 Volume 1 Chapter 4 of The Last Man. The next day Lord Raymond called at Perdita's cottage, on his way to Windsor Castle. My sister's heightened colour and sparkling eyes half revealed her secret to me. He was perfectly self-possessed. He accosted us both with courtesy, seemed immediately to enter into our feelings, and to make one with us. I scanned his physiognomy, which varied as he spoke, yet was beautiful in every change. The usual expression of his eyes was soft, though at times he could make them even glare with ferocity. His complexion was colourless, and every trait spoke predominant self-will. His smile was pleasing, though disdain too often curled his lips. Lips which, to female eyes, were the very throne of beauty and love. His voice, usually gentle, often started you by a sharp discordant note, which shooed that his unusual low tone was rather the work of study than nature. Thus full of contradictions, unbending yet haughty, gentle yet fierce, tender and again neglectful, he, by some strange art, found easy entrance to the admiration and affection of women, now caressing and now tyrannising over them according to his mood, but in every change a despot. At the present time Raymond evidently wished to appear amiable, wit, hilarity and deep observation were mingled in his talk, rendering every sentence that he uttered as a flash of light. He soon conquered my latent distaste. I endeavoured to watch him and Perdita, and to keep in mind everything I had learned to his disadvantage. But all appeared so ingenious, and all was so fascinating, that I soon forgot everything except the pleasure his society afforded me. Under the idea of initiating me in the scene of English politics and society, of which I was soon to become a part, he narrated a number of anecdotes and sketched many characters. His discourse, rich and varied, flowed on, providing all my senses with pleasure. But for one thing he would have been completely triumphant. He alluded to Adrian, and spoke of him with that disparagement that the worldly wise always attached to enthusiasm. He perceived the cloud gathering, and tried to dissipate it. But the strength of my feelings would not permit me to pass the slightly over this sacred subject. So I said emphatically, permit me to remark that I am devotally attached to the Earl of Windsor, he is my best friend and benefactor, I reverence his goodness, I accord with his opinions, and bitterly lament his present, and I trust temporary illness. That illness, from its peculiarity, makes it painful to me beyond words to hear him mentioned, unless in terms of respect and affection. Raymond replied, but there was nothing conciliatory in his reply. I saw that in his heart he despised those dedicated to any but worldly idols. Every man, he said, dreams about something, love, honour and pleasure, you dream of friendship and devote yourself to a maniac. Well, if that be your vocation, doubtless you are in the right to follow it. Some reflections seemed to sting him, and the spasm of pain that, for a moment, convulsed his countenance, checked my indignation. Happy dreamers! he continued, so that they be not awakened. Would I could dream? But broad and garish day is the element in which I live. The dazzling glare of reality inverts the scene for me. Even the ghost of friendship has departed, and love. He broke off, nor could I guess whether the disdain that curled his lip was directed against the passion, or against himself for being its slave. This account may be taken as a sample of my intercourse with Lord Raymond. I became intimate with him, and each day afforded me occasion to admire more and more his powerful and versatile talents. That, together with his eloquence, which was graceful and witty, and his wealth now immense, caused him to be feared, loved, and hated beyond any other man in England. My descent, which claimed interest, if not respect, my former connection with Adrian, the favour of the ambassador whose secretary I had been, and now my intimacy with Lord Raymond, gave me easy access to the fashionable and political circles of England. To my inexperience we had first appeared on the eve of a civil war. Each party was violent, acrimonious, and unyielding. Parliament was divided by three factions, aristocrats, democrats, and royalists. After Adrian's declared predilection to the republican form of government, the latter party had nearly died away, chiefless, guideless. But when Lord Raymond came forward as its leader, it revived with redoubled force. Some were royalists from prejudice and ancient affection, and there were many moderately inclined who feared alike the capricious tyranny of the popular party, and the unbending despotism of the aristocrats. More than a third of the members ranged themselves under Raymond, and their number was perpetually increasing. The aristocrats built their hopes on their preponderant wealth and influence, the reformers on the force of the nation itself. The debates were violent, more violent the discourses held by each not of politicians, as they assembled to arrange their measures. These epithets were banded about, resistance even to the death threatened. Meetings of the populace disturbed the quiet order of the country, except in war. How could all this end? Even as the destructive flames were ready to break forth, I saw them shrink back, allayed by the absence of the military, by the aversion entertained by every one to any violence, played that of speech, and by the cordial politeness and even friendship of the hostile leaders when they met in private society. I was from a thousand motives induced to attend minutely to the course of events, and watch each term with intense anxiety. I could not but perceive that bodhita loved Raymond. We thought also that he regarded the fair daughter of Verney with admiration and tenderness, yet I knew that he was urging forward his marriage with the presumptive heiress of the Eldom of Windsor, with keen expectation of the advantages that would then secrue to him. All the ex-queens' friends were his friends. No weak pass that he did not hold consultations with her at Windsor. I had never seen the sister of Adrian. I had heard that she was lovely, amiable, and fascinating. Therefore should I see her. There are times when we have an indefinable sentiment of impeding change for better or for worse, to arise from an event, and, be it for better or for worse, we fear the change and shun the event. For this reason I avoided this high-born damsel. To me she was everything and nothing. Her very name mentioned by another made me start and tremble. The endler's discussion concerning her union with Lord Raymond was real agony to me. We thought that, Adrian withdrawn from active life, and this beautyous Idris, a victim probably to her mother's ambitious schemes, I ought to come forward to protect her from undue influence, guard her from unhappiness, and secure to her freedom of choice the right of every human being. Yet how was I to do this? She herself would disdain my interference. Since then I must be an object of indifference or contempt to her. Better, far better avoid her, nor expose myself before her, and the scornful world to the chance of playing the mad game of a fond, foolish Icarus. One day, several months after my return to England, I quitted London to visit my sister. Her society was my chief solace and delight, and my spirits always rose at the expectation of seeing her. Her conversation was full of pointed remark and discernment. In her pleasant alcove, redolent with sweetest flowers, adorned by magnificent castes, antique vases, and copies of the finest pictures of Raphael, Corregio and Claude, painted by herself, I fancied myself in a fairy retreat, untainted by and inaccessible to the noisy contentions of politicians, and the frivolous pursuits of fashion. On this occasion my sister was not alone, nor could I fail to recognise her companion. It was adress. Till now unseen object of my mad adultery. In what fitting terms of wonder and delight, in what choice expression and soft flow of language, can I usher in the loveliest, wisest best? How, in poor assemblage of words, convey the halo of glory that surrounded her? The thousand graces that waited unwearyed on her. The first thing that struck you on beholding that charming countenance, was its perfect goodness and frankness, candour set upon her brow, simplicity in her eyes, heavenly benignity in her smile. Her tall slim figure bent gracefully, as a poplar to the breezy west, and her gait, goddess-like, was as that of a winged angel, knew a lit from heaven's high floor. The pearly fairness of her complexion was stained by a purest fusion. Her voice resembled the low, subdued tenor of a flute. It is easiest, perhaps, to describe by contrast. I have detailed the perfections of my sister, and yet she was utterly unlike Idris. The dita, even where she loved, was reserved and timid. Idris was frank and confiding. The one recoiled to solitude, that she might there entreat herself from disappointment and injury. The other walked forth in open day, believing that none would harm her. Wordsworth has compared a beloved female to two fair objects in nature, but his lines always appeared to me rather a contrast than a similitude. A violet by a mossy stone, half hidden from the eye, fair as a star when only one, is shining in the sky. Such a violet was sweet per dita, trembling to entrust herself to the very air, cowering from observation, yet betrayed by her excellences, and replying with a thousand graces the labour of those who sought her in her lonely bypass. Idris was as the star, set in single splendour, in the dim anodym of balmy evening, ready to enlighten and delight the subject world, shielded herself from every taint by her unimagined distance from all that was not like herself akin to heaven. I found this vision of beauty in per dita's alcove, in earnest conversation with his inmate. When my sister saw me, she rose, and taken my hand, said, He is here, even a tower wish. This is Lionel, my brother. Idris arose also, and bent on me her eyes of celestial blue. And with grace peculiar said, You hardly need an introduction. We have a picture, highly valued by my father, which declares at once your name. Verney, you will acknowledge this tie, and as my brother's friend, I feel the time I trust you. Then, with lids hummed with a tear and trembling voice, she continued, Dear friends, do not think it's strange that now, visiting you for the first time, I ask your assistance, and confide my wishes and fears to you. To you alone do I dare speak. I have heard you commended by impartial spectators. You are my brother's friends, therefore you must be mine. What can I say? If you refuse to aid me, I am lost indeed. She cast up her eyes, while Wanda held her auditors' mute. Then, as if carried away by her feelings, she cried, My brother, beloved, ill-fated Adrien, how speak of your misfortunes. Doubtless you have both heard the current tale. Perhaps believe the slander, but he is not mad. Where an angel from the foot of God's throne to assert it, never, never would I believe it. He is wronged, betrayed, imprisoned. Save him. Verney, you must do this. Seek him out in whatever part of the island he is immured. Find him. Rescue him from his persecutors. Restore him to himself, to me. On the wide earth I have none to love but only him. Her earnest appeal, so sweetly and passionately expressed, filled me with wonder and sympathy. And when she added, with thrilling voice and look, Do you consent to undertake this enterprise? I vowed, with energy and truth, to devote myself, in life and death, to the restoration and welfare of Adrien. We then conversed on the plan I should peruse, and discussed the probable means of discovering his residence. While we were in earnest discourse, Lord Raymond entered unannounced. I saw Perdita tremble and grow deftly pale, and the cheeks of Idris glow with purest blushes. He must have been astonished at our conclave, disturbed by it I should have thought. But nothing of this appeared. He saluted my companions, and addressed me with cordial greeting. Idris appeared suspended for a moment. And then, with extreme sweetness, she said, Lord Raymond, I confide in your goodness and honour. Smiling hortily, he bent his head, and replied with emphasis, Do you indeed confide, Lady Idris? She endeavoured to read his thought, and then answered with dignity. As you please, it is certainly best not to compromise oneself by any concealment. Pardon me, he replied, if I have offended, whether you trust me or not, rely on my doing my utmost to further your wishes, whatever they may be. I addressed smarter thanks, and rose to take leave. Lord Raymond requested permission to accompany her to Windsor Castle, to which she consented, and they quitted the cottage together. My sister and I were left, truly like two fools who fancied that they had obtained a golden treasure, till daylight shooed it to be led. Two silly, luckless flies, who had played in sunbeams and were caught in a spider's web. I leaned against the casement, and watched those two glorious creatures till they disappeared in the forest-glades. And then I turned. Perdita had not moved. Her eyes fixed on the ground, her cheeks pale, her very lips white, motionless and rigid. Every feature stamped by woe, she sat. Half frightened I would have taken her hand, but she shudderingly withdrew it, and strove to collect herself. I entreated her to speak to me. Not now, she replied. Nor do you speak to me, my dear Lionel. You can say nothing, for you know nothing. I will see you to-morrow, in the meantime adieu. She rose and walked from the room. But pausing at the door and leaning against it, as if her over-busy thoughts had taken from her the power of supporting herself, she said, Lord Raymond will probably return. Will you tell him that he must excuse me to-day, for I am not well? I will see him to-morrow, if he wishes it, and you also. You had better return to London with him. You can there make the inquiries agreed upon, concerning the Earl of Windsor, and visit me again to-morrow, before you proceed on your journey. Till then, farewell. She spoke falteringly, and concluded with a heavy sigh. I gave my assent to her request, and she left me. I felt as if, from the order of the systematic world, I had plunged into chaos, obscure, contrary, unintelligible, that Raymond should marry Idris, was more than ever intolerable. Yet my passion, though a giant from its birth, was too strange, wild, and impracticable for me to feel at once the misery I perceived in Perdita. How should I act? She had no confidence in me. I could not demand an explanation from Raymond, without the hazard of betraying what was perhaps her most treasured secret, I would obtain the truth from her the following day, in the meantime. Yet, while I was occupied by multiplying reflections, Lord Raymond returned. He asked my sister, and I delivered her message. After musing on it for a moment, he asked me if I were about to return to London, and if I would accompany him. I consented. He was full of thought, and remained silent during a considerable part of our ride. That lengthy said, I must apologise to you for my abstraction. The truth is, Rylan's motion comes on to-night, and I am considering my reply. Rylan was the leader of the popular party, a hard-headed man, and, in his way, eloquent. He had obtained leave, to bring in a bill making it treason, to endeavour to change the present state of the English government, and the standing laws of the Republic. This attack was directed against Raymond, and his machinations for the restoration of the monarchy. Raymond asked me if I would accompany him to the house that evening. I remembered my pursuit for intelligence concerning Adrian, and, knowing that my time would be fully occupied, I excused myself. Nay, said my companion, I can free you from your present impediment. You are going to make inquiries concerning the Earl of Windsor. I can answer them at once. He is at the Duke of Athol's seat at Dunkeld. On the first approach of his disorder he travelled about from one place to another, until, arriving at that romantic seclusion, he refused to quit it, and we made arrangements with the Duke for his continuing there. I was hurt by the careless tone with which he conveyed this information, and replied coldly, I am obliged to you for your intelligence, and will avail myself of it. You shall verny, said he, and if you continue of the same mind I will facilitate your views. But first witness I beseech you, the result of this night's contest, and the triumph I am about to achieve, if I may so call it, while I fear the victory is to me defeat. What can I do? My dearest hopes appear to be near their fulfilment. The ex-queen gives me Idris, Adrian is totally unfitted to succeed to the Uldum, and that Uldum in my hands becomes a kingdom. By the reigning God it is true, the paltry Uldum of Windsor shall no longer content him, who will inherit the rights which must forever pertain to the person who possesses it. The Countess can never forget that she has been a queen, and she disdains to leave a diminished inheritance to her children. Her power and my wit will rebuild the throne, and this brow will be classed by Kingly Diadem. I can do this, I can marry Idris. He stopped abruptly. His countenance darkened, and its expression changed again and again, unto the influence of internal passion. I asked, does the Lady Idris love you? What a question, replied he, laughing. She will, of course, as I shall her, when we are married. You begin late, said I, ironically. Marriage is usually considered the grave, and not the cradle of love. So you are about to love her, but do not already? Do not chastise me, Lionel. I will do my duty by her, be assured. Love! I must steal my heart against that, expel it from its tower of strength, barricade it out. The fountain of love must cease to play, its waters be dried up, and all passionate thoughts attendant on it die. That is to say, the love which would rule me, not that which I rule. Love is a gentle, pretty, sweet girl. It is impossible not to have an affection for her, and I have a very sincere one. Only do not speak of love. Love the tyrant and the tyrant queller. Love until now my conqueror, now my slave. The hungry fire, the untameable beast, the fanged snake. No. No. I will have nothing to do with that to love. Tell me, Lionel. Do you consent that I should marry this young lady? He bent his keen eyes upon me, and my uncontrollable heart swelled in my bosom. I replied in a calm voice. But how far from calm was the thought imagined by my still words? Never. I can never consent that Lady Idris should be united to one who does not love her. Because you love her yourself. Your lordship might have spared that taunt. I do not, dare not love her. At least, he continued haughtily, she does not love you. I would not marry a reigning sovereign, for I am not sure that her heart was free. But, oh Lionel, a kingdom is a word of might, and gently sounding are the terms that compose the style of royalty. We're not the mightiest men of the olden times, King. Alexander was a king. Solomon, the wisest of men, was a king. Napoleon was a king. Caesar died in his attempt to become one. And Cromwell, the Puritan and King-killer, aspired to regality. The father of Adrian yielded up the already broken scepter of England. But I will rear the fallen plant, join in its dismembered frame, and exalt it above all the flowers at the field. You need not wonder that I freely discover Adrian's abode. Do not suppose that I am wicked or foolish enough to found my proposed sovereignty on a fraud, and one so easily discovered as the truth or falsehood of the Earl's insanity. I am just come from him. Before I decided on my marriage with Idris, I resolved to see him myself again, and to judge at the probability of his recovery. He is irrecoverably mad. I gasped for breath. I will up-detail to you, continued Raymond. The melancholy particulars, you shall see him and judge for yourself. Although I fear this visit, useless to him, will be insufferably painful to yourself. It has weighed on my spirits ever since. Excellent and gentle as he is, even in the downfall of his reason, I do not worship him as you do. But I would give all my hopes of a crown and my right hand to boot, to see him restored to himself. His voice expressed the deepest compassion. Thou most unaccountable being, I cried, whither will thy actions tend in all this maze of purpose in which thou seamest lost? Whither, indeed, to a crown, a golden bejembed crown, I hope, and yet I dare not trust, and though I dream of a crown and wait for one, ever and on a busy devil whispers to me, that it is but a fool's cap that I seek, and that where I wise I should trample on it, and take in its stead, that which is worth all the crowns of the East and Presidentships of the West. And what is that? If I do make it my choice, then you shall know. At present I dare not speak, even think of it. Then he was silent, and after a pause turned to me laughingly. When scorned did not inspire his mirth, when it was genuine gaiety that painted his features with a joyous expression, his beauty became super-eminent, divine. Berenie, said he, my first act when I become King of England, will be to unite with the Greeks, take Constantinople, and subdue all Asia. I intend to be a warrior, a conqueror, Napoleon's name shall veil to mine, and enthusiasts, instead of visiting his rocky grave, and exalting the merits of the fallen, shall adorn my majesty and magnify my illustrious achievements. I listened to Raymond with intense interest. Could I be other than all ear, to one who seemed to govern the whole earth in his grasping imagination, and who only quailed when he attempted to rule himself? Then on his word and will depended on my own happiness, the fate of all dear to me. I endeavoured to divine the concealed meaning of his words, but Eater's name was not mentioned. Yet I could not doubt that love for her caused the vacillation of purpose that he exhibited. But who was so worthy of love as my noble-minded sister? Who deserved the hand of this self-exalted king, more than she, whose glance belonged to a queen of nations? Who loved him as he did her? Notwithstanding that disappointment quelled her passion, and ambition held strong combat with his, we went together to the house in the evening. Raymond, while he knew that his plans and prospects were to be discussed, and decided during the expected debate, was gay and careless. A hum, like that of ten thousand hives of swarming bees, stunned us as we entered the coffee-room. Nots of politicians were assembled with anxious brows and loud or deep voices. The aristocratical party, the richest and most influential men in England, appeared less agitated than the others, for the question was to be discussed without their interference. Near the fire was Ryland and his supporters. Ryland was a man of obscure birth and of immense wealth, inherited from his father who had been a manufacturer. He had witnessed, when a young man, the abdication of the king, and the amalgamation of the two houses of Lords and Commons. He had sympathised with these popular encroachments, and it had been the business of his life to consolidate and increase them. Since then, the influence of the landage proprietors had augmented, and at first Ryland was not sorry to observe the machinations of Lord Raymond, which drew off many of his opponents' partisans. But the thing was now going too far. The poor inability hailed the return of sovereignty, as an event which would restore them to their power and rights now lost. The half-extinct spirit of royalty vowsed itself in the minds of men, and they, willing slaves, self-constituted subjects, were ready to bend their necks to the oak. Some erect and manly spirit still remained, pillars of state, but the word republic had grown stale to the vulgar ear, and many, the event would prove whether it was a majority, pined for the tinsel and show of royalty. Ryland was vowsed to resistance. He asserted that his sufferance alone had permitted the increase of this party. But the time for indulgence was past, and with one motion of his arm he would sweep away the cobwebs that blinded his countrymen. When Raymond entered the coffee-room, his presence was hailed by his friends almost with a shout. They gathered round him, counted their numbers, and detailed the reasons why they were now to receive an addition of such and such members, who had not yet declared themselves. Some trifling business of the house, having been gone through, the leaders took their seats in the chamber. The clamour of voices continued, till Ryland arose to speak. And then the slightest whispered observation was audible. All eyes were fixed upon him as he stood, ponderous of frame, sonorous of voice, and with a manner which, though not graceful, was impressive. I turned from his marked iron countenance to Raymond, whose face, veiled by a smile, would not betray his care. Yet his lips quivered somewhat, and his hand clasped the bench on which he sat, with a convulsed strength that made the muscle start again. Ryland began by praising the present state of the British Empire. He recalled past years to their memory, the miserable contentions which, in the time of our fathers, arose almost as civil war, the abdication of the late king, and the foundation of the republic. He described this republic, shooed how it gave privilege to each individual in the state, to rise to consequence, and even to temporary sovereignty. He compared the royal and republican spirit, shooed how one tended to enslave the minds of men, while all the institutions of the other served to raise even the meanest among us to something great and good. He shooed how England had become powerful, and its inhabitants valiant and wise, by means of the freedom they enjoyed. As he spoke, every heart swelled with pride, and every cheek glowed with delight to remember, that each one there was English, and that each supported and contributed to the happy state of things now commemorated. Britain's fervour increased, his eyes lighted up, his voice assumed the tone of passion. There was one man, he continued, who wished to alter all this, and bring us back to our days of impotence and contention. One man, who had dare arrogate the honour which was due to all who claimed England as their birthplace, and set his name and style above the name and style of his country. I saw it this juncture that Raymond changed colour. His eyes were withdrawn from the orator, and cast on the ground. The listeners turned from one to the other, but in the meantime the speaker's voice filled their ears. The thunder of his denunciations influenced their senses. The very boldness of his language gave him weight. Each knew that he spoke truth, a truth known but not acknowledged. He tore from reality the mask with which she had been clothed, and the purposes of Raymond, which before had crept around in snaring by stealth, now stood a hunted stag, even at bay, as all perceived who watched the irrepressible changes of his countenance. And ended by moving, that any attempt to re- erect the kingly power should be declared treason, and he a traitor who should endeavour to change the present form of government. Cheers and loud acclamations followed the clothes of his speech. After his motion had been seconded, Lord Raymond rose. His countenance bland, his voice softly melodious, his manner soothing, his grace and sweetness coming, like the mild breathing of a flute, after the loud, organ-like voice of his adversary. He rose, he said, to speak in favour of the honourable member's motion, and one slight amendment subjoined. He was ready to go back to old times, and commemorate the contest of our fathers and the monarch's abdication. Nobly and greatly, he said, had the illustrious and last sovereign of England sacrificed himself to the apparent good of his country, and divested himself of a power which could only be maintained by the blood of his subjects. These subjects named Sonomore, these his friends and equal, had in gratitude conferred certain favours and distinctions on him and his family for ever. An ample estate was allotted to them, and they took the first rank among the peers of Great Britain. Yet it might be conjectured that they had not forgotten their ancient heritage. And it was hard that his heir should suffer a like with any other pretender, if he attempted to regain what, by ancient right, and inheritance belonged to him. He did not say that he should favour such an attempt, but he did say that such an attempt would be venial. And if the aspirant did not go so far as to declare war, and direct a standard in the kingdom, his fault ought to be regarded with an indulgent eye. In his amendment he proposed that an exception should be made in the bill in favour of any person who claimed the sovereign power in right of the earls of Windsor, nor did Raymond make an end, without drawing in vivid and glowing colours the splendour of a kingdom, in opposition to the commercial spirit of republicanism. He asserted that each individual under the English monarchy was then, as now, capable of attaining high rank and power, with only one exception, that of the function of Chief Magistrate, higher and nobler rank, than a bartering, timorous Commonwealth could afford, and for this one exception to what did it amount. The nature of riches and influence forcibly confined the list of candidates to a few of the wealthiest, and it was much to be feared that the ill humour and contention generated by this triennial struggle would counterbalance its advantages in impartial eyes. I can ill record the flow of language and graceful turns of expression, the wit and easily rivalry that gave vigor and influence to his speech. His manner, timid at first, became firm. His changeful face was lit up to superhuman brilliancy. His voice, various as music, was like that enchanting. It were useless to record the debate that followed this harangue. Party speeches were delivered, which clothed the question in cant, and veiled its simple meaning in a woven wind of words. The motion was lost, rail and withdrew in rage and despair, and Raymond, gay and exulting, retired to dream of his future kingdom. Volume 1, Chapter 4A of The Last Man This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Last Man by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Volume 1, Chapter 4A Is there such a feeling as love at first sight? And if there be, in what does its nature differ from love founded in long observation and slow growth? Perhaps its effects are not so permanent, but they are, while they last, as violent and intense. We walk the pathless mazes of society, vacant of joy, till we hold this clue, leading us through that labyrinth to paradise. Our nature dim, like to an unlighted torch, sleeps in formless blank till the fire attain it. This life of life, this light to moon, and glory to the sun. What does it matter whether the fire be struck from flint and steel, nourished with care into a flame, slowly communicated to the dark wick, or whether swiftly the radiant power of light and warmth passes from a kindred power, and shines at once the beacon and the hope? In the deepest fountain of my heart the pulses were stirred, around, above, beneath, the clinging memory as a cloak unwrapped me. In no one moment of coming time did I feel as they had done in time gone by. The spirit of Idris hovered in the air I breathed, her eyes were ever and forever bent on mine. Her remembered smile blinded my faint gaze, and caused me to walk as one, not in eclipse, not in darkness and vacancy, but in a new and brilliant light, too novel, too dazzling for my human senses. On every leaf, on every small division of the universe, as on the hyacinth it is engraved, was imprinted the talisman of my existence. She lives, she is. I had not time yet to analyse my feeling, to take myself to task, and leash in the tameless passion. All was one idea, one feeling, one knowledge, it was my life. But the die was cast, Raymond would marry Idris. The marriage bells rung in my ears, I heard the nation's gratulation which followed the union. The ambitious noble uproars was swift eagle flight, from the lowly ground to regal supremacy, and the love of Idris. Yet not so. She did not love him. She had called me her friend, she had smiled on me, to me she had entrusted her heart's dearest hope, the welfare of Adrian. This reflection thawed my congealing blood, and again the tide of life and love flowed impetuously onward, again to ebb as my busy thoughts changed. The debate had ended at three in the morning, my soul was in tumult. I traversed the streets with eager rapidity. Truly I was mad that night, love, which I have named a giant from its birth, wrestled with despair. My heart, the field of combat, was wounded by the iron heel of the one, watered by the gush of tears of the other. Day hateful to me dawned, I retreated to my lodgings, I threw myself on a couch, I slept, was it sleep, for thought was still alive. Love and despair struggled still, and I arrived with unendurable pain. I awoke half stupefied, I felt a heavy oppression on me, but knew not whereof. I entered, as it were, the council chamber of my brain, and questioned the various ministers of thought therein assembled. Too soon I remembered all. Too soon my limbs quivered beneath the tormenting power. Soon, too soon, I knew myself a slave. Finally unannounced, Lord Raymond entered my apartment. He came in gaily, singing the Tyrely's song of liberty. Noticed me with a gracious nod, and threw himself on a sofa opposite the copy of a bust of the Apollo Belvedere. After one or two trivial remarks, to which I sullenly replied, he suddenly cried, looking at the bust. I am called like that, Victor, not a bad idea. The head will serve for my new coinage, and be an omen to all dutiful subjects of my future success. He said to this in his most gay, yet benevolent manner, and smiled, not disdainfully, but in playful mockery of himself. Then his countenance suddenly darkened, and in that shrill tone peculiar to himself he cried, I fought a good battle last night, higher conquest the plains of Greece never saw me achieve. Now I am the first man in the state, bourbon of every ballad, and object of old women's mumbled devotions. What are your meditations? You, who fancy that you can read the human soul, as your native lake reads each crevice and folding of its surrounding hills? See what you think of me, king expectant, angel or devil, which? This ironical tone was discord to my bursting over-boiling heart, and was netted by his insolence, and replied with bitterness. There is a spirit, neither angel or devil, dumbed to limbo merely. I saw his cheeks become pale, and his lips whiten and quiver. His anger served but twinkendle mine, and I answered with a determined look his eyes which glared on me. Suddenly they were withdrawn, cast down. A tear I thought whetted the dark lashes. I was softened, and with involuntary emotion added, Not that you are such, my dear lord. I paused, even awed by the agitation he invents. Yes, he said at length, rising and biting his lip, as he strove to curb his passion. Such am I! You do not know me, verny. Neither you, nor our audience of last night, nor does universal England know ought of me. I stand here, it would seem, an elected king. This hand about to grasp a scepter. These brows feel in each nerve the coming diadem. I appear to have strength, power, victory, standing as a domed support in column stands, and I am a reed. I have ambition, and that attains its aim. My nightly dreams are realized, my waking hopes fulfilled. A kingdom awaits my acceptance, my enemies are overthrown. But here! He struck his heart with violence. Here is the rebel, here the stumbling lock, this overruling heart which I may drain of its living blood, but, while one fluttering pulsation remains, I am its slave. He spoke with a broken voice, then bowed his head, and, hiding his face in his hands, wept. I was still smarting from my own disappointment. Yet this scene oppressed me even to terror, nor could I interrupt his acts as a passion. It subsided at length, and, throwing himself on the couch, he remained silent and motionless, except that his changeful features showed a strong internal conflict. At last he rose, and said in his usual tone of voice, The time grows on us, Vanny. I must away. Let me not forget my chief discerned here. Will you accompany me to Windsor to-morrow? You will not be dishonoured by my society, and, as this is probably the last service or disservice you can do me, will you grant my request? He held at his hand with almost a bashful air. Swiftly I thought, yes, I will witness the last scene of the drama, besides which his main conquered me, and an affectionate sentiment towards him again filled my heart. I bade him command me. I that I will, said he gaily, that's my cue now, be with me to-morrow morning by seven, be secret and faithful, and you shall be groom of the stole ear-long. So saying he hastened away, vaulted on his horse, and with a gesture as if he gave me his hand to kiss, bade me another laughing adieu. Left to myself I strove with painful intensity, to divine the motion of his request, and to see the events of the coming day. The hours passed on unperceived, my head ached with thought, the nerves seemed teeming with overfull fraught. I clasped my burning brow, as if my fevered hand could medicine its pain. I was punctual to the appointed hour on the following day, and found Lord Raymond waiting for me. We got into his carriage, and proceeded towards Windsor. I attuted myself, and was resolved by no outward sign to disclose my internal agitation. What a mistake Ryland made, said Raymond, when he thought to overpower me the other night. He spoke well, very well. Such an harangue would have succeeded better addressed me singly, than to the fools and made assembled yonder. Had I been alone, I should have listened to him with a wish to hear reason. But when he endeavoured to vanquish me in my own territory, with my own weapons, he put me on my metal, and the event was such as all might have expected. I smiled incredulously and replied. I'm of Ryland's way of thinking, and will, if you please, repeat all his arguments. We shall see how far you'll be induced by them, to change the royals for the patriotic style. The repetition would be useless," said Raymond, since I will remember them, and have many others self-suggested, which speak with unanswerable persuasion. He did not explain himself, nor did I make any remark on his reply. Our silence endured for some miles, till the country with open fields, or shady woods and parks, presented pleasant objects to our view. After some observations on the scenery and seats, Raymond said, Philosophers have called man a microcosm of nature, and find a reflection in the internal mind for all this machinery visible at work around us. This theory has often been a source of amusement to me, and many an idle hour have I spent exercising my ingenuity in finding resemblances. Does not Lord Bacon say that, the falling from a discord to a concord, which maketh great sweetness in music, hath an agreement with the affections, which are reintegrated to the better after some dislikes? What to see is the tide of passion, whose fountains are in our own nature, our virtues and all the quicksands, which show themselves at calm and low water. But let the waves arise, and the winds buffet them, and the poor devil, whose hope was in their durability, finds them sink from under him. The fashions of the world, ex-exigencies, educations and pursuits, are winds to drive our wills, like clouds all on way. But let a thunderstorm arise in the shape of love, hate, or ambition, and the rat goes backward, stemming the opposing air in triumph. Yes, reply die, nature always presents to our eyes the appearance of a patient, while there is an active principle in man which is capable of ruling fortune, and at least of tacking against the gale, till it in some mode conquers it. There is more of what is specious than is true in your distinction," said my companion. Did we form ourselves, choosing our dispositions and our powers? I find myself, for one, as a stringed instrument with chords and stops. But I have no power to turn the pegs, or pitch my thoughts to a higher or lower key. Other men, I observed, may be better musicians. I talk not of others, but myself," replied Raymond. And I am as fair an example to go by as another. I cannot set my heart to a particular tune, or unvoluntary changes on my will. We are born, we choose neither our parents nor our station, we are educated by others, or by the world's circumstance, and this cultivation, mingling with our own innate disposition, is the soil in which our desires, passions and motives grow. There is much truth in what you say," said I, and yet no man ever acts upon this theory. Who, when he makes a choice, says, Thus I choose, because I am necessitated. Does he not on the contrary feel a freedom of will within him, which, though you may call it fallacious, still actuates him as he decides? Exactly so," replied Raymond, another link of the brakeless chain, where I now to commit an act which would annihilate my hopes, and pluck the regal garment from my mortal limbs, to clothe them in ordinary weeds, would this, think you, be an act of free will on my part? As we talked thus, I perceived that we were not going the ordinary road to Windsor, but through Engelfield Green, towards Bishopgate Heath. I began to define that Adress was not the object of our journey, but that I was brought to witness the scene that was to decide the fate of Raymond, and, of course, Peter. Raymond evidently facilitated during his journey, and his resolution was marked in every gesture as we entered Perdita's cottage. I watched him curiously, determined that, if this hesitation should continue, I would assist Perdita to overcome herself, and teach her to disdain the wavering love of him, who balanced between the possession of a crown, and of her, whose excellent ad-affection transcended the worth of a kingdom. We found her in a flower adorned alcove. She was read in the newspaper report of the debate in Parliament, that apparently doomed her to hopelessness. That heart-sinking feeling was painted in her sunk eyes and spiritless attitude. A cloud was on her beauty, and frequent sighs were tokens of her distress. This sight had an instantaneous effect on Raymond. His eyes beamed with tenderness, and remorse clothed his manners with earnestness and truth. He sat beside her, and, taking the paper from her hand, said, Not a word more shall my sweet Perdita read of this contention of madmen and fools. I must not permit you to be acquainted with the extent of my delusion, lest you despise me. Although, believe me, a wish to appear before you, not vanquished but as a conqueror, inspired me during my wordy war. Perdita looked at him like one amazed. Her expressive countenance shone for a moment with tenderness. To see him only was her happiness. But a bitter thought swiftly shadowed her joy. She bent her eyes on the ground, endeavouring to master the passion of tears that threatened to overwhelm her. And continued, I will not act apart with you, dear girl, or appear other than what I am, weak and unworthy, more fit to excite your disdain than your love. Yet you do love me. I feel and know that you do, and hence I draw my most cherished hopes. If pride guided you, or even reason, you might well reject me. Do so. If your high heart, incapable of my infirmity of purpose, refuses to bend to the lowness of mine, turn for me, if you will. If you can. If your whole soul does not urge you to forgive me, if your entire heart does not open wide its door to admit me to its very centre, forsake me, never speak to me again. I, though sinning against you almost beyond remission, I also am proud. There must be no reserve in your pardon. No drawback to the gift of your affection. Perdita looked down, confused yet pleased. My presence embarrassed her, so that she dared not turn to me to love as I, or trust her voice to assure him of her affection. While a blush mantled her cheek, and her disconsolent air was exchanged for one expressive of deep-felt joy, Raymond encircled her waist with his arm and continued, I do not deny that I have balanced between you and the highest hope that mortal man can entertain. But I do so no longer. Take me, mould me to your will, possess my heart and soul to all eternity. If you refuse to contribute to my happiness, I quit England to-night, and will never set foot in it again. Lionel, you hear, witness for me. Persuade your sister to forgive the injury I have done her. Persuade her to be mine. There needs be no persuasion, said the blushing Perdita. Accept your own dear promises, and my ready heart, which whispers to me that they are true. That same evening we all three walked together in the forest, and with the gorillity which happiness inspires, they detailed to me the history of their loves. It was pleasant to see the haughty Raymond and reserved Perdita changed through happy love into prattling, playful children, both losing their characteristic dignity in the fullness of mutual contentment. A night or two ago Lord Raymond, with a brow of care and a heart oppressed with thought, bent all his energies to silence or persuade the legislators of England, the deceptor was not too weighty for his hand, while visions of dominion, war, and triumph floated before him. Now, frolicsome as a lively boy, sporting under his mother's approving eye, the hopes of his ambition were complete, when he pressed the small, fair hand of Perdita to his lips, while she, radiant with delight, looked on the still pool, not truly admiring herself, but drinking in with rapture the reflection there made of the form of herself and her lover, shown for the first time in dear conjunction. I rambled away from them. If the rapture of assured sympathy was theirs, I enjoyed that of restored hope. I looked on the regal towers of Windsor, hies the wall and strung the barrier that separates me from my star of beauty, but not impassable. She will not be his. A few more years dwell in thy native garden, sweet flower, till I by toil and time acquire a right to gather thee. Despair not, nor bid me despair. What must I do now? First I must seek Adrian, and restore him to her. Patience, gentleness, and untired affection shall recall him, if it be true, as Raymond says, that he is mad. Energy and courage shall rescue him, if he be unjustly imprisoned. As the lovers again joined me, we supped together in the alcove. Truly it was a fairy supper, for though the air was perfumed by the scent of fruits and wine, we none of us either ate or drank, even the beauty of the night was unobserved. Their ecstasy could not be increased by outward objects, and I was wrapped in reverie. At about midnight Raymond and I took leave of my sister to return to town. He was all gayety, scraps of songs fell from his lips. Every thought of his mind, every object about us, gleamed under the sunshine of his mirth. He accused me of melancholy, of ill humour and envy. Not so, said I, though I confess that my thoughts are not occupied as pleasantly as yours are. You promised to facilitate my visit to Adrian. I conned you to perform your promise. I cannot linger here. I long to soothe, perhaps to cure the malady of my first and best friend. I shall immediately depart for Dunkeld. Thou bird of night, replied Raymond, was an eclipse to you throw across my bright thoughts, forcing me to call to mind that melancholy ruin, which stands in mental desolation, more irreparable than a fragment of a carved column in a weed-grown field. You dream that you can restore him? Thou bird has never wound so inextricable an error round mine at all, as madness has woven about his imprisoned reason. Nor you, nor any other theseus, can thread the labyrinth, to which perhaps some unkind irradnay has the clue. You allude to ever Denise Iamy, but she is not in England. And were she, said Raymond, I would not advise her seeing him, better to decay in absolute delirium, than to be a victim of the methodical unreason of ill-bestowed love. The long duration of malady has probably erased from his mind all vestige of her, and it will well that it should never again be imprinted. You will find him at Dunkeld. Gentle and tractable he wanders up the hills and through the wood, or sits listening beside the waterfall. You may see him, his hair stuck with wild flowers, his eyes full of untraceable meaning, his voice broken, his person wasted to a shadow. He plucks flowers and weeds, and weaves chaplets of them, o'er sails yellow leaves and bits of bark on the stream, rejoicing in their safety or weeping at their wreck. The very memory half unmans me, by heaven, the first tears I have shed since boyhood rushed scolding into my eyes when I saw him. It needed not this last account to spur me on to visit him. I only doubted whether or not I should endeavour to see Idris again before I departed. This doubt was decided on the following day. Early in the morning Raymond came to me. Intelligence had arrived that Adrian was dangerously ill, and it appeared impossible that his failing strength should surmount the disorder. Tomorrow, said Raymond, his mother and sister set out for Scotland to see him once again. And I go to-day, I cried, this very hour I will engage a sailing balloon. I shall be there in forty-eight hours at furthest, perhaps in less if the wind is fair. Farewell, Raymond, be happy in having chosen the better part in life. This turn of fortune revives me. I feared madness, not sickness. I have a presentiment that Adrian will not die. Perhaps his illness is a crisis, and he may recover. Everything favoured my journey. The balloon rose about half a mile from the earth, and with a favourable wind it hurried through the air, its feathered vans cleave in the unopposing atmosphere. Notwithstanding the melancholy object of my journey, my spirits were exhilarated by reviving hope. By the swift motion of the airy pinnace, and the barmy visitation of the sunny air, the pilot hardly moved to the plumed steerage, and the slender mechanism of the wings, wide unfurled, gave forth for murmuring noise, soothing to the sense. Plain and hill, stream and cornfield, were discernible below, while we, unimpeded, sped on swift and secure, as a wild swan in his spring-tide flight. The machine obeyed the slightest motion of the helm, and the wind blowing steadily, there was no letter obstacle to our course. Such was the power of man of the elements, a power long sought and lately won, yet foretold in bygone time by the prince of poets, whose verses I quoted much to the astonishment on my pilot, when I told him how many hundreds of years ago they had been written. Oh, human wit, thou canest invent much ill, thou searchest strange art, who would think by skill, and heavy man like a light bird should stray, and through the empty heavens find a way. I alighted at Perth, and, though much fatigued by a constant exposure to the air for many hours, I would not rest, but merely altering my mode of conveyance, I went by land instead of air to dunkeld. The sun was rising as I entered the opening of the hills. After the revolution of ages, Burnham Hill was again covered with a young forest, while more aged pines, planted at the very commencement of the nineteenth century by the then Duke of Athel, gave solemnity and beauty to the scene. The rising sun first tinged the pine-tops, and my mind, rendered through my mountain education deeply susceptible to the graces of nature, and now on the eve of again beholding my beloved, and perhaps dying friend, was strangely influenced by the sight of those distant beams. Surely they were ominous, and as such I regarded them, good omens for Adrian, on whose life my happiness depended. Before fellow, he lay stretched on a bed of sickness, his cheeks glowing with a hues of fever, his eyes half closed, his breath irregular and difficult. Yet it was less painful to see him thus, than to find him fulfilling the animal functions uninterruptedly, his mind sick the while. I established myself at his bedside, I never quitted it day or night. Such a task was it, to behold his spirit waver between death and life, to see his warm cheek, and know that the very fire which burned too fiercely there, was consuming the vital fuel, to hear his moaning voice, which might never again articulate words of love and wisdom, to witness the ineffectual motions of his limbs, soon to be wrapped in their mortal shroud. Such for three days and nights appeared the consummation which fate had decreed for my labours, and I became haggard and specter-like, through anxiety and watching. At length his eyes unclosed faintly, yet with a look of returning life. He became pale and weak, but the rigidity of his features was softened by approaching convalescence. What a brimful cup of joyful agony it was, when his face first gleamed with a glance of recognition. When he pressed my hand, now more fevered than his own, and when he pronounced my name. No trace of his past insanity remained, to dash my joy with sorrow. This same evening his mother and sister arrived. The counters of Windsor was, by nature, full of energetic feeling, but she had very seldom in her life permitted the concentrated emotions of her heart to show themselves on her features. The studded immovability of her countenance, her slow, equitable manner, and soft but unmelodious voice were a mask, hiding her fiery passions and the impatience of her disposition. She did not in the least resemble either of her children. Her black and sparkling eye, lit up by pride, was totally unlike the blue luster and frank benignant expression of either Adrien or Adris. There was something grand and majestic in emotions, but nothing persuasive, nothing amiable. Tall, thin, and straight, her face still handsome, her raven hair hardly tinged with grey, her forehead arched and beautiful, had not the eyebrows been somewhat scattered. It was impossible not to be struck by her, almost to fear her. Adris appeared to be the only being who could resist her mother, notwithstanding the extreme mildness of her character. But there was a fearlessness and frankness about her, which said that she would not enrauch on another's liberty, but held her own sacred and unassailable. The countest casano look of kindness on my worn-out frame, though afterwards she thanked me coldly for my attentions. Not so, Adris. Her first glance was for her brother. She took his hand, she kissed his eyelids, and hung over him with looks of compassion and love. Her eyes glistened with tears when she thanked me, and the grace of her expression was enhanced, not diminished, by the fervour which caused her almost to falter as she spoke. Her mother, all eyes and ears, soon interrupted us. And I saw that she wished to dismiss us quietly, as one whose service is, now that his relatives had arrived, were of no use to her son. I was harassed and ill, resolved not to give up my post, yet doubting in what way I should assert it, when Adrian called me, and clasped in my hand, bade me not to leave him. His mother, apparently inattentive, at once understood what was meant, and seeing the hold we had upon her yielded the point to us. The days that followed were full of pain to me, so that I sometimes regretted that I had not yielded at once to the haughty lady, who watched all my motions, and turned my beloved task of nursing my friend to a work of pain and irritation. Never did any woman appear so entirely made of mind as the countess of Windsor. Her passions had subdued her appetites, even her natural wants. She slept little, and hardly ate at all. Her body was evidently considered by her as a mere machine, whose health was necessary for the accomplishment of her schemes, but whose senses formed no part of her enjoyment. There is something fearful in one who can thus conquer the animal part of our nature, if the victory be not the effect of consummate virtue. Nor was it without a mixture of this feeling, that I beheld the figure of the countess awake when others slept. Fasting when I, abstemious naturally, and rendered so by the fever that preyed on me, was forced to recruit myself with food, she resolved to prevent or diminish my opportunities of acquiring influence over her children, and circumvented my plans by a hard, quiet, stubborn resolution that seemed not to belong to flesh and blood. War was at last tacitly acknowledged between us. We had many pitched battles, during which no word was spoken, hardly a look was interchanged, but in which each resolved not to submit to the other. The countess had the advantage of position, so I was vanquished, though I would not yield. After the lapse of a few weeks we left Dunkeld. Others and her mother returned immediately to Wenza, while Adrian and I followed by slow journeys and frequent stoppages, occasioned by his continued weakness. As we traversed the various counties of Fertile England, all wore an exhilarating appearance to my companion, who had been so long secluded by disease from the enjoyments of weather and scenery. We passed through busy towns and cultivated plains. The husbandmen were getting in their plentiest harvests, and the women and children, occupied by light rustic toils, formed groups of happy, healthful persons, the very sight of whom carried cheerfulness to the heart. One evening, quitting our inn, we strolled down a shady lane, then up a grassy slope, till we came to an eminence that commanded an extensive view of Hill and Dale, meandering rivers, dark woods and shining villages. The sun was setting, and the clouds, straying like new-shawn sheep, through the vast fields of sky, received the golden colour of his parting beams. The distant upland shone out, and the busy hum of evening came, harmonised by distance, on our ear. Adrian, who felt all the fresh spirit infused by returning health, clasped his hands in delight, and exclaimed with transport. O happy earth and happy inhabitants of earth! A stately palace is God built for you, O man, and worthy are you of your dwelling. Behold, the vaardant carpets spread at our feet, and use you a canopy above. The fields of earth which generate to nurture all things, and the track of heaven which contains and clasps all things. Now at this evening hour, at the period of repose and perfection, me think all hearts breathe one hymn of love and thanksgiving, and we, like priests of old on the mountaintops, give a voice to their sentiment. Assuredly, a most benignant power built up the majestic fabric we inhabit, and framed the laws by which it endures. If mere existence, and not happiness, had been the final end of our being, what need are the profuse luxuries which we enjoy? Why should our dwelling-place be so lovely, and why should the instincts of nature minister pleasurable sensations? The very sustaining of our animal machine is made delightful, and our sustenance, the fruits of the field, is painted with transcendent hues, endured with grateful odours, and palatable to our taste. Why should this be, if he were not good? We need houses to protect us from the seasons, and behold the materials with which we are provided, the growth of trees with their adornment of leaves, while rocks of stone piled about the plains furrigate the prospect with their pleasant irregularity. Nor are the outward objects alone the receptacles of the spirit of good. Look into the mind of men, where wisdom reigns enthroned, where imagination, the painter sits, with his pencil dipped in hues lovelier than those of sunset, adorning familiar life with glowing tints. What a noble boon, worthy the giver, is the imagination. It takes from reality its leaden hue. It envelops all thought and sensation in a radiant veil, and with an hand of beauty beckons us from the sterile seas of life to our gardens, and bowers and glades of bliss. It is not love a gift of the divinity, love and her child's hope, which can bestow wealth on poverty, strength on the weak, and happiness on the sorrowing. My lot has not been fortunate. I have consorted long with grief, entered the gloomy labyrinth of madness, and emerged but half alive. Yet I thank God that I have lived, I thank God that I have beheld his throne. The heavens and earth, his footstall, I am glad that I have seen the changes of his day, to behold the sun, fountain of light, and the gentle pilgrim moon, to have seen the fire-bearing flowers of the sky, and to the flowery stars of earth, to have witnessed the sowing and the harvest. I am glad that I have loved and have experienced empathetic joy and sorrow with my fellow creatures. I am glad now to feel the current of thought flow through my mind, as the blood for the articulations of my frame. My existence is pleasure, and I thank God that I live. And all ye happy nurslings of Mother Earth, do ye not echo my words? Ye who are linked by the affectionate ties of nature, companions, friends, lovers, fathers, who toil with joy for their offspring, women, who while gazing on the living forms of their children, forget the pains of maternity. Children who neither toil nor spin, but love and are loved, owe that death and sickness were banished from our earthly home, that hatred, tyranny, and fear could no longer make their lair in the human heart, that each man might find a brother in his fellow, and a nest of repose amidst the wide plains of his inheritance, that the source of tears were dry, and the tulips might no longer form expressions of sorrow. Sleeping thus under the beneficent eye of heaven, can evil visit thee, O Earth, or grief cradles to their graves their luckless children? Whisper it not, let the demons hear and rejoice, the choices with us, let us will it, and our habitation becomes a paradise, for the will of man is omnipotent, blunting the arrows of death, soothing the bed of disease, and wiping away the tears of agony, and what is each human being worth, if he did not put forth his strength to aid his fellow creatures? My soul is a fading spark, my nature of frail is a spent wave, but I dedicate all of intellect and strength that remains to me to that one work, and take upon me the task, as far as I am able, of bestowing blessings on my fellow men. His voice trembled, his eyes were cast up, his hands clasped, and his fragile person was bent, as it were, with excess of emotion. The spirit of life seemed to linger in his form, as a dying flame and an altar flickers on the embers of an accepted sacrifice. CHAPTER V When we arrived at Windsor I found that Raymond and Perdita had departed for the Continent. I took possession of my sister's cottage and blessed myself that I lived within view of Windsor Castle. It was a curious fact that, at this period, when by the marriage of Perdita I was allied to one of the richest individuals in England, and was bound by the most intimate friendship to its chiefest noble. I experienced the greatest excess of poverty that I had ever known. My knowledge of the worldly principles of Lord Raymond would have ever prevented me from applying to him however deep my distress might have been. It was in vain that I repeated to myself, with regard to Adrian, that his purse was open to me, that one in soul, as we were, our fortunes ought also to be common. I could never, while with him, think of his bounty as a remedy to my poverty, and I even put aside hastily the offers of supplies, assuring him of a falsehood that I needed them not. How could I say to this generous being, maintain me in idleness, you who have dedicated your powers of mind and fortune to the benefit of your species? Shall you also misdirect your exertions as to support in uselessness, the strong, healthy, and capable? And yet I dared not request him to use his influence, that I might obtain an honorable provision for myself. For then I should have been obliged to leave Windsor. I hovered forever around the walls of its castle, beneath its unshadowing thickets, my soul companions, or my books, and my loving thoughts. I studied the wisdom of the ancients, and gazed on the happy walls that sheltered the beloved of my soul. My mind was nevertheless idle. I poured over the poetry of old times. I studied the metaphysics of Plato and Berkeley. I read the histories of Greece and Rome, and of England's former periods, and I watched the movements of the lady of my heart. At night I could see her shadow on the walls of her apartment. By day I viewed her in the flower garden, or riding in the park with her usual companions. Me thought the charm would be broken if I were seen, but I heard the music of her voice, and was happy. I gave to each heroine of whom I read her beauty and matchless excellence. Such was Antigone when she guided the blind Oedipus to the grove of the Humanities, and discharged the funeral rites of Polyneses. Such was Miranda in the unvisted cave of Prospero. Such Hady on the sands of the Ionian island. I was mad with excess, passionate devotion, but pride, tameless as fire, invested my nature, and prevented me from betraying myself by word or look. In the meantime, while I thus pampered myself with rich mental repast, a peasant would have disdained my scanty fare, which I sometimes robbed from the scrolls of the forest. I was, I own, often tempted to recur to the lawless feats of my boyhood, and knock down the almost tame pheasants that perched upon the trees, and bend their bright eyes to me, but they were the property of Adrian. The nurslings of Idris and I, although my imagination rendered sensual by privation, made me think that they would better become the spit in my kitchen than the green leaves of the forest. Nevertheless, I checked my Hady will and did not eat, but sucked upon the sentiment and dreamt vainly of such morsel's sweet as I might not waking attain. But at this period, the whole scheme of my existence was about to change. The orphan and neglected son of Verney was on the eve of being linked to the mechanism of society by a golden chain, and to enter in to all the duties and affections of life. Miracles were to be wrought in my favor. The machine of social life pushed with fast effort backward. Attend, O reader, while I narrate this tale of wonders. One day, as Adrian and Idris were riding through the forest with their mother and accustomed companions, Idris, drawing her brother aside from the rest of the cavalcade, suddenly asked him what had become of my friend Lionel Verney. Even from this spot replied Adrian, pointing to my sister's cottage. You can see his dwelling. Indeed, said Idris, and why, if he be so near, does he not come to see us and make one of our society? I often visit him, replied Adrian, but you may easily guess the motives which prevent him from coming where his presence may annoy any one among us. I do not guess them, said Idris, and such as they are I would not venture to combat them. Tell me, however, in what way he passes his time? What is he doing and thinking in his cottage retreat? May my little sister, replied Adrian, you ask me more than I can well answer. But if you feel interest in him, why not visit him? He will feel highly honored, and thus you may repay a part of the obligation I owe him and compensate for the injuries fortune has done him. I will most readily accompany you to his abode, said the lady. Not that I wish either of us should unburden ourselves of our debt, which, being no less than your life, must remain unpayable ever. But let us go, tomorrow we will arrange to ride out together and proceeding towards that part of the forest, call upon him. The next evening, therefore, though the autumnal change had brought on cold and rain, Adrian and Idris entered my cottage. They found me curious like, feasting on sorry fruits for supper, but they brought gifts richer than the golden bribes of the Sabines, nor could I refuse the invaluable store of friendship and delight which they bestowed. Surely the glorious twins of Letona were not more welcome when, in the infancy of the world, they were brought forth to beauty and enlighten the sterile promontory, then were this angelic pair to my lowly dwelling and grateful heart. We sat like one family around the hearth. Our talk was on subjects unconnected with the emotions that evidently occupied each, but we each divided the other's thoughts, and as our voices spoke of in different matters our eyes in mute language told a thousand things no tongue could have uttered. They left me in an hour's time. They left me happy, how unspeakably happy. It did not require the measured sounds of human language to syllable the story of my ecstasy. Idris had visited me. Idris, I should again and again see. My imagination did not wander beyond the completeness of this knowledge. I trod air. No doubt, no fear, no hope even disturbed me. I clasped with my soul the fullness of contentment, satisfied, undesiring, beatified. For many days, Adrian and Idris continued to visit me thus. In this dear intercourse, love and the guise of enthusiastic friendship infused more and more of his omnipotent spirit. Idris felt it. Divinity of the world, I read your characters in her looks and gesture. I heard your melodious voice echoed by her. You prepared for us a soft and flowery path. All gentle thoughts adorned it. Your name, O love, was not spoken, but you stood the genius of the hour, veiled and timed. But no mortal hand might raise the curtain. Organs of articulate sound did not proclaim the union of our hearts. Your untoward circumstance allowed no opportunity for the expression that hovered on our lips. O my pen, haste thou to write what was before the thought of what is. Arrest the hand that guides thee. If I lift up my eyes and see the desert earth and feel that those dear eyes have spent their mortal luster and that those beautyous lips are silent, their crimson leaves faded forever I am mute. But you live, my Idris. Even now you move before me. There was a glade, O reader, a grassy opening in the wood. The retiring trees left its velvet expanse as a temple for love. The silver Thames bounded it on one side, and a willow, bending down, dipped in the water, its naïd hair, disheveled by the wind's fuelless hand. The oaks around were the home of the tribe of Nightingales. There am I now, Idris, in youth's dear prime, is by my side. I am just twenty-two, and seventeen summers have scarcely passed over the loved of my heart. The river, swollen by a tumble rains, deluged the lowlands, and Adrian, in his favorite boat, is employed in the dangerous pastime of plucking the topmost bow from a submerged oak. Are you weary of life, O Adrian, that you thus play with danger? He has obtained his prize, and he pilots his boat through the flood. Our eyes were fixed on him fearfully, but the streams carried him away from us. He was forced to land, far lower down, and to make a considerable circuit before he could join us. He is safe, said Idris, as he leapt on shore, and waved the bow over his head in token of success. We will wait for him here. We were alone together. The sun had set. The song of the Nightingales began, the evening star shone distinct in the flood of light, which was yet unfaded in the west. The blue eyes of my angelic girl were fixed on the sweet emblem of herself. How the light palpitates, she said, which is the star's life. Its vacillating effulgence seems to say that its state, even like ours upon earth, is wavering and inconsistent. It fears me, thinks, and it loves. Gaze not on the star, dear, generous friend, I cried. Read not love in its trembling rays. Look not upon distant worlds. Look not of the mere imagination of the sentiment I have long been silent, long even to sickness I have desired to speak to you, and submit my soul, my life, my entire being to you. Look not on the star, dear love, or dew, and let that eternal spark plead for me. Let it be my witness and my advocate. Silent as it shines, love is to me as light to the star. And so long as that is uneclipsed by annihilation, so long shall I love you. Failed forever to the world's callous eye must be the transport of that moment. Still I feel her graceful form press against my full-fraught heart. Still does sight, pulse, and breath sicken and fail at the remembrance of that first kiss. Slowly and silent we went to meet Adrian, whom we heard approaching. I entreated Adrian to return to me after he had conducted his sister home. And that same evening, walking among the moonlit forest paths, I poured forth my whole heart, its transport, and its hope to my friend. For a moment he looked disturbed. I might have foreseen this, he said. What strife will now ensue, pardon me, Lionel, nor wonder that the expectation of contest with my mother should jar me? Else I should delightedly confess that my best hopes are fulfilled in confiding my sister to your protection. If you do not already know it, you will soon learn the deep hate my mother bears to the name Verney. I will converse with Idris, then all that a friend can do I will do. To her it must belong to play the livers if she is capable of it. While the brother and sister were still hesitating at the manner they could best attempt to bring their mother over to their party. She, suspecting our meetings, taxed her children with them, taxed her fair daughter with deceit, and an unbecoming attachment for the one whose only merit was being the son of the profligate favorite of her imprudent father, and who was doubtless as worthless as he, from whom he boasted his dissent. The eyes of Idris flashed at this accusation. She replied, I do not deny that I love Verney. Prove to me that he is worthless, and I will never see him more. Madam said, Adrian, let me entreat you to see him, to cultivate his friendship. You will wonder then, as I do, at the extent of his accomplishments and the brilliancy of his talents. Pardon me, General Reader, this is not futile vanity, not futile since to know that Adrian felt thus brings joy even to my love. Mad and foolish boy exclaimed the angry lady, you have chosen with dreams and theories to overthrow my schemes for your own aggrandizement, but you shall not do the same by those I have formed for your sister. I but too well understand the fascination you both labor under, since I had the same struggle with your father, to make him cast off the parent of this youth who hid his evil propensities with the smoothness and subtlety of a viper. In those days, how often did I hear of his attractions, his widespread conquests, his wit, his refined manners. It is well when flies only are caught by such spider's webs, but it is for the high-born and powerful to bow their necks to the flimsy yoke of these unmeaning pretensions. Were your sister indeed the insignificant person she deserves to be, I would willingly leave her to the fate, the wretched fate of the wife of a man whose very person resembling as it does, his wretched thought ought to remind you of the folly and vice it typifies. But remember, Lady Idris, it is not alone the once royal blood of England that courses your veins. You are a princess of Austria, and every life drop is akin to emperors and kings. Are you then a fit mate for an uneducated shepherd boy whose only inheritance is his father's tarnished name? I can make but one defense, replied Idris, the same offered by my brother, C. Lionel, converse with my shepherd boy, the countess interrupted her indignantly. Yours, she crut, and then smoothing her impassioned features to a disdainful smile, she continued. We will talk of this another time. All I now ask, all your mother, Idris, requests is that you will not see this upstart during the interval of one month. I dare not comply, said Idris. It would pain him too much. I have no right to play with his feelings, to accept his proffered love, and then sting him with neglect. This is going too far, her mother answered, with quivering lips and eyes again, instinct by anger. Nay, madam, said Adrian. Unless my sister consent never to see him again, it is surely a useless torment to separate them for a month. Certainly, replied the ex-queen with bitter scorn. His love and her love, and both their childish flutterings, are to be put in fit comparison with my years of hope and anxiety, with the duties of the offspring of kings, with the high and dignified conduct which one of her dissent ought to pursue. But it is unworthy of me to argue and complain. Perhaps you will have the goodness to promise me not to marry during that interval. This was asked only half ironically, and Idris wondered why her mother should extort from her a solemn vow not to do what she had never dreamt of doing. But the promise was required, and give all went on cheerfully now. We met as usual, and talked without dread of our future plans. The countess was so gentle, and even beyond her want, amiable with her children, that they began to entertain hopes of her ultimate consent. She was too unlike them, too utterly alien to their tastes, for them to find delight in her society, or in the prospect of its continuance. But it gave them pleasure to see her conciliating and kind. Once even, Adrian ventured to propose her receiving me. She refused with a smile, reminding him that for the present, her sister had promised to be patient. One day, after the lapse of nearly a month, Adrian received a letter from a friend in London, requesting his immediate presence for the furtherance of some important object. Godless himself, Adrian feared no deceit. I rode with him as far as stains. He was on the high spirits, and since I could not see Idris. During his absence, he promised a speedy return. His gait, which was extreme, had the strange effect of awakening in me, contrary feelings. A presentment of evil hung over me. I loitered on my return. I counted the hours that must elapse before I saw Idris again. Wherefore should this be? What evil might not happen in the meantime might not her mother take advantage of Adrian's absence to urge her beyond her sufferance, perhaps to entrap her? I resolved, let what would befall, to see and converse with her the following day. This determination soothed me. Tomorrow, loveliest and best, hope and joy of my life. Tomorrow, I will see thee, fool, to dream of a moment's delay. I went to rest. At past midnight, I was awakened by a violent knocking. It was now deep winter. It had snowed and was still snowing. The wind whistled in the leafless trees, despoiling them of their white flakes as they fell. Its drear moaning and the continued knocking mingled wildly with my dreams. At length, I was wide awake, hastily dressing myself. I hurried to discover the cause of this disturbance and to open my door to the unexpected visitor. Pale as the snow that showered about her with clasped hands, Idris stood before me. Save me, she exclaimed, and would have shrunk to the ground had I not supported her. In a moment, however, she revived. And with energy, almost with violence, she entreated me to saddle horses, to take her away, away to London, to her brother, at least to save her. I had no horses. She wrung her hands. What can I do, she cried. I am lost. We are both forever lost. But come, come with me, Lionel. Here, I must not stay. We can get a chase at the nearest post house. Yet, perhaps we have time. Come, oh, come with me to save and protect me. When I heard her piteous demands, well with disordered dress, disheveled hair, and aghast looks, she wrung her hands. The idea shot across me. Is she also mad? Sweet one. And I folded her to my heart. Better repose than wander further. Rest, my beloved. I will make a fire. You were chilled. Rest, she cried. Repose, you rave, Lionel. If you delay, we are lost. Come, I pray you, unless you would cast me off forever. That Idris, the princely born, nursing of wealth and luxury, should have come through the tempestuous winter night from her regal abode and standing at my lolly door. Conjure me to fly with her through darkness and storm. Was surely a dream. Again, her plaintive tones, the sight of her loveliness, assured me that it was no vision. Looking timidly around, as if she feared to be overheard, she whispered, I have discovered tomorrow. That is, today, already the tomorrow has come before dawn, foreigners, Austrians. My mother's hirelings are to carry me off to Germany, prison, to marriage, to anything, except you and my brother. Take me away or soon they will be here. I was frightened by her vehemence and imagined some mistake in her incoherent tale. But I no longer hesitated to obey her. She had come by herself from the castle, three long miles at midnight through the heavy snow. We must reach Engelfield Green a mile and a half further before we could obtain a chase. She told me that she had kept up her strength and courage till her arrival at my cottage and then both failed. Now she could hardly walk. Supporting her as I did, still she lagged and at the distance of half a mile after many stoppages, shivering fits and half faintings. She slipped from my supporting arms onto the snow and with a torrent of tears averred that she must be taken for that she could not proceed. I lifted her up in my arms. Her leform rested on my breast. I felt no burden of the contrary and contending emotions. Brimming delight now invested me. Again, her chill limbs touched me as it fell and I shuttered in sympathy with her pain and fright. Her head lay on my shoulder. Her breath waved my hair. Her heart beat near mine. Transport made me tremble, blinded me, annihilated me till a suppressed groan bursting from her lips, the chattering of her teeth, which she strove vainly to subdue and all the signs of suffering she evinced recalled me to the necessity of speed and sucker. At last I said to her, there is Inglefield Green, there the end, but if you are seen, thus strangely circumstances, dear Idris, even now your enemies may learn your flight too soon. Were it not better that I hired a chase alone, I will put you in safety meanwhile and return to you immediately. She answered that I was right and might do with her as I pleased. I observed the door of a small outhouse, a jar. I pushed it open and with some haste drew to bout, I formed a couch for her, placing her exhausted frame in it and covering her with my cloak, I feared to leave her. She looked so long and faint, but in a moment she reacquired animation and with that fear and again she implored me not to delay, to call upon the people of the end and obtain a conveyance and horses, even though I harnessed them myself, was the work of many minutes, minutes, each frightened with our weight of ages. I caused the chase to advance a little, waited till the people of the end had retired and then made the post boy drop the carriage to the spot where Idris, impatient and now somewhat recovered, stood waiting for me. I lifted her into the chase. I assured her that with our four horses, we should arrive in London before five o'clock, the hour when she would be sought and missed. I besought her to calm herself, a kindly shower of tears relieved her and by degrees she related her tale of fear and peril. The same night after Adrian's departure, her mother had warmly expostulated with her on the subject of her attachment to me. Every motive, every threat, every angry taunt was urged in vain. She seemed to consider that through me she had lost Raymond. I was the evil influence of her life. I was even accused of increasing and confirming the mad and base apostasy of Adrian from all views of advancement and grandeur and now this miserable mountaineer was to steal her daughter, never Idris related. Did the angry lady deign to recur to gentleness and persuasion? If she had the task of resistance it would have been exquisitely painful. As it was, the sweet girl's generous nature was roused to defend and ally herself with my despised cause. Her mother ended with a look of contempt and covert triumph, which for a moment awakened the suspicions of Idris. When they parted for the night, the countess said, tomorrow I trust your tongue will be changed. Be composed, I have agitated you. Go to rest and I will send you a medicine I always take when unduly restless. It will give you a quiet night. By the time that she had, with uneasy thoughts, laid her fair cheek upon her pillow, her mother's servant brought a draft. A suspicion again crossed her at this novel proceeding, sufficiently alarming to determine her not to take the potion, but dislike of contention and a wish to discover whether there was any just foundation for her conjectures made her, she said, almost instinctively and in contradiction to her usual frankness, pretended to swallow the medicine, then agitated as she had been by her mother's violence, and now on accustomed fears, she lay unable to sleep, starting at every sound. Soon her door opened softly and on her springing up, she heard a whisper, not asleep yet, and the door again closed. With a beating heart, she expected another visit and when, after an interval, her chamber was again invaded, having first assured herself that the intruders were her mother and an attendant, she composed herself to faint sleep. A step approached her bed, she dared not. She strove to calm her palpitations, which became more violent. When she heard her mother say, mutteringly, pretty simpleton, little do you think that your gain is already at an end forever. For a moment, the poor girl fancied that her mother believed that she had drank poison. She was on the point of springing up when the countess already at a distance from the bed, spoken a low voice to her companion, and again, interestless, hastened, said she, there is no time to lose. It is long past 11, they will be here at five, take merely the clothes necessary for her journey, and her jewel casket, the servant obeyed. Few words were spoken on either side, but those were caught at with a viddy by the intended victim. She heard the name of her own maid mentioned, no, no replied her mother. She does not go with us. Lady Idris must forget England and all belonging to it, and again, she heard. She will not wig till late tomorrow, and we shall then be at sea. All was ready. At length, the woman announced. The countess again came to her daughter's bedside. In Austria, at least, she said, you will obey. In Austria, her obedience can be enforced, and no choice left but between the honorable prison and a fitting marriage. Both then withdrew. Though, as she went, the countess said, softly, I'll sleep, though all have not been prepared for sleep like her. I would not have anyone suspect or she might be roused to resistance and perhaps escape. Come with me to my room. We will remain there till the hour agreed upon. They went. Idris panic struck but animated and strengthened, even by her excessive fear, dressed herself hurriedly and going down a flight of back stairs, avoiding the vicinity of her mother's apartment. She contrived to escape from the castle by the low window and came through the snow, wind and obscurity to my cottage, and I lost her courage until she arrived and, depositing her fate in my hands, gave herself up to the desperation and wariness that overwhelmed her. I comforted her as well as I might. Joy and exultation were mine to possess and to save her. Yet, not to excite fresh agitation in her, per non-turbar, kel, bell, viso, sereno, I curbed my delight. I strove to quiet the eager dancing of my heart. I turned from her, my eyes beaming with too much tenderness and proudly to dark night and the inclement atmosphere murmured the expressions of my transport. We reached London, we thought, all too soon and yet I could not regret our speedy arrival when I witnessed the ecstasy with which my beloved girl found herself in her brother's arms, safe from every evil under his unblamed protection. Adrian wrote a brief note to his mother, informing her that Idris was under his care in guardianship. Several days elapsed and at last an answer came, dated from Cologne. It was useless, the haughty and disappointed lady wrote, for the Earl of Windsor and his sister to address again the injured parent, whose only expectation of tranquility must be derived from oblivion of their existence. Her desires had been blasted. Her schemes overthrown. She did not complain. In her brother's court, she would find not compensation for their disobedience. Filial unkindness admitted of none. But such a state of things and mode of life as might best reconcile her to her fate. Under such circumstances, she positively declined any communication with them. Such were the strange and incredible events that finally brought about my union with the sister of my best friend, with my adored Idris. With simplicity and courage, she set aside the prejudices and oppositions which were obstacles to my happiness nor scrumpled to give her hand where she had her heart, to be worthy of her, to raise myself to her height through the exertion of talents and virtue, to repay her love with devoted, unwearyed tenderness, where the only thanks I could offer for the matchless gift. End of ch-