to be beset by such vulgar people; throw away that that horrid man gave you."

paper

"O, my dear mamma, all these sort of things are the life of a masquerade, and we may find some fun in this when we get home."

"Please your most gracious Majesty," said Major Nonplus, dragging ex officio an unfortunate youth by the collar-"here is a vagrant that has been lately shooting over your Majesty's royal demesne of Blichingly, in -shire, come to crave your highness's

pardon."

"Who is it?" whispered her Majesty to Sir Walter Raleigh, pointing to a thread papery-looking neither man nor boy, dressed as Master Slender."

"O, Lord Charles Dinely, Lord Shuffleton's youngest son, who has just left Harrow, and is here with his tutor; and if you remember, my dear mamma, you were kind enough to say, that I might ask him to shoot at Blichingly, whenever he was in the neighbourhood."

“O, ah! true, my dear, I'm vaustly glad he's here, for I'll ask him about my plantation near the labyrinth, as he has been so recently at Blichingly." So saying, she graciously turned to the lordling, who had a vast deal of unlicked cubbism about him, and said

I hope your lordship had good sport at Blich

ingly."

Pretty fair! but all the keepers confoundedly stupid."

"Did your lordship," (his lordship was just seventeen) "did your lordship see the new plantation ?" "Yes."

"Were the elders and birch trees coming on?"

"Pon my honour, I don't know, for I'm no achorologist; only know, that when I left Harrow, birch was doucedly backward."

At the conclusion of this brilliant sally, Lord Charles turned upon his heel with a horse laugh, and left the poor dowager lamenting her unusual waste of civility.

Weary of all around him, Mowbray left the hall and wandered up stairs, till he came to the room in which Titian died; it was deserted, save by his pictures of the Magdalene and the Venetian senator, and it might be haunted by the spirit of him that painted them. Mowbray flung himself upon a couch, and gazing upon the deep and mournful beauty of the face before

him, which looked as if to it had also been said, "Her sins which are many are forgiven, for she loved much," a train of sweet and bitter thoughts came over him, and he wept like a child; he put his hand into his bosom for a handkerchief; the one he drew out seemed as if it had been stolen from the wardrobe of Titania, so fine was its texture, and so delicately beautiful the point lace with which it was trimmed:-it was Lady de Clifford's, he had taken by mistake; and it was still wet with her tears. "This at least," said he," shall never leave me, all my thoughts be in it,

'Unless it be to think that she is by,

And feed upon the shadow of perfection." "

Mowbray had scarcely replaced the handkerchief, before Major Nonplus, staff in hand, stumped into the

room.

"God bless me, Mowbray, is that you? had no idea you were here alone, or should have come to you before, hope you're not offended though-it's the way at these masks, you know, every one for themselves. Capital fun we've had to be sure, and through the whole of it, I assure you, I've kept English order and regularity, by keeping an eye upon them all; and, as I told the young people, they may flirt as much as they like (for that's natural) in the rooms where there are plenty of lights and people, but no tête-à-têtes and dark walks, and that sort of thing. Well, I must say," continued he, mopping his face with a silk pocket handkerchief, which in colours and dimensions might have been mistaken for the union jack, "I must say, though I say it who should not say it, that I'm always trying to do for everybody."

"God knows you are," groaned Mowbray, and thinking this quintessence of bore might be diluted and neutralized by the crowd, he accepted his invitation to go down stairs. After remaining another half hour, and sauntering through the rooms without a mask, that every one might see that he was there, he was preparing to go as day was beginning to dawn. And all the people looking jaded, dusty, and ugly, between the invidious discoveries of the two lights, which were unnaturally turning against their own-the real light making all that was real, look bad, and the artificial light making all that was artificial look worse. Just as Mowbray was leaving the room, he was rivet

ed by Queen Elizabeth's dulcet accents, accosting Lord Charles Dinely as follows:→

"When your lordship returns to England, I hope you will shoot at Blichingly whenever you please, for the greatest pleasure we landed proprietors have is supplying our friends with game."

"O, I'm sure they can never want it while you're in the country," replied Lord Charles, with a clodpole bow and grin, which luckily her ladyship took for a compliment.

"Ah! Mowbray, how do?" said he, extending one finger, "you'll soon be a marquis, my boy, for when I left your uncle, old Lord Cheveley was expected to kick every minute; when it happens, don't forget I've four sisters, one higher than another, and you may have your choice of them; or if you prefer it, two cousins also, rather plain about the head. Where are you staying? Red Lion, eh? Silver Lion, what do they call it ?"

"Yes," said Mowbray, "good night, or rather morning, for it,

'like the spirit of a youth,

That means to be of note, begins by times,"" On getting into his gondola, the fresh sea breezes that played upon his cheek made him less inclined for sleep than ever. Upon reaching the hotel, he saw Berryl, and having ascertained that Julia had at length fallen asleep, not being able to follow her example, he sat down and wrote her the following letter.

"There is a comfort in the strength of love;
"Twill make a thing endurable, which else
Would overset the brain, or break the heart."
WORDSWORTH.

"Oh! none but gods have power their love to hide."

MARLOWE.

"THE dreadful struggles which have taken place, dearest, between reason and my love for you, have so agitated and exhausted me, that were I to die for it to-morrow, I must write to you to-day. O Julia! what is there in your very name that I cannot even write it without my cheek kindling, and my heart glowing as if a 'scintilla dell' immortal fisco' had for the first time fallen upon it, and filled it with the heaven from whence it came. Bear with me, then, while I, for the first and last time, link my soul, my fate, my name, with yours. Remember, that your breath still lingers on my cheek-your touch still thrills in mine -our tears are not yet dried, and the bloom is still fresh upon every feeling. These are bad materials for a stoic; but down itself is capable of petrifaction. It has been said that

'Love's heroism is equal to all acts,

But seldom to forbearance.'

"He knew not love who said so, for love is not love that is not equal to all things for the sake of what it loves; and if forbearance be its test, it will know nought else. Julia, my life began when I knew you, therefore it would be needless to go back to a prior stage of my existence, were it not to give you some guarantee for the stability of my promises. The sort of mother a man has had, may, generally speaking,

be pretty correctly known by the estimate he entertains of her sex. There are two kinds of mothers, who invariably engender in their sons a respect and consideration for women-the one is the mother of superior intellect, properly evinced in the education of her children, and is even more solicitous in weeding than planting their dispositions ;-the other is one who, without many intellectual advantages, possesses that sort of moral pre-eminence and right-mindedness, which, proved by every act of her life, (for such persons seldom deal in aphorisms and fine sentiments,) induce her sons to believe, and rightly too, that a good woman is the best friend and counsellor that man, with all his boasted superiority, can have. My mother united both moral and intellectual preeminence, and my father dying when I was only six years old, and knowing that both rank and wealth awaited me, that exemplary woman devoted her life to endeavouring to make me not wholly unworthy of her and of them; and if I often blush to think that her labour of love has produced no better or more abundant harvest, still I hope that some of the good seed has remained; for never does an unworthy thought arise in my mind, that, if filtered through the memory of my mother's care, does not become purer and better. To you I am not ashamed to own, that every night brings me back to my childhood, when I knelt at my mother's feet: I still feel her hand upon my head, and hear her blessing, when I have done nothing to forget it. To some this might appear puerile-I pity them-and am content that you are not of the number. Every day convinces me that both evil and good come with the understanding-how much of the latter (or vice versa) within the book of memory, does our reason translate to us, which, when we first heard it, was but as the meaningless sounds of an unknown language. I now know and feel the meaning of my mother's constant injunction to me to be, and not to seem it, constitutes the only difference between virtue and vice; for the former enables one to adhere on all oocasions steadily and resolutely to the right path, the other is a straw in the wind, blown about in every quarter, as accident, inclination, or interest may direct. All mere seemers must be hypocrites, and while they have a painful tenacity about their character, are not in the least parVOL. II.-C.