble land! where the chief in his hall--the peasant in his hut--alikeopen their arms with sheltering hospitality, to welcome thestranger--where kindness springs from the heart, and dreams not of sordidgain--where courtesy attends superior rank, without question, but withoutdebasement--where the men are valiant, the women virtuous--where it neededbut a few home-spun heroes--an innkeeper and a friar--to rouse up to armsan entire population, and in a brief space to drive back the Gallicfoeman! Oh! how do we revert with choking sense of gratitude, to the yearswe have spent in thy bosom!

Oh! would that we were again treading the mountain's summit--the rifleour comrade--and a rude countryman, our guide and our companion. 

In vain! in vain! the net of circumstance is over us!

We may struggle! but cannot escape from its close meshes. 

We have said that we were at Inspruck at this period. 

It was our purpose, on the following morning, to take our departure. 

With renewed health, and nerves rebraced, we hoped to combat successfully, a world that had already stung us. 

There was a group near the golden-roofed palace, that attracted ourattention. It consisted of a father and his five sons. 

They were dressed in the costume of the country; wearing a taperinghat, with black ribbons and feather--a short green jerkin--a red vestsurmounted by broad green braces--and short boots tightly laced tothe ancle. 

They formed a picture of free mountaineers. 

We left our lodging, and passed them irresolutely twice or thrice. 

The old man took off his hat to the stranger. 

"Sir! I am of Sand, in Passeyer. 

"Anderl Hofer was my schoolfellow; and these are my boys, whom I havebrought to see all that remains of him. Oh! Sir! they did not conquer him, although the murderers shot him on the bastion; but, as he wrote toPulher--_his_ friend and mine--it was indeed 'in the name, and by the helpof the Lord, that he undertook the voyage, '"

We paced through the city sorrowfully. It was night, as we passed by thechurch of the Holy Cross. 

Solemn music there arrested our footsteps; and we remembered, that highmass would that night be performed, for the soul of the deceased patriot. 

We entered, and drew near the mausoleum of Maximilian the First:--leaningagainst a colossal statue in bronze, and fixing our eyes on a bas reliefon the tomb: one of twenty-four tablets, wrought from Carrara's whitestmarble, by the unrivalled hand of Colin of Malines!

One blaze of glory enveloped the grand altar:--vapours of incense floatedabove:--and the music! oh it went to the soul!

Down! down knelt the assembled throng!

Our mind had been previously attuned to melancholy; it now reeled underits oppression. 

We looked around with tearful eye. Old Theodoric of the Goths seemed tofrown from his pedestal. 

We turned to the statue against which we had leant. 

It was that of a youthful and sinewy warrior. 

We read its inscription. 

Artur, Konig Von England

"Ah! hast _thou_ too thy representative, my country?"

We looked around once more. 

The congregation were prostrate before the mysterious Host; and we alonestood up, gazing with profound awe and reverence on the mystic rite. 

The rough caps of the women almost hid their fair brows. In the upturnedfeatures of the men, what a manly, yet what a devout expression reigned!

Melodiously did the strains proceed from the brazen-balustradedorchestra; while sweet young girls smiled in the chapel of silver, asthey turned to Heaven their deeply-fringed eyes, and invoked pardon fortheir sins. 

Alas! alas! that such as these _should_ err, even in thought! that ourfeelings should so often mislead us, --that our very refinement, shouldbring temptation in its train, --and our fervent enthusiasm, but toofrequently terminate in vice and crime!

Our whole soul was unmanned! and well do we remember the morbid prayer, that we that night offered to the throne of mercy. 

"Pity us! pity us! Creator of all!

"With thousands around, who love--who reverence--whose hearts, in unisonwith ours, tremble at death, yet sigh for eternity;--who gaze with eyeaspiring, although dazzled--as, the curtain of futurity uplifted, fancyrevels in the glorious visions of beatitude:--even here, oh God! hear ourprayer and pity us!

"We are moulded, though faintly, in an angel's form. Endow us with anangel's principles. For ever hush the impure swellings of passion! lullthe stormy tide of contending emotions! let not circumstances overwhelm!

"Receive our past griefs: the griefs of manhood, engrafted on youth; acceptthese tears, falling fast and bitterly! take them as past atonement, --asmute witnesses that we feel:--that reason slumbers not, although passionmay mislead:--that gilded temptation may overcome, and gorgeous pleasureintoxicate:--but that sincere repentance, and bitter remorse, arevisitants too. 

"Oh guide and pity us!"

A cheerless dawn was breaking, and a thick damp mist was lazily hanging onthe water's surface, as our travellers waved the hand to Venice. 

"Fare thee well!" said George, as he rose in the gondola to catch a lastglimpse of the Piazzetta, "sea girt city! decayed memorial of patriciansplendour, and plebeian debasement! of national glory, blended withindividual degradation!--fallen art thou, but fair! It was not withfreshness of heart, I reached thee:--I dwelt not in thee, with thatjocund spirit, whose every working or gives the lip a smile, or moistensthe eye of feeling with a tear. 

"Sad were my emotions! but sadder still, as I recede from thy shores, boundon a distant pilgrimage. Acme! dear Acme! would I were with thee!"

Passing through Treviso, they stopped at Castel Franco, which presents oneof the best specimens of an Italian town, and Italian peasantry, that astranger can meet with. 

At Bassano, they failed not to visit the Municipal Hall, where are theprincipal pictures of Giacomo da Ponte, called after his native town. 

His style is peculiar. 

His pictures are dark to an excess, with here and there a vivid light, introduced with wonderful effect. 

From this town, the ascent of the mountains towards Ospedale is commenced;and the route is one full of interest. 

On the right, lay a low range of country, adorned with vineyards; beyondwhich, the mountains rose in a precipitous ridge, and closed the scenemagnificently. 

The Brenta was then reached, and continued to flow parallel with the road, as far as eye could extend. 

Farther advanced, the mountains presented a landscape more varied:--_here_chequered with hamlets, whose church hells re-echoed in mellow harmony:there--the only break to their majesty, being the rush of the river, as itformed rolling cascades in its rapid route; or beat in sparkling foam, against the large jagged rocks, which opposed its progress. 

At one while, came shooting down the stream, some large raft of timber, manned by adventurous navigators, who, with graceful dexterity, guidedtheir rough bark, clear of the steep banks, and frequent fragments ofrock;--at another--as if to mark a road little frequented, a sharp turnwould bring them on some sandalled damsel, sitting by the road side, adjusting her ringlets. Detected in her toilet, there was a mixture offrankness and modesty, in the way in which she would turn away a blushingface, yet neglect not, with native courtesy, to incline the head, andwave the sun-burnt hand. 

From Ospedale, nearing the bold castle of Pergini, which effectuallycommands the pass; the travellers descended through regions of beauty, tothe ancient Tridentum of Council celebrity. 

The metal roof of its Duomo was glittering in the sunshine; and the Adigewas swiftly sweeping by its fortified walls. 

Leaving Trent, they reached San Michele, nominally the last Italian townon the frontier; but the German language had already prepared them for achange of country. 

The road continued to wind by the Adige, and passing through Lavis, andBronzoli, the brothers halted for the night at Botzen, a clean Germantown, watered by the Eisach. 

The following day's journey, was one that few can take, and deem theirtime misspent. 

Mossy cliffs--flowing cascades--"chiefless castles breaking sternfarewells"--all these were met, and met again, as through Brixen, theyreached the village of Muelks. 

They had intended to have continued their route; but on drawing up at thepost-house, were so struck with the gaiety of the scene, that theydetermined to remain for the night. 

Immediately in rear of the small garden of the inn, and with a gentleslope upwards, a wide piece of meadow land extended. On its brow, waspitched a tent, or rather, a many-coloured awning; and, beside it, a poleadorned with flags. This was the station for expert riflemen, who aimed insuccession at a fluttering bird, held by a silken cord. 

The sloping bank of the hill was covered with spectators. 

Age looked on with sadness, and mourned for departed manhood--youth withenvy, and sighed for its arrival. 

After seeing their bedrooms, George leant on Henry's arm, and, crossingthe garden, they took a by-path, which led towards the tent. 

The strangers were received with respect and cordiality. 

Seats were brought, and placed near the scene of contest. 

The trial of skill over, the victor took advantage, of his right, andselected his partner from the fairest of the peasant girls. 

Shrill pipes struck up a waltz--a little blind boy accompanied these on amandolin--and in a brief space, the hill's flat summit was swarming withlaughing dancers. 

Nor was youth alone enlisted in Terpsichore's service. 

The mother joined in the same dance with the daughter; and notunfrequently tripped with foot as light. 

Twilight came on, and the patriarchs of the village, and with them ourtravellers, adjourned to the inn. 

The matrons led away their reluctant charges, and the youth of the villagealone protracted the revels. 

The brothers seated themselves at a separate table, and watched thevillage supper party, with some interest. 

Bowls of thick soup, with fish swimming in butter, and fruit floating incream, were successively placed in the middle of the table. 

Each old man produced his family spoon, and helped himself with primitivesimplicity:--then lighted his pipe, and told his long tale, till he hadexhausted himself and his hearers. 

Nor must we forget the comely waiter. 

A bunch of keys hanging on one side, --a large leathern purse on theother--with a long boddice, and something like a hoop--she reallyresembled, save that her costume was more homely, one of the portraitsof Vandyke. 

The brothers left Muelks by sunrise, and were not long, ere they reachedthe summit of the Brenner, the loftiest point of the Tyrol. 

From the beautiful town of Gries, embosomed in the deep valley, until theytrod the steep Steinach, the mountain scenery at each step become moreinteresting. The road was cut on the face of a mountain. On one side, frowned the mountain's dark slope; on the other, lay a deep precipice, down which the eye fearfully gazed, and saw naught but the dark fir treesfar far beneath. Dividing that dense wood, a small stream, entangled inthe dark ravine, glided on in graceful windings, and looked more silveryfrom its contrast with the sombre forest. 

At the Steinach Pietro pulled up, to show the travellers the capitalof the Tyrol, and to point in the distance to Hall, famous for itssalt works. 

Casting a hasty glance, on the romantic vale beneath them:--the fairestand most extensive in the northern recesses of the Alps, Sir Henry desiredhis driver to continue his journey. 

They rapidly descended, and passing by the column, commemorative of therepulse of the French and Bavarian armies, soon found themselves theinmates of an hotel in Inspruck. 

Chapter X. 

The Students' Stories. 

 "The lilacs, where the robins built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birth-day-- _The tree_ is living yet. "

At Inspruck, Delme had the advantage of a zealous, if not an appropriateguide, in the red-faced landlord of the hotel, whose youth had been passedin stirring times, which had more than once, required the aid of his arm, and which promised to tax his tongue, to the last day of his life. 

He knew all the heroes of the Tyrolese revolution--if revolution it can becalled--and had his tale to tell of each. 

He had got drunk with Hofer, --had visited Joseph Speckbacker, when hid inhis own stable, --and had confessed more than once to Haspinger, thefighting Capuchin. 

His stories were very characteristic; and, if they did not breathe all thepoetry of patriotism, were at least honest versions, of exploits performedin as pure and disinterested a spirit, as any that have ever graced thesacred name of Liberty. 

After seeing all its sights, and making an excursion to some glaciers inits neighbourhood, Delme and George left the capital of the Tyrol, toproceed by easy stages to Munich. 

In the first day's route, they made the passage of the Zirl, which hasjustly been lauded; and Pietro failed not to point to a crucifix, placedon a jutting rock, which serves to mark the site of Maximilian's cave. 

The travellers took a somewhat late breakfast, at the guitar-makingMittelwald, where chance detained them later than usual. They were stillat some distance from their sleeping place, the hamlet of Wallensee, whenthe rich hues of sunset warned Pietro, that if he would not be benighted, he must urge on his jaded horses. 

The sun's decline was glorious. For a time, vivid streaks of crimson andof gold, crowned the summits of the heaving purple mountains. Gradually, these streaks became fainter, and died away, and rolling, slate-colouredclouds, hung heavily in the west. 

The scene and the air seemed to turn on a sudden, both cold and grey; and, as the road wound through umbrageous forests of pine, night came abruptlyupon them; and it was a relief to the eye, to note the many bright stars, as they shone above the tops of the lofty trees. 

A boding stillness reigned, on which the sound of their carriage wheelsungratefully broke. The rustling of each individual bough had anintonation of its own; and the deep notes of the woodman, endeavouring toforget the thrilling legends of his land, mingled fitfully with the hollowgusts, which came moaning through the leafless branches below. 

Hist! can it be the boisterous revel of the _forst geister_, that meetshis ear? or is it but the chirp of insects, replying from brake tounderwood?

Woodman! stay not thy carol!

Yon sound _may_ be the wild laugh of the Holz Koenig! Better for thee, todeem it the whine of thine own dog, looking from the cottage door, andawaiting but thy presence, to share in the homely meal. 

Arrived on the summit of the hill, the lights of the hamlet at lengthglistened beneath them. The tired steeds, as if aware of the neartermination of their labours, shook their rough manes, and jingled theirbells in gladness. 

An abrupt descent--and they halted, at the inn facing the lake. 

And here may we notice, that it has been a source of wonder to us, thatEnglish tourists, whose ubiquity is great, have not oftener been seenstraying, by the side of the lake of Wallensee. 

A sweeter spot exists not;--whether we rove by its margin, and perpetratea sonnet; limn some graceful tree, hanging over its waters; or gaze on itsunruffled surface, and, noting its aspect so serene, preach from thatplacid text, peace to the wearied breast. 

They were shown into a room in the inn, already thronged with strangers. These were students on their way to Heidelberg. 

They were sitting round a table, almost enveloped in smoke; and werehymning praises to their loved companion--beer. 

As being in harmony with the moustaches, beard, and banditpropensities--which true buerschen delight to cultivate--they receivedthe strangers with an unfriendly stare, and continued to vociferatetheir chorus. 

Sir Henry, a little dismayed at the prospect before them, called for thelandlord and his bill of fare; and had the pleasure of discovering, thatthe provisions had been consumed, and that two hours would elapse, beforemore could be procured. 

At this announcement, Delme looked somewhat blank. One of the students, observing this, approached, and apologising, in English, for theirvoracity, commenced conversing with the landlord, as to the best course tobe pursued towards obtaining supper. 

His comrades, seeing one of their number speaking with the travellers, threw off some part of their reserve, and made way for them at the table. 

George and Henry accepted the proffered seats, although they declinedjoining the drinking party. 

The students, however, did not appear at ease. As if to relieve theirembarrassment, one of them addressed the young man, with whom Sir Henryhad conversed. 

"Carl! it is your turn now! if you have not a song, we must have anoriginal story. "

Carl at once complied, and related the following. 

The First Story. 

Perhaps some of you remember Fritz Hartmann and his friend Leichtberg. They were the founders of the last new liberty club, and were famous at_renowning_. 

These patriots became officers of the Imperial Guard, and at Vienna weresoon known for their friendship and their gallantries. 

Fritz had much sentiment and imagination; but some how or other, this didnot preserve him from inconstancy. 

If he was always kind and gentle, he was not always faithful. 

His old college chums had the privilege of joking him on these subjects;and we always did so without mercy. Fritz would sometimes combat ourassertions, but they ordinarily made him laugh so much, that a strangerwould have deemed he assented to their truth. 

One night after the opera, the friends supped together at Fritz's. 

I was of the party, and brought for my share a few bottles ofJohannisberg, that had been sent me by my uncle from the last vintage. Over these we got more than usually merry, and sang all the songs andchoruses of Mother Heidelberg, till the small hours arrived. The sittingroom we were in, communicated on one side with the bedroom;--on the other, with a little closet, containing nothing but some old trunks. 

This last was closed, but there was a small aperture in the door, overwhich was a slight iron lattice work. 

The officer who had last tenanted Fritz's quarters, had kept pheasantsthere, and had had this made on purpose. 

After one of our songs, Leichtberg attacked Fritz on the old score. 

"Fritz! you very Werter of sentiment! I was amazed to see you with noloves to-night at the opera. Where is the widow with sandy hair? or theactress who gave your _kirschenwasser_ such a benefit? where oursallow-faced friend? or more than all, where may the fair Pole be whosells such charming fruit? Fritz! Fritz! your sudden attachment to grapesis too ominous. "

"Come, Leichtberg!" said Hartmann, laughing, "this is really not fair. Doyou know I think myself very constant, and as to the Pole, I have thoughtof little else for these three months. "

"Not so fast! not so fast! Master Hartmann. Was it not on Wednesday week Imet you arm in arm with the actress? Were you not waltzing with the widowat the Tivoli? have you not"--

"Come, come!" said Fritz, reddening, "let us say no more. I confess tohaving made a fool of myself with the actress, but she begged and prayedto see me once more, ere we parted for ever. With this exception----"

"Yes, yes!" interrupted Leichtberg, "I know you, Master Fritz, and allyour evil doings. Have you heard of our Polish affaire de coeur, Carl?", and he turned to me. 

"No!" replied I, "let me hear it. "

"Well, you must know that a certain friend of ours is very economical, andmarkets for himself. He bargains for fruit and flowers with the peasantgirls, and the prettiest always get his orders, and bring up theirbaskets, and--we will say no more. Well! our friend meets a foreign face, dark eye--Greek contour--and figure indescribable. She brings him home herwell arranged bouquets. He swears her lips are redder than her roses--herbrow whiter than lilies--and her breath--which he stoops to inhale--farsweeter than her jasmines. To his amazement, the young flower girl sees nosuch great attractions in the Imperial Guardsman; leaves hernosegays, --throws his Napoleon, which he had asked her to change, in hisface, --and makes her indignant exit. Our sentimental friend finds out herhome, and half her history;--renews his flattering tales--piques herpride, --rouses her jealousy;--and makes her love him, bon gre--mal gre, better than either fruit or flowers. 

"Fritz swears eternal constancy, and keeps it, as I have already told you, with the actress and the sandy haired widow. "

Leichtberg told this story inimitably, and Fritz laughed as much as I did. At length we rose to wish him good night, and saw him turn to his bedroomdoor, followed by a Swiss dog, which always slept under his bed. The restof the story we heard from his dying lips. 

It was as near as he could guess, between two and three in the morning, that he awoke with the impression that some one was near him. For a timehe lay restless and ill at ease; with the vague helpless feeling, thatoften attacks one, after a good supper. 

Fritz had just made up his mind to ascribe to this cause, all hisnervousness; when something seemed to drop in the adjoining room; and hisdog, starting to its feet, commenced barking furiously. 

Again all was still. 

He got up for a moment, but fancying he heard a footstep on the stair, concluded that the noise proceeded from one of the inmates of the house, who was come home later than usual. 

But Fritz could not sleep; and his dog seemed to share his feelings;for he turned on his side restlessly, and occasionally gave a quicksolitary bark. 

Suddenly a conviction flashed across Hartmann, that there was indeed someone in the chamber. 

His curtain stirred. 

He sprang from his bed, and reached his tinder box. As the steel strucksparks from the flint, these revealed the face of the intruder. 

It was the young Polish girl. 

A fur cloak was closely folded around her;--her face was deadlypale;--with one hand she drew back her long dark hair, while she silentlyuplifted the other. 

Our friend's last impression was his falling back, at the moment his dogmade a spring at the girl. 

The inmates of the house were alarmed. His friends were all sent for. 

I arrived among the earliest. What a sight met me!

The members of the household were so stupefied that they had done nothing. Fritz Hartmann lay on the floor insensible:--his night shirt steeped inblood, still flowing from a mortal wound in his breast. 

At his feet, moaning bitterly, its fangs and mouth filled with mingled furand gore, lay the Swiss dog, with two or three deep gashes across thethroat. In the adjoining room, thrown near the door, was the instrument ofFritz's death--one of the knives we had used the evening before. 

Beside it, lay a woman's cloak, the fur literally dripping with blood. 

Fritz lingered for five hours. Before death, he was sensible, and told uswhat I have stated:--and acknowledged that he had loved the girl, morethan her station in life might seem to warrant. 

Of course, the young Pole had been concealed in the closet, and heardLeichtberg's sallies. Love and jealousy effected the rest. 

We never caught her, although we had all the Vienna police at our beck;and accurate descriptions of her person were forwarded to the frontiers. 

We were not quite certain as to her fate, but we rather suppose her tohave escaped by a back garden; in which case she must have made a mostdangerous leap; and then to have passed as a courier, riding as suchinto Livonia. 

Where she obtained the money or means to effect this, God knows. She musthave been a heroine in her way, for this dog is not easily overpowered, and yet--look here! these scars were given him by that young girl. 

The student whistled to a dog at his feet, which came and licked his hand, while he showed the wounds in his throat. 

"I call him Hartmann, " continued he, "after my old friend. His father senthim to me just after the funeral, and Leichtberg has got his meershaum. "

 * * * * *

The students listened attentively to the story, refilling their pipesduring its progress, with becoming gravity. Carl turned towards his righthand neighbour. "Wilhelm! I call on you!"

The student, whom he addressed, passed his hand through his long heard, and thus commenced. 

The Second Story. 

My father's brother married at Lausanne, in the Canton de Vaud, andresided there. He died early, and left one son; who, as you may suppose, was half a Frenchman. In spite of that, I thought Caspar von Hazenfeldt avery handsome fellow. His chestnut hair knotted in curls over hisshoulders. His eyes, the veins of his temples, and I would almost say, hisvery teeth, had a blueish tint, that I have noticed in few men; and whichmust, I think, be the peculiar characteristic of his complexion. Whenengaged in pleasure parties, either pic-nicing at the signal, orpromenading in the evening on Mont Benon, or sitting tete-a-tete atLanguedoc, he had no eyes or ears but for Caroline de Werner. 

He waltzed with her--he talked with her--and he walked with her--until hehad fairly talked, walked, and waltzed himself into love. 

She was the daughter of a rich old colonel of the Empire:--he was thepoor son of a poorer widow. What could he do? Caspar von Hazenfeldt couldgaze on the house of the old soldier; but the avenue of elms, the wavingcorn-fields, and the luxuriant gardens, told him that the heiress ofBeau-Sejour could never he his. 

He was one evening sitting on a stone, in a little ruined chapel, near thehouse of his beloved; ruminating as usual on his ill fate, and consideringwhich would be the better plan, to mend his fortunes by travel, or marthem by suicide;--when an elderly gentleman, dressed in a plain suit ofblack, appeared hat in hand before him. 

After the usual compliments, they entered into conversation, and at last, having walked for some distance, towards Hazenfeldt's house, agreed tomeet again at the chapel on the next evening. 

Suffice it to say that they often met, and as often parted, on the marginof the little stream, that ran before the door of Caspar's mother'shouse:--that they became great friends;--and that the young man confidedthe tale of his love, hopes, and miseries, to the sympathising senior. 

At last _the old gentleman_, for such he really was, told Caspar that hewould help him in a trice, through all his difficulties. 

"There is one condition, Caspar!" said he, "but that is a mere trifle. Youare young, and would be quite happy, were it not for this love affair ofyours:--you sleep soundly, you seek and quit your bed early, and you carenot for night-roving. Henceforth, lend me your body from ten at night, until two in the morning, and I promise that Caroline de Werner shall beyours. Here she is!" continued he, as he opened his snuff box, and showedthe lid to Caspar, "here she is!"

And sure enough, there she was on the inside of the lid, apparentlyreading to the gouty old colonel, as he sat in his easy chair in the petitsalon of Beau-Sejour. 

One evening, the old gentleman delighted Caspar, by telling him that hehad authority from Colonel de Werner, to bring a guest to a ball atBeau-Sejour, and by begging Caspar to be his shade--to use ourContinental expression--on the occasion. 

Caspar von Hazenfeldt and he became greater friends than ever, since theirsingular contract had been made; for made it was in a thoughtlessunguarded moment. 

Hazenfeldt was introduced to Caroline in due form, and engaged her for thefirst dance. 

Before the quadrille began, his friend in black came to present hiscompliments, and to say that he had never seen a more beautiful pair. 

"Caspar!" continued he, "when your dance is over, give me a few minutes inthe next room. We will chat together, and sip our negus. "

Caspar _did_ so, and _did_ sip his negus. The little gentleman in black, was very facetious, and very affable. 

"Are you not going to dance again, Caspar? Look at all those pretty girls, waiting for partners! Why do you not lead one to the country dance?"

As he ended speaking, a sylph-like figure, with long golden ringlets, floated past them. 

"I can, and I will, " replied Caspar, laughing, as he took the fair-hairedgirl by the hand, and led her to the dance. 

He turned to address his friend in triumph, but he had disappeared. 

The dance was over, and Caspar led the stranger towards a silken ottoman. 

"Will you not try one waltz?" said the beautiful girl, as she shookher ringlets, over his flushed cheek; "but I must not ask you, if youare tired. "

"How can I refuse?" rejoined Caspar. 

Caroline was forgotten, as his partner's golden hair floated on hisshoulders, and her soft white arms were twined around him, as they dancedthe mazy coquettish waltz, which was then the fashion in Lausanne. 

"How warm these rooms are!" she exclaimed at last. "The moon is up: let uswalk in the avenue. "

Caspar assented; for he grew fonder of his new partner, and more forgetfulof Caroline. She pressed closer and closer to his side. A distant clockstruck ten. Entwined in her tresses, encircled in her arms, he sunksenseless to the ground. 

When Caspar recovered from the trance, into which he had fallen, the coldmorning breeze, that precedes the dawn, was freshening his cheek; a fewfaint streaks on the horizon, reflected the colours of the coming sun; andthe night birds were returning tired to the woods, as the day birds weremerrily preparing for their flight. He was not where he had fallen: he wassitting on a rustic bench, beneath a moss-grown rock. 

Caroline de Werner was beside him. 

Her white frock was torn; her hair was hanging in Bacchante curls, twinedwith the ivy that had wreathed it; her eyes glared wildly, and bloodbubbled from her mouth. Her hand was fast locked in that of Hazenfeldt. 

"Caroline!" he exclaimed, in a tone of wonderment, as one who awakes froma deep sleep, "Caroline! why are we here? what means this disorder?"

"You now speak, " said she, "as did my Caspar, "

Caroline de Werner is in a mad-house near Vevay:--the man in black has notbeen seen since he disappeared from the ball room of Beau-Sejour:--mycousin, Caspar von Hazenfeldt, took to wandering alone over the Swissmountains; and before three months had elapsed, from the time he met _theold gentleman_, was buried in the fall of an avalanche, near the pass ofthe Gemmi. 

 * * * * *

Supper was not ready as the student finished this story; and Georgeproposed a stroll. The change from the heated room to the margin of thelake, was a most refreshing one. As the brothers silently gazed upwards, ayoung lad approached, and accosted them. 

"Gentlemen! I have seen the horses fed, and they are now lying down. "

"Have you?" said Delme, drily. 

"A very fine night! gentlemen! Perhaps you have heard of the famous echo, on the other side of the lake. It will be a good hour, I am sure, beforeyour supper is ready. My boat lies under that old tree. If you like it, Iwill loose the chain, and row you over. "

The brothers acquiesced. They were just in the frame of mind for anunforeseen excursion. The motion of the boat, too, would be easy forGeorge, and he might there unrestrainedly give way to his excitedfeelings, or commune ungazed on, with the current of his thoughts. 

A thin crescent of a moon had risen. It was silvering the tops of theoverhanging boughs, and was quiveringly mirrored on the light ripple. George leant against the side of the boat, and listened to the liquidmusic, as the broad paddle threw back the resisting waters. 

How soothing is the hour of night to the wounded spirit!

The obscurity which shrouds nature, seems to veil even man's woes--theharsh outline of his sufferings is discerned no more. Grief takes theplace of despair--pensive melancholy of sorrow. 

As we gaze around, and feel the chill air damp each ringlet on the pallidbrow; know that _that_ hour hath cast a shade on each inanimate thingaround us; we feel resigned to our bereavements, and confess, in ourheart's humility, that no changes _should_ overwhelm, and that no grief_should_ awaken repinings. 

To many a bruised and stricken spirit, night imparts a grateful balm. 

In the morning, the feelings are too fresh;--oblivion is exchanged forconscious suffering;--the merriment of the feathered songsters seems to usas a taunt;--our sympathies are not with waking nature. The glare andsplendour of noon, bid us recal _our_ hopes, and their signal overthrow. The zenith of day's lustre meets us as a wilful mockery. 

Eve may bring rest, but on her breast is memory. But at night! when themental and bodily energies are alike worn out by the internalstruggle;--when hushed is each sound--softened each feature--dimmed eachglaring hue;--a calm which is not deceptive, steals over us, and we regardour woes as the exacted penalty of our erring humanity. 

Calumniated night! to one revelling in the full noon-tide of hope andgladness:--to the one, to whom a guilty conscience incessantly whispers, "Think! but sleep not!"--to such as these, horrors may appear to bound thyreign!--but to him who hath loved, and who hath lost, --to many a gentlebut tried spirit, thou comest in the guise of a sober, and true friend. 

The boat for some time, kept by the steep bank, under the shadows of thetrees. As it emerged from this, towards where the moon-beams cast theirlight on the water, the night breeze rustled through the foliage, andswept a yet green leaf from one of the drooping boughs. 

It fell on the surface of the lake, and George's eye quickly followed it. 

"Look at that unfaded leaf! Henry. What a gentle breeze it was, thatparted it from its fellows! To me it resembles a youthful soul, cut off inits prime, and wandering mateless in eternity. "

Sir Henry only sighed. 

The young rower silently pursued his course across the lake; running hisboat aground, on a small pebbly strand near a white cottage. 

Jumping nimbly from his seat, and fastening the boat to a large stone, theguide, followed by the brothers, shouted to the inmates of the cottage, and violently kicked at its frail door. 

An upper window was opened, and the guardian of the echo--a valorousdivine in a black night-cap--demanded their business. This was soon told. The priest descended--struck a light--unbarred the door--and with theprospect of gain before him, fairly forgot that he had been aroused from adeep slumber. 

They were soon ushered into the kitchen. An aged crone descended, andraking the charcoal embers, kindled a flame, by which the rower wasenabled to light his pipe. 

The young gentleman threw himself into an arm chair, and puffed away withtrue German phlegm. The old man bustled about, in order to obtain thenecessary materials for loading an ancient cannon; and occupied himselffor some minutes, in driving the charge into the barrel. 

This business arranged, he led the way towards the beach; and aided by theold woman, pointed his warlike weapon. A short pause--it was fired!Rebounding from hill to hill, the echo took its course, startling thepeasant from his couch, and the wolf from his lair. 

Again all was still;--then came its distant reverberation--a tone deep andsubdued--dying away mournfully on the ear. 

"How wonderfully fine!" said George, "but let us embark, for I feelquite chilled. "

"I will run for the youngster, " replied his brother. As he moved towardsthe cottage, the priest seized him by the collar of the coat, and held upthe torch, by which he had fired the cannon. 

"This echo is indeed a wonderful one! It has nineteen distinctrepetitions; the first twelve being heard from _this_ side of a valley, which, were it day, I would point out; the other seven, on the oppositeside. Tradition tells us, that nineteen castles in ancient times, stoodnear the spot; that each of these laid claim to the echo; and that, as itpasses the ruin, where once dwelt Sigismund of the Bloody Hand, the chiefsprings from the round ivied tower--waves his sword thrice, the drops ofblood falling from its hilt as he does so--and proclaims aloud, thatwhosoever dare gainsay"--

"I am sorry to leave you, " interrupted Sir Henry, as he shook him off, "particularly at this interesting part of the story; but it is late, and my brother feels unwell, and I wish to go to the cottage to callour guide. "

Delme was pursued by the echo's elucidator, who being duly remunerated, allowed Sir Henry to accompany the guide towards the boat. George was notstanding where he had left him. Delme stepped forward, and nearly fellover a prostrate body. 

It was the motionless one of his brother. 

He gave a shriek of anguish; flew towards the house, and in a moment, wasagain on the spot, bearing the priest's torch. He raised his brother'shead. One hand was extended over the body, and fell to the earth like aclod of clay as it was. 

He gazed on that loved face. In that gaze, how much was there to arresthis attention. 

On those features, death had stamped his seal. 

But there was a thought, which bore the ascendancy over this in Delme'smind. It was a thought which rose involuntarily, --one for which he couldnot _then_ account, and cannot now. For some seconds, it swayed his everyemotion. He felt the conviction--deep, undefinable--that there was indeeda soul, to "shame the doctrine of the Sadducee. "

He deemed that on those lineaments, this was the language forciblyengraven! The features were still and fixed:--the brow alone revealed adying sense of pain. 

The lips! how purple were they! and the eye, that erst flashed sofreely:--the yellow film of death had dimmed its lustre. 

The legs were apart, and one of the feet was in the lake. Henry tried tochafe his brother's forehead. 

In vain! in vain! he knew it was in vain!

He let the head fall, and buried his face in his hands. 

He turned reproachfully, to gaze on that cloudless Heaven, where the moon, and the brilliant stars, and the falling meteor, seemed to hold a brightand giddy festival. 

He clasped his hands in mute agony. For a brief moment--his dark eyeseeming to invite His wrath--he dared to arraign the mercy of God, who hadtaken what he had made. 

It was but for a moment he thus thought. 

He had watched that light of life, until its existence was almostidentified with his own. He had seen it flicker--had viewed itreillumed--blaze with increased brilliancy--fade--glimmer--and fade. Now!where was it?

A bitter cry escaped! his limbs trembled convulsively, and could no longersupport him. 

He fell senseless beside his brother. 

Chapter XI

The Student

 "What is my being? _thou_ hast ceased to be. "

Carl Obers was as enthusiastic a being as ever Germany sent forth. Broughtup in a lone recess in the Hartz mountains, with neither superiors norequals to commune with, he first entered the miniature world, as a studentat Heidelberg. 

His education had been miserably neglected. He had read much; but hisreading had been without order and without system. 

The deepest metaphysics, and the wildest romances had been devoured insuccession; until the young man hardly knew which was the real, or whichwas the visionary world:--the one he actually lived in, or the one he wasalways brooding over:--where souls are bound together by mysterious andhidden links, and where men sell themselves to Satan;--the penalty merelybeing:--to walk through life, and throw no shadow. 

Enrolled amongst a select corps of brueschen, warm and true; his ear wascaught by the imposing jargon of patriotism; and his imagination dwelt onthose high sounding words, "the rights of man;"--until he became thestaunch advocate and unflinching votary of a state of things, which, foraught we know, _may_ exist in one of the planets, but which never can, andwhich never will exist on this earth of ours. 

"What!" would exclaim our enthusiast, "have we not all our bodily and ourmental, energies? Doth not dame Nature, in our birth, as in our death, deal out impartial justice? She may endow me with stronger limbs, thananother:--our feelings as we grow up, may not be chained down to oneservile monotony;--the lip of the precocious cynic"--this was addressed toa young matter of fact Englishman--"who sneers at my present animation, may not curl with a smile as often as my own; but let our powers ofacting be equal, --our prerogatives the same. "

Carl Obers, with his youth and his vivacity, carried his auditors--alittle knot of beer drinking liberty-mongers--_with_ him, and _for_ him, in all he said; and the orator would look round, with conscious power, andconsiderable satisfaction; and flatter himself, that his speciousarguments were as unanswerable, as they were then unanswered. 

Many of our generation may remember the unparalleled enthusiasm, which, like an electric flash, spread over the civilised world; as Greece armedherself, to shake off her Moslem ruler. 

It was one that few could help sharing. 

To almost all, is Greece a magic word. Her romantic history--the legaciesshe has left us--our early recollections, identifying with her existenceas a nation, all that is good and glorious;--no wonder these things shouldhave shed a bright halo around her, --and have made each breast deeplysympathise with her in her unwonted struggle for freedom. 

Carl Obers did not hear of this struggle with indifference. He at oncedetermined to give Greece the benefit of his co-operation, and the aid ofhis slender means. He immediately commenced an active canvass amongst hispersonal friends, in order to form a band of volunteers, who might beefficient, and worthy of the cause on which his heart was set. 

He now first read an useful lesson from life's unrolled volume. 

Many a voice, that had rung triumphantly the changes on liberty, wassilent now, or deprecated the active attempt to establish it. 

The hands that waved freely in the debating room, were not the readiest tograsp the sword's hilt. Many who had poetically expatiated on thesplendours of modern Greece; on reflection preferred the sunny views ofthe Neckar, to the prospect of eating honey on Hymettus. 

Youth, however, is the season for enterprise; and Carl, with twenty-threecomrades, was at length on his way to Trieste. 

He had been offered the command of the little band, but had declined it, with the sage remark, that "as they were about to fight for equality, itwas their business to preserve it amongst themselves. "

A slight delay in procuring a vessel, took place at Trieste. This delaycaused a defection of eight of the party. 

The remaining students embarked in a miserable Greek brigantine, and afterencountering some storms in the Adriatic, thought themselves amply repaid, as the purple hills of Greece rose before them. 

On their landing, they felt disappointed. 

No plaudits met them; no vivas rung in the air: but a Greek soldierfilched Carl's valise, and on repairing to the commandant of the town, they were told that no redress could be afforded them. 

Willing to hope that the scum of the irregular troops was left behind, andthat better feeling, and stricter discipline, existed nearer the mainbody; our students left on the morrow;--placed themselves under thecommand of one of the noted leaders of the Revolution:--and had shortlythe satisfaction of crossing swords with the Turk. 

For some months, the party went through extraordinary hardships;--engagedin a series of desultory but sanguinary expeditions;--and gradually learntto despise the nation, in whose behalf they were zealously combating. 

At the end of these few months, what a change in the hopes and prospectsof the little band! Some had rotted in battle field, food for vultures;others had died of malaria in Greek hamlets, without one friend to closetheir eyes, or one hand to proffer the cooling draught to quench the dyingthirst;--two were missing--had perhaps been murdered by the peasants;--andfive only remained, greatly disheartened, cursing the nation, and theirown individual folly. 

Four of the five turned homewards. 

Carl was left alone, but fought on. 

Now there was a Greek, Achilles Metaxa by name, who had attached himselfto Carl's fortunes. In person, he was the very model of an ancient hero. He had the capacious brow, the eye of fire, and the full black beard, descending in wavy curls to his chest. 

The man was brave, too, for Carl and he had fought together. 

It so happened, that they slept one night in a retired convent. Theirhardships latterly had been great, and the complaints of Achilles had beenunceasing in consequence. In the morning Carl rose, and found that hisclothes and arms had vanished, and that his friend was absent also. 

Carl remained long enough to satisfy himself, that his friend was theculprit; and then turned towards the sea coast, determined at all hazardsto leave Greece. 

He succeeded in reaching Missolonghi, in the early part of 1823, shortlyafter the death of Marco Botzaris--being then in a state of perfectdestitution, and his mental sufferings greatly aggravated by theconsciousness, that he had induced so many of his comrades to sacrificetheir lives and prospects in an unworthy cause. 

At Missolonghi, where Mavrocordato reigned supreme, he was grudged thepaltry ration of a Suliote soldier, and might have died of starvation, hadit not been for the timely interposition of a stranger. 

Moved by that stranger's persuasion, Carl consented to form one of acontemplated expedition against Lepanto; and, had his illustriousbenefactor lived, might have found a steady friend. 

As it was, he waited not to hear the funeral oration, delivered bySpiridion Tricoupi; but was on the deck of the vessel that was to bear himhomewards, and shed tears of mingled grief, admiration, and gratitude, asthirty-seven minute guns, fired from the battery, told Greece and CarlObers, that they had lost Byron, their best friend. 

Carl reached Germany, a wiser man than when he left it. 

He found his father dead, and he came into possession of his smallpatrimony; but felt greatly, as all men do who are suddenly removed fromactive pursuits, the want of regular and constant employment. 

He was glad to renew his intercourse with his old University; and foundhimself greatly looked up to by the students, who were never wearied withlistening to his accounts of the Morea, and of the privations he had thereencountered. 

We need hardly inform our readers, that Carl Obers was one of thepedestrian students at Wallensee, and was indeed the identical narrator ofthe Vienna story. 

We left George and his brother, on the shore below the priest'scottage. The one was laid cold and motionless--the other wished that_he_ also were so. 

Immediately on Delme's falling, the young guide alarmed thepriest--brought him down to the spot--pointed to the brothers--threwhimself into the boat--and paddled swiftly across the lake, to alarm theguests at the inn. 

It was with feelings of deep commiseration, that Carl looked on the twobrothers. He was the only person present, whose time was comparatively hisown; he spoke English, although imperfectly; and he owed a deep debt ofgratitude to an Englishman. 

These circumstances seemed to point him out, as the proper person toattend to the wants of the unfortunate traveller; and Carl Obers mentallydetermined, that he would not leave Delme, as long as he had it in hispower to befriend him, Sir Henry Delme was completely unmanned by hisbereavement. He had been little prepared for such a severe loss; althoughit is more than probable, that George's life had long been hanging on athread, which a single moment might snap. 

The medical men had been singularly sanguine in his case, for it is rarelythat disease of the heart attacks one so young; but it now seemed evident, that even had not anxiety of mind, and great constitutional irritability, hastened the fatal result, that poor George could never have hoped to havesurvived to a ripe old age. 

There was much in his character at any time, to endear him to an onlybrother. As it was, Delme had seen George under such tryingcircumstances--had entered so fully into his feelings and sufferings--thatthis abrupt termination to his brother's sorrows, appeared to Sir HenryDelme, to bring with it a sable pall, that enveloped in darkness his ownfuture life and prospects. 

The remains of poor George were placed in a small room, communicating withone intended for Sir Henry. 

Here Delme shut himself up, brooding over his loss, and permitting no oneto intrude on his privacy. 

Carl had offered his services, which were gratefully accepted, in makingthe necessary arrangements for his brother's obsequies; and Sir Henry, inthe solitude of the dead man's chamber, could give free scope to a floodof bitter recollections. 

It may be, that those silent hours of agony, when the brother lookedfixedly on that moveless face, and implored the departed spirit to breatheits dread and awful secret, were not without their improving tendency; forhaggard and wan as was the mourner's aspect, there was no outward sign ofquivering, even as he saw the rude coffin lowered, and as fell on his ear, the creaking of cords, and that harsh jarring sound, to which there isnothing parallel on earth, the heavy clods falling on the coffin lid. 

The general arrangements had been simple; but Carl's directions had beengiven in such a sympathising spirit, that they could not be otherwise thanacceptable. 

About the church-yard itself, there is nothing very striking. It isformed round a small knoll, on the summit of which stands a sarcophagusliterally buried in ivy. 

Beneath this, is the vault of the baronial family, that for centuriesswayed the destinies of the little hamlet; but which family has beenextinct for some years. 

Round it are grouped the humbler osiered graves; over which, in lieu oftomb stones, are placed large black iron crosses, ornamented with brass, and bearing the simple initials of the bygone dead. 

Even Delme, with all his ancestral pride, felt that George "slept well. "

It is true no leaden coffin enclosed his relics, nor did the murky vaultof his ancestors, open with creaking hinge to receive another of the race. No escutcheon darkened the porch whence they bore him; and no long trainof mourners followed his remains to their last home. 

But there was something in the quiet of the spot, that seemed to Delme inharmony with his history; and to promise, that a sorrowless world hadalready opened, on one who had loved so truly, and felt so deeply in this. 

Sir Henry returned to the inn, and darkened his chamber. 

He had not the heart to prosecute his journey, nor to leave the spot, which held what was to him so dear. 

Carl Obers attempted to combat his despondency; but observing how uselesswere his arguments, wisely allowed his grief to take its course. 

There was one point, in which Delme was decidedly wrong. 

He could not bring himself, to communicate their loss to his sister. 

Carl pressed this duty frequently on him, but was always met by thesame reply. 

"No! no! how can I inflict such a pang?"

It is possible the intelligence might have been very long in reachingEngland, had it not been for a providential circumstance, that occurredshortly after George's funeral. 

A carriage, whose style and appointments bespoke it English, changedhorses at the inn at Wallensee. The courier, while ordering the relays, had heard George's story; and touching his hat to the inmates of thevehicle, retailed it with natural pathos. 

On hearing the name of Delme, the lady was visibly affected. She wasan old friend of the family; and as Melicent Dashwood, had knownGeorge as a boy. 

It was not without emotion, that she heard of one so young, and to her sofamiliar, being thus prematurely called to his last account. 

The lady and her husband alighted, and sending up their cards, begged tosee the mourner. 

The message was delivered; but Delme, without comment or enquiry, at oncedeclined the offer; and it was thought better not to persist. They weretoo deeply interested, however, not to attempt to be of use. They saw Carland Thompson, --satisfied themselves that Sir Henry was in friendly hands;and thanking the student with warmth and sincerity, for his attention tothe sufferer, exacted a promise, that he would not leave him, as long ashe could in any way be useful. 

The husband and wife prepared to continue their journey; but not beforethe former had left his address in Florence, with directions to Carl towrite immediately, in case he required the assistance of a friend; and thelatter had written a long letter to Mrs. Glenallan, in which she broke asdelicately as she could, the melancholy and unlooked-for tidings. 

Chapter XII

The Letter. 

 "And from a foreign shore Well to that heart might _hers_ these absent greetings pour. "

Three weeks had elapsed since George's death. 

It would be difficult to depict satisfactorily, the state of Sir HenryDelme's mind during that period. The pride of life appeared crushed withinhim. He rarely took exercise, and when he did, his step was slow, and hisgait tottering. 

That one terrible loss was ever present to his mind; and yet hisimagination, as if disconnected with his feelings, or his memory, wasconstantly running riot over varying scenes of death, and conjuring uprevolting pictures of putrescence and decay. 

A black pall, and an odour of corruption, seemed to commingle with eachquick-springing fantasy; and Delme would start with affright from his ownmorbid conceptions, as he found himself involuntarily dwelling on thewaxen rigidity of death, --following the white worm in its unseemlywanderings, --and finally stripping the frail and disgusting coat from thedisjointed skeleton. 

Sir Henry Delme had in truth gone through arduous and trying scenes. 

The very circumstance that he had to conceal his own feelings, andsupport George through his deeper trials, made the present reaction themore to be dreaded. 

Certain are we, that trials such as his, are frequently the prevailingcauses, of moral and intellectual insanity. Fortunately, Sir Henry wasendued with a firm mind, and with nerves of great power of endurance. 

One morning, at an early hour, Thompson brought in a letter. 

It was from Emily Delme; and as Sir Henry noted the familiar address, andthe broad black edge, which told that the news of his brother's death hadreached his sister, he cast it from him with a feeling akin to pain. 

The next moment, however, he sprang from the bed, threw open the shutters, and commenced reading its contents. 

EMILY'S LETTER. 

My own dear brother, My heart bleeds for you! But yesterday, we received the sad, sad letter. To-day, although blinded with tears, I implore you to remember, that youhave not lost your all! Our bereavement has been great! our loss heavyindeed. But if a link in the family love-chain be broken--shall not theremaining ones cling to each other the closer?

My aunt is heart-broken. Clarendon, kind as he is, did not know ourGeorge! Alas! that he should be ours no more!

My only brother! dwell not with strangers! A sister's arms are ready toclasp you:--a sister's sympathy must lighten the load of your sufferings. 

Think of your conduct! your devotedness! Should not these comfort you?

Did you not love and cherish him? did you not--happier than I--soothe hislast days? were you not present to the end?

From this moment, I shall count each hour that divides us. 

On my knees both night and morning, will I pray the Almighty God, who haschastened us, to protect my brother in his travels by sea and land. 

May we be spared, my dearest Henry, to pray together, that HE may bestowon us present resignation, and make us duly thankful for blessings whichstill are ours. 

Your affectionate sister, EMILY. 

Delme read the letter with tearless eye. For some time he leant his headon his hand, and thought of his sister, and of the dead. 

He shook, and laughed wildly, as he beat his hand convulsivelyagainst the wall. 

Carl Obers and Thompson held him down, while this strong paroxysm lasted. 

His sobs became fainter, and he sunk into a placid slumber. The studentwatched anxiously by his side. He awoke; called for Emily's letter; and ashe read it once more, the tears coursed down his sunken cheeks. 

Ah! what a relief to the excited man, is the fall of tears. 

It would seem as if the very feelings, benumbed and congealed as they mayhitherto have been, were suddenly dissolving under some happier influence, and that, --with the external sign--the weakness and pliability ofchildhood--we were magically regaining its singleness of feeling, and itsgentleness of heart. 

Sir Henry swerved no more from the path of manly duty. He saw thevetturino, and arranged his departure for the morrow. On that evening, hetook Carl's arm, and sauntered through the village church-yard. 

Already seemed it, that the sods had taken root over George's grave. 

The interstices of the turf were hidden;--a white paper basket, whichstill held some flowers, had been suspended by some kind stranger handover the grave;--from it had dropped a wreath of yellow amaranths. 

There was great repose in the scene. The birds appeared to chirp softlyand cautiously;--the tufts of grass, as they bowed their heads against themonumental crosses, seemed careful not to rustle too drearily. 

Sir Henry's sleep was more placid, on _that_, his last night at Wallensee, than it had been for many a night before. 

 * * * * *

Acting up to his original design, Delme passed through the capitals ofBavaria and Wurtemburg; and quickly traversing the picturesque countryround Heilbron, reached the romantic Heidelberg, washed by the Neckar. 

The student, as might be expected, did not arrive at his old University, with feelings of indifference; but he insisted, previous to visiting hiscollege companions, on showing Sir Henry the objects of interest. 

The two friends, for such they might now be styled, walked towards thecastle, arm in arm; and stood on the terrace, adorned with headlessstatues, and backed by a part of the mouldering ruin, half hid by thethick ivy. 

They looked down on the many winding river, murmuringly gliding throughits vine covered banks. 

Beyond this, stretched a wide expanse of country; while beneath themlay the town of Heidelberg--the blue smoke hanging over it like amagic diadem. 

"Here, here!" said Carl Obers, as he gazed on the scene, with mournfulsensations, "_here _ were my youthful visions conceived andembodied--_here_ did I form vows, to break the bonds of enslavedmankind--_here_ did I dream of grateful thousands, standing erect for thefirst time as free men--_here_ did I brood over, the possible happiness ofmy fellow men, and in attempting to realise it, have wrecked my own. "

"My kind friend!" replied Delme, "your error, if it be such, has beenof the head, and not the heart. It is one, natural to your age and yourcountry. Far from being irreparable, it is possible it may have taughtyou a lesson, that may ultimately greatly benefit you. This is thefirst time we have conversed regarding your prospects. What are yourpresent views?"

"I have none. My friends regard me as one, who has improvidently thrownaway his chance of advancement. My knowledge of any _one_ branch ofscience is so superficial, that this precludes my ever hoping to succeedin a learned profession. I cannot enter the military service in my owncountry, without commencing in the lowest grade. This I can hardly bringmy mind to. "

"What would you say to the Hanoverian army?" replied Delme. 

"I would say, " rejoined Carl: "for I see through your kind motive inasking, that I esteem myself fortunate, if I have been in any way usefulto you; but that I cannot, and ought not, to think, of accepting a favourat your hands. "

Sir Henry said no more at that time: and they reached the inn in silence. 

Delme retired for the night. Carl Obers sought his old chums; and, exhilarated by his meershaum, and the excellent beer--rivalling the famousLubeck beer, sent to Martin Luther, during his trial, by the Elector ofSaxony--triumphantly placed "young Germany" at the head of nations. 

Early the following morning, they were again en route. 

They passed through Manheim, where the Rhine and Neckar meet, --throughErpach, --through Darmstadt, that cleanest of Continental towns, --andfinally reached Frankfort-on-the-Maine, where it was agreed that Sir Henryand Thompson were to part from their travelling companions. 

Sir Henry in his distress of mind, felt that theirs was not a casualfarewell. On reaching the quay, he pressed the student's hand withgrateful warmth, but dared not trust to words. 

On the deck of the steamer, assisting Thompson to arrange theportmanteaux, stood Pietro Molini. 

The natural gaiety of the old driver had received a considerable check atGeorge's death. 

He could not now meet Sir Henry, without an embarrassment of manner; andeven in his intercourse with Thompson, his former jocularity seemed tohave deserted him. 

"Good bye, Pietro!" said Delme, extending his hand. "I trust we may oneday or other meet again. "

The vetturino grasped it, --his colour went and came, --he looked down athis whip, --then felt in his vest for his pipe, As he saw Delme turntowards the poop, and as Thompson warned him it was time to leave thevessel, --his feelings fairly gave way. 

He threw his arms round the Englishman's neck and blubbered like a child. 

We have elsewhere detailed the luckless end of the vetturino. 

As for Carl Obers, that zealous patriot; the last we heard of him, wasthat he was holding a commission in the Hanoverian Jaegers, obtained forhim by Sir Henry's intervention. He was at that period, in high favourwith that liberal monarch, King Ernest. 

Chapter XIII. 

Home. 

 "'Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home, 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come. "

Embarking on its tributary stream, Delme reached the Rhine--passed throughthe land of snug Treckschut, and wooden-shoed housemaid--and arrived atRotterdam, whence he purposed sailing for England. 

To that river, pay we no passing tribute! The Rhine--with breast ofpride--laving fertile vineyards, cities of picturesque beauty, beetling crags, and majestic ruins; hath found its bard to hymn aneulogy, in matchless strains, which will be co-existent, with thelanguage they adorn. 

Sir Henry was once more on the wide sea. Where were they who were hiscompanions when his vessel last rode it? where the young bride breathingher devotion? where the youthful husband whispering his love?

The sea yet glistened like a chrysolite; the waves yet laughed in theplayful sunbeams--the bright-eyed gull yet dipped his wing in the billow, fearless as heretofore;--where was the one, who from that text had deducedso fair a moral?

Sir Henry wished not to dwell on the thought, but as it flashed acrosshim, his features quivered, and his brow darkened. 

He threw himself into the chaise which was to bear him to his home, withalternate emotions of bitterness and despair!

Hurrah for merry England! Click, clack! click, clack! thus cheerilylet us roll!

Great are the joys of an English valet, freshly emancipated fromsauerkraut, and the horrors of silence!

Sweet is purl, and sonorous is an English oath. Bright is the steel, arming each clattering hoof! Leather strap and shining buckle, replacemusty rope and ponderous knot! The carriage is easier than aLandgravine's, --the horses more sleek, --the driver as civil, --the road islike a bowling green, --the axletree and under-spring, of Collinge's latestpatent. But the heart! the heart! _that_ may be sad still. 

Delme's voyage and journey were alike a blank. On the ocean, breezefollowed calm;--on the river, ship succeeded ship;--on the road, house andtree were passed, and house and tree again presented themselves. He drewhis cap over his eyes, and his arms continued folded. 

His first moment of full consciousness, was as a sharp turn, followed by asudden pause, brought him in front of the lodge at Delme. 

On the two moss-grown pillars, reposed the well known crest of his family. The porter's daughter, George's friend, issued from the lodge, and threwopen the iron gates. 

She was dressed in black. How this recalled his loss. 

"My dear--dear--dear brother!"

Emily bounded to his embrace, and her cheek fell on his shoulder. He feltthe warm tear trickle on his cheek. He clasped her waist, --gazed on herpallid brow, --and held her lip to his. 

How it trembled from her emotion!

"My own brother! how pale--how ill you look!"

"Emily! my sister! I have something yet left me on earth! and my worthykind aunt, too!"

He kissed Mrs. Glenallan's forehead, and tried to soothe her. She pressedher handkerchief to her eyes, and checked her tears; but continued to sob, with the deep measured sob of age. 

How mournful, yet how consoling, is the first family meeting, after deathhas swept away one of its members! How the presence of each, calls upsorrow, and yet assists to repress it, --awakes remembrances full of grief, yet brings to life indefinable hopes, that rob that grief of its mostpoignant sting! The very garb of woe, whose mournful effect is felt to thefull, only when each one sees it worn by the other--the very garbparalyses, and brings impressively before us, the awful truth, that forour loss, in this world, there is no remedy. How holy, how chaste is theaffection, which we feel disposed to lavish, on those who are left us. 

Surely if there be a guardian spirit, which deigns to flit through thiswayward world, to cheer the stricken breast, and purify feelings, whoseevery chord vibrates to the touch of woe; surely such presides, and throwsa sunny halo, on the group, that blood has united--on which family lovehas shed its genial influence--and of which, each member, albeit boweddown by sympathetic grief, attempts to lift his drooping head, and toothers open some source of comfort, which to the kind speaker, isinefficient and valueless indeed!

For many months, Sir Henry continued to reside with his family. ClarendonGage was a constant visitor, and companion to the brother and sister intheir daily walks and rides. 

He had never met poor George, but loved Emily so well, that he could notbut sympathise in their heavy loss; and as Delme noted this quietsympathy, he felt deeply thankful to Providence, for the fair prospect ofthe happiness, that awaited his sister. 

Winter passed away. The fragile snowdrop, offspring of a night--themute herald of a coming and welcome guest--might be seen peeringbeneath the gnarled oak, or enlivening the emerald circle beneath thewide-spreading elm. 

Spring too glided by, and another messenger came. The migratory swallow, returned from foreign travel, sought the ancient gable, and rejoicing insafety, commenced building a home. At twilight's hour might she be seen, unscared by the truant's stone, repairing to the placid pool--skimmingover its glassy surface, in rapid circle and with humid wing--andreturning in triumph, bearing wherewithal to build her nest. 

Summer too went by; and as the leaves of Autumn rustled at his feet, Delmestarted, as he felt that the sting and poignancy of his grief was gone. Itwas with something like reproach, that he did so. There is a dignity ingrief--a pride in perpetuating it--and his had been no common affliction. 

It is a trite, but true remark, that time scatters our sorrows, as itscatters our joys. 

The heat of fever and the delirium of love, have their gradations; and sohas grief. The impetuous throbbing of the pulse abates;--the influence ofyears makes us remember the extravagance of passion, with somethingapproaching to a smile;--and Time--mysterious Time--wounding, but healingall, leads us to look at past bereavements, as through a darkened glass. 

We do not forget; but our memory is as a dream, which awoke us in terror, but over which we have slept. The outline is still present, but thefearful details, which in the darkness of the hour, and the freshness ofconception, so scared and alarmed us, --these have vanished with the night. 

Emily's wedding day drew nigh, and the faces of the household once morelooked bright and cheerful. 

Chapter XIV. 

A Wedding. 

 "'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it has ceased to move, But though I may not be beloved, Still let me love!"

 "I saw her but a moment, Yet methinks I see her now, With a wreath of orange blossoms Upon her beauteous brow. "

Spring of life! whither art thou flown?

A few hot sighs--and scalding tears--fleeting raptures and still fadinghopes--and then--thou art gone for ever. Lovelorn we look on beauty: noblush now answers to our glance; for cold is our gaze, as the deadenedemotions of our heart. 

Fresh garlands bedeck the lap of Spring. Faded as the shrivelled flowers, that withering sink beneath her rosy feet: yet we exclaim:--Spring oflife! how and whither art thou flown?

Clarendon Gage was a happy man. He had entered upon the world with verybright prospects. The glorious visions of his youth were still unclouded, and his heart beat as high with hope as ever. 

Experience had not yet instilled that sober truth, that Time will darkenthe sunniest, as well as the least inviting anticipations; and that thevisions of his youth were unclouded, because they were undimmed by thereflections of age. 

Clarendon Gage was happy and grateful; and so might he well be! Few of usare there, who, on our first loving, have met with a love, fervent, confiding, and unsuspecting as our own, --fewer are there, who inreflection's calm hour, have recognised in the form that has captivatedthe eye, the mind on which their own can fully and unhesitatinglyrely, --and fewest of all are they, who having encountered such a treasure, can control adverse circumstances--can overcome obstacles that oppose--andfinally call it their own. 

Passionate, imaginative, and fickle as man may be, this is a livingtreasure beyond a price: than which this world has none more pure--none asenduring, to offer. 

Ah! say and act as we may--money-making--worldly--ambitious as we maybecome--who among us that will not allow, that in the success of hishonest suit--that in his possession of the one first loved--and whichfirst truly loved him--a kind ray from heaven, seems lent to thischangeful world. Such affection as this, lends a new charm to man'sexistence. It lulls him in his anger--it soothes him in his sorrow--calmshim in his fears--cheers him in his hopes--it deadens his grief--itenlivens his joy. 

It was a lovely morning in May--the first of the month. Not a cloudveiled the sun's splendour--the birds strained their throats in praiseof day--and the rural May-pole, which was in the broad avenue ofwalnut trees, immediately at the foot of the lawn, was alreadyencircled with flowers. Half way up this, was the station of therustic orchestra--a green bower, which effectually concealed themfrom the view of the dancers. 

On the lawn itself, tents were pitched in a line facing the house. Behindthese, between the tents and the May-pole, extended a long range oftables, for the coming village feast. 

Emily Delme looked out on the fair sunrise, and noted the gaypreparations with some dismay. Her eye fell on her favourite bed ofroses, the rarest and most costly that wealth and extreme care couldproduce; and she mournfully thought, that ere those buds were blown, avery great change would have taken place in her future prospects. Shethought of all she was to leave. 

Will _he_ be this, and more to me?

How many a poor girl, when it is all too late, has fearfully asked herselfthe same question, and how deeply must the answer which time alone cangive, affect the happiness of after years!

Emily took her mother's miniature, and gazing on that face, of which herown appeared a beautiful transcript; she prayed to God to support him whowas still present to her every thought. 

The family chapel of the Delmes was a beautiful and picturesque place ofworship. With the exception of one massive door-way, whose circular archand peculiar zig-zag ornament bespoke it co-eval with, or of an earlierdate than, the reign of Stephen--and said to have belonged to a ruin apartfrom the chapel, whose foundations an antiquary could hardly trace--Delmechapel might be considered a well preserved specimen of the florid Gothic, of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. 

The progress of the edifice, had been greatly retarded during the wars ofthe Roses; but it was fortunately completed, before, the doctrine of theCinquecentists--who saw no beauty save in the revived dogmas ofVitruvius--had so far gained ground, as to make obsolete andunfashionable, the most captivating and harmonious style of Architecture, that has yet flourished in England. 

Its outer appearance was comparatively simple--it had neither spire, lantern, or transepts--and its ivy-hidden belfry was a detached tower. 

The walls of the aisles were supported by massive buttresses, andsurmounted by carved pinnacles; and from them sprung flying buttresses, ornamented with traced machicolations, to bear the weight of the embattledroof of the nave. 

The interior was more striking. As the stranger entered by the westerndoor, and proceeded up the nave, each step was re-echoed from the cryptbelow:--as he trod on strange images, and inscriptions in brass;commemorative of the dead, whose bones were mouldering in the subterraneanchapel. On them, many coloured tints fantastically played, throughgorgeously stained panes--the workmanship of the Middle Ages. 

The richly carved oaken confessional--now a reading desk--first attractedthe attention. 

In the very centre of the chapel, stood a white marble font, whose chapletof the flower of the Tudors, encircled by a fillet, sufficiently bespokeits date. Between the altar and this font was a tomb, which merits specialattention. It was the chantry of Sir Reginald Delme, the chief of hishouse in the reign of Harry Monmouth. It was a mimic chapel, raised onthree massive steps of grey stone. The clustered columns, that bore thelight and fretted roof, were divided by mullions, rosettes, and trefoilsin open work; except where the interstices were filled up below, to bearthe sculptured, and once emblazoned shields of the Delmes, and theircognate families. The entrance to the chantry, was through a little turretat its north-eastern corner, the oaken door of which, studded withquarrel-headed nails, was at one time never opened, but when the priestsascended the six steep and spiral steps, and stood around the tomb tochant masses for the dead. 

The diminutive font, and the sarcophagus itself, had once been painted. Onthis, lay the figure of Sir Reginald Delme. 

On a stone cushion--once red--supported by figures of angels in theattitude of prayer, veiling their eyes with their wings, reposed theunarmed head of the warrior:--his feet uncrossed rested on the image of adog, crouching on a broken horn, seeming faithfully to gaze at the face ofhis master. 

The arms were not crossed--the hands were not clasped; but were joined asin prayer. Sir Reginald had not died in battle. Above the head of thesleeping warrior, hung his gorget, and his helmet, with its beaver, andvizor open; and the banner he himself had won, on the field of Shrewsbury, heavily shook its thick folds in the air. The fading colours on thesurcoat of the recumbent knight, still faintly showed the lilies andleopards of England;--and Sir Henry himself was willing to believe, thatthe jagged marks made in that banner by the tooth of Time, were but cuts, left by the sword of the Herald, as at the royal Henry's command, hecurtailed the pennon of the knight; and again restored it to Sir ReginaldDelme--a banner. 

The altar, which extended the whole width of the chapel, was enclosed by amarble screen, and was still flanked by the hallowed niche, built toreceive the drainings of the sacred cup. 

The aisles were divided from the nave, by lancet arches, springing fromclustered columns. But how describe the expansive windows, with their richmullions, and richer rosettes--their deeply moulded labels, following theform of the arch, and resting for support on the quaintest masks--howdescribe the matchless hues of the glass--valued mementoes of a bygoneage, and of an art that has perished?

The walls of the chapel were profusely ornamented with the richestcarving; and the oaken panels of the chancel, were adorned with thoseexquisite festoons of fruit and flowers, so peculiarly English. The veryceiling exacted admiration. It closed no lantern--it obstructed noview--and its light ribs, springing from voluted corbels, bore at eachintersection, an emblazoned escutcheon, or painted heraldic device. Theintricate fan-like tracery of the roof--the enriched bosses at eachmeeting of the gilded ribs--gave an airy charm and lightness to the whole, which well accorded with the florid Architecture, and with the chivalrousassociations, with which it is identified. 

And here, beneath this spangled canopy, in this ancient shrine, whoseevery ornament was as a memory of her ancestors; stood Emily Delme, asfair as the fairest of her race, changeful and trembling, a faint smileon her lip, and a quivering tear in her eye. 

Clarendon Gage took her hand in his, and placed on her finger the goldenpledge of truth, and as he did so, an approving sunbeam burst through thecrimson-stained pane, and before lightening the tomb of Sir Reginald, fellon her silvery veil--her snowy robe--her beautiful face. 

There was a very gay scene on the lawn, as they returned from the chapel. 

The dancing had already commenced--strains of music were heard from onhigh--the ever moving circle became one moment contracted, then expandedto the full length of the arms of the dancers, as they actively footed itround the garlanded May-pole. 

At the first sight of the leading carriage, however, a signal wasgiven--the music suddenly ceased--and the whole party below, with theexception of one individual, proceeded in great state towards an arch, composed of flowers and white thorn, which o'ercanopied the road. 

The carriage stopped to greet the procession. 

On came the blushing May-Queen, and Maid Marian--both armed with wandswreathed with cowslips--followed by a jovial retinue of morrice dancerswith drawn swords--guisers in many-coloured ribbons--and a full train ofsimple peasants, in white smock-frocks. 

The May Queen advanced to the carriage, followed by the peasant girls, andtimidly dropped a choice wreath into the lap of the bride. Loud hurrasrung in the air, as Sir Henry gave his steward some welcome instructionsas to the village feast; and the cavalcade continued its route. 

We have said that one individual lingered near the May-pole. As he wasespecially active, we may describe him and his employment. He wasapparently about fifteen. He had coarse straight white hair--a face thatdenoted stupidity--but with a cunning leer, which seemed to belie hisother features. 

He was taking advantage of the cessation of dancing, to supply theaspiring musicians with sundry articles of good cheer. A rope, armed witha hook, was dropped from their lofty aerie, and promptly drawn up, on theyoungster's obtaining from the neighbouring tents, wherewithal to fillsatisfactorily the basket which he attached. 

Sir Henry Delme and George had been so much abroad, and Emily's attachmentto Clarendon was of so early a date, that it happened that the members ofthe Delme family had mixed little in the festivities of the county inwhich they resided; and were not intimately known, nor perhaps fullyappreciated, in the neighbourhood. 

But the family was one of high standing, and had ever been remarkable forits kind-heartedness; and what _was_ known of its individuals, was so muchto their credit, that it kept alive the respect and consideration thatthese circumstances might of themselves warrant. 

Sir Henry, on the other hand, regarded his sister's marriage as an event, at which it might be proper to show, that neither hauteur nor want ofsociability, had precluded their friendly intercourse with theneighbouring magnates; and consequently, most of the principal familieswere present at Emily's wedding. 

While this large assemblage increased the gaiety of the scene, it wassomewhat wearisome to Delme, who was too truly attached to his sister, tobe otherwise than thoughtful during the ceremony, and the breakfast thatsucceeded it. 

At length the time came when Emily could escape from the gay throng; andendeavour, in the quiet of her own room, to be once more calm, before sheprepared to leave her much-loved home. 

The preparations made, a note was despatched to her brother, begging himto meet her in the library. As he did so, a fresh pang shot throughDelme's heart. 

As he looked on Emily's flushed face--her dewy cheek--and noted heragitated manner; he for the first time perceived, her very strongresemblance to poor George, and wondered that he had never observedthis before. 

Clarendon announced the carriage. 

"God bless you! dear Henry!"

"God bless and preserve you! my sweet! Clarendon! good bye! I am sure youwill take every care of her!"

In another moment, the carriage was whirling past the library window; andSir Henry felt little inclined, to join the formal party in thedrawing-room. Sending therefore a brief message to Mrs. Glenallan, hethrew open the library window, and with hurried steps reached asummer-house, half hidden in the shrubbery. He there fell into a deepreverie, which was by no means a pleasurable one. 

He thought of Emily--of George--of Acme, --and felt that he was becoming anisolated being. 

And had _he_ not loved too? As this thought crossed him, his ambitiousdreams were almost forgotten. 

Sir Henry Delme was aroused by the sound of voices. A loving couple, toomuch engaged to observe _him_, passed close to the summer-house. 

It was the "Queen of the May, " the prettiest and one of the poorestgirls in the parish, walking arm in arm with her rural swain. They hadleft the "roasted beeves, " and the "broached casks, " for one half-hour'sdelicious converse. 

There was some little coquettish resistance on the part of the girl, asthey sat down together at the foot of a fir tree. 

Her lover put his arm round her waist. 

"Oh! Mary! if father would but give us a cow or so!"

This little incident decided the matter. Delme at once resolved that MarySmith _should_ have a cow or so; and also that his own health would begreatly benefited, by a short sojourn at Leamington. 

Chapter XV. 

The Meeting. 

 "Oh ever loving, lovely, and beloved! How selfish sorrow ponders on the past, And clings to thoughts now better far removed, But Time shall tear thy shadow from me last. "

We know not whether our readers have followed us with due attention, as wehave incidentally, and at various intervals, made our brief allusion tothe gradual change of character, wrought on Delme, by the eventful scenesin which he so lately played a prominent part. 

When we first introduced him to our reader's notice, we endeavoured todepict him as he then really was, --a man of strong principles, warmheart, and many noble qualities; but one, prone to over-estimate thevalue of birth and fortune--with a large proportion of pride andreserve--and with ideas greatly tinctured with the absurd fallacies ofthe mere man of the world. 

But there was much in the family events we have described, to shakeDelme's previous convictions, and to induce him to recal many of hisformer opinions. 

He had seen his brother form a connection, which set at naught all thoseconvenances, which _he_ had been accustomed to regard as essential to, andas indeed forming the very ingredient of, domestic happiness. 

And yet Sir Henry Delme could not disguise from himself, that if, inGeorge's short-lived career, there had been much of pain and sorrow, theywere chiefly engendered by George's mental struggle, to uphold those veryopinions to which he himself was wedded; and that to this alone, might betraced much of the suffering he had undergone. This was it that had soweakened mind and body, as to render change of scene necessary;--this wasit that exposed Acme to the air of the pestiferous marshes, and which leftGeorge himself--a broken hearted man--totally incapable of bearing hisbereavement. 

On the other hand, the sunny happiness his brother had basked in, --and itwas very great, --had sprung from the natural out-pourings of anaffection, which, --unfettered as it had been by prudentialconsiderations, --had yet the power to make earth a heaven while Acmeshared it with him, and the dark grave an object of bright promise, whenhailed as the portal, through which _he_ must pass, ere he gazed oncemore on the load-star of his hopes. 

In the case, too, of Emily and Clarendon, although their union was farmore in accordance with his earlier theories, yet he could not but note, how little their happiness seemed to rest on their position in society, and how greatly was it based on their love for each other. 

These considerations were strengthened, by a growing feeling ofisolation, which the death of George and of Acme, --the marriage of hissister, --and probably the time of life he had arrived at, were allcalculated to awaken. 

With the knowledge of his disease, sprung up the hope of an antidote; andit may be, that the little episode of the May Queen in our last chapter, came but as a running comment, to reflections that had long been cherishedand indulged. 

The thoughts of Sir Henry Delme anxiously centred in Julia Vernon; and ashe recalled her graceful emotion when they last parted, the unfrequentblush, --it might be of shame, it might be of consciousness, --coloured hissun-burnt cheek. 

At length, --the guests being dismissed, Delme was at leisure to renew anacquaintance, which had already proved an eventful one to him. He hadheard little of Miss Vernon since his return to England. His sister hadthought it better to let matters take their own course; and Julia, whoknew that in the eyes of the world, her circumstances were very differentto what they had been previous to her uncle's death; had from motives ofdelicacy, shunned any intercourse that might lead to a renewed intimacywith the family. 

Her health, too, had been precarious, and her elasticity of mind was gone. Slowly wasting from day to day, she had sought to banish all thoughtsthat were not of a world less vain than this--and her very languor ofbody--while it gave her an apology for declining all gaieties, induced aresigned spirit, and a quiet frame of mind. 

When Sir Henry Delme was announced, Julia was alone in the drawing-room. At that name, she attempted to rise from the sofa; but she was weak, andher head fell back on the white pillow. 

Delme stood for a moment irresolute, --a prey to the deepest pangsof remorse. 

Well might he be shocked at that altered form!

Her figure was greatly attenuated, --her cheeks sunken, --her eyes brightand large; while over the forehead and drooping eyelid branched thesapphire veins, with their intricate windings so clearly marked, thatDelme almost thought, that he could trace the motion of the blood beneath. That momentary pause, and the one mutual glance of recognition, told amore accurate tale than words could convey. 

As Sir Henry pressed that small transparent hand, Julia's thin lipquivered convulsively. She attempted to speak, but the exertion ofutterance was too great, and she burst into a flood of tears. 

"Julia! my own Julia! forgive me! we will never part more!"

After this interview, it is needless to say that there was little else tobe explained. Mrs. Vernon was delighted at Julia's happy prospects, and itwas settled that their marriage should take place in the ensuing August. Such arrangements as could be made on the spot to facilitate this, were atonce entered on. 

At the end of two months, it became necessary that Delme should proceed totown, for the purpose of seeing the Commander-in-Chief, in order towithdraw a previous application to be employed on active service. He wasanxious also to consult a friend, whom he proposed appointing one of thetrustees for his marriage settlement; and Clarendon and Emily had exacteda promise, that he would pay them a visit on his way to Delme Park; whichhe had determined to take on his route to town, that he might personallyinspect some alterations he had lately planned there. 

It was with bright prospects before him, that Delme kissed off the bigtear that coursed down Julia's cheek; as she bade him farewell, with asmuch earnestness, as if years, instead of a short fortnight, were toelapse before they met again. 

Miss Vernon's health had decidedly improved. She was capable of muchgreater exertion; and her spirits were sometimes as buoyant as inother days. 

When Sir Henry first reached Leamington, the only exercise that Juliacould take was in a wheel chair; and great was her delight at seeing ahand present itself over its side, and know that it was _his_. Latterly, however, she had been able to lean on his arm, and take a few turns on thelawn, and had on one occasion even reached the public gardens. 

Mrs. Vernon, with the deceptive hope common to those, who watch day by dayby the side of an invalid's couch, and in the very gradual loss ofstrength, lose sight of the real extent of danger, had never beendesponding as to her daughter's ultimate recovery; and was now quitesatisfied that a few weeks more would restore her completely to health. 

Sir Henry Delme, with the gaze of a lover, would note each flush ofanimation, and mistake it for the hue of health; while Julia herself _felther love, and thought it strength_. 

There was only one person who looked somewhat grave at these joyouspreparations. This was Dr. Jephson, who noticed that Julia's voicecontinued very weak, and that she could not get rid of a low hollow cough, that had long distressed her. 

Clarendon and his wife were resident at a beautiful cottage near Malvern, on the road to Eastnor Castle. The cottage itself was small, and halfhidden with fragrant honey-suckles, but had well appointed extensivegrounds behind it. _They_ were not of the very many, who after the firstfortnight of a forced seclusion, --the treacle moon, as some one has calledit, --find their own society, both wearisome and unprofitable. _Theirs_ wasa lover felt but by superior and congenial minds--a love, neither sensualnor transient--a love on which affection and reflection shed theirglow, --which could bear the test of scrutiny, --and which owed its chiefcharm to the presence of truth. 

Delme passed a week at Malvern, and then proceeded towards town, with thepleasing conviction that his sister's happiness was assured. 

Twenty-four hours at Delme sufficed to inspect the alterations, and togive orders as to Lady Delme's rooms. 

Sir Henry had received two letters from Julia, while at Malvern, and bothwere written in great spirits. At his club in London another awaited him, which stated that she had not been quite so well, and that she was writingfrom her room. A postscript from Mrs. Vernon quite did away with any alarmthat Sir Henry might otherwise have felt. 

Delme attended Lord Hill's levee; and immediately afterwards proceeded tohis friend's office. To his disappointment, he was informed that hisfriend had left for Bath; and thinking it essential that he should seehim; he went thither at an early hour the following day. 

At Bath he was again doomed to be disappointed, for his friend had goneto Clifton. Sir Henry dined that day with Mr. Belliston Graeme; and onreturning to the hotel, had the interview with Oliver Delancey, that hasbeen described in the thirteenth chapter of our first volume. 

On the succeeding morning, Delme was with the future trustee; and finallyarranged the affair to his entire satisfaction. His absence fromLeamington, had been a day or two more protracted than he had anticipated, and his not finding his friend in London, had prevented his hearing fromMiss Vernon so lately as he could have wished. 

Sir Henry had posted all night, and it was ten in the morning when hereached Leamington. He directed the postilion to drive to his hotel, butit happened that on his way he had to pass Mrs. Vernon's door. 

As the carriage turned a corner, which was distant some hundred yards fromMrs. Vernon's house, Sir Henry was surprised by a momentary check on thepart of his driver. 

It had rained heavily during the early part of the day. The glasses wereup, and so bespattered with the mud and rain, that it was impossible tosee through them. Sir Henry let them down; saw a confused mass ofcarriages; and could clearly discern a mourning coach. 

He did not give himself time to breathe his misgivings; but flung the dooropen, and sprang from his seat into the road. It was still three or fourdoors from Mrs. Vernon's house, and he prayed to God that his fears mightbe groundless. 

As he approached nearer, it was evident that there was unusual bustleabout _that_ house. Delme grasped the iron railing, and clung to it forsupport; but with every sense keenly alive to aught that might dispel, orconfirm that horrible suspicion. 

Two old women, dressed in the characteristic red cloak of the Englishpeasant, were earnestly conversing together--their baskets of eggs andflowers being laid on a step of one of the adjacent houses. 

"So you knowed her, Betsy Farmer?"

"Lord a mercy!" responded the other, "I ha' knowed Miss July since shewa' the height of my basket. Ay! and many's the bunch of flowers she ha'had from me. That was afore the family went to the sea side. Well! it's amatter o' five year, sin' she comed up to me one morning--so grown as I'dnever ha' known her. But she knowed me, and asked all about me. And I justtold her all my troubles, and how I had lost my good man. And sure enoughsin' that day she ha' stood my friend, and gived me soup and flannels forthe little uns, and put my Bess to service, and took me through all thebad Christmas'. Poor dear soul! she ha' gone now! and may the Lord blessher and all as good as she!"

The poor woman, who felt the loss of her benefactress, put the corner ofher apron to her eyes. 

Sir Henry strode forward. 

Mutes were on each side of the front step. A servant threw open the doorof the breakfast room, and Delme mechanically entered it. It was filledwith strangers; on some of these the spruce undertaker was fitting silkscarfs; while others were busy at the breakfast table. 

An ominous whisper ran through the apartment. 

"Sir Henry Delme?" said the rosy-cheeked clergyman, enquiringly, as helaid down his egg spoon, and turned towards him. 

"I trust you received my letter. Women are so utterly helpless in thesematters; and poor Mrs. Vernon was quite overpowered. "

Delme turned away to master his emotion. 

At this moment, a friendly hand was laid on his shoulder, and Mrs. Vernon's maid, with her eyes red from weeping, beckoned him up stairs. 

He mechanically obeyed her--reeled into an inner drawing room--and stoodin the presence of the bereaved mother. 

Mrs. Vernon was ordinarily the very picture of neatness. _Now_ she satwith her feet on a footstool--her head almost touching her lap--her silverhair all loose and dishevelled. It seemed to Delme as if age had suddenlycome upon her. 

She rose as he entered, and with wild hysterical sobs, threw herselfinto his arms. 

"My son I my son! that _should_ have been. Our angel is gone--gone!"

Delme tried to speak, but his tongue clove to his mouth, and the hystericglobe rose to his throat. 

Suddenly he heard the sound of wheels, and of heavy footsteps onthe stairs. 

He imprinted a kiss on the old woman's forehead--it was his farewell forever!--gave her to the care of the maid servant--and rushed from the room. 

He was stopped on the landing of the staircase by the coffin of her heloved so well. The bearers stopped for an instant; they felt that this wasno common greeting. Part of the pall was already turned back. Delmeremoved its head with trembling hand. 

 "Julia Vernon. Aetate 22. "

He dropped the velvet with a groan, and was only saved from falling by thetimely aid of the old butler, whose face was as sorrowful as his own. 

But there was a duty yet to be performed, and Delme followed the corpse. 

The first mourning coach was just drawn up. An intended occupant hadalready his foot on the step. 

"This place is mine!" said Sir Henry in a hollow voice. 

The cortege proceeded; and Delme, giddy and confused, heard solemn wordsspoken over his affianced one, and he waited, till even the coffin couldhe discerned no more. 

Thompson, who had followed his master, assisted him into his carriage, placed himself beside him, and ordered the driver to proceed to the hotel. But Delme gave a quick impetuous motion of the hand, which the domesticunderstood well; and the horses' heads were turned towards the metropolis. 

The mourner tarried not, even to bid his sister farewell; but soughtonce more his brother's grave. Some friendly hand had kept its turfsmooth; no footsteps, save the innocent ones of children, had pressedits grassy mound. It was clothed with soft daisies and droopingharebells. The sun seemed to shine on that spot, to bid the wanderer becontented and at rest. 

But as yet there was no rest for Delme. And he stood beside the marbleslab, beneath which lay Acme Frascati. The downy moss--soft asherself--was luxuriating there; and the cry of the cicalas was pleasantto the ear; and the image of the young Greek girl, as in a vividpicture, rose to his mind's eye. She was not attired in her white cymar;nor was her head wreathed with monumental amaranths;--health was on hercheek, fond smiles on her pouting lip, and tender love swimming in hermelting glance. 

His own griefs came back on Delme; he groaned aloud. He traversed thedeserts, he crossed lofty mountains, he knew thirst and privations. He wasscoffed at and spat upon in an infidel country--he was tossed on theocean--he shook hands with danger. 

He visited our wide Oriental possessions; and sojourned amid the spicyislands of the Indian Archipelago, where vegetation attains a magnificenceunknown elsewhere, and animal life partakes of this unexampledexuberance, --where flowers of the most exquisite colours and fragrancecharm the senses by day, and delicious plants saturate the air with theirodours by night. 

Delme extended his wanderings to the rarely visited "many isles, " whichstud the vast Pacific, and found that there too were fruitful andsmiling regions. 

But not on the desert--nor on the mountains--nor in the land of theMoslem---nor on tempestuous seas--nor in those verdant islets, which seemto breathe of Paradise, to greet the wearied traveller; could Delme'srestless spirit find an abiding place, his thirst for foreign travel beslaked, or his heart know peace. 

He madly sought oblivion, which could not be accorded him. 

Chapter XVI. 

The Wanderer. 

 "Then I consider'd life in all its forms, Of vegetables first, next zoophytes, The tribe that dwells upon the confine strange 'Twixt plants and fish; some are there from their mouth Spit out their progeny, and some that breed, By suckers from their base or tubercles, Sea-hedgehog, madrepore, sea-ruff, or pad, Fungus, or sponge, or that gelatinous fish, That taken from its element at once Stinks, melts, and dies a fluid; so from these, Through many a tribe of less equivocal life, Dividual or insect, up I ranged, From sentient to percipient, small advance, Next to intelligent, to rational next, So to half spiritual human kind, And what is more, is more than man may know. Last came the troublesome question--What am I?"

 * * * * *

 "And vain were the hat, the staff, and stole, And all outward signs were a snare, Unless the pilgrim's endanger'd soul Were inwardly clothed with prayer. 

 "But the pilgrim prays--and then trials are light-- For prayer to him on his way, Resembles the pillar of fire by night, And the guiding cloud by day. 

 "And salvation's helm the pilgrim wears, Or vain were all other dress; And the shield of faith the pilgrim bears, With the breastplate of righteousness. 

 "At length his tears all wiped away; He enters the City of Light; And how gladly he changes his gown of grey, For Zion's robe of white. "

It was on the 22nd of October, 1836, that an emissary from his sister, sought Sir Henry Delme. It was at the antipodes to his ancestral home; inAustralia, that wonderful country, which--belied and calumniated, as shehas hitherto been--presents some anomalous and creditable features. 

For her population, she is the wealthiest, the most enterprising, the mostorderly and loyal, of our British possessions. There, is the aristocracyof wealth, to an unprecedented degree, subservient to the aristocracy ofvirtue. While she is stigmatised as the cloacae of Britain, the philosopherlooks into the future, and already beholds a nation, perpetuating thelanguage of the brave and free; when the parent stock has perhaps ceasedto be an empire; or is lingering on, like modern Greece, in the hopelesslanguor of decay and decrepitude. 

This agent had arrived from England, a very short period before; and, accredited with a packet, containing various communications from Emily andClarendon, accompanied by the miniatures of their children, with littlesilky curls attached to each, proceeded an expectant guest, to Sir HenryDelme's temporary residence. Early dawn saw him pacing the deck of a steamvessel; and regarding with great surprise, the opposite banks of Hunter'sRiver, up which the vessel was gliding. 

A rich dark soil, of great depth, bespoke uncommon fertility; while thevarieties of the gum tree--then quite new to him--with their bark of everydiversity of colour, gave a primeval grandeur to the scene. 

Each moment brought in sight the location of some enterprising settler, which, ever varying in appearance, in importance, and in extent yet toldthe same tale of difficulties overcome, and success ensuing. 

On his reaching the township, near the head of the navigation, this agentfound horses waiting for him:--he was addressed by a well-appointedgroom--our old friend Thompson--who touched his hat respectfully, andmentioned the name, he was already prepared for by his Sydney advices. 

Suffice it, that Sir Henry was no longer the Baronet, and that the name ofDelme was a strange one in his household. 

Their route skirted the banks of one of those rivers, which, divergingfrom that mine of wealth, the Hunter, wind into the bowels of the land, like a vein of gold. 

That emissary will not soon forget his lovely ride. His eye, wearied withgazing on the wide expanse of ocean, feasted on the rich and novellandscape. They rode alternately, through cleared lands, studded with richfarms, waving with luxuriant crops of wheat and rye; and again, throughregions, where the axe had never resounded, but where eucalypti, andbastard box, and forest oak with its rough acorn, towered above beauteouswild flowers, whose forms and varieties were associated in the mind ofthe stranger, with some of the most precious and valued flowers whichadorn British conservatories. 

The russet Certhia, with outspread fluttering wing, pecked at the smoothbark, and preying on some destructive insect, really preserved what itseemed to injure. The larger parrots, travelling in pairs, screamed theirpassing salutation, as they displayed their bright plumage to the sun;while hundreds, of a smaller kind, with crimson shoulder, were concealedamid the green leaves; and, as they rode beneath them, babbled--likefrolicsome children of the forest--a rude, but to themselves a notunmeaning dialogue. 

The superb warblers, ornaments alike to the bush or the garden, flittedcheerily from bough to bough. Strangely mated are they! The male, in suitof black velvet, trimmed with sky blue, looks like a knight, attired for apalace festival:--while his lady-love--she resembles some peasant girl, silent and grateful, clothed in modest kirtle of sober brown. 

As he reined in his horse, to examine these at leisure, how melodiouslycame on his ear, the clear, ceaseless, silver tinkle of the bell-bird;this sound ever and anon chequered by the bold chock-ee-chock! of thebald-headed friar. They had proceeded very leisurely, and the sun wasalready declining, when Thompson, pointing to an abrupt path, motionedhim to descend, and at the same time, gave the peculiar cry, known in thecolony as the cooi; a cry which was as promptly answered. It was notuntil he was close to the edge of the river, that the stranger understoodits purport. 

A punt was rapidly approaching from the opposite bank. An athleticaboriginal native, in an attitude that seemed studiedly graceful, wasbending to the stout rope, which, attached to either side of the river, served to propel the punt. He had been spearing fish; for his wife, orgin, or queen--for she was born such, and contradicted in her person theold adage, "There's a difference between A beggar and a queen"--

was drawing the barb of a spear from the bleeding side of a strugglingmullet. She sat at the bottom of the boat, with a blanket closely woundround her. She was young, and her looks were not unpleasing. Herthickly-matted hair was ornamented with kangaroo teeth; and to hershoulder, closely clung a native tailless bear, whose appearance could notdo otherwise than excite a smile. With convex staring eyes--hairlessnose--and white ruff of fur round his face--he very closely resembled inphysiognomy, some grey-whiskered guzzling citizen. The well-trained horsesgave no trouble, as they entered the punt; and the smiling boatman, displaying his teeth to Thompson, but without speaking, commenced warpingthe punt to the opposite side of the river. They were half way across, erethe guest observed the mansion of the friend he sought. It stood on thesummit of the hill, on the left; beneath which the river made a veryabrupt bend. The house itself resembled the common weather-boarded cottageof the early settler, --wide verandah was over the front entrance, --and twosmall rooms, the exact width of this, jutted out on either side of it. 

Its site however was commanding. The house stood on an eminence, and fromthe windows, a long reach of the river was visible. At the top of the browof the hill, extended a range of English rose trees, in full flower. Thebank, which might be about thirty yards in front of these, was clothedwith foliage to the water's edge. 

There might be seen the fragrant mimosa--the abundant acacia--the swampoak, which would have been styled a fir, had not the first exiles toAustralia found twined round its boughs, the misletoe, with its many homeassociations--the elegant cedar--the close-growing mangrove--and strangeparasitical plants, pushing through huge fungi, and clasping with theremorseless strength of the wrestler, and with the round crunching foldsof the boa, the trees they were gradually to supplant and destroy. 

Suddenly, the quick finger of the black pointed to an object close besidethe punt. A bill, as of a bird, and apparently of the duck tribe, protruded above the surface of the water. For an instant, small, black, piercing eyes peered towards them: but as the quadruped, for such it was, prepared to dive in affright, the unerring shot of a rifle splashed thewater on the cheek of the stranger--the body rolled slowly over--the legsstiffened--a sluggish stream of dark blood tainted the surroundingwave--and the ferryman, extending his careless hand, threw the victim tohis companion, at the same time addressing a few words to her in theirnative language. 

The guest had little difficulty, in recognising the uncouth form of theornithorhynchus, or water-mole; but he turned with yet more eagerness, towards the spot, whence that shot had proceeded. On the summit of thesteep bank, leaning on his rifle, stood Sir Henry Delme. 

His form was still commanding--there was something in the air with whichthe cap was worn--and in the strap round his Swiss blouse--that bespokethe soldier and the gentleman: but his face was sadly attenuated--thelower jaw appeared to have fallen in--and his hair was very grey. 

He received his guest with a cordial and sincere welcome. While the latterdelivered his packet the native who had warped the punt over, came upwith the dead platypus, "Well, Boomeroo! is it a female?"

"No, massa! full grown--with large spur!"

Sir Henry saw that his guest was puzzled by this dialogue, andgood-naturedly showed him the distinguishing characteristic of the maleornithorhynchus--the spur on the hinder foot, which is hollow, andtransmits an envenomed liquid, secreted by a gland on the inner surface ofthe thigh. 

In November, of the year preceding, a burrow of the animal had beenopened on the bank of the river, which contained the dam, and threelive young ones;--there were many points, yet to be determined relativeto its interior organization; and it was on this account, that SirHenry was anxious to obtain a female specimen at this particularperiod. As he spoke, Delme introduced the stranger to his study, whichmight more aptly be styled a museum;--applied some spirits of wine tothe platypus, and placing it under a bell-glass for the morrow'sexamination, left him turning over his collection of birds, while heperused his valued home letters. 

It was with unmixed pleasure, knowing as he did his melancholy history, that the stranger found Sir Henry Delme engaged in pursuits, which it wasevident he was following up with no common enthusiasm. In truth, a mereaccidental circumstance, --the difficulty of obtaining a vessel at one ofthe Indian Islands for any port, --had at first brought him to Australia, acountry regarding which he had felt little curiosity. The strangevarieties, however, of its animal kingdom, had interested him;--he wasstruck with the rapid strides that that country has made in half acentury--and he continued from month to month to occupy the house wherehis friend had now found him. 

To the stranger's eye, the eye of a novice, the well arranged specimens ofbirds of the most beautiful plumage--of animals, chiefly marsupial, of themost singular developement--of glittering insects--and of deep colouredshells; were attractive wonders enough; but from the skeletons besidethese, it was quite clear, that Delme had acquired considerable knowledgeas to the internal construction of the animals themselves--that he hadstudied the subsisting relations, between the mechanism and themovements--the structure, and its varied functions. 

After dinner, Sir Henry Delme, who appeared to think that the bearer ofhis despatches had conferred on him a lasting favour, threw off hishabitual reserve, and delighted and interested him with his tales offoreign travel. 

As the night wore on, the conversation reverted to his sister and hishome. It was evident, that what remained for the living of that crushedheart, was with Emily and Clarendon, and their children; perhaps more thanall, with his young heir and god-son, Henry Delme Gage. The very colour ofthat sunny lock of hair, gave rise to much speculation: and it seemed asif he would never be wearied, of listening to the minutest description ofthe dawning of intellect, in a precocious little fellow of barely fiveyears of age. 

Encouraged by his evident feeling, and observing many more comfortsabout him, than he had been led to expect from his previous erranthabits; his guest ventured to express his hope, that Sir Henry might yetreturn to England. 

"My good friend!" replied he, "for I must call you such now, for I knownot when I have experienced such unalloyed satisfaction, as you haveconferred on me this night, by conversing so freely of those I love; Icertainly never can forget that I am the last male of an ancient race, andthat those who are nearest and dearest to me, are divided from me by awide waste of waters. I have learnt to suffer with more patience than Ihad ever hoped for; and, it may be, --although I have hardly breathed thethought to myself--it may yet be accorded me to revisit that ancientchapel, and to dwell once more in that familiar mansion. "

His guest was overcome by his emotion, and pressed his hand with warmth, as he made his day's journey the excuse for an early retirement. 

Sleep soon visited his eyelids, for the ride, to one fresh from a seavoyage, had brought with it a wholesome weariness. He was aroused fromhis slumbers, by the deep sonorous accents as of a man reading Spanish. 

The light streamed from an adjacent room, through the chinks of apartition. He started up alike forgetful of Delme, his ride, and hisarrival in Australia; conceiving that he was again at the mercy of thewaves, in his narrow comfortless cabin. 

That light, however, brought the stranger back to the wanderer, andhis griefs. 

Beside a small table, strewn with his lately received English letters, knelt Sir Henry Delme. The stranger had seen condemned criminals pray withbecoming fervour; and devotees of many a creed lift up their hearts toheaven; but never had he witnessed a more contrite or a humbler spiritimprinted on the features of mortal man, than then shed its radiance onthat sorrowful, but noble face. 

Strange as it may appear, he knew not whether the words themselves reallycaught his ear, or whether the motion of the lips expressed them--butthis he _did_ know, that every syllable seemed to reach his heart, andimpress him with a mystic thrill, "OR EVER THE SILVER CORD BE LOOSED, OR THE GOLDEN BOWL BE BROKEN, OR THEPITCHER BE BROKEN AT THE FOUNTAIN, OR THE WHEEL BROKEN AT THE CISTERN. THEN SHALL THE DUST RETURN TO THE EARTH AS IT WAS: AND THE SPIRIT SHALLRETURN UNTO GOD WHO GAVE IT. "

Chapter XVII

The Wanderer's Return. 

 "And he had learn'd to love--I know not why, For this in such as him seems strange of mood, -- The helpless looks of blooming infancy, Even in its earliest nurture; what subdued, To change like this, a mind so far imbued With scorn of man, it little boots to know; But thus it was; and though in solitude Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to glow. "

Within a period of two months, from the interview we have described, thestranger found that his arguments had not been thrown away; as he shookSir Henry's hand on the deck of a vessel bound for Valparaiso. His love oftravel and of excitement, had induced such an habitual restlessness, thatDelme was not prepared at once to embark for England. He crossed theCordillera de los Andes--traversed the Pampas of Buenos Ayres--andfinally embarked for his native land. 

It was the height of summer, when the carriage which bore the long absentowner to his ancestral home, neared the ancient moss-grown lodge. 

Fanny Porter, who was now married, and had a thriving babe at her breast, started with surprise; as, throwing open the gate, she recognised in thecare-worn man with bronzed face and silver hair, her well known andbeloved master. As the carriage neared the chapel, it struck Sir Henry, that it would be but prudent, to inform Clarendon of his near approach; inorder that he might prepare Emily for the meeting. He ordered thepostilion to pull up--tore a leaf from his memorandum book--and wrote afew lines to Clarendon, despatching Thompson in advance. He turned intothe chapel, and as he approached its altar, the bridal scene, enactedthere nearly seven years back, seemed to rise palpably before him. 

But the tomb of Sir Reginald Delme, with its velvet dusty banner--themarble monument of his mother, with the bust above it, whose naked eyeseemed turned towards him--his withered heart and hopes soon darkened hisrecollections of that bright hour. With agitated emotions, Sir Henry leftthe chapel; and in a spirit of impatience, strode towards the mansion, intending to meet the returning domestic. His feelings were strange, various, and not easily defined. 

He was awakened from his day-dream by the sound of children's voices, which sound he instinctively followed, until he reached the old orchard. It was such an orchard, as might be planted by an old Delme, ere anyLinnean or Loudonean horticulturist had decided that slopes are best forthe sun, that terraces are an economical saving of ground, that valleysmust be swamps, and that blights are vulgar errors. The orchard at Delmewas strikingly unscientific; but the old stock contrived to bear goodfruit. The pippins, golden and russet--the pears, jargonelle andgood-christian--the cherries, both black and white heart--still thrived;while under their shade, grew hips, haws, crabs, sloes, and blackberries, happy to be shaded from rain, dews, and fierce sun-shine, and unenviousof roses, cherries, apples, damsons, and mulberries; their self-defended, and more aristocratic cousins. 

Sir Henry stopped unseen at the gate of the orchard, and for some minuteslooked on the almost fairy group, whose voices had led him thither. 

Lying on the bank, which enclosed the orchard, was a blue-eyedrosy-cheeked little girl;--the ground ashes had been cut down; and herlaughing face was pillowed on the violets and oxlips, that burst frombetween the roots. She was preparing to take another roll into the clayeyditch below. Another little girl was gazing at the child from within theorchard; half doubtful whether she should encourage or check her. Onepale-blue slipper and her little sock were half sunk in the clay, whilethe veiny and pink-soled foot, the large lids half closed over her deepblue eyes, the finger thrust between her red and pouting lips, her bonnetthrown back and hanging by the strings round her swelling throat, her hairdishevelled and stuck with oxlips, primroses, cowslips, violets, anddaisies; and wreathed with the spring-holly, or butcher's-broom--made hera perfect picture of English beauty, and of childish anxiety andindecision. 

Beside her stood a boy older than herself, and evidently as perplexed. There was Julia perched cock-horse on the bank--there was Emily, her hairundone, her bonnet crashed, with one shoe and stocking lost--and yet hehad promised Mamma, that if she would but once trust his sisters to him, that he would bring them home, "with such a pretty basket ofspring-flowers. "

The beautiful blossoms of the cherry hung around the boy--the bees buzzedin its bells--the apple and pear blossoms shook their fragrance in thewarm air--and the shadows of the flying clouds hurried like wings over thebright green grass. The boy had dropped his basket of fresh-blown flowersat his feet--tears were trembling in his eye-lids, as he gazed on hissisters. His look was that of George. 

"Childhood too has its sorrows, " said Sir Henry, half aloud, "even whenseeking joy on a bank of primroses. Why should _I_ then repine?"

The boy started as he heard and saw the stranger:--he involuntarily putone foot forward in an attitude of childish defiance: but children arekeen physiognomists, and there was nothing but affection beaming from thatmournful face. 

"My boy!" said Delme, and his eyes were moist, "did you ever hear of yourUncle Henry?"

"Emily! Emily! Julia!" exclaimed the little fellow, as he rushed into SirHenry's arms, "here is Uncle Henry, my god-papa, and he will help us toreach the blackberries. "

We need follow the wanderer no further. It is true that in his youth hehad not known sympathy; in his manhood he had experienced sorrow; butit is a pleasure to us to reflect, that despair is not the companion ofhis old age. 

The End.