bon, and for her trinkets. This arrangement of tables did not, however, prevent an accident, similar to that which occurred to Philip II., when, after having passed the night in writing, a bottle of ink was upset over his despatches. The lady was not disposed to imitate the patience of the prince; but then it must be remembered that he only wrote on affairs of state, and that what was destroyed for her was algebra, much more difficult to be restored to order. The morning after their departure, I received a letter of four pages, and also a billet, which announced a grave accident: M. Voltaire had mislaid his comedy, had forgotten to withdraw their parts from the actors, and lost the prologue. He entreated me to find all these things, to send him instantly the prologue; not by the post, because it would be sure to be copied; to keep the parts, for fear of the same accident, and to lock up the piece under one hundred keys.”

Making all due allowance for the exaggeration into which the sprightliness and satirical turn of Madame de Staël may have led her, it is impossible not to see that Voltaire and Madame du Châtelet must have been exacting and troublesome guests, and that they sometimes gave occasion for ridicule.

To return to Madame de Grafigny. Judging by her letters, she must have been a warmhearted woman, greatly attached to her friends. She seems to have felt the loss of the society of M. Devaux no less than that of M. Desmarets, to whom she was supposed to feel a more tender attachment; but the fact of her having maintained an unbroken friendship with M. Devaux since their childhood, proves that she was not capricious nor changeable. A girl of sixteen could hardly express herself with more warmth than does this lady at the mature age of forty-four, nor betray more impatience and regret at being separated from those dear to her. More than one philosopher has asserted that writers engaged on works of fiction retain the freshness of their feelings much longer than others. The greater cultivation and exercise of the imagination than the reasoning powers may produce this effect, which is one hardly to be desired, and is certainly not conducive to happiness; for when time has destroyed the attractions that excite lively feelings towards women, their indulgence of such feelings only exposes them to ridicule instead of awakening sympathy. Friendship is the cordial of age; but love appertains solely to youth, and should change to friendship when youth has fled.

The first letter written by Madame de Grafigny to M. Devaux, after her arrival at Cirey, is very characteristic of her hosts, and little less so of herself. After a detail of her journeys, dangers from bad roads, &c. &c., she writes:"At last I am arrived; the Nymph* received me very well. I remained a moment in her room, and then ascended to my own to rest myself. A moment after, arrived-who? Your Idol,t holding a little candlestick in his

• The Marquise du Châtelet. + Voltaire.

hand, like a monk: he offered me a thousand caresses; he appeared so glad to see me, that his demonstrations of satisfaction went absolutely to transports of joy; he kissed my hands ten times, and inquired how I found myself, with an air of interest very touching. His second question was for you; it lasted a quarter of an hour: he loves you, he said, with all his heart. Then he spoke of Desmarets, and of Saint Lambert; at last he left me, that I might write to you; I have written, good night: the post leaves to-night. I foresee that after supper I shall be too near my bed not to throw myself into it, therefore I write to you before; I am fatigued to such a degree, that it requires nothing less than Cirey and Voltaire to keep me awake. Adieu, my dear friend, I embrace you; and be assured that I can have no pleasure if you do not partake it.

"I left you, to dress, fearing that the supperbell might ring; I hear nothing, so I will quietly wish you again good night, for I will not lose time. You will be astonished that I simply say the Nymph* received me well; well! it is because I have only that to say. No, I forgot that she has already spoken of her lawsuit without any ceremony. Her clack is astonishing; I do not recollect any more. She speaks extremely fast, and as I do when I speak like a Frenchwoman. She talks like an angel, this is what I have noticed; she wears a robe of Indian chintz, and a large apron of black taffety: her black hair, which is very long, is drawn up behind to the top of her head, and is curled like the hair of little children; this becomes her very much. As I have as yet seen only her dress, I can tell you of nothing but it. For your Idol, I do not know whether he is powdered for me; but all I can say is, that he is set out as if he were at Paris. The goodman † leaves this to-morrow for Brussels; we shall be only three, and no one will weep: this is piece of confidence that we have already made to each other. Are you content? In truth, my little friend, I know no more, and it appears to me that this is not so bad, for it is not yet two hours since I arrived. Confess that it is very pretty of me to write to you; but the pleasure I taste in being here, and the desire that I know you have that I should speak to you of this place, renders me a prattler; in all cases it is only for you two.

At least if he is arrived, embrace him well for me (literally to the letter, do you hear). I will pass the hours of my privacy to-morrow in writing to him and answering his letters, which beforehand have given me a greater pleasure than Cirey.

"Here is the little Trichâteau,§ who sends to compliment me, and to request me to go and see him, as he has the gout. I go.

*This mode of designating her hostess indicates no good will towards her on the part of her newlyarrived guest. + The Marquis du Châtelet. + Damanets. The Marquis du Châtelet, a name given him from being that of one of his estates.

"Here I am returned. Quick, quick! As I hear nothing yet that announces the moment of supper, I will continue.

"I said, then, that your letters gave me more pleasure than Cirey; nevertheless, my friend, I am well pleased to be here, but my heart goes before, and again before; for I will avow all. I read last night before I went to bed the two long letters of the Doctor,* and only glanced over yours, which appeared to be excellent, and I placed them under my pillow. I read them this morning at the rising of the sun; they were my first travelling com

66

panions. Yes, my friend, I am susceptible of grief, but I have the same susceptibility for the satisfaction of the soul and of the heart. I feel a fine day, even the pleasure of being driven by our people. That livery,† alas! that I saw probably for the last time, made me feel triste. After all, it appears to ine that I shall belong to you here more than where I was, and that I may appear more amiable to you, for I already feel all the pleasure. Good night, dear friend, I embrace you a thousand times." (To be concluded in cur next.)

CHAP. I.

"And this I learned, too, from the doveTo die, and know no second love!"

They tell me, Kate," said Charles Calvert to his beautiful cousin, as they strolled through the flower garden at Oak Lawn, one bright morning in June, "they tell me that young Harry Layton is attentive to Myra Bell."

Yes, and I certainly wish him success; for my sweet little Myra deserves a good match, and Harry is said, with more reason than is usual in such cases, to be the paragon of the neighbourhood."

"You surely do not think such a thing as their engagement possible?" "And why not, cousin mine? Have you any previous claims to urge upon her heart?" By no means. But Myra is a girl, I imagine, who would marry only for love; and, alas! she has no heart to bestow."

66

"Oh, you allude to her affair with Rupert de Lancey?"

"To be sure I do."

"And do you hold that, because a woman has been jilted by a heartless knave, she may

not love a true man?"

66

I hold, fair cousin, that, in a sincere bosom, the affections, once blighted and crushed, are not so easily renewed. Nor would an honour able mind like Myra's exchange a broken heart for a loyal and true one."

"I deny your premises, to wit, that Myra's affections are blighted, or that her heart is

broken."

believe in second love?" am certainly an advocate of constancy; and "Your question is not altogether a fair one. there is something very sacred to me even in the brightened our happier days, and, long cheand holy affection, which has rished, has entwined itself with our every sympathy, until it grew and became a part of us. The shrine of such a love, once erected in our heart of hearts, may well be dedicated to one only object."

66

Then

you

of constancy. Why, Kate, you would spoil the prettiest romances that were ever written or acted, by such a cold, calculating sentiment."

would have success the criterion

"And those same romances have spoiled the blessing others, and enjoying itself the choicest happiness of many an honest heart capable of blessings of life, in its appointed sphere of confalse sentiment which condemns a pure and jugal and domestic affections. Out upon that noble heart, with its untold treasures of rich liance with despair, because an error of judgaffections and sympathies, to pine in sickly dalment, or a freak of fancy, has sent its devotions to an unworthy object! Must a heart that was made for love wither, in its spring-time of freshment? Forbid it, every principle of rational ness and bloom, from treachery or disappointhappiness, of true and purified enjoyment!"

"But does not your doctrine, fair cousin, tend to impair that faith in the constancy of

The people of the Court of Lorraine, where she had lived.

The livery of Madame Royale, widow of Leopold V., Duc of Lorraine, and daughter of the Duc of Orleans, in whose carriage Madame de Grafigny made half her journey to Cirey.

love which gives it ideal charms, and elevates it into a worship?”

"On the contrary, it rather vindicates the sentiment as too pure and holy to suffer from treachery and deceit; of too divine and immaculate a nature to perish, when baffled, like baser passions."

You argue well, Kate; but yet there is a charm in changeless love that still holds the imagination captive."

"And did I speak of true love as changeable, Charles? I only contended against the despotic rule of what I think a false sentiment. The constancy of mutual love is beautiful and holy in my eyes; and where our affections have met a full response in the sympathies of a congenial heart, and especially where we have been blessed with its long companionship, I hold a second love as great a sacrilege as yourself, though I will not deny that it may exist."

"Well, well, my sweet cousin, you and I will not quarrel about love, nor pretty Myra Bell either, for whom I wish a bright and happy fate. But see, John has brought the horses round. Shall we take our gallop as usual? I promise not to cast one wistful glance at Myra Bell's handsome cottage as we pass," said Charles, with a playful emphasis.

Out upon you, Mr. Impudence !" replied his cousin, blushing slightly, and tapping him with her whip, for she was equipped for the ride. "What wonderful magic, think you, there lies in your glances?"

Leaving the cousins to their morning ride, and to renew their edifying discussion if they pleased, we will look into as lovely a little cottage as was ever the abode of innocence, peace, and happiness.

In a neatly furnished apartment, from which, through the latticed casement, you might look out on the prettiest imaginable little flower garden, were two persons: the one a man advanced in years, of mild, calm, and dignified appearance, whose broad, intellectual brow was unwrinkled, save by the lines of thought, and the lustre of whose dark eye was undimmed, though the snows of winter were fast covering his fine classic head. Adam Bell was a scholar, and somewhat of a dreamer, yet withal a very deep philosopher. The vanities of earth he despised, while he cherished with assiduous care those gentle sentiments, true feelings, and noble sympathies which minister to the peace and happiness of the heart far more surely than the false excitement of pleasure and ambition. In early life he had married happily, prospered in the world, and enjoyed those flattering promises of the future with which Fortune so often tempts us to essay the perilous "heights where Fame's proud temple lies;" but reverses and disappointments soon taught him their lesson. The loss of fortune, and the ill health of his beloved companion, induced him to retire, not a soured misanthrope, but a sobered philosopher, from the pomps and vanities of the world. Husbanding his remaining resources, he purchased the quiet cottage where he now resided, and where he had enjoyed years

of supreme bliss with his adored wife, who faded gently and quietly from his side, like a cherished flower, exhaling the fragrance of her long and devoted love to surround him in the gentle affections of an only and most beautiful daughter.

In such a death there was no shock; and the sadness caused by his bereavement was so sweetly mingled with the hope of a reunion hereafter, as to rob his grief of half its poignancy. In Myra he beheld-each lineament and feature complete-the counterpart of her whose memory he adored; and, for his daughter, he was content to live on, that he might guard and shield her youth from care, and pluck, as far as might be, the thorns of disappointment and sorrow from her future pathway. And now, as he sat at the open casement, through which the fresh morning air came, apparently intent on his book, his eye wandered ever and anon from the bright flowers without to the brighter being within, who glided noiselessly about the room, occupied with her domestic affairs, and unconscious of the thoughtful attention which was bestowed upon her. It was not without uneasiness that Adam Bell noticed an air of pre-occupation, and almost sadness, in his sweet daughter, and a keen pang shot through his heart as he heard the half-smothered sigh which escaped her.

"Come here, Myra," said he," and see how your favourite rose-tree has revived from last night's shower."

Awakening from the rather unpleasant reverie which had been gradually stealing over her, with scarce an effort, Myra dispelled the shadows from her brow, and, her face beaming with affection, placed herself on a low stool at her father's feet.

"Oh, how beautiful!" she exclaimed. "I did not think my poor rose-bush would bloom again this summer.'

'Blight or bloom upon the flower, or the human heart, are His, who ever deals gently with the tenderest," said the old man, reverently.

"I feel it, my father," answered his daughter, gazing fondly in his face with tearful eyes, blue as the violet whose perfume they enjoyed.

“And yet, Myra, you are sad. Are you sure there is no drop of bitterness left in that young heart to rankle hereafter?"

"Quite sure, dear father; although some sadness is natural to the heart which finds its ideal destroyed. And yet I think no more of him."

66

Say not its ideal destroyed, but its idol a false one, my child. That mental standard of perfection which we set up as the model of all that is worthy and noble in human character, and which we call our ideal, is formed rather by our own sentiments and feelings than from any experience or example of human nature which is before us; yet it is the very foundation of all our respect or admiration for our fellow-beings, the key to love and friendship, and sad is the heart whose ideal is destroyed! But, my dear

с

Myra," continued the fond parent, somewhat more playfully, "if not of him-the base, the worthless of whom was my daughter thinking so pensively, almost sadly?"

There was perfect confidence between the father and daughter; yet the eyes of Myra drooped an instant, and the rich colour suffused her face; such is the sensibility of a pure young heart to the exposure of its feelings, even to the eye of affection.

"Nay, I did not mean to startle or grieve you; but you cannot suppose, my own darling, that, in aught which touches your happiness, my eyes slumber. There, that blush_has answered me; and I may give Harry Layton a favourable answer," said Adam Bell, bending to caress the beautiful head that rested on his lap. At this moment the sound of horses' feet was heard in the avenue that led from the high road, and the bark of Myra's little spaniel, who was basking in the sunshine on the front verandah, announced early visitors.

Come, my love, there is your friend Kate. I saw her pass, in company with her cousin, half-an-hour since, and doubtless she is coming to pay you a morning call. Hie to your chamber, and smooth down those troubled thoughts, while I receive them."

It was, indeed, Kate and Charles; the former having remembered, during their ride, that she had not yet invited Myra to a fête which was to be given the next week on the occasion of her birth-day. She therefore insisted upon her cousin accompanying her, "even at the risk," she said, in playful badinage, "of exposing poor little Myra to the dangerous glances of such a wonderful lady-killer."

is person was even more attractive than his demeanour, for he possessed the highest order of masculine beauty. A broad and prominent forehead, somewhat narrower, however, at the temples than was consistent with perfect symmetry, around which curled, in short natural ringlets, his rich and glossy brown hair; dark blue eyes, of sparkling brilliancy, in which only the practised regard of a physiognomist could have detected the wavering, vacillating glance which denoted fickleness of purpose; a mouth indicative of firmness as well as great sensibility, but the character of which also expressed great voluptuousness, especially in connection with his rather fleshy and projecting chin; and a nose slightly aquiline, with finely curved nostrils, made up a face unusually prepossessing. De Lancey had been educated with high sentiments of honour, and would have reprobated deceit and treachery as soon as any one; but, with many a great and noble quality, he was beset with the weaknesses of pride and vanity, and their almost inseparable concomitant, changeableness of purpose; for, where they demand a sacrifice, strong must be the mind and firm the heart which refuses it.

Such was he who won the first regards of Myra Bell. Upon the guileless nature of her father, who, with all his experience, could never learn suspicion, the frank, free manners, and pleasing exterior of the youth had early made an impression which paved the way to unrestrained social intercourse, and thus gave him the opportunity of enjoying much of Myra's society. It was not vanity alone which made Rupert her admirer, or induced him to seek her heart: no one, with a touch of gentle feeling at his heart, could have witnessed unmoved her expanding beauties of mind and person. Nor was it the mere fascination of the eye, nor the graceful flatteries of his constant homage, which charmed Myra; her esteem was won through her father's incautious praise; and although no formal en

rassment.

The invitation was given, and, after a glance at her father, who signified his approval, accepted by Myra; and, after spending an hour very pleasantly, the cousins took their departure.

In the evening Harry Layton came, conferred a few moments with Adam Bell in his library, and then, in company with him, joined Myra in the parlour, the happiest of men. The old man, with his book, soon drew off to his corner, and left the young lovers to that elysium which they who have once felt it know beggars all description.

CHAP. II.

Rupert de Lancey was a young man of good birth, ample fortune, and considerable intellect. Though proud and ambitious, he possessed courteous and affable manners, which won him more regard than his character really deserved, and made him, where no occasion forced the display of his real nature, a universal favourite.

union was looked on as a matter of course, not only by Myra's father, but by friends and acquaintances, and even the relations of Rupert, who, though not altogether satisfied with the match, offered no opposition.

The awakening of Myra Bell from her first dream of love was sad and bitter, indeed; but less painful and enduring was the blight that fell upon her heart under the strengthening influence of her father's wise, Christian philosophy, and gentle, soothing counsels. The desertion of Rupert de Lancey, like his wooing, was not so pointed as to leave him without a plausible defence of his conduct, and would not have afforded even the watchful father an excuse to tax him with his treachery, but for the occasion of some light raillery on the part of his gay companions, to which, in a fit of pique and vanity, he replied scornfully, What, the old book-worm's rustic daughter? She is no bride for Rupert de Lancey!"

It is true he was ashamed of such unbecoming language almost as soon as he uttered it; but, if

he repented, he could not forego the treacherous purpose at his heart. Another passion had taken possession of his soul: his vanity and his ambition had both been excited, and he was ready to sacrifice faith, and truth, and love, such as he was capable of feeling, upon their altar, even though he crushed the life out of that gentle heart which had trusted its happiness to its keeping. And what was the cause of this change? The arrival of Kate Welden, a beauty, an heiress, and a distinguished belle, at the mansion of her uncle, Colonel Warren, of Oak Lawn.

Kate was an orphan, and had resided since the death of her parents, with her guardian in the city; but, on the occasion of that gentleman and his family taking a foreign tour, she accepted the invitation of her uncle, Colonel Warren, to make his house her home, as she did not wish to accompany them. She was just of age, and there were of course no objections on the part of the former guardian; and, turning over to her the immense estate he had managed honourably and well, and of which she appointed her uncle her agent, he resigned his charge.

Fame heralded the advent of the heiress, and among the most eager to lay his homage at her feet was Rupert de Lancey. His vanity had always led him to wish to be first among his companions, and he could not bear the thought that so brilliant a prize should fall to another. Perhaps even his admiration for Myra was not free from this governing sentiment; for she was certainly the belle of the neighbourhood before Kate Welden came, and many still thought her title to that distinction unimpaired. The two young ladies, however, instead of experiencing feelings of rivalship, became fast and affectionate friends.

From the time when Rupert made the ungenerous and ungentlemanly speech about Myra, as if conscious that his own baseness was known to her, he ceased his usual visits; and, the remark coming to the ears of Adam Bell, the old man sought an interview, from which De Lancey would fain have shrunk, if he dared. The conduct of the father on that painful occasion was calm, dignified, and open; while that of the recreant lover was full of prevarication and shuffling, though his language was plausible and respectful.

"Young man, you say there was no positive engagement between yourself and my daughter. This, perhaps, is true; but when you tell me you never sought her affections under the guise of love, that you never taught her to look upon you in any other light than that of a very dear friend, you utter a falsehood which your own

conscience condems."

"Most happy would I be, sir, to make any sacrifice which would convince you of my truth, or contribute to your daughter's peace of mind, which I regret that one so worthless as I should have injured, however unintentionally," said Rupert, in a slight tone of mockery. "And, as

for the idle words I uttered-”

Rupert de Lancey did not linger, and for a long time the bitterness of that interview, to which were truly added the pangs of conscience, wrung his heart.

Poor Myra! the cloud which obscured the fair horizon of her hopes was dark indeed, and the night of her despair, if brief, was full of agony; but, thanks to him who educated her heart in a truer school of philosophy than is taught by idle romance, and to Him who "tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," the cup of bitterness passed from her; and the false light she had worshipped faded from her vision, which became calmer and clearer from the storm that had broken over her. It was at this period that she met Harry Layton, and the mysterious growth of true love sprung at once in her heart, whose best affections seemed of late blighted and withered. It was long before Myra would acknowledge to herself the interest he inspired, and she trembled at her own emotions as she asked herself the nature of that interest. Notwithstanding the precepts of her father, she shrunk from what almost appeared the sacrilege of second love, and that so soon after the deep disappointment of her first choice. But all her doubts were soon resolved; and when Harry poured forth, in the genuine eloquence of true feeling, the story of his devotion, how different seemed his language, how much more sincere and manly, than the strained compliments and sugared flatteries with which Rupert de Lancey had amused her young fancy! And with the thought of him came a sinking of the heart she had never before felt. "Would Harry Layton, so good and noble himself, be content to take her affections second-hand from such a source?" "No, no, Harry!" she said, and tears almost choked her utterance; "you could not value a heart that had already loved and been scorned."

"Never, Myra, did you truly love that base, unmanly wretch! Fear not; I know all. It was only your fancy which his facile address captivated; your heart was untouched, save with devotion for its own ideal, which for a moment he seemed to fill. Fear not, dear Myra; be but mine, and you shall soon learn of me that you never truly loved him."

The lesson was a pleasant one both to master and pupil, fulfilling the former's promise indeed.