"Every one talks of him as a demi-god. The glass of fashion. The observed of all observers."

"Yes! but observe," said Fothergill, "only for his fashion, and the fashion only for his earldom and his fetes-circumstances altogether adventitious, having nothing to do with himself. To go on with your passage, though nursed in courts, he has not the courtier's eye,' much less the "soldier's sword," or the "scholar's tongue;" least of all is he

"The rose and expectancy of the fair state."

In truth, if he had been born in ordinary life, he would be a mighty ordinary fellow. I used to see him at Lord Castleton's, and took measure of him, I assure you. Let me not however, do him injustice. It seemed to me that he had almost talents enough to rival Gillows in arranging a ball-room, and Negri* in marshalling a supper; which is no small merit. Luckily, he was born great ;" but compare him with another peer, who has "achieved greatness" and really is the "observed of all observers," and mark his insignifi

cance.

"To wind up my two peers-the one is the savior and glory of his country-the other like his brother exclusives, fruges consumere nati; the one, the noble, the natural, Hotspur ; the other, the "certain lord," neat, trimly dress'd who

"Talked so like a waiting gentlewoman.'

"But, after all, why have you mentioned Lord A-?" Merely because I am told he guards his nobility with a triple line of exclusiveness, and is more difficult of access than the king himself, I want to know if this ought to be, or can be borne."

"And why not, if he is really weak enough to think it adds to his consequence, instead, as it does, of diminishing it? But what is that to you or me?" For my part, though no cynic, I think of Diogenes sometimes, and wish he could meet this eminent person, that he might reply to him as he did to a supercilious Athenian exclusive, who affected to despise him.

* The predecessor of Gunter.

"You stink of garlic," said the Athenian-" and you of musk," returned the cynic."

Here the conversation went off to other things, but I never forgot it, and it eventually did me good, both at Oxford and in the world. In conjunction, too, with his other lectures, it went far to confirm my actual feelings as to Hastings, and my growing independence of his whole family. I was, soon to return into Yorkshire, and I was resolved, when I should be so much nearer to them, to show that I had recovered my liberty.

Bold in my philosophy, I felt confident even as to Bertha ; we shall see with what reason.

CHAPTER XV.

I GO HOME FOR THE LONG VACATION, AND JOIN MY FATH-
ER AT YORK ASSIZES-SEE BERTHA ON THE ROAD. MY
MEETINGS WITH THE FAMILY AFTERWARDS-GREAT CHANGE
IN FOLJAMBE, AND CONSEQUENT MORTIFICATIONS;
MY LOVE FOR BERTHA IS ONLY INCREASED.

BUT

This is fery fantastical humours and jealousies.

SHAKSPEARE.-Merry Wives of Windsor.

THE long vacation having now begun, I prepared to return home. A branch coach was to take me into the high north road, where another, more direct, was to lodge me at Ferry Bridge. Here my father promised to send me his ladof-all work, who upon these occasions was furnished with a groom's coat of blue hunter's cloth with yellow cape and cuffs, (the colors of the old Clifford arms), for the sake of preserving some remains of respectability in the faded family.

Faded that family certainly was, almost as much as the livery itself, which was only afforded once a year. This lad was to bring me an old spavined horse, on which my father used generally to ride into York, when he attend

ed the grand jury,-whence he was to forward it to me at Ferry Bridge, and I join him the next day.

All this fell out accordingly, and I mounted, not much in spirits, although returning after a long absence to a family whom I loved, and who loved me. Possibly my approach to the neighborhood of Foljambe Park may have instilled a little melancholy into me.

There were two roads from Ferry Bridge to York; one on the left, as soon as you crossed the bridge, by which you would pass the very gates of Foljambe; the other to the right, the beaten road by Tadcaster. This last was by far the best, and most frequented; the first the most picturesque, because hilly and overlooking the river.

I own I had at first inclined to the Foljambe road; but recollecting my Oxford resolutions in regard to separating myself entirely from the family, I rejected it with disdain, and heroically took the Tadcaster way. "Hastings shall see," said I to myself, "that I am not the abject wretch he thinks me."

This effort lasted for near a half a mile; when, the way growing rough, the country flat and dreary, and the river road (that is, the one leading by Foljambe) looking most inviting, I again cummuned with myself, and thought, that if really there was no comparison for pleasantness between the roads, it was downright cowardice to take the least agreeable, merely to avoid a place which was no longer of consequence to me. The way lay ali along by the river, and I loved to look at a river. For these causes, no doubt, I retraced my steps to the end of the town, and took the route by Foljambe.

As I proceeded, I shortened my pace, for I fell into a reverie, in which, instead of pursuing the turns and windings of the river which had had thus seduced me out of my way, I was rapt in meditation upon all the eventful scenes that had passed since I first had made acquaintance with this interesting region. I asked myself what I had gained since I had left it, particularly at Oxford, or if I had gained anything in knowledge of books?-what as to mankind? or, if of mankind, what as to happiness? and in this last respect, I am afraid the account was a losing one.

These thoughts dwelt with me more and more as I found

myself advancing into the well-known precincts of the park, till the high and gilt vanes of the roofs, which, after all, I felt contained all that was worth living for on earth, met my view. I started, as if from a dream, at the discovery of a truth, painful to me, after all my resolutions; for I found, that to continue lingering on the confines of this forbidden land was destruction. I determined therefore to get free as soon as possible, and prepared to pass the great gates at a gallop. I was prevented, by their being suddenly thrown open, to allow egress to a landau and six, full of company, with three out-riders, which moved briskly through them, and took the road to York. It was the carriage of the sheriff of the county, proceeding in state to the assizes; for in those days, as indeed in the present, the sheriffs of this great county made it a point of etiquette to vie with one another in the grandeur of their equipage.

The present sheriff, to whom the carriage belonged, was a great landed squire-Mr. Mansell, Mr. Hastings' brother-inlaw, and Bertha's uncle-whose house being in a distant part of the county, he had, from its proximity to the city, takeu up his abode at the park during the assizes.

In an instant all my philosophy was put to flight. For, having reined up my horse to let the landau pass, with an accuracy that could not be mistaken, I saw that Bertha was there. What was more, she saw and knew me, and recog nised me with a look which thrilled me. The sparkle of her eye, which had so bereaved me of my senses twelve months before, seemed to flash with new and increased lustre, and her cheek, always blooming, was now more rosy than ever with a suffusion of surprise, as I supposed, at seeing me so unexpectedly in that spot.

Of her general improvement in looks, I can give no idea. The lovely girl had matured into a still more lovely woman; her shape more graceful than ever, more than ever set off by her attire, always, as I have related, so graceful.

That she knew me was plain, exclusive of the look I have described; for as the carriage rolled on, I could perceive two gentlemen leaning over the sides, looking back at me, one of whom I took for Mr. Hastings himself; the other a young man in appearance, I thought was Charles.

My confusion at the whole vision (for such it appeared) I

shall never forget. All notion of galloping was at an end. I came to a dead stop, and sat motionless and almost senseless on my horse, till the carriage was out of sight, which it soon was, and I left to recover as I could.

Alas! what became of my philosophy? Let those who ever really loved answer. What a change can one little minute make in a man's firmest resolves! What, then, in mine, which were none of the firmest? The best, or the worst (I don't know which), was, that I turned sophist upon this occasion, and philosophized the other way. I found that I had been a sad coward in thinking of flight. I ought to have braved the danger, to have any thing like a triumph, and I resolved to do so still. Bertha, or Bertha's father, had never changed towards me; it was a duty I owed to common politeness as well as gratitude to wait upon them; and this I determined to do as soon as I reached York. Whatever our reason, how do our inclinations cheat us!

Behold me now in the ancient, and, for the present, crowded city of York, amidst hundreds of busy creatures, drawn together by all that could impel men to congregate; care, anxiety, vanity; alarm for property, alarm for life, curiosity; pleasure, ambition, duty! Nor was ostentation the least among the motives of the crowds who visited the town for the activity and splendour displayed within it. Yet was I uninterested and unawed by any thing I saw; dogged; silent; thoughtful; rapt; in short, alone in crowds.

I was received by my father with his usual affection and plainness; but he put off detailed or lengthy communication for the moment, having been summoned to the Castle on assize business, and left me for the present alone. Being thus my own master, in conformity with the brave resolution I had taken to present myself to the Hastings' family, I sought the inn where the sheriff had put up, which was soon found, and taking my station in the yard, the mere sight of his horses, panting as they were rubbed down, after their rapid exertions, caused me a thrill from the associations which they bred, surprising even to myself. When a young man, and still more I suppose when a boy, is in love, what trifles, what feathers may not give him pleasure, or pain!

I met Mr. Hastings' own man in the yard, but he did not seem to recoguise me. He did not move his hat, and I was