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This young lady, then, was no other than him, that the fire needed stirring; and taking Miss Walton.

She had heard the old man's his- up the poker, demolished the turban'd head of tory from Harley, as we have already related it. a Saracen, while his master was seeking out a Curiosity, or some other motive, made her de- body for it. “ The morning is main cold, sir," sirous to see his grandchildren ; this she had an said Peter.-" Is it?" said Harley.-“Yes, sir. opportunity of gratifying soon, the children, in I have been as far as Tom Dowson's to fetch some of their walks, having strolled as far as some barberries he had picked for Mrs Margery. her father's avenue. She put several questions There was a rare junketting last night at Thoto both-she was delighted with the simplicity mas's among Sir Harry Benson's servants ; he of their answers, and promised, that if they lay at Squire Walton's, but he would not suffer continued to be good children, and do as their his servants to trouble the family; so, to be grandfather bid them, she would soon see them sure, they were all at Tom's, and had a fiddle again, and bring some present or other for their and a hot supper in the big room where the reward. This promise she had performed now; justices meet about the destroying of hares and she came attended only by her maid, and brought partridges, and them things; and Tom's eyes with her a complete suit of green for the boy, looked so red and so bleared when I called him and a chintz gown, a cap, and a suit of ribbands, to get the barberries.-And I hear as how Sir for his sister. She had time enough, with her Harry is going to be married to Miss Walton.” maid's assistance, to equip them in their new ha- How! Miss Walton married !” said Harley. biliments before Harley and Edwards returned. Why, it mayn't be true, sir, for all that; but The boy heard his grandfather's voice, and with Tom's wife told it me, and to be sure the serthat silent joy which his present finery inspired, vants told her, and their master told them, as I ran to the door to meet him. Putting one hand guess, sir ; but it mayn't be true for all that, as in his, with the other pointing to his sister, I said before.”—“Have done with your idle in“ See,” said he, “what Miss Walton has brought formation," said Harley. “Is my aunt come us!” Edwards gazed on them. Harley fixed down into the parlour to breakfast?"_" Yes, his eyes on Miss Walton; hers were turned to sir.”—“Tell her I'll be with her immediatethe ground ; in Edwards' was a beamy moisture. ly.” He folded his hands together. “I cannot speak, When Peter was gone, he stood with his eyes young lady,” said he,“ to thank you.” Nei- fixed on the ground, and the last words of his ther could Harley. There were a thousand sen- intelligence vibrating in his ears ;-"Miss Waltiments, but they gushed so impetuously on his ton married !” he sighed—and walked down heart that he could not utter a syllable. stairs, with his shoe as it was, and the buckle

in his hand. His aunt, however, was pretty well accustomed to those appearances of absence;

besides, that the natural gravity of her temper, CHAP. XL.

which was commonly called into exertion by

the care of her household concerns, was such The Man of Feeling jealous.

as not easily to be discomposed by any circum

stance of accidental impropriety. She, too, had The desire of communicating knowledge or been informed of the intended match between intelligence, is an argument with those who Sir Harry Benson and Miss Walton. “I have hold that man is naturally a social animal. It been thinking,” said she, “ that they are disis, indeed, one of the earliest propensities we tant relations ; for the great-grandfather of this discover ; but it may be doubted whether the Sir Harry Benson, who was knight of the shire pleasure (for pleasure there certainly is) arising in the reign of Charles the First, and one of the from it, be not often more selfish than social; cavaliers of those times, was married to a daughfor we frequently observe the tidings of ill ter of the Walton family.” Harley answered communicated as eagerly as the annunciation of dryly, that it might be so; but that he never good. Is it that we delight in observing the troubled himself about those matters. “Ineffects of the stronger passions ? for we are all deed,” said she," you are to blame, nephew, philosophers in this respect; and it is, perhaps, for not knowing a little more of them; before amongst the spectators at Tyburn that the most I was near your age, I had sewed the pedigree genuine are to be found.

of our family in a set of chair-bottoms, that were Was it from this motive that Peter came one made a present of to my grandmother, who was morning into his master's room with a meaning a very notable woman, and had a proper regard face of recital ? His master, indeed, did not at for gentility, I'll assure you ; but now-a-days, first observe it; for he was sitting with one it is money, not birth, that makes people reshoe buckled, delineating portraits in the fire. spected; the more shame for the times. “ I have brushed those clothes, sir, as you or- Harley was in no very good humour for endered me.” Harley nodded his head; but Peter tering into a discussion of this question ; but he observed that his hat wanted brushing too; his always entertained so much filial respect for his master nodded again. At last Peter bethought aunt, as to attend to her discourse.

We blame the pride of the rich,” said he, from Mr Walton's?"-"From Mr Walton's, “ but are not we ashamed of our poverty?”. sir ! there is none of his servants here, that I

Why, one would not choose,” replied his know of.”—“ Nor of Sir Harry Benson's?"aunt, “ to make a much worse figure than one's He did not wait for an answer ; but, having by neighbours; but, as I was saying before, the this time observed the hat with its party-cotimes (as my friend Mrs Dorothy Walton ob- loured ornament hanging on a peg near the serves) are shamefully degenerated in this re- door, he pressed forwards into the kitchen, and spect. There was but t'other day, at Mr Wal- addressing himself to a stranger whom he saw ton's, that fat fellow's daughter, the London there, asked him, with no small tremor in his merchant, as he calls himself,—though I have voice, “ If he had any commands for him?" heard that he was little better than the keeper The inan looked silly, and said, “ That he had of a chandler's shop, we were leaving the gene nothing to trouble his honour with.”—“ Are tlemen to go to tea. She had a hoop, forsooth, not you a servant of Sir Harry Benson's?”— as large and as stiff--and it shewed a pair of “ No, sir.”—“You'll pardon me, young man ; bandy legs, as thick as two— I was nearer the I judged by the favour in your hat.”—“Sir, I door by an apron's length, and the pert hussy am his Majesty's servant, God bless him! and brushed by me, as who should say, Make way these favours we always wear when we are refor your betters, and with one of her Londou- cruiting.”—“Recruiting !” his eyes glistened at bobs—but Mrs Dorothy did not let her pass the word ; he seized the soldier's hand, and, with it; for all the time of drinking tea, she shaking it violently, ordered Peter to fetch a spoke of the precedency of family, and the dis- bottle of his aunt's best dram. The bottle was parity there is between people who are come brought. “You shall drink the King's health," of something, and your mushroom-gentry who said Harley,“ in a bumper.”—“The King, and wear their coats-of-arms in their purses.

your honour.”

-“ Nay, you shall drink the Her indignation was interrupted by the arri- King's health by itself; you may drink mine val of her maid with a damask table-cloth, and in another.” Peter looked in his master's face, a set of napkins, from the loom, which had been and filled with some little reluctance. “Now, spun by her mistress's own hand. There was to your mistress," said Harley ; “ every soldier the family-crest in each corner, and in the has a mistress.' The man excused himselfmiddle a view of the battle of Worcester, where “ To your mistress! you cannot refuse it.” 'Twas one of her ancestors had been a captain in the Mrs Margery's best dram! Peter stood with the King's forces; and with a sort of poetical li, bottle a little inclined, but not so as to discharge cence in perspective, there was seen the Royal a drop of its contents. “Fill it, Peter,” said his Oak, with more wig than leaves upon it. master, “ fill it to the brim.” Peter filled it;

On all this the good lady was very copious, and the soldier, having named Sukey Simpson, and took up the remaining intervals of filling dispatched it in at winkling. “ Thou art an tea, to describe its excellencies to Harley ; add- honest fellow," said Harley, “and I love thee;" ing, that she intended this as a present for his and shaking his hand again, desired Peter to wife, when he should get one. He sighed, and make him his guest at dinner, and walked up looked foolish, and commending the serenity of into his room with a pace much quicker and the day, walked out into the garden.

more springy than usual. He sat down on a little seat which command. This agreeable disappointment, however, he ed an extensive prospect round the house. He was not long suffered to enjoy. The Curate hapleaned on his hand, and scored the ground with pened that day to dine with him ; his visits, ine his stick :—“Miss Walton married !” said he ; deed, were more properly to the aunt than the “ but what is that to me? May she be happy! nephew; and many of the intelligent ladies in her virtues deserve it; to me, her marriage is the parish, who, like some very great philosootherwise indifferent:-I had romantic dreams; phers, have the happy knack at accounting for they are fled !-it is perfectly indifferent." every thing, gave out, that there was a particu

Just at that moment, he saw a servant, with lar áttachment between them, which wanted a knot of ribbands in his hat, go into the house. only to be matured by some more years of courtHis cheeks grew flushed at the sight! He kept ship, to end in the tenderest connection. In this his eye fixed for some time on the door by conclusion, indeed, supposing the premises to which he had entered ; then, starting to his have been true, they were somewhat justified feet, hastily followed him.

by the known opinion of the lady, who freWhen he approached the door of the kitchen, quently declared herself a friend to the ceremowhere he supposed the man had entered, his njal of former times, when a lover might have heart throbbed so violently, that, when he sighed seven years at his mistress's feet, before would have called Peter, bis voice failed in the he was allowed the liberty of kissing her hand. attempt. He stood a moment listening in this 'Tis true, Mrs Margery was now about her breathless state of palpitation ; Peter came out grand climacteric; no matter : that is just the by chance. “ Did your honour want any thing?” age when we expect to grow younger. But I -" Where is the servant that came just now verily believe there was nothing in the report ;

A PASTORAL.

the Curate's connection was only that of a ge- The following pastoral he left, some time after, nealogist ; for in that character, he was no way on the handle of a tea-kettle, at a neighbouring inferior to Mrs Margery herself. He dealt also house where we were visiting; and as I filled in the present times ; for he was a politician the tea-pot after him, I happened to put it in and a newsmonger.

my pocket by a similar act of forgetfulness. It He had hardly said grace after dinner, when is such as might be expected from a man who he told Mrs Margery that she might soon ex- makes verses for amusement. I am pleased with pect a pair of white gloves, as Sir Harry Ben- somewhat of good-nature that runs through it, son, he was very well informed, was just going because I have commonly observed the writers to be married to Miss Walton. Harley spilt the of those complaints to bestow epithets on their wine he was carrying to his mouth. He had lost mistresses rather too harsh for the mere litime, however, to recollect himself before the berty of choice, which led them to prefer anoCurate had finished the different particulars of ther to the poet himself: I do not doubt the vehis intelligence, and summing up all the he, hemence of their passion; but, alas ! the sensaroism he was master of, filled a bumper, and tions of love are something more than the redrank to Miss Walton. “ With all my heart," turns of gratitude. said the Curate, “ the bride that is to be.” Harley would have said Bride too; but the word Bride stuck in his throat. His confusion, in

LAVINIA. deed, was manifest; but the Curate began to enter on some point of descent with Mrs Margery, and Harley had very soon after an opportunity of leaving them, while they were deeply

Why steals from my bosom the sigh ? engaged in a question, whether the name of

Why fix'd is my gaze on the ground ? some great man, in the time of Henry the

Come, give me my pipe, and I'll try Seventh, was Richard or Humphrey.

To banish my cares with the sound. He did not see his aunt again till supper ; the time between he spent in walking, like some

Erewhile were its notes of accord troubled ghost, round the place where his trea

With the smile of the flower-footed Muse; sure lay. He went as far as a little gate, that

Ah! why, by its master implored, led into a copse near Mr Walton's house, to

Should it now the gay carol refuse ? which that gentleman had been so obliging as

'Twas taught by LAVINIA's smile to let him have a key. He had just begun to

In the mirth-loving chorus to join : open it, when he saw, on a terrace below, Miss

Ah me! how unweeting the while !
Walton walking with a gentleman in a riding LAVINIA cannot be mine!
dress, whom he immediately guessed to be Sir
Harry Benson. He stopped of a sudden;

Another, more happy, the maid hand shook so much that he could hardly turn By fortune is destined to blessthe key; he opened the gate, however, and ad- 'Though the hope has forsook that betray'd, vanced a few paces. The lady's lap-dog pricked Yet why should I love her the less ? up its ears, and barked; he stopped again

Her beauties are bright as the morn, “ The little dogs and all,

With rapture I counted them o'er ;

Such virtues these beauties adorn, Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart, see they bark at me."

I knew her, and praised them no more. His resolution failed; he slunk back, and lock

I term'd her no goddess of love, ing the gate as softly as he could, stood on tip

I call'd not her beauty divine : toe looking over the wall till they were gone. At These far other passions may prove, that instant a shepherd blew his horn: the ro

But they could not be figures of mine. mantic melancholy of the sound quite overcame him it was the very note that wanted to be It ne'er was apparel'd with art, touched-he sighed ! he dropped a tear and On words it could never rely; returned.

It reign'd in the throb of my heart, At supper, his aunt observed that he was gra- It spoke in the glance of my eye. ver than usual ; but she did not suspect the

Oh fool! in the circle to shine cause : indeed, it may seem odd that she was the only person in the family who had no suspicion

That fashion's gay daughters approve, of his attachment to Miss Walton. It was fre

You must speak as the fashions incline ;

Alas! are there fashions in love? quently matter of discourse amongst the servants : perhaps her maiden coldness—but for

Yet sure they are simple who prize those things we need not account.

The tongue that is smooth to deceive; In a day or two, he was so much master of Yet sure she had sense to despise himself as to be able to rhyme upon the subject. The tirisel that folly may weave.

10

his

Perhaps the soft thought of her breast

With rapture more favour'd to warm ; Perhaps, if with sorrow oppress'd,

Her sorrow with patience to arm. Then ! then ! in the tenderest part

May I whisper, “ Poor Colin was true;" And mark if a heave of her heart

The thought of her Colin pursue.

When I talk'd, I have seen her recline

With an aspect so pensively sweet,Though I spoke what the shepherds opine,

A fop were ashamed to repeat. She is soft as the dew-drops that fall

From the lip of the sweet-scented pea ; Perhaps when she smiled upon all,

I have thought that she smiled upon me. But why of her charms should I tell ?

Ah me! whom her charms have undone ! Yet I love the reflection too well,

The painful reflection to shun. Ye souls of more delicate kind,

Who feast not on pleasure alone, Who wear the soft sense of the mind,

To the sons of the world still unknown;

THE PUPIL.

A FRAGMENT.

Ye know, though I cannot express,

Why I foolishly doat on my pain ; Nor will ye believe it the less

That I have not the skill to complain. I lean on my hand with a sigh,

My friends the soft sadness condemn ; Yet, methinks, though I cannot tell why,

I should hate to be merry like them. When I walk'd in the pride of the dawn,

Methought all the region look'd bright : Has sweetness forsaken the lawn ?

For methinks I grow sad at the sight. When I stood by the stream, I have thought

There was mirth in the gurgling soft sound; But now 'tis a sorrowful note,

And the banks are all gloomy around ! I have laugh'd at the jest of a friend;

Now they laugh, and I know not the cause, Though I seem with my looks to attend,

How silly! I ask what it was !

“But as to the higher part of education, Mr Harley, the culture of the mind ;-let the feelings be awakened, let the heart be brought forward to its object, placed in the light in which nature would have it stand, and its decisions will ever be just. The world

“ Will smile, and smile, and be a villain;" and the youth, who does not suspect its deceit, will be content to smile with it.-His teachers will put on the most forbidding aspect in nature, and tell him of the beauty of virtue.

“I have not, under these grey hairs, forgotten, that I was once a young man, warm in the pursuit of pleasure, but meaning to be honest as well as happy. I had ideas of virtue, of honour, of benevolence, which I had never been at the pains to define; but I felt my bosom heave at the thoughts of them, and I made the most delightful soliloquies. It is impossible,' said 1, that there can be half so many rogues as are imagined.

I travelled, because it is the fashion for young men of my fortune to travel : I had a travelling tutor, which is the fashion too; but my tutor was a gentleman, which is not always the fashion for tutors to be. His gentility indeed was all he had from his father, whose prodigality had not left him a shilling to support it.

“I have a favour to ask of you, my dear Mountford,' said my father, which I will not be refused. You have travelled as became a man; neither France nor Italy have made any thing of Mountford, which Mountford before he left England would have been ashamed of: my son Edward goes abroad; would you take him under your protection?'-He blushed-my father's face was scarlet—he pressed his band to his bosom, as if he had said,-my heart does not mean to offend you. Mountford sighed twice— I am a proud fool,' said he, and you will pardon it ;—there! (he sighed again) I can hear of dependence, since it is dependence on my Sedley:'Dependence !' answered my father; *there can be no such word between us : what is there in 9000l. a-year that should make me unworthy of Mountford's friendship?'— They

They sing the sweet song of the May,

They sing it with mirth and with glee ; Sure I once thought the sonnet was gay,

But now 'tis all sadness to me.

Oh! give me the dubious light

That gleams through the quivering shade ; Oh ! give me the horrors of night

By gloom and by silence array'd !
Let me walk where the soft-rising wave

Has pictured the moon on its breast ;
Let me walk where the new-cover'd grave

Allows the pale lover to rest ! When shall I in its peaceable womb

Be laid with my sorrows asleep! Should LAVINIA chance on my tomb

I could die if I thought she would weep. Perhaps, if the souls of the just

Revisit these mansions of care, It may be my favourite trust

To watch o'er the fate of the fair ;

embraced ; and soon after, I set out on my tra- and grasping his hand, 'My dearest sir,' said he, vels, with Mountford for my guardian. 'my father is likely to do well; he will live to

“ We were at Milan, where my father hap- pray for you, and to bless you; yes, he will pened to have an Italian friend to whom he had bless you, though you are an Englishman, and been of some service in England. The Count, some other hard word that the monk talked of for he was of quality, was solicitous to return this morning, which I have forgot, but it meant the obligation, by a particular attention to his that you should not go to heaven; but he shall son; we lived in his palace, visited with his fa- go to heaven, said I, for he has saved my father: mily, were caressed by his friends, and I began come and see him, sir, that we may be happy: to be so well pleased with my entertainment, -My dear, I am engaged at present with this that I thought of England as of some foreign gentleman.'— But he shall come along with country.

you; he is an Englishman too, I fancy; he shall “ The Count had a son not much older than come and learn how an Englishman may go to myself. At that age a friend is an easy acqui- heaven.'—Mountford smiled, and we followed sition; we were friends the first night of our ac- the boy together. quaintance.

After crossing the next street, we arrived at “He introduced me into the company of a set the gate of a prison. I seemed surprised at the of young gentlemen, whose fortunes gave them sight; our little conductor observed it. Are the command of pleasure, and whose inclina- you afraid, sir ?' said he; 'I was afraid once too, tions incited them to the purchase. After having but my father and mother are here, and I am spent some joyous evenings in their society, it never afraid when I am with them. He took became a sort of habit which I could not miss my hand, and led me through a dark passage without uneasiness; and our meetings, which that fronted the gate. When we came to a litbefore were frequent, were now stated and re- tle door at the end, he tapped ; a boy, still gular.

younger than himself, opened it to receive us. “Sometimes in the pauses of our mirth, ga- Mountford entered with a look in which was ming was introduced as an amusement; it was pictured the benign assurance of a superior bean art in which I was a novice. I received in- ing. I followed in silence and amazement. struction, as other novices do, by losing pretty “On something like a bed, lay a man, with largely to my teachers. Nor was this the only a face seemingly emaciated with sickness, and a evil which Mountford foresaw would arise from look of patient dejection ; a bundle of dirty the connexion I had formed; but a lecture of sour shreds served him for a pillow; but he had a betinjunctions was not his method of reclaiming. ter support—the arm of a female who kneeled He sometimes asked me questions about the beside him, beautiful as an angel, but with a company; but they were such as the curiosity fading languor in her countenance, the still life of any indifferent man might have prompted : 1 of melancholy, that seemed to borrow its shade told him of their wit, their eloquence, their from the object on which she gazed. There was warmth of friendship, and their sensibility of a tear in her eye ;—the sick man kissed it off in heart: 'And their honour,' said I, laying my its bud, smiling through the dimness of his own! hand on my breast, 'is unquestionable. Mount

--when she saw Mountford, she crawled forford seemed to rejoice at my good fortune, and ward on the ground, and clasped his knees; he begged that I would introduce him to their ac- raised her from the floor; she threw her arms quaintance. At the next meeting I introduced round his neck, and sobbed out a speech of him accordingly.

thankfulness, eloquent beyond the power of lan“ The conversation was as animated as usual: guage. they displayed all that sprightliness and good- Compose yourself, my love,' said the man humour which my praises had led Mountford on the bed; but he, whose goodness has cauto expect ; subjects too of sentiment occurred, sed that emotion, will pardon its effects. —How and their speeches, particularly those of our is this, Mountford ?' said I; 'what do I see? friend the son of Count Respino, glowed with what must I do?'— You see,' replied the stranthe warmth of honour, and softened into the ten- ger, a wretch sunk in poverty, starving in priderness of feeling. Mountford was charmed with son, stretched on a sick-bed ! But that is little : his companions; when we parted, he made the there are his wife and children, wanting the highest eulogiums upon them: 'When shall we bread which he has not to give them! Yet you see them again ?' said he. I was delighted with cannot easily imagine the conscious serenity of the demand, and promised to reconduct him on his mind; in the gripe of affliction, his heart the morrow.

swells with the pride of virtue ! it can even look “In going to their place of rendezvous, he took down with pity on the man whose cruelty has me a little out of the road, to see, as he told me, wrung it almost to bursting. You are, I fancy, the performances of a young statuary. When a friend of Mr Mountford's; come nearer, and we were near the house in which Mountford said I'll tell you ; for, short as my story is, I can he lived, a boy about seven years old crossed us in hardly command breath enough for the recital, the street. At sight of Montford he stopped, The son of Count Respino (I started as if I had

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