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the whole remembrance of his first interview with Lady Emily returned also; and though he thought and said she must long ago have forgotten that such a being as himself existed, still he wished to prove the dreaded truth. How to do this, he knew not: he had lived in such total seclusion for many months, that he had not even heard her named ; and he had but too much reason to suppose, that both the General and more particularly herself, must have discarded him from the list of their acquaintance.

With this impression, he left his Castle to seek General Montgomery and ascertain the fact. As he passed through Bristol, he happened to see from a window General Montgomery's servant, Edwards, pass by. How the sight of any person or thing the most distantly connected with a beloved object vibrates on every chord of feeling! He seized his hat; pursued the man till he overtook him ; satisfied himself on the chief points he wanted to know, and prepared to act accordingly.


Many are the sayings of the wise
In ancient and in modern books enrolled,
Extolling patience, as the truest fortitude.

But with the afflicted, in his pangs, their sound
Little prevails, or rather seems a tune
Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint ;
Unless he feel within
Some source of consolation from above;
Secret refreshings that repair his strength,
And fainting spirits uphold.”


Two letters from Lady Emily to Miss Macalpine, written a few weeks after the departure of the latter for Scotland, will best relate the incidents which followed that period.

The first letter was dated from London, and ran as follows:

My dear Alpinia—We have not yet left town, though our departure is fixed. I should be very happy, or at least content, were it not for the melancholy which I see preys on my uncle, and which all my efforts seem unable to dispel ; but I promised to give you a succinct account of all that happens, and in the first place, of my sister's wedding.

" Oh, Alpinia, what an awful ceremony is a marriage! I cried my very heart out; and provoked Frances, and was stared at by the company: only Lord Bellamont seemed to commiserate my agitation. I did what I could, however, to master my feelings, and in some degree I succeeded. If all weddings were like that one, certainly they are more calculated to inspire sorrow than joy. Every body was so stiff, so demure, so ceremonious, so unlike my ideas of affectionate interest and kindly good will ; and then the ceremony took place in a drawingroom, like a sort of courtly exhibition-not in a church-not as it were under the auspices of Heaven. It was a cold, calculating, civil contract. Yet Frances accounted herself a happy bride; and she was accounted so by others. The whole thing was splendid; it was a magnificent show. But oh, Alpinia ! I never can describe what I felt-a heavy gloom seemed to hang over every part of the ceremony.

“Poor Lord Bellamont, with his kind affectionate manner he looked so anxious to please, yet so diffident of success. He seemed to wish to inspire Frances with his own open and generous warmth of disposition': but she checked him, evidently; and once I heard her say, “We are not at a country wake.'— Would that we were,' thought I, ' we should then be a happier set of people !

“ My uncle gave Frances away; and when the rites were performed she came up to salute him. He blessed her with his sweet voice, and said, “Remember, my dear child, the duties of the station you have entered upon : they are manifold ; and in your fulfilling this great responsibility well, depends your happiness here and hereafter.' Frances listened with an impatient air; and I heard her whisper Lady Arabella—When all this is over we


shall manage well enough ; but it must be confessed this is mighty tiresome.--Did you

. ?' “ At length it was over, and the bride and bridegroom having changed their dress, and taken a formal leave of the company, departed for their villa at Richmond. Shortly after, the rest of the company dispersed; and it was a relief to me when I found myself once more alone with


uncle. There had been a sort of condescending affability displayed on the part of the Duke of Godolphin to my uncle, which I felt must be painful to him; and as we drove from the door, he said to me, closing his eyes as you know is his wont when any thing agitates him with pain or pleasure. I have done now with this idle farce for ever.'—What, my dear uncle,' I ventured to say, although a reverential respect made me put the question timidly, 'what do your words imply ??—' Oh, nothing, my dearest and best, but that I shall henceforward live to myself, and to her who is so truly my own child in heart, that I feel her to be a part of myself; but the world, the hete

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