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A most opportune summons to the "beef-steak" relieved Lady Eltondale from the discussion, which was on the point of commencing between mother and daughter. She rose with an air of dignity, that immediately silenced both combatants; and, while she leaned on Sir Henry's offered arm, she drew Selina's through her own, and, turning to Mrs. Galton, said with a bewitching smile, "You must spare this Hebe to be my cup-bearer. I almost envy you having monopolized her so long, notwithstanding all she has gained by it." Mordaunt, who had hitherto stood aloof, now advanced to open the door for them, and smiled significantly to Selina as they passed; while Webberly, who had just sense enough to perceive the distance of Lady Eltondale's manner, called loudly for his mother's carriage. The rest of the party, who had hitherto remained in dumb astonishment, gladly took the hint, and began the tedious ceremony of curtsying, bidding good night, and packing up; leaving Mrs. Galton at liberty to do the honours of the second dinner table, which lasted till nearly the hour when the good Baronet usually retired to rest.

And all your wit--your most distinguished art, But makes us grieve you want an honest heart!

BROWN.

"Grace was in all her steps--Heav'n in her eye, In all her gestures dignity:"

Her history was a very common one--Her father died while she was young, leaving her mother and herself a comfortable, though not a splendid provision, as all the landed property descended to her brother, Sir Henry Seymour, who was many years older than she was.

Lord Eltondale was one of those unoffending, undistinguished mortals, who would most probably have returned to his original clay unnoticed and unwept, had not fortune, in one of her most sportive moods, hung a coronet on his brow, and thus dragged the Cymon into observation. He possessed neither talents nor acquirements, and held "the harmless tenour of his way" in equal mean betwixt vice and virtue.

Such was the partner the lovely Miss Seymour chose for life; and as the death of her mother, and that of the only child she ever had, occurred before the expiration of the second year of her marriage, she was left without any tie to attach her to a domestic life; while her own conscious superiority to her lord deprived her of any support from him, which might have guided her, as she swam on the highest wave of fashion.

Sir Henry Seymour experienced at least as much surprise as pleasure, at such an unexpected visit from his sister and the viscount; but he did not suspect the object of it, till her ladyship herself explained it to him the following morning. Indeed the only motive that could have been strong enough, to induce her to return, even for a few hours, to a place she so much abhorred, was that which now had brought her; namely, an anxious desire to promote a marriage between Selina Seymour and her step-son, Mr. Elton. Lady Eltondale was well aware, that her extravagance, and her lord's indolence, had already swallowed up any ready money they had originally possessed, and that whenever the property came into the hands of Frederick Elton, little, if any thing, would be left for her support, except what she should receive from his generosity; and therefore she had determined to secure for him one of the richest and loveliest brides England could offer, believing, that by so doing she should not only increase his power of being generous, but also establish her claims on his everlasting gratitude. It is true she was not certain, that such a step would ensure the happiness, or even meet the approbation of Frederick. On that point, strange as it may appear, Lady Eltondale had bestowed but little consideration, , as this plan would be certainly beneficial to herself, she determined to consider it equally advantageous to him. In fine, she had been the first to suggest it; she had long meditated on it, and at last resolved upon it: having thus made up her own mind, the difficulties which might occur in the prosecution of her scheme, if any should arise, would but make her more solicitous for its accomplishment.

At first Lady Eltondale found some little difficulty in persuading Sir Henry to accede to her proposal; not that he for a moment recollected the cruelty of engaging irrevocably his daughter's hand, before he even enquired into the state of her affections; or that he reflected on the danger of confiding a character so volatile as was Selina's to the guardianship of a young man they were both totally unacquainted with. Sir Henry only hesitated, from an unwillingness to part from her himself; for he was one of those fatally partial parents, who, prizing too highly their daughters' society, often sacrifice their happiness to that selfish consideration. But to every objection he could urge Lady Eltondale had some specious answer ready: she reminded him, that Mr. Elton was then abroad, and that his return might possibly be delayed for some time; dwelt upon the excellence of his character; and finally, more by perseverance than argument, succeeded in obtaining Sir Henry's promise, that he would consent to their marriage taking place, as soon as Frederick returned from the continent. Lady Eltondale well understood that magic, which is the empire a strong mind exercises over a weaker; and had so well worked on all the springs of poor Sir Henry's, that he gave the required promise as explicitly as she demanded it; for she was well aware, that if once she prevailed on him to give such a promise, not even his deference to Mrs. Galton's opinion would induce him to break it. But as of the tendency of that opinion Lady Eltondale had a sort of presentiment, she wished to save herself the trouble of combating it; and therefore prevailed on her brother not to mention it during the short remainder of her stay at the Hall, on the pretence of sparing her "dear Selina's feelings;" and as he was for many reasons not unwilling to dismiss the subject from his thoughts, he agreed to the required silence.

The evening of that day, which sealed Selina's destiny, passed over without any particular circumstance to mark its progress, save only that Lady Eltondale was even, if possible, more attractive than ever. She eminently possessed that "complaisance, which adopts the ideas of others as its own; and all that politeness, in fine, which perhaps is not virtue itself, yet is sometimes its captivating resemblance, which gives laws to self-love, and enables pride to pass every instant by the side of pride, without offending." This art she was in the daily habit of exercising towards all her associates; but to delude or flatter Mrs. Galton, Lady Eltondale always felt, was a task of no small difficulty. Her penetration and her modesty were both too great to be easily evaded; and her character was composed of such delicate tints, blended insensibly into so admirable a whole, that to bring forward only one part seemed to destroy that unity, which constituted its perfection. Besides, Mrs. Galton was so true, so simple, in all she said, and thought, and did, that she seemed sanctified by her own purity: and though the artful viscountess could not feel all the beauty of such a mind, its very greatness, unadorned as it was, impressed her with an awe so unusual, that the stranger feeling degenerated into repugnance and distrust. Yet even to her her manner on the eventful night was complaisant in the extreme--to Sir Henry it was affectionate, to Selina indulgent; and to Mordaunt a veil of tempered coquetry gave a dazzling attraction to all her words, looks, and actions. In her intercourse with him, she chose to avail herself of all the privileges she could derive from her seniority; while the fascinations of her wit, the elegance of her manner, and the real beauty of her person, gave her a dangerous power over an unpractised heart, which the artless charms of inexperienced youth dared not have used, and could scarcely have possessed. Little aware were the innocent members of the circle she was delighting, that her increased animation and her improved charms arose from the glow of conscious pride, as she triumphantly reflected on the success of her scheme; a scheme which, nevertheless, she had sufficient penetration to discover, would blight the fairest prospects of those she appeared most sedulous to please; and which might destroy for ever the happiness of a scene, that, till the moment of her intrusion, had bloomed another Paradise.

Ah! gentle pair, ye little think, how nigh Your change approaches, when all these delights Will vanish, and deliver ye to wo, More wo, the more your taste is now of joy!

PARADISE LOST.

The next morning, notwithstanding its being Sunday, was fixed for the departure of the Eltondales for Cheltenham; as, in addition to Lady Eltondale's dread of passing a Sunday evening at the Hall, the hallowed day was one usually set apart by her and her obedient lord for travelling.

The whole of Sir Henry's household, unused to such an appropriation of the Sabbath, was thrown into disorder. The arrival of the post horses; the bustle and importance of the servants who were departing, with the confusion of those who were to remain; the enumeration of the packages by Madame La Fayette, who was, if possible, a finer lady than her mistress; and the awkward, and perhaps not quite unintentional, mistakes of her aides-de-camp the house-maids, in their arrangement, presented altogether a scene of clamour that totally dismayed poor quiet Sir Henry: and even Mrs. Galton could scarcely refrain from expressing a part of her discomposure, at perceiving the slow progress, that was actually making in the work of preparation, would effectually prevent either the domestics or themselves joining their worthy pastor in his public worship. At last Lady Eltondale appeared, to partake of what she called the early breakfast; and before this affair, always so important to the Viscount, was concluded, the different forms of farewell had been gone through, and the last part of the train had fairly moved from the door, the greatest portion of the morning was elapsed. Selina stood at the library window, watching the rapid motion of the carriages, and the spirited action of the postilions; as, cracking their whips over the horses' heads, they turned out of the long avenue, and disappeared down the hill. She listened for some time, involuntarily wishing to hear again the sound of the carriage wheels; then turning suddenly round, and casting her eye hastily over the dark damask hangings and massy furniture of the room, wondered why she had never before seen it look so gloomy as it now appeared. Mrs. Galton, who had silently marked the changes of that countenance, which so eloquently depicted every passing idea, now abruptly asked her, what she had been thinking of. Selina started and colored. But, as yet, she had never been conscious of a thought she would not wish to own; and, with her usual ingenuousness, replied--"I wonder, Aunt, what sort of place Cheltenham is? How I should like to go there!"--"I dare say, Lady Eltondale would gladly have taken you there, Selina," replied Mrs. Galton, with a look of sadness, blended with anxiety.--"But you don't think, surely, I should like to leave you and Papa behind?--no; if you, and Papa, and Augustus, would all come with me, I should be delighted to go! but not else." So saying, she threw her polished arms round Mrs. Galton's neck, and kissing her cheek with an effusion of affection, gave a gratifying and unequivocal proof of the sincerity of her assertion.

Meantime, Sir Henry had strolled out, leaning on the arm of Augustus: at last, after a silence unusually prolonged, the Baronet exclaimed, "Good Lord! bless my heart, who would have thought, this day se'ennight, that Bell and Lord Eltondale would have been come and gone again by this time?"--"She must have been very beautiful," returned Mordaunt. "Aye, she was once very handsome indeed," replied Sir Henry.--"Bless my heart, how time passes on! I remember the winter she was presented at Court, how much she was admired! and good Lord! how things come about: every body said she was to have been married to your uncle, Lord Osselstone, though, I believe, there was never any truth in the report. That was the very year you were born, Augustus, two-and-twenty years ago, last Michaelmas. I have never been in London since; and, please God, never shall!" Augustus had attended more to his own thoughts, than to Sir Henry's observations; and would perhaps have continued his reverie, had not the old man's silence had the effect of rousing him, which his conversation had not. "I think," said he, at last, "Selina is very like her aunt: her eyes, to be sure, sparkle more, and her countenance is more animated, but her figure is nearly the same, if she were but a very little taller."--"Aye," returned Sir Henry, with a sigh, "Selina will grow a great deal yet, I dare say.--Well, to be sure, who would have thought it? Bless my heart, she was but a child the other day: and then," he added, after a few moment's pause, "I wonder what sort of a chap that Frederick Elton is? I wonder will he like to play backgammon with me of an evening, as Selina does? Poor girl! he mustn't think of taking her to London, it would be the death of me, God help me!"

"Frederick Elton!" rejoined Augustus, "Good God, sir! what do you mean?" "Aye, Augustus, I thought you would be surprised. Bless my heart! why, I never should have thought of it myself. Do you know, Bell and Lord Eltondale came all this way out of their road to ask my consent to Selina's marrying his son Frederick Elton? It was very kind of them to think of it, to be sure; but I had rather they hadn't troubled themselves." "Well, sir, well surely, Sir Henry, you didn't give it?" "Bless my heart! well, to be sure, what makes you stare so?--to be sure I gave it. What had I to say against the young man? and Bell told me he would always like to live here." "And Selina, Miss Seymour, has given her consent too?" "Oh, poor child! she knows nothing about it yet;--I haven't told her a word of it.--But what makes you shiver so? Are you cold? Why, Augustus, boy, you look as pale as ashes! Good Lord!--Bless my heart, what's the matter with you?" "Nothing, sir, I've only a confounded head-ache, which a ride will cure." So saying, he turned abruptly from Sir Henry, who had by this time reached the hall door, and resumed his knotty cane. "Good Lord! well to be sure, he's not half so happy about it as I expected he would have been. I wonder what Mrs. Galton will say." And the doubt of the possibility of her not approving the plan, as he knew she was not partial to Lady Eltondale's plans in general, made him at first hesitate about informing her. But the habit he had acquired of consulting her on all occasions, and a certain restless anxiety, which persons of weak minds always feel to have their opinions or actions sanctioned by others, at last preponderated; and he retired to his study, after sending to request to speak to Mrs. Galton, fortifying himself, previous to her appearance, with as many of Lady Eltondale's arguments as he could recal to his disturbed memory.

Mrs. Galton saw it was in vain to contend at that moment with the Baronet, who was fully convinced that his promise was irrevocable, and that after all it was the best thing he could do, for Bell had told him so. All that Mrs. Galton could procure was a promise no less positive, that he would not give Selina the most distant hint of the project, by which she hoped not only to prolong her present days of peace, but also faintly flattered herself, that something might occur to prevent their union, between then and the time of Mr. Elton's return from abroad.

In the mean time Augustus prosecuted his useless ride--

"Il va monter en cheval pour bannir son ennui, Le chagrin monte en croupe et galoppe apr?s lui."

Finding solitary reflection rather increased than cured his malady, he at last determined to open his heart, to his reverend friend, Mr. Temple; and, alighting at the parsonage, sent his servant back to the hall, to say he should not return to dinner--an intimation which considerably increased the gloom which pervaded the countenance of each individual of the trio, that was seated in silence round the dinner-table. Sir Henry and Mrs. Galton were each occupied by their own reflections; and Selina felt depressed, not only by the unusual absence of Augustus, but also from the effects of that vacuum, which the departure of guests, however few in number, always makes in a country house. After dinner she strolled listlessly from one room to another; took up and laid down, alternately, all the books that lay on the library table; sauntered to the harpsichord, and played parts of several anthems, without finishing any, and stopping every five minutes, in the vain belief that she heard the trampling of Mordaunt's horse. At last, at an hour long before her usual bed-time, she retired to her room, wondering what could keep him so late, and thinking she had never spent so long, so tiresome an evening; whilst she involuntarily contrasted it with the hours winged on swiftest pinions, which the fascinations of Lady Eltondale's manners had so delightfully beguiled the night before.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

No sooner did Augustus find himself alone with Mr. Temple, than his oppressed heart found a ready vent, and he poured into the sympathetic ear of his reverend auditor a full detail of all his feelings. He had first discovered how ardently he loved Selina, at the moment he had learned she was destined for another; and he described, with all the eloquence of passion, the agony, the despair he now experienced. Mr. Temple had not yet forgotten what it was to love; and, "though time had thinn'd his flowing hair," his feelings had not yet become torpid under its benumbing influence. He could listen with patience, and even pity, to the wild effusions of his favourite's grief, while he waited calmly till the first burst of passion should subside, and leave room for the exercise of sober reason.--"Come, come, my dear Augustus," said he, at last, "your case is neither a singular nor a desperate one: there are very few young men of your age, that do not fancy themselves as deeply in love as you do now, and, of the number, not one in five hundred marry the object of their first choice: indeed it is often very fortunate for them they do not."--"But Selina Seymour! where is such another woman to be found?" exclaimed Augustus: and then, with all a lover's vehemence, did he expatiate on her "matchless charms." "I grant you," replied Mr. Temple, "she is a very delightful girl; and, as far as we can judge, is likely to make a most estimable woman. But you know her disposition is naturally volatile in the extreme, and much of her future character will depend on her future guides. Well, well, we will not dispute on the degree of her merits," continued Mr. Temple, seeing Mordaunt ready to take up the gauntlet in her defence;--"hear me only with calmness, and I will promise to confine my observations as much as I can to yourself. You know, my dear boy, you are yet very young, and very inexperienced. It is true you have been three years at Oxford. But of the world you may literally be said to know nothing. Selina is now certainly the most charming woman you have yet seen; but how can you be sure she will always hold her pre-eminence in your estimation? Aye, my dear fellow, you need not tell me;--I know you are at this moment perfectly convinced of your own inviolable constancy, and so forth. But let me tell you, you do not yourself know yet what would, and what would not, constitute your happiness in a wedded life. The girl, whose vivacity and animation we delight in at seventeen, may turn out a frivolous and even contemptible character at seven and twenty. And can you picture to yourself a greater calamity, than being obliged to drag on the lengthened chain of existence with a companion, to whose fate yours is linked for ever, without one tone of feeling in unison with yours; to whom your pleasures and your griefs are alike unknown, or, if known, never comprehended; and where every misery is aggravated by a certainty that your fate is irremediable--when

'Life nothing blighter or darker can bring;'

when

'Joy has no balm, and affliction no sting?'

He proposed that Augustus should immediately leave the hall, and return to the prosecution of his studies at Oxford, leaving to time not only the development of Selina's character, but also the proof of to what extent he was actually attached to her.

THE CRITIC.

Augustus rose next morning at the first dawn of light; and, anxious to avoid seeing Selina, whilst agitated by the unhappy feelings that had now taken possession of his mind, left the hall before any of the family were up, and in a short note, excused the abruptness of his departure, by informing Sir Henry, that he had the evening before received at the village a letter, to inform him that his Oxford friends had set out on their long promised excursion to the lakes.

Selina, though totally unconscious of the real cause of his absence, felt it with unusual acuteness, which Mrs. Galton remarked with regret, and for some time vainly endeavoured to turn her thoughts into their usual channel. At length they were in some degree diverted by the arrival of a letter from Lady Eltondale to Sir Henry, enclosing one from Frederick Elton to his father; for Sir Henry's noble sister was fully aware, that it was adviseable to remind him, from time to time, of the existence of this young man, that such reminiscence might refresh his memory as to his promise respecting him.

Mr. Elton had been three years abroad, during which time he had kept up a constant though not very confidential correspondence with his father; for, dreading Lady Eltondale's satire, and knowing she was in the habit of reading all his letters, he pictured to himself her smile of contempt, or shrug of pity, at what she would term his romance, with a repugnance he could not summon resolution to encounter: so that, though his colloquial intercourse with his father was that of the most perfect confidence, his written communications might have been posted on a gateway, without the smallest detriment to his prospects in life. But, as he thus felt himself debarred of the happiness of expressing, without reserve, to his first and best friend, all his feelings and wishes, he endeavoured to console himself for this deprivation, by a most undisguised correspondence with a Mr. Sedley, with whom he had formed a friendship during their academical course in the university of Cambridge, where they had both been honourably distinguished.

MR. ELTON, TO CHARLES SEDLEY, ESQ.

"Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full."

I soon found out she had a quick sense of the ridiculous, but only because sharp-sighted people cannot go through the world with their eyes shut. She forbears, from the benevolence of her heart, to use the powers of ridicule her penetration furnishes her with; and I admire her the more for having at command an arsenal of wit, with so many polished weapons unused. We are always attached to the generous enemy, who can strike, but spares!

I have been so delighted with the employment of defining to myself, for the first time, my ideas of the object of my admiration, that I quite forgot they were to be read by another; and, perhaps, should have gone on till to-morrow, had not my servant, coming to inquire if my letters were ready to be conveyed to the ship which is to carry them to England, roused me from my soliloquy, .

I would not display the amulet, which guards my heart by its potent charm, to any eye but yours; but I cannot, even in this instance, depart from my usual habit of confidence in you; therefore, here goes my unread rhapsody.

Yours, dear Sedley, ever truly,

FREDERICK ELTON.

TO CHARLES SEDLEY, ESQUIRE.

My dear Sedley,

After the descent from the mountain, I insensibly separated myself from all the party, whose weak senses I had so much astonished; and wandering about the exquisite scenery at the base of Etna, I was more than ever possessed by feelings I had endeavoured to stifle;

Pour chasser de sa souvenance L'objet qui plait, On se donne tant de souffrance, Pour si peu d'effet! Une si douce fantaisie, Toujours revient, Et en songeant qu'on doit l'oublier, On s'en souvient.

My father, when twice my age, married for love, therefore why should not I?

I am sure he will give me no opposition, for he has always been a most indulgent parent, and on a point where my happiness is so much concerned, I feel convinced my wishes would be his. Whenever he has, on points of minor importance, wavered in the least, my charming step-dame has always used her influence, to decide him in my favour, therefore I am certain of her support. Indeed what can my father object to in Adelina? He cannot surely want fortune for me? I do not know whether Adelina is or is not possessed of this root of all evil, but if she is not, it is the only want she can possibly have.

With these hopes I am now as happy, as I was miserable a short time ago. What fools we are to throw away the bliss we might enjoy, at the suggestions of that preposterous prudence, that leads us to seek for flaws in the short leases of happiness that are granted to us, and which, after all, when they expire are renewable at pleasure, if we would but pay the necessary fine, by sacrificing our proud splenetic discontents. Hypochondriac spirits may say as they like; but I will maintain, that to those who make the best of it, this is a very delightful world!

The Marchese di Rosalba has promised to take me to-morrow to the Villa Marinella, where Adelina always goes with her father in the beginning of spring. I shall establish my head quarters within two or three miles of it at Aci reale, through which flows the river immortalized by the loves of Acis and Galatea; and if my Galatea should prove equally kind, no mental or corporeal giant shall destroy our happiness.

Ever yours, dear Sedley,

FREDERICK ELTON.

SHAKESPEARE.

Mr. ELTON TO CHARLES SEDLEY, ESQ.

Aci reale, July 15,

My dear Sedley,

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