"La dans la liberte supreme, Semant de fleurs tous les instans, On trouve les jours du printemps." O, charming dream! I often exclaimed; would it could always be realized! But more charming still what follows: "Calme heureux! loisir solitaire ! Loin de tout importun jaseur, This was indeed flatteringly delightful to the temper I was in, and though an air-built castle, it was scarcely less pleasing on that account. I longed, I panted to make it more substantial; meantime was sufficiently happy with the semblance of it under the homely paternal roof I have depicted. In such pursuits as these; removed from every thing that could annoy, or renew annoying images; free from fear in the morning of what I might meet in the day; sensible that I was improving myself, and with no temptation to distract me from the quiet scene I had fallen upon; in a little time I found myself calmed. I was still a lover, but no longer that tumultuous, heart-swelling being, hurried to the extremes of feeling, as love, mortified friendship, or wounded pride, obtained the ascendant. Of Bertha I still thought incessantly, and always with devotion; but no longer with that agitation, amounting to agony, whenever I thought of my hopelessness. I was still hopeless, but less disturbed, because the hopelessness was complete. And thus I still continued, "religious in mine error," and still adored the sun, but was happy in the adoration alone, without requiring that he should do more than "look upon his worshipper." In short, I had settled the matter with myself. To love Bertha was my delight, my food; to think of her, my fondest recreation; but to expect to gain her, madness. Upon the whole, I was a gainer, for the attachment was a virtuous one, and as such preserved me from every thing vicious. Listen to this, ye young, while yet untainted in the world; for whatever may be thought by the votaries of eternal dissipation and sensual pleasures, of all the guards that can be set over our virtue, the most efficient is, the desire to be esteemed by a virtuous woman. CHAPTER XXII. SIR HARRY MELFORD OFFERS TO BERTHA, AND IS REFUSED.— CONSEQUENCES OF THIS TO ME, IN THE FAMILY AT FOLJAMBE. Think, therefore, on revenge, and cease to weep. SHAKSPEARE.-2 Henry VI. As mine is the history of mind, ungarnished by adventure, or any of those stirring incidents or mysteries which, and which alone, can kindle the attention of the reader of romance, I expect, if they have not closed the book already, they will close it now. Yet perhaps there are spirits which may think the picture I have given of myself, particularly in the last chapter, not wholly without interest. "Nihil humani a me alienum puto," was a natural feeling before Terence recorded it, and those who wish to study their own hearts by looking into the hearts of others may perhaps proceed; though I give them notice that there are no conspiracies, murders, prisons, or elopements; not even a seduction, or a ghost, to be found in my story. But though I should be glad to please the world, as I write chiefly to please myself, I shall proceed. The repose, or what may be called the lull of my mind, which I have described, ran great risk of being destroyed before the vacation was over, by a letter from Granville. He was not, perhaps, politic in the communication, and the date of it from Foljambe Park, spite of my newly acquired philosophy, filled me with tremor; it was as follows: "It will not be easy for you to account for the conduct pursued by Bertha, in regard to Sir Harry Melford. Most amiable; young, handsome, elegant, obsequious as well as rich; she has finally declined his addresses, and he has departed the place after two month's devoted attention. 'Victus abit longeque ignotis exsulat oris, Multa gemens ignominiam,' "If love were not a thing totally unintelligible as to any principle or rule which is supposed to govern it, I should never have done wondering. For even you are liberal enough to confess that Sir Harry was every way worthy of her. The affair has cost her many tears, from the rough and oppressive manner in which she has been treated by her brother. The latter examined her most tyranically, and with so little delicacy, that the shock it has given to her affection for him will not, I fear, soon be recovered. He was violent even to fury, and I fear to add what he said of you. In fact, you fully shared his indignation; he accusing you in terms to his father of having made advances to Bertha, and her for having listened to them at York. For this he adduces our cousin Mansell as a witness, who never a favourite of Bertha, was perhaps not sorry to revenge himself by the colouring (a most unfair one) which he gave to the conversation at the brook, and to another at the ball-room at the assizes. Charles, indeed, traces it further; even up to the visit you made to Foljambe Park when a boy. Of this I could know nothing; but as, out of pure justice to Bertha, I bore testimony to the incorrectness of Mansell's report, I find myself involved deeply in this family quarrel. The worst of it is, that though I can depose most honestly to Bertha's perfect innocence (begging pardon of your self-love) of being moved by you, I cannot acquit you (indeed, you would not wish to be acquitted) of the sin of being moved by her. Upon my knowledge of this, and with having encouraged you to hope, I was challenged with so much heat by Foljambe, that I could not put up with it, but rejected his suspicions with disdain, uor would I stoop to answer the charge. "All this passed in the presence of Mr. Hastings and his daughter, and the latter was made exceedingly thoughtful by it, but said not a word; the former was less moved than I expected, or rather he treated the matter with a coolness and discretion, accompanied with a dignified superiority, which made me admire him. In truth, the vehemence of Charles's character has for some time annoyed him; particularly as he sees, what everybody else has seen, that he is of so uncontrollable a spirit that nothing but the absolute dominion over his whole family, the head of it not excepted, will content him. It was hence, perhaps, that Mr. Hastings desired him to calin himself both as to his sister and me. 'She has declared herself,' said my uncle, totally innocent of the revolting accusation (you see I conceal no expression) which you have brought against her. I, myself, have more reason than I choose to reveal to one who usurps so much authority where he has no right to any, to feel sure of the truth of her assertion, and I will not have it questioned. Then, in regard to the conduct pursued by your cousin Granville, I see not that we have any right to complain of him for having made a discovery, even if he did so, the knowledge of which could do us no harm, any more than the thing discovered. Your sister has disclaimed the imputation as slanderous; I will not have her truth disputed, and if you cannot confide in it I am sorry for you. As to Mr. De Clifford himself, who is at least a gentleman by birth, whatever his condition,-if he is unwise enough to place his affection where it is not, and never can by possibility be returned, I lament it for his own sake; but you have no right, without proof, to inpute to him what it would be derogatory to his discretion to suspect without reason. You have shewn caprice and ingratitude enough towards this gentleman, whose chief fault, I believe, has been his presuming to give you good advice at Oxford, which I wish you had taken. Meantime I will not suffer my little Bertha to be dishonoured by degrading suspicions, nor shall she be tyrannized over before her time by a brother who I wish resembled her more than he does in propriety of conduct, as well as disposition of mind.' "This speech, which seemed wholly unexpected by Charles, though it made him more quiet, did not make him less moody. He perhaps, knew that Mr. Hastings, with the calmness which always belongs to a man of quality, had also the firmness which is by no means incompatible with it. He was any thing but humble in his looks, which at first exhibited proud defiance; nevertheless, in the end, he succumbed under the cool and determined air of authority and self-possession which his father exhibited, and which I really did not know, till then, had belonged to him in all its extent. Foljambe, therefore, contented himself with making a retreat in silence. "Bertha, much moved, embraced her father with tears of gratitude, who kissed her and told her, he never would suspect her of acting so unworthily, or you so dishonourably, as to entertain, even in thought, what Foljambe, in his passion, had ascribed to you both. He then desired her to find out her brother, and receive the apology which he was sure he would make her for having done her so much wrong. "The expectation, however, was disappointed; for the dinner afterwards passed in cold constraint between the brother and sister, and a sullen gloom on his part towards his father, which did not escape the notice of Mr. Hastings, though, unwilling to revive the subject, he made no remark. "In point of cheerfulness, then, we are not a little changed from that harmony which once prevailed, and my regard for you has induced me to make this communication, as a reason for your exerting yourself to the utmost to eradicate those feelings, the mere suspicion of which, you see, has produced a breach of that family union, which of all men you would be the last to interrupt. I am also induced to make it from the absolute necessity there is for you to awaken from a dream which you may more than ever perceive nothing but madness can make you entertain; for to pursue the philosopher's stone with a hope of success would, I am quite sure, not be so mad as to hope for Bertha. This, indeed, you tell me you never did. Can you then have a doubt what to do? "As I am not yet banished the house by the modern Tybalt her brother-and, indeed, I think both she and her father would not be sorry for such a diversion as my presence can give I stay a few days longer at their request; a circumstance which, as Foljambe has very honestly apprized me, is not favoured with his approbation. In a word, he is so bitter against you, for what he calls your presumption, and me for abetting you in it, as he says I do, and carries all his feelings to such an excess, that I cannot help thinking there is danger in him. Openness as to the extent of those feelings, and indeed as to every thing, is the only redeeming quality |