received from that Power, and given thanks for so profusely, was the cause of her terror. It was absolutely as if she had been borrowing from an abhorred Jew, and were called upon to pay fifty-fold interest!
“Evan!” she writes in a gasp to Harriet. “We must pack up and depart. Abandon everything. He has disgraced us all, and ruined himself. The greater his punishment, the greater the mercy to him. Impossible that we can stay for the pic-nic. we are known, dear. Think of my position one day in this house! Particulars when I embrace you. I dare not trust a letter here. If Evan had confided in me! He is impenetrable. He will be low all his life, and I refuse any more to sully myself in attempting to lift him. For Silva’s sake I must positively break the connection. Heaven knows what I have done for this boy, and will support me in the feeling that I have done enough. My conscience at least is safe.”
Like many illustrious generals, the Countess had, for the hour, lost heart. We find her, however, the next day, writing:
“Oh! Harriet! what trials for sisterly affection! Can I possibly—weather the gale, as the old L— sailors used to say? It is dreadful. I fear I am, by duty bound to stop on.—Little Bonner thinks Evan quite a duke’s son,—has been speaking to her grandmama, and to-day, this morning, the venerable old lady quite as much as gave me to understand that an union between our brother and her son’s child would sweetly gratify her, and help her to go to her rest in peace. Can I chase that spark of comfort from one so truly pious? Dearest Juliana! I have anticipated Evan’s feeling for her, and so she thinks his conduct cold. Indeed, I told her, point blank, he loved her. That, you know, is different from saying dying of love, which would have been an untruth. But, Evan, of course! No getting him! Should Juliana ever reproach me, I can assure the child that any man is in love with any woman—which is really the case. It is, you dear humdrum! what the dictionary calls ‘nascent.’ I never liked the word, but it stands for a fact, though I would rather have had it ‘sweet scent.’”
The Countess here exhibits the weakness of a self-educated intelligence. She does not comprehend the joys of scholarship in her employment of Latinisms. It will be pardoned to her by those who perceive the profound piece of feminine discernment which precedes it.
“I do think I shall now have courage to stay out the pic-nic,” she continues. “I really do not think all is known. Very little can be known, or I am sure I could not feel as I do. It would burn me up. George Up does not dare; and his most beautiful lady-love had far better not. Mr. Forth may repent his whispers. But, Oh! what Evan may do! Rose is almost detestable. Manners, my dear? Totally deficient!
“An ally has just come. Evan’s good fortune is most miraculous. His low friend turns out to be a young Fortunatus; very original, sparkling, and in my hands to be made much of. I do think he will—for he is most zealous—he will counteract that hateful Mr. Forth, who may soon have work enough. Mr. Raikes (Evan’s friend) met a mad captain in Fallowfield! Dear Mr. Raikes is ready to say anything; not from love of falsehood, but because he is ready to think it. He has confessed to me that Evan told him! Louisa de Saldar has changed his opinion, and much impressed this eccentric young gentleman. Do you know any young girl who wants a fortune, and would be grateful?
“Dearest! I have decided on the pic-nic. Let your conscience be clear, and Providence cannot be against you. So I feel. Mr. Parsley spoke very beautifully to that purpose last Sunday in the morning service. A little too much through his nose, perhaps; but the poor young man’s nose is a great organ, and we will not cast it in his teeth more than nature has done. I said so to my diplomatist, who was amused. Oh! what principle we women require in the thorny walk of life. I can show you a letter when we meet that will astonish humdrum. Not so diplomatic as the writer thought! Mrs. Melville (sweet woman!) must continue to practise civility; for a woman who is a wife, my dear, in verity she lives in a glass house, and let her fling no stones. ‘Let him who is without sin.’ How beautiful that Christian sentiment! I hope I shall be pardoned, but it always seems to me that what we have to endure is infinitely worse than any other suffering, for you find no comfort for the children of Ts in scripture, nor any defence of their dreadful position. Robbers, thieves, Magdalens! but, no! the unfortunate offspring of that class are not even mentioned: at least, in my most diligent perusal of the Scriptures, I never lighted upon any remote allusion; and we know the Jews did wear clothing. Outcasts, verily! And Evan, could go, and write—but I have no patience with him. He is the blind tool of his mother, and anybody’s puppet.”
The letter concludes, with horrid emphasis:
“The Madre in Beckley! Has sent for Evan from a low public-house! I have intercepted the messenger. Evan closeted with Sir Franks. Andrew’s horrible old brother with Lady Jocelyn. The whole house, from garret to kitchen, full of whispers!”
A prayer to Providence closes the communication.
FOR VALOUR.
When we read the accounts of the great battles of the Peninsular war, and indeed of all wars of the past generation, in which Englishmen have borne their flag to victory, we are inclined to ask the question, What records have we of the deeds of daring of our subalterns and common soldiers? Successful generals have founded great families; and ministers, who have played with the lives of the rank and file as though they were so many inorganic pawns, have gone down to posterity as the saviours of their country; but what attempt has there ever been up to the present time to single out the simple soldier for honours and rewards for gallant deeds done on the field of battle? The Duke of Wellington used to
