it. An hour afterwards the ball was in full swing. the sound of the carriages. His pale face | pline, would become less and less bright. was now calm and rigid as ever; no one After the second dance, he told her of a could have remarked anything unusual in new model sabre which, regarded as an improvement on the old one, was as a steamer to a canal barge. After the third dance, Mina obtained a lesson on stars; not in the way of astronomy, but in the knowledge of the distinguishing marks, which, since the abolition of epaulettes, made it difficult to distinguish a general from a corporal. Of the ball, or at all events of the first part of it, there is not much to be told. It was like all entertainments of this nature. Lovely young faces seemed lovelier and prettier with the glow of pleasure and the blush of enjoyment, and whirled round and round, in their brilliant ball-dresses, with as much spirit as if dancing were the object of life. Dancers with fewer external advantages also danced now and then, and in the intervals found time to rest, as they called it. Those still less gifted, the poor wall-flowers, sat gazing at their blank engagement-cards. Mainmas sat together looking on with pleasure at their broods, and papas vanished into the already mentioned green drawing-room, where at most of the cardtables, parties were made up. Mina quite expanded under the influence of Captain Uno's entertaining conversation. She had not looked so well nor so good-humoured for a long time. When Captain Uno, in the course of conversation, spoke of a possible change in the garrison, and asked her opinion as to his probable destination, Mina regarded it as an unkind freak of fortune that just at that moment the signal for the next dance was given and they were separated, but after supper she was again to dance with him, and who knows whether the conversation might not take the expected turn. Amongst the gentlemen who did not Among all the happy couples_there either dance or play at cards was Otto were none so happy as Bruno and Emmy. Welters. Mary had urged him to take I need hardly say that they danced toadvantage of the entertainment from gether as often as they dared without givwhich, owing to her father's illness, she ing offence to others. was precluded, and he had consented to do Already some hours had passed since so, but he had not brought a cheerful face the bail began; the temperature of the with him to the ball and he refrained al-ball-room, although as much air as postogether from dancing, although formerly so fond of it. Yet Otto seemed to regard the dancing couples with interest, and now and then, as Emmy or Elizabeth swept by him with their merry faces, his countenance brightened up for a moment. Both these young ladies were among the most in request as partners, and they were obliged more than once to split their dances in order to content all the " aspirants." Mina also danced a great deal. None of the gentlemen present forgot their duty to the eldest daughter of a house where they had been treated with so much courtesy and had been so kindly received. Captain Uno, who in this respect was anything but remiss, was, to Mina's great satisfaction, booked three times on her engagement card. Yes, and after each dance walked up and down with her for a long time, and this evening with a vivacity which heightened more than ever the fond expectations of her heart. After the first dance, he told her of the unmistakable deterioration in mankind clearly evident in the buttons of the uniforms of his subalterns, and which, but for his strict disci sible was admitted, could not be lowered to the desired degree of coolness, and many couples withdrew in turn for some moments into the boudoir where they could breathe the fresh air in the balcony. In the middle of a dance Bruno had led Emmy there; he first carefully wrapt around her a cloak which lay ready at the entrance, and then stepped with her outside. There was an indescribable stillness and calm in that cool autumn evening, which was the more remarkable when contrasted with the stirring lively ball-room which they had just left. The distant sounds of music and the tread of the dancers' feet were the only sounds which reached their ears. The moon was hidden behind a cloud, but the sky was for the most part clear, and the stars sparkled fitfully. The garden below them was veiled in a mysterious half darkness, as was the balcony on which Bruno and Emmy stood. For the first moment neither of them spoke. In the ball-room, in the midst of the dancing, they had had plenty to say to each other; but here, in the calm stillness, the tongues of both were paralyzed. Emmy was the first to break silence. "I believe, Bruno, that this is the pleasantest day of my life." "Is it, Emmy? I am so glad that you say so. To me it is not only the pleasantest but also the happiest; at least it may be so," he added, gently and with some hesitation. "When I must again go from home, this day, of all others, will remain in my recollection." "Must you then go away soon, Bruno ? A shade passed over Eminy's sweet face as she said these words in a soft trembling tone. to her I would sacrifice my profession; that for her sake I would even yet fulfil the wish of my father, and by her side would learn to live the life of a quiet citizen. All this I thought over so long that I was gradually entirely absorbed with these castles in the air; and, when at last I came home, the day arrived when all at once the girl of my dreams stood before me. Emmy, at that moment, when I saw her unexpectedly before me, more beautiful than the most beautiful ideal that I had formed of her; when she uttered my name with the old well-known sound of her voice; when she looked at me with her old friendly eyes, then, in her presence It gave Bruno courage to say now what he had intended to say that evening. "II felt like a shy boy, who could find no can stay, at all events, till the end of my leave, Emmy, and there might be circumstances under which I should not go away at all. Emmy, may I at once say what those might be? May I at last express the wish of my heart? Emmy made no answer, but she had not drawn back her hand which Bruno held, and so . . . he went on in a tone which betrayed the deepest emotion. "You know, Emmy, that I chose the profession of a naval officer against the will of my parents; but my decision was not made out of mere wilfulness, but from a conviction that I was not suited to the life of the counting-house and foundry, to which my father had destined me, and till a short time since I never repented it. The busy active life, full of variety, the incessant change of place and scene, seemed made for me and my impatient nature. But, in my long voyage home, a doubt began to arise in my mind whether in the long run, I should feel happy in this changeable life which my profession brings with it. You may be sure that it was partly the longing for home and for my parents which influenced me, but there was something more - the recollection of that little fair-haired girl, whom I was already in love with as a boy, and whose image began to stand before my eyes as I came nearer my country. I pictured to myself how I should find her on my return; whether she would correspond to all she promised to be when she was a child, with her good dear heart and her soft blue eyes. - "I thought of this every day afresh, Emmy, and every day my longing was stronger; my thoughts gradually became bolder, and almost unknown to myself I went so far as to imagine that this girl might some day give me her love, as I loved her memory. I said to myself that words even for the simplest welcome, and who has since blamed himself a thousand times for the stupid manner in which he behaved towards her, whom in his thoughts he knew so well.” Bruno stopped speaking for a moment; his tone had gradually become more impassioned. Emmy had partly turned away her face, but he felt her hand tremble within his own, and with a voice of deep emotion he went on: 66 Emmy, may I speak still more clearly? You now know that it depends on you whether I stay here or go away again. If I am mistaken, and you do not love me enough to become my wife, then I must go away, and the sooner the better. Now, you can yourself answer the question you put to me. May I stay, Emmy?" Emmy turned her face towards Bruno, and at the same moment the moon appeared from behind a cloud which had long obscured it. It lighted up her face, which was full of emotion; her blue eyes glistened with tears; but a smile played on the lips which were parted to make her reply. But what she was about to say remained unsaid. Before she could speak, hasty steps approached the balcony, and Bruno had just time to release Emmy's hand, when the door-curtain was suddenly raised, and a servant came up to him. Bruno unwillingly turned towards him, but a glance at the troubled face of the old domestic silenced the impatient words which rose to his lips. Mr. Bruno, please to come immediately to the blue room; master wishes speak to you." to. Is it anything particular, John?" The old man made no answer. "You should come directly, Mr. Bruno," repeated. Bruno no longer tarried. With a smile In going from the balcony into the boudoir, they stumbled upon William De Graaff, who was standing with his arms folded, and with a sombre expression on his face. "I have been looking for you everywhere, Emmy," he said, in a cold tone, which struck her as disagreeable. "The dance you promised me is half over; but how could I know that you were gone off with Eversberg to look at the moonlight?" There was a biting sarcasm in the tone of his words, which brought a deep blush into Emmy's cheek. "We were not so much in search of moonlight as of fresh air," answered Bruno; "but, as Emmy has promised you this dance, I have no further right to her." He bowed to her as he left the boudoir by a door which led into the passage, and Emmy took William's arm, and, going back into the ball-room, stood up with him amongst the dancers. papas who had been playing at cards now re-appeared and attached themselves to the mammas, who, during the last dance, had almost threatened to swallow each other up in their increasing tendency to yawn. But the approach of supper and the move preparatory to it infused fresh animation among them. Emmy, in her quiet corner, gradually came to herself; and, indeed, when Elizabeth discovered her there, she was quite in a state to speak reasonably. Her attention, however, was little given to Elizabeth's chatter, for just then she saw Bruno enter the room. It seemed to her that he was paler than before, but perhaps she might only be imagining this. She saw, however, with some surprise, that he walked straight up to his mother, who was conversing in the midst of a circle of ladies and gentlemen. From the other end of the room it was impossible for Emmy to hear what he said, but she saw that he bent over Mrs. Eversberg and apparently said a few half-whispered words to her. The nearer he got to the door, the more he hastened his pace; at last the door closed behind the mother and son. Emmy drew a deep breath, but the next moment she found herself obliged to speak to a gentleman who addressed her, and who presently took her for a promenade through the room. The music had ceased and there was a hum of voices in the ballroom, and now and then a merry laugh. Bruno's mother smiling to him gave him some answer, and the circle opened to let them pass; she then took her son's arm and he conducted her down the whole length of the ball-room. Here and there But, as long as the dance lasted, Wil- she was addressed and detained, and Emliam did not speak a word to her, and my saw how Bruno then stopped and reEmmy was also silent. The dance, the peatedly pushed back his hair, a nervous ball-room, the lights, the company, all ap-habit of his which she well knew. peared to her as a dream; all her movements were mechanical: she danced because dance she must, without knowing to what tune her feet were moving. She saw without looking; she heard without listening. In her heart, however, there sounded delightful music, which drowned all other sounds - the words which Bruno had just spoken to her. What did it matter to her that they were interrupted? She knew that Bruno loved her. What mattered it to her that no words had passed her lips? She knew that her heart had answered with a thousand voices before Bruno had spoken. The sensation of happiness brought a smile to her lips; she gave no heed to the dark passionate look with which William's eyes were fixed upon her; she did not notice his silence; she hardly remarked that the dance was over. She could not recollect how she came to be alone in the solitary corner, almost concealed behind the flowers. This dance was the last before the interval which was to be occupied by supper, and the couples, in expectation of it, walked up and down the ball-room. The But nearly half-an-hour passed, and still the company promenaded up and down, and, at length, here and there, some of the couples sat down. Ten minutes more and the life of the party began to flag; the laughter ceased and the conversation dropped to a whisper. What could be going on? Not only their host was missing from the ball-room, but the hostess and Bruno did not return. What could they mean by leaving the guests to themselves? Why was not the supper announced? Another quarter of an hour passed. Even the whispering stopped; people looked at each other, and here and there a murmur broke the silence. Burgomaster Welters was heard to say: "If people are From The Athenæum. invited, it should at least be seen that they AN EPISODE IN THE TRIAL OF THE EARL have something to eat." 66 "I heard that there was to be some surprise," said a sarcastic guest, "and perhaps this is it." I have never heard that in well-bred society the guests were left to themselves," said Mrs. Welters; and close to her something was whispered of which the word "parvenu was alone distinctly audible. But the opening of the door silenced everyone. An unnatural silence reigned in the great bail-room- -a silence in which, as the proverb says, one might hear a pin drop - a silence which was audible. Bruno Eversberg came in. His deadly-pale face, his bewildered eyes, prepared the company for something unusual. With tolerably firm steps, with his head slightly bent, he walked into the middle of the ball-room. Here stood a chair which had just done service in a cotillon; to this chair he clung with both hands. Standing under the chandelier, with its full light upon him, he slowly raised his head. Twice he opened his white trembling lips, but twice in vain; no sound came forth. At last Bruno commanded himself. What he said was almost in a whisper, and with a voice without sound; the painful stillness around made it nevertheless distinctly audible in the furthest corner of the room. 66 My friends, a great calamity has fallen upon our house. From some misunderstanding my father has been arrested and taken to prison. It will all, I hope, be cleared up to-morrow morning; we must, however, be alone. You will excuse my mother that she cannot take leave of you." Bruno had spoken at first in a faltering voice, but the last words he spoke quickly as if reading them off. As he ceased speaking his eyes wandered through the ball-room as if seeking some one; but before his guests, half-petrified with suspense, could utter a word of sympathy, Bruno had turned round, and with hasty steps had quitted the room. The vibration made by the shutting of the great door behind him sounded hollow through the room, and it was the signal for a general break-up of the party. OF STRAFFORD. THE PAPER THAT LORD DIGBY MAY HAVE To those intimately acquainted with English history during 1641, the philosophic rendering of the Erl of Strafford's trial, assumed by most historians, affords amusement, from its unreality. They calmly argue that it was impolitic of the "precise party," headed by Pym, to hunt to death that criminal against the State; quite forgetting that his condemnation was procured solely by a hand-to-hand fight, protracted over many months; that the passions excited by those distracted times were capable of direction towards Strafford's escape, quite as surely as towards his death; that, all those months, three armies were in the land, lying inactive, irregularly paid, open to any intrigue. Such writers might have felt that no after-time speculation on the degree of Strafford's punishment, could stand against the opinion of an impassive man, of sound judgment, such as the Earl of Essex, namely, that "stone dead hath no fellow." The fevered anxiety that possessed the actors in that great tragedy infected even slight episodes, such as the loss of documents, with an air of suspicion and excitement common at no time to the transaction of English public business-specially unusual to men of such temperament as Pym and Hampden. This uneasy feeling is reflected, even in the mendacious story about the theft of Pym's copy of Vane's notes, in "Whitelocke's Memorials." The tranquil current of that compilation is interrupted by a vigorous description, ascribed to Whitelocke, of responsibilities and danger he incurred, by the withdrawal of a document from before a committee over which he presided: a statement, indeed, that testifies to the disturbance that incident occasioned; though it so happens, that Whitelocke was not in the chair of that committee, nor does his name occur in any authentic story about the documents that disappeared during the Strafford trial. There was, however, a long and angry debate in the House of Commons upon this suspicious circumstance. Two of the original depositions made by Sir H. Vane, touching Strafford's " pernicious counsel," suggesting the coercion of England by Irish soldiers, were missing; and even in the heat and passion evoked by the passage of the Attainder Bill (April 23, 1641), the Commons found time to discuss the matter. One of these documents was lost from the table of the House, but only for a short time; and Mr. Elsyng, the Clerk, escaped all. censure,- perhaps, owing to the interposition of that amiable antiquary, Sir S. D'Ewes. "I moved," he tells us, "that the Clerk was in little fault. Generally, when the House rises, some 10 or 12 members come about the table, and desire to see several particulars. Others call for copies of the orders they are to use; and those who look at the papers lay them down promiscuously. Then the Clerk hasteth away to dinner, as he hath good reason, we sitting here sometimes till 2 or 3 of the clock, in the afternoon! - he lays up all his papers together, and thus these papers were mislaid" (D'Ewes, MSS., 163, p. 487). So full of anxiety, however, was that season, that this accident was regarded askance; and a member, eminent in position, deemed that the finding of the document was even more suspicious than the losing it; and rumour averred that Vane's words had been tampered with, so as to falsify his evidence about that all-important subject, the Irish army. But the action of the House of Commons respecting the other missing paper exhibits their distrust of each other in a far more unpleasant way. Mr. N. Tomkyns, greedy after anything that discredited the proceedings against Strafford, gives this account of the disputes that hence arose. "Another paper," he writes word to Sir J. Lambe, "touching Sir H. Vane, is lost by the Select Committee of the Lower House, it lying upon Mr. Pym's table, when 5 others were present, viz. Lord Digby, Sir W. Erle, Sir J. Clotworthy, Mr. Hampden, and Mr. Maynard; which occasioned a variance and reproaching one another publicly; every one making their several protestations of being guiltless therein. The suspicion fell most on the Lord Digby, who was last in the chamber; and had said to some of them, that Mr. Pym should do well to have more care of his papers, than to let them lie loose so. The Lord protested his own innocence; and said it must have been the deed of some unworthy man, who had his eye upon place and preferment," -wherein he was supposed to allude to Mr. Pym himself, who hath been with the king twice of late, and since the Lord Cottington laid his office at the king's feet, is designed by the voice of the people to be his successor in the Chancellorship of the Exchequer" (Letter, dated 26th April, 1641, Rolls Office). Into this singular attack by that arch intriguer, Lord Digby, upon the integrity of Mr. Pym, we cannot enter; our desire is to point out the temper of the time exhibited by this incident, and the untoward symptoms it discloses. The debate about that missing document was raised, we fear, solely to attract odium upon Lord Digby, then justly deemed a renegade from the popular cause. The theft had happened long ago: its ill effects had equally passed away. For, though the inspection of the document had suggested to Strafford's friends questions through which they sought to depreciate Vane's testimony, by contrasting the language of his deposition with his more outspoken evidence in Westminster Hall (Rushworth, viii. 545); still all that was then forgotten, swallowed up by the Attainder Bill and the exhibition of Vane's notes. The annoyance of an antagonist, however, is a motive for raising a debate, not much to be objected to. But an honourable, straightforward course of action by the House of Commons is, we are glad to say, a principle of long-standing; and it is a sad breach in the traditional bearing of that assembly, even to suppose that it could ever seek to entrap a brother member and plunge him deeper into a crime of which he is suspected. Into this grave error the Commons fell on the 23rd of April, 1641. Lord Digby was assuredly credited with the abstraction of that document; and knowing this, upon undoubted evidence, it is with pain that we read in the Journal of the Lower House that he was that day invited, if not compelled to declare that he “ solemnly affirmed and protested, in the presence of God and this assembly, that he did not directly nor indirectly take, carry, or convey away the paper supposed to be lost or taken away from the house where Mr. Pym lodged; or know who did take, carry away, or convey the same; nor had seen the same since it was lost or taken away: and that he made this protestation sincerely and truly, without any mental reservation or equivocation." The volcanic impetus of revolutionary days cannot justify, though it may excuse the imposition of an oath, so unlawful, so utterly repugnant to all sense of public honour. END OF VOL. CXIV. D. E. |